i'm never quite sure what numbers mean. when i feel low, and my numbers sink, i do feel correspondingly. 
last night off line writing about rain and feeling endlessly gray, i thought of the eagles on their nest, and how the fullness of egg time was nearing, and i went to the site today. and it was beautiful. that's all. just look at them and look for the eaglets to peer from under the loving parents. 
these are the decorah eagles, at raptor resource.  
oh, and the pipping has begun. 

oh god my love the endless gray rain will bury me at sea.

the task of criticism is precisely to pinpoint and denounce every failure of 
the system with regard to emancipation.
i hate the system.
the system is hateful.
so i hate it. 

but we the fools who ever believed the system
was ever concerned with emancipation.
the system was ever concerned 
with prevention of emancipation.
hate and repression and war 
were the fools proclamations.

but the system wore the smiling mask of demockrisy,
from bubba bubble to noble peace 
and we voted for thee.
they smiled as they killed,
but they smiled for us.  

yes, i am a baby, an incorrigible naif, i yet
get annoyed to distraction by 
waterproof lies.

after the day in the outside rain was done
and i was cozy in my bed, the rain in the hall, 
not on my head,
i thought soggily, at least
i'm not a sodden 
drunkard anymore.

in the zone
in the inadvertent sanctuary
in the sanctuary of industrial demise
in the blessed sanctuary of ignorance
in the burgeoning no-place of desuetude 
in the place where war is outsourced
in the place where our source decays

a ruin cries emptily

watching the sun does not rise 
listening the roof also leaks
it sounds like a poem would
that it were not a puddle 
seeping through the floor

and what do you do, when you are through? go away? no. you stay.
you wait. you erode with the water of time. slowly you hope, you become 
one with the landscape decline.

six hours walking and riding in rain. raingloves, rainpants, raincoat,

leak. my glasses streaming, waterblind, crying. autopilots angry wet swarming hissing wheels. come home. it's raining inside.

i'm watching the sun also rises, listening to the roof leak.

 

 

 

nothing i own or rent can resist the rain. i'm utterly permeable, utterly at the mercy of the elements, sodden, through, and through. i'm through.

the sun does not rise, and everything leaks.

brothers and sisters i am fed up. with this ugly-ass city, this ugly-ass society, this hateful planetary war, and every last waterproof lie.

dominance and profit, expansion and waste.

we know now
the balance is lost
what sustains is no longer us
this we cultivate we sustain we must
the cultured cut flowers
red as lost blood
 

time gathers us,
into being,
it takes time,
time takes us,
every day life,
gathers us,
unfolds us,
flowerlike,
day in and night,
folding unfolding,
in likeness.

the subject of today, as of all days, is fen.
it takes a dog's lifetime,
to see the dog.

self, try to speak in the language you don't understand, not the one you think in.

at 3.26 a.m doug woke up with i am but a wrestler in the night in his groggy brain and wrote it down.

 in the rainy night. with a leaky roof. 

yeah, in the stormy night, with a leaky head.

even in prison we can produce and consume.

outside of prison we try to consume as much as we can
or as much or more than we produce
and that is called freedom for us.

now the prison industry is filling up
and it's time to outsource the privatization complex
so they will put devices, like electric leashes, on the people
they outsource and keep for free 
prisoners in the community.
 

we made a consumer world.
we made a world of consumption.
we made a world consuming a world.
we made a world of freedom consumption
we consumed the world and were not free.

i worked naively in differend mediums
and over time i decided or i didn't decide 
intelligence is the best material to work with.
 

you have tapped into my heart, 
like a golden root.

there's a lot we don't know
and then we die
we're gonna find out
everything when we die.

i could cry salty tears
where have i been all these years
little wow tell me now
how long has this been going on?

most conversation is to affirm what we know. or to get on the same wavelength.

i just woke up from a 3 minute nap.
lol.
but i fount u a helluva objay de mare.
oh yeah? cool bones. r u gonna post it tomoro?
yeah. i set it up rite now. here it is. now u gonna be underwelmed.
i doubt it, i'm overwhelmed by the simplest things.

now i think of it i seem to be either over or under-whelmed. mostly over. it might be nice to be simply whelmed, by simple things.

