often i felt as though my own pain had cornered me in some room and i was alone with it, like some animal that was inescapable. it was a terrifying experience to find oneself at last helpless, and to be made helpless by somthing for which one could not, anywhere, ask help. but when we have suffered long enough we adjust to the idea that we have always suffered, and that was never any different, and a mock sort of health is eventually achieved. the suffering having endured so long seems at last through the simplicities of repetition to be less intense; we learn to move, in our crippled way, quite well, and one would hardly notice, if they were strangers, the difference the infirmity has made. we lower to the level of the wound. alfred hayes, In Love. click to enlarge.

american plantations and forts

another head trip

boy oh boy

last swim before the poison

drain. tomorrow we will look at the dead lagoon.

el campo

every day i am more convince that people who don't wrestle with nature will never succeed

the true faith,  papa of dogs

trying to find shapes for feelings

ghost dance

he came to think he was a recipe that would never be made in a language being forgotten

i knew it

i miss you at night

i used to say i was waiting on tender hooks. i didn't know how bad it was.

i suppose i imagined life

we are as infinite and fragile as the trees

life is fate, not choice, paul cox says. he says he's lonely, though he's always had a family. he came of a family of hurt. but he was ok with loneliness and had made it an art.

mistakes may be crucial, the lack of story may be the story

muse of the lagoon before the drain

one conquers by perseverance and not by making concessions.  vincent

public broadcasting for idiots

please paint me in a home

quite so. i knew it.

twigs aka runes

the search for beauty is my only continuity (the sky is everywhere).

shy pride

some people are naturally quite lonely.

sorry, fish, and all the brothers and sisters who depend.

south end missile site lagoon

spelling bee of runes

that particular shaft of light, in the forest, in the tavern, in the bottle, potable, that light, that grief.

the drinker was always a dreadful optimist who only came to know it long after the last drink.

the wood eater.

we are so fragile, even more than trees.

we cultivate thought rather than children, with small carbon footprints.

we feel the truth that we are of small account. it pisses us off.

we must know nothing. each walk we must return to innocence.

we were not taught to express but to bury

what he suffered changed him. it didn't make him wiser, or tougher. it turned him inside out. it made him permanently wary

of people.

y

you can go a long time after collapsing knowing collapse is inevitable.