little of what i thought walking survives the walk. maybe a trace in the pictures. and the thoughts would matter little in words. i was reading about a character who had checked himself into a psych ward. he said i came her freely but now i can't leave. that's how i feel about chicago. it was so cold my handlebars were stiff and mu frontal lobe slurry and copp was frisky and i kept apologizing. i was thinking about what deserve means. i say we deserve what we get, which is usually negative. i say i deserve what i get but am angry and disappointed, a terrible ambivalence arrests me. the cold seems more than indifferent, it seems antithesis, it seems to negate life. i know at the same time i might dance in it, it's mental, but it also kills. anyway it's real. i may die this winter. and i think it it's dim to imagine i can do this till i die of old age. but on email i express it better. if there was a person i was writing this to. but it seems a void. i know there are a few individuals out there, but i'm isolated, and it feels as though i'm addressing a void.

this is a hawk roost. yesterday we saw a hawk hunting and landing here but i was too slow. i had noticed this log dappled with bird drops but didn't think about it before.

take you there

i'll tell you what i want to know then you tell me what you want to know and i hope it's what i want that you want

it's a matter of the most supreme indifference. it is human nature. indifference is a kind of allowance. it's a kind of unwilled, happenstantial freedom. it's a sort of existential all day succor.

secrecy is the culture.

the zone of nike

war of unknown unknowns for the owns makes more unknowns, and drones, and so on and on.

when the missionaries first came to afghanistan they had the guns and we had the land. they said let us pray for democracy and we closed our eyes or our eyes were hooded and our hands tied and when we opened them they had the land and we had the guns and they had the drones and we kept being democratized to smithereens.