that sick fuck trump is going down. pass it on.

dude, i just hope he doesn't press press the button as he falls. riight? 

   the wheels of justice turn slow.                                                          but grind exceedingly fine.

                                                    it is begun.

hi r. how is your day. love, me and mister.

also, though carlos may have just been sort of catatonic with excess library heat and overwork, his mien in regards to the new shaft was quite unenthusiastic; he said it was ok, and i said, hard to match the original, right, but in truth the new shaft is way, way better. the old was ok, it was propelled by the music and the walk of richard roundtree, but this one has r.r. plus samuel jackson, and blows the old shaft right out the water honeys. omg. check it.

the day before i forgot to say i saw jacqueline du pre play the ghost by beethoven and she could not have been more alive unless she were physically and sharing the same room. and it was so beautiful i can see beethoven's cosmic smile. life is temporary and so keen if you are really alive even in suffering, as she was later with m.s. but she started at 4 years old and had reached a level of musical expression at 16 few attain regardless of lifespan. that kind of energy and passion even unrecorded would spread rings like a star that keeps shining after death. but it is recorded, thanks be.

the pleasure of wrong assumptions

i ate two deep sleep pills and slept shallow waking three times to pee one to read and one when i lost mister in a giant underground theme park. 
i watched nina played by zoe saldana expecting to have to do a brutal post and pleased to say darren was quite wrong to say it was a travesty in black-face. she did have some make-up, but not to make herself blacker but to make herself nina, and if it's any indication of a biopic's worth i ended loving nina more and zoe saldana too. and she had the nerve to sing the songs herself, with utter sincerity and feeling. i think another indication of worth is when the integrity of a project doesn't erase it's faults but makes them sort of part of the production, and by the end not interfering with the shining aspects, the deep character, the sublime music. i wonder why i didn't dream of being in a nightclub with mister getting lost in the music of nina. 
i trust that i am not wrong in this and that darren will revise himself.

maybe we've always been in evil time, maybe evil time is human time, yet humans have done some glorious things too, even in evil time; maybe evil time is simply the political nature of any given time, though it could be worse is not much of a salve in this evil time.

is it a sign of the times or just the same sick and tired paradigm? i can't bear to read it. it's what i feel in my heart and on the streets. i feel the destruction of our world is a done deal, a devil's bargain, for the cause of hope and change and the endless building of our great democracy.

comet went berserk again when he encountered the inflatable animated spider. back home 
i ask him to do a holloweenie picture and he yawns, bo-ring. 

 hilde's superstitious days are behind her now. she laffs at fear.

fossil meditation

i threw a ball and mister looked and it floated downtown so i fossil hunted and as i was thinking how rare and unlikely i would find a fossil i found one and then mister followed and put his head through my legs looking too and i found another one and one more, this one featured on mister's brow. 
i think while we collect rocks for fun and make little towers to show where we've been and mark graves it is true that rocks also guide us in this inscrutable life.

did i do a post about the sanctuary city stickers and the save the midway stickers? well i note only one save the midway sticker has been ripped off and maybe somebody wanted it for their laptop, while every single sanctuary city sticker is gone. this morning i myself ripped off a sticker, an american cancer stick spirit poster with a stylized indian smoking a peace pipe on it. that one really sticks in my craw especially as i was seduced and addicted by that evil advertising at one time. i can't comprehend why sanctuary would stick in people's craw though. is that a sign of the times? i guess i just wasn't made for these times. like brian wilson i was made to stay in my room. but my tailbone gets too sore.

it feels like we're waiting for the collapse, oh there's a lot of hot wind and war and fires and torture and war and nature rape war and a major whack-job lobbing bombs and distant packaged war and so on in the news and yet i know it's a fantasy the collapse i really don't wish to see, it's after the collapse i lust for, the regeneration i'll never survive to see.

