hilde and a stack of quivering night chairs.

here, for the first time, the return of button.

comet and chrome blue stack.

comet dizzy.

copp, lower fountain.

um hilde. night stack.

plush toy ghost.

r u 2 happy

rescue me.

you don't have the right to bury your ideas.

i have no ideas to bury.

and otto the dobie below's back from boot camp, barking mad, as the bedlamites use to say.

comet and skunk. comet pulled skunk's nose off and squeezed him silly, then we played a duet on skunk and racoon.

hilde and racoon. earlier hilde was observed holding racoon between her paws gazing lovingly into his eyes, yet she was discomfited having little beastie on her backside.

ran into ian by the front stoop. one eye is glazed milky blue from the kennel. i didn't want to say it but i said beware kennels. last time he and i and malcolm stayed together, but now malcolm's dead he has to go to the kennel, i guess it's a better deal, but, no. 

i shant apologize to leslie and her dog for calling her an asshole though i know it sounds assholy for she attacked my sweet pointers and leslie did nothing like when her mastiff attacked my cat wickett. i could have said butthole, or bu-ho like my little sister used to say when we couldn't say asshole but i'm sure many call me asshole at least sotto voce like the woman in the fire engine red mercedes suv who said are you for real when i had janey off the leash who just scowled scars on my eyes in the alley who's definitely an asshole because her dogs are both major assholes and mean as shit and in a long line of assholes raised by red suv. i want to say is your 100grand red suv for real? are your thug shepherds? only reason i can go on like this is i'm convinced no one will read it who's an asshole and because i'm an asshole too.

copp's iteration.

button

button

button

button and copp who barked super loud at button scaring him shitless but not long then the sniffing and the soft regard.

copp's fortune. thanks copp.

like a prayer.

you got to walk for miles, just to feel that you're ok.

blixa bargeld, bad seed.

comet and blixa.

hi. i'm velma.

there's a lot of weird days, but man, it was a weird day, well my mind was slumped, but at open produce they said the air was jangly all day. there was that mist lit with weak sun that makes you want to sleep and puts you on edge. copp was ready to split after a few jumps. i got in with my swollen finger and felt panic at the cold. summer can't even be over. yet it feels like something is. i hear on japanese radio that there was possibly an earlier big bang, and something about the furthermost point of the big bang being attained and a contraction commencing, maybe this late human age and the endgame of capitalism and the rape of the planet and mass murder all that implicated in the coming contraction. too vast eh, it's just reaching. nothing grasping. oh so anyway hilde ate a cicada in the doorway of the bookstore. it was still buzzing, i wonder how long it buzzed in her tummy. i hope she don't pee in bed tonight i gave her a pill and little water. some dude was blasting a machine gun on cottage grove. it feels dangerous but i'm too tired to care, i care but under a thick cloak of fatigue. must keep it together til the family gets home.

a boat skeleton wind soughing

red fire can, red chips empty

a leaf falls slowly on a spider's filament

Book Group: Losers Live Longer

i often call myself a loser, yet when someone else calls me a loser and a faggot for defending my dog it's another story. then i found the book in the free bin, losers live longer, and that guy with his nasty self did actually cause me to reflect and recalibrate and perhaps if not longer, live better, but shit, it's really day to day, and i'd rather do it without the cussing.

transient dreams

 & fantasies of disappearance

making of a dead tree
a wolf in time
to bay silently
at a full orange moon

my girl peed in bed last night but it's my fault for i failed to give her her incontinence pill,

and my boy not wanting to be separated by the wet spot tried to occupy the same space as me.

miss you

wolf tree.

(where's the) good humor man.

oh mister or miss. we were sharing stories me and jason and twain and comet and hilde about funny people. i told him about the fellow who said as copp watered his boxwood, my boxwood is dead, and i said what's a dog supposed to do? and he said go to the park, and i said tell that to the dog, ha, asshole, and he said, go back to the ghetto. jason said, the ghetto? i said being an older jewish fellow he may have been closer the the ghetto than me even. jason said, go back to venice beach, that i could see. we laughed merrily and therapeutically.

i remember yesterday as though it were today, almost.

rx for drought: build a bigger dam. rx for rising tide: go to higher ground, do not go to mountaintop removal.

boy with beard and dog.

i don't know what naturally, or literally, mean. i don't know if it's a symptom of age.

but i saw a monarch today, and as long as there is one monarch the monarchy is not over. summa.