i read maurice blanchot years ago when i worked at the record store with rob soneson a doctor of philosophy at depaul, but i was very drunk and it seeped in and out of my porous container leaving what ghostly residue like dreams. enough to remind me, and now is really the time for maurice. i feel that. i hope it's true. there must be some antidote to hope and despair. i get my loving on the run.

besides mister, who was in ecstasy today, beloved of birders in a mutual festival on a tiny island in late fall far from trumpworld with winter not yet begun.

there will be a picture of tomorrow here.