i used to think in high school my animal spirit guide was a wolf though i never saw one in the suburban wild and had only read never cry wolf. it's funny i cry wolf now how i'm going to die in traffic and i still never saw wolf or wilderness except in words and movies. i thought my animal spirit guide would always remain inside, sleeping in dreams. but i have a real warm heart drumming animal spirit guide now i can run with and hold on to every day.

thank heaven for external memory as i can't even recall what i posted yesterday. i was moving books from my squat tower bedside feeling their weight leaning toward me without thinking my head may be bonked in the night. i'm reading solar bones now. i keep getting books like moth snowstorm and putting them on the tower while i read the next library book. i guess i need that due date, i hate to be late. i never look back, though, at least i know there's 15328 posts behind me. part of the journey is the stone markers you leave behind you can see laying like a stone wake in your mind.

um...most people that have strong principles don't survive for long, actually. we want them to survive for long, but they don't survive for long, and do much at the same time.

julian assange

these days the world feels really strange, like everything is disintegrating 
and sinking into chaos and dark secrets.  
but you are not alone.

to some degree, unity is inevitable in a living agent: an animal is a whole, a physical agent keeping itself alive.

 but in other ways, unity is optional, an achievement, an invention.

i thought i might escape sickness even though i knew i was sick. there's a dorsal and a ventral layer to awareness and maybe i thought on two layers. or i was naive and wishful and a little arrogant. i can't ever escape the weather and i suffer more when i fight with the weather in my lungs, my brain, my bones.

risk asks what risk you are willing to take with your own life to expose the crimes of the state, how much risk, life for truth. assange is a prisoner of truth, and fear. lady gaga asks him if he ever cries. he says never, and that seems to me one of the saddest moments in the film. 

after risk i was glad to take refuge in the book about octopuses. i wonder what assange would look like as an octopus, what colors he would use. and snowden. there were octopuses the writer named kandinsky, and rodin, who expressed themselves in amazing ways with color and form, some practical display, some unexplained, like body art, for the body's own sake. and the colors seemed like the flashing of mind through the entire shape-shifting animal. i would love to see snowden and assange translated to octopolis.

so, your diary is like external memory, then. 

somewhere there's a logical explanation for everything. not here, but somewhere.

there was a movie in r.'s library queue we forgot about and did not recognize that turned out to be risk by laura poitras. it's the film following citizen four, about snowden. it's about assange, who arranged snowden's sanctuary. the films are dramatically different though, and i'm not sure how much of the difference is due to personality, and how personality informs action, and environment. the environment of snowden's hotel was light by comparison. both had good reason to fear, but snowden is calm and forthright where assange is dark and though his fear is well founded seems paranoid and a more dubious character. he seems to live the same life as his pursuers in a way, maybe the obverse of their dark secrecy and espionage. i think his cause is just, but he's consumed by the nihilism of the security state. 
also there's a subtext with assange, some personal struggle, poitras suggests it's about power, and early on indicates that she doesn't trust him and wonders why he trusts her when he doesn't even like her. i always assumed the sex scandals were invented to try to get him extradited to america, and still assume that, but clearly also he has some trouble in mind regarding women. in the end everything was clear and clean with snowden, and everything dark and disturbing with assange, who broke with poitras saying her film would only harm him, which i think it does.

some don't think the midway is an important piece of land and are okay with a parking garage and bus terminal there and with an 18 storey tower on the park and presumably a pro golf course and tee where the sanctuary is an amphitheater and a widened highway and that echoes what i been feeling inside, that the majority of the people just don't care, and if they don't care about green space they probably don't care about pipelines or uranium dumps, or manifold wars or anything whatever except their personal devices and their nuclear family and their paycheck and i dearly hope that's just my deep pessimism about humans speaking. whether the better angels or the confiscators are heeded i hope is not a foregone conclusion, and i wish to temper my pessimism with my own better angel because either way it goes it will go better that way.

postscript. thankfully it is not the majority, r. says. i would be glad to be called a pessimist and the nature sanctuary remain a sanctuary. but the majority probably also would not condone endless war in their name. we will see what is coming by what is going on now, mostly secretly.