i had a stupid dream about ordering 20 painted copper screws for coscarelli. i was on hold forever and i was heading down the hall to pass the phone back and say i'd ordered every kind of screw they had, and i woke up and my ceiling was leaking. 
my ceiling was leaking and it has a history of leaking paralleling the shower that never worked. while it's not heavy raining and i'm not in a cold shower this little nest is cute in it's warm chaos, but this morning i thought, it will spread, it will spread to my bed, and i'll be sleeping wet. 
it's so cheap and sometimes even in it's decay and dirt so like a nest, but i'm not a bird and can't be just open to the sky like that. would that i grow feathers and take to the trees! 
outside the sewers overflow and the streets flood and chicago's ugly and i just get this sneaking feeling it's not only my ceiling but everything that's getting worse. i'll never get a warm shower and i'll ever get rained on, inside and out.

can't we just leave some things the way they are,
and let them be what they want,
do we have to improve everything?

jung fen is not so sleepy now, nor pacing nervously like before. the steroids appear to be shrinking the growth that was disorienting his brain. but steroids may be a provisional- temporal relief, and fen is soon proceeding to get the royal treatment with dr. royal, recommended to the skies by sophie, our neighborhood pet guru, of sprocket and stone. 

 dear mother earth, i pray for this little space monkey love.
 

mister peed on otto's dad's foot. i said, did he just pee on your foot? i don't know, 
he said dismissively, it seems to me if a dog is peeing one is obliged 
to get one's foot out of the way.

that, sir, is a very light-some manner of looking at things, i thought as otto toddled on. 

that opening of the mind to objects which are not yet, the strength to keep a space of thought empty so that the unforeseen might emerge.

but the reckoning is never closed, you know. and those moments in which the power we are talking about is exerted are precisely what forever obliges defering its closure.
but let's also say that the fruit of those moments of emancipation has every chance of being, sooner or later, gathered back into the system.

but it's just that this moment of exemption, 
i mean, this gesture by which thought is subtracted 
from the rule of direct performativity, 
is also a rule for optimizing performances.

 

i found a pale faded dolor bill on the crunchy razor mussel and trash-wrackd beach. mr. wonted it. i sad mister why you wan my dolor, you don need no dolors, everbody buys your stuff for you.

but i won 2 by my own stuff...different stuff.
ya, but i'd still hafta like nafta buy it for ya, bitches don let dogs in there 2 buy they own stuff. they won let cha in the sto. 

 

don't you find the object a little abject? oh, yes, i do, i surely do.

walking back from the lake this morning absorbed in thought, mister lagging behind watching me absorbed in thought, i thought of the earth, how strange to be on a planet like this where so much that happens seems random, so many structures fail, plans fail off into nothingness and wilderness persists as a kind of molecular mental chaos or sweet anarchy that insists in surviving the war of the politics of war. in the sixth extinction. is it the last one? are we determined to be the last ones? there are planets who are dead so to speak out there still orbiting. there are suns gone supernova or something, reversed into dark matter, worlds turned inside out, by chance, by design, and we, which are we, how much chance have we in the cosmic design? 
and that's as far as i got when we found ourselves back at home.

most of it i don't understand, the symbols and numbers of lapsed industry, the arcane tags of graffiti artists, the kkk (well that i comprehend), the way it all blends into a sense of place, where the makers are absent, the symbols their ghosts make their quiet statements, under seeping calcified water, rust, and time, under the gaze of erosion we bring in a kind of unspecified reverence, an art of decay and creation beyond will and use, beyond market forces, beyond for a moment law and control, a slowing society of likeness and landscape in a country of unlikeness.

it is fascinating how a zone of dead industry becomes a sanctuary of birds and a colony of guileless art, yet retaining it's air of monolithic menace, and the ghosts of the people who worked there at making a family, a community, and the produce of violent empire, only to be let go, released to the ravenous fate of the market, to make their way with the moss and birds and the scattered iron pellets and the fishes that live in the startling colored water. yes, it is fascinating to witness the survivors of empire become living ghosts.

kkk in uss. 

in 13th, the movie, they talk about how birth of a nation gave new life, and a bleached-white hooded image to the waning kkk, and the hatred and killing became spectacle of the big screen and postcard lynchings. sure we were evil before, but we really do respond to hollywood and now reality shows. look at what the final trump engenders. death of a nation? planet of death? 

i'm sure it's random sometimes but i always think it's art haha i guess i is just a naif.

"here ya'r, r."

what does it all mean? i don't know! why do you ask? you ask it every day! it's ok, keep asking. it makes me to think.

do random frames make you see better?
when they are empty yes, but only what's within them.

 
 once the old lens is gone.
 i see like dreams.