yesterday i took all of 4 blurry pictures of a hollowed headless grasshopper holding on to a swaying branch of wild mustard.
later i learned of a friend of mine's kid getting shot at a party by a kid who in rage after breaking up with a girl bought an assault rifle and killed three. the violence of this culture, from the president to the angry teen, is undermining all of us. 

i finished a little life harrowed and swamped, grateful for life, or finishing a little life, but strange and hollow and blurry like a clinging grasshopper, thankful i have my head yet, though swamp-harrowed. our business, like our war, seems so casual, so casually set on destruction. we're busy arming and terrorizing the planet for the profiteers of death, who tell us earnestly, there is no other way but our way.