it's an empire of terror. it's home. 
r. was saying how hard to concentrate and i was saying how lucky i am i don't have to think for my work, its not a job, it's my work, i do it for love, i'm so lucky i can concentrate all the time, for if i had a job and had to think about what i was supposed to think about i'd be let go, probably desperate again, addicted and living under the basement stairs. it is hard to concentrate on a job you don't love or want to do. so many jobs do not honor or uplift the spirit, and the man he don't care. i think all the time, and some things begin to make sense, but not this artificial culture. this is a deadly factory of thought.

that new running path is dangerously close to the speeding machines. why don't they put the cycle path there? i appreciate the separation of cyclists and runners and walkers, but being all of these and knowing the bikers on the path are some serious mofos, often fierce, let them be by the fierce motorcade.

loss of memory is one thing. how do you adapt to that? maybe cooking together with someone you love. maybe not thinking of the abstract future as the past recedes. 

people keep talking about the forces, the dichotomy, the dems and repubs, the fascists and the antifas, and it's just the culture that is mad, and the people that are suicidally adaptive.
as the culture demands. 

i was talking with lily about madness being adaptive, a survival mode for creatively adapting to live in a civilization that is insane. mostly we adapt to suicidal culture.