i wondered about kumar, i was annoyed that he eschewed the blog for some reason he said he'd explain, then into the silence. i was more curious than annoyed today, and sam asked if i'd seen him. i sent a note with cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown as the subject, and soon had a reply that he had been meaning to write, he'd been attacked, his nose broken and eyes blackened. he sent a picture looking awful sad and hurt with a grimly bland hospital curtain behind him. i feel all the time this world so full of hurt. it gets closer, it gets into me, i felt the picture of kumar, a dull dreadful crumple of my heart. the very picture of local harm. the harm that is everywhere us poor sad humans go. for some reason i fly back to that alley when i was attacked in bucktown by the chicken butcher, whose daily slaughter made a slaughterhouse in the air, his fist closing my throat like a flower stem. the air slaughtered, a vaporous death everywhere crushed, annihilated in his massive mindless grasp. that was so long ago, and so much has happened since, so much more that that and this. and this and this and this.

for kumar, who was not hidden in a cloud, whose whereabouts were violently known. 

now heal. now i wish you 
stay 
out of harms way.