i even feel mild guilt for taking this toy soldier's head off and sticking it in his hand and raising his arms in victory and some kid crying somewhere pitifully and the goddamn beach so filthy.

why do i feel guilty when i'm sick. am i faking it? is it from when i played sick to avoid school? did i mention before how me and roy once ditched 31 days of school and drank vodka typing notes on his father's underwood? how childish, but i don't have to go to school now. i keep on walking the dogs sick or not, so i guess my karma is not being allowed to be sick or play hooky either because i lied because school made me mentally ill. i remember at the law firm i used to brazenly say i was taking mental health days when they grilled me about being sick. you don't look sick... 
now i feel guilty for disappointing r. and not going to the down's kid's art show and blathering here, more guilt, and yet i'd be fine i think resting my thick head and reading about octupi. you see, it's a shame, other people don't have such karma or neurosis about being sick or mental health, do they? why am i so guilty? because i feel that way, that's all.
by the way, i really did feel sick about what me and roy did, every day added to the dread, until finally we were caught and mom was so humiliated she moved me to a new school, where i got busted for smoking dope. so you see how it goes with me. 

mister by the swamp in the phone camera. 

*sometimes i want mom to put her hand on my forehead and say if i'm sick or not. but mom has her own anxiety down in florida. if i put my hand there it feels the same as the rest of me and i don't trust my hand. i could try a thermometer but i only have an outdoor one. i wanted to go to the down's kid's art show but i don't want to make r. sick. i go through about seven months of winter this way. i'm like a grasshopper who can't live in the cold, but neither can he (i) die. 

so i went out without my camera today, my head full of cold cloud. i wonder, can i be congested with clouds and not have an actual cold? i can't say. i have to do the walk anyway, but it was strange to be without my camera eye and a thick head, so i took this dumb phone picture and sent to r. who kindly sent it back to my puter and mayhaps it doesn't look too granular. it looks rather like the inside of my head today, i think.

* i apologize if what lies below is hopelessly scrambled. my head is congested and i may in fact have a head cold. for i have gone from naked to layered in two days, and my organism is impacted with weather. i don't know what season this is. add to that my typical confusion about chronology, and my propensity to daydream and confusion and exaggeration even when my head is not packed with clouds, which it usually is of one sort or another. the clarification oft becomes more convoluted than the preceding text. one gets to hate footnotes and apologies. 
lastly i should add that i went from the film loving, which was super, to the film of ethan hawke pretending to be chet baker, a bad idea, to a film of halle berry pretending to be a multiple personality which was worse, though she has truly lovely breasts, and ending up reading a book on octopuses or octopi. 
and i felt guilty about that octopus i caught and ate in greece, watching the colors flash like the northern lights drain to amorphous grey, and the dinner not even good.
all that to say i mixed up another's text and now my head is too tired to rectify.

                                    why turn the page? because doing so will influence what you see next.

                                     what you'll sense next is affected by what you now do. sensing and acting affect the other.

what you sense next has two sources: what you just did, and what the larger world beyond you is up to.

this, after all, is why we do much of what we do: to control what our senses will encounter.

                                     loops that link actions back to the senses are not only seen in us. they become more marked in animals, especially because animals can do more.

                                     it's a big thing, apparently not easily achieved, to accept that there is traffic, a to and fro. the subject as source.

it extends into external, public space, rather than remaining inside the skin.

little was usually said about the link to action, and even less about the way action affects what you sense next.

the moment to moment feedback between sensing and acting affects how sensory input itself feels.

                                     some philosophers have always disliked this obsession with sensory input, with receptivity, seen in theories of the mind.

                                                            though the idea that our actions affect what we perceive seems routine and familiar, philosophers through many centuries did not treat it as especially important.

                                                             in philosophy, this is the territory of unorthodoxies, of works beside, rather than within, the main development of ideas.                            

                                     for all organisms there is a distinction between self and external world, even if only onlookers can see it.

    another path in the evolution of experience leads to integration.

    all onlookers affect the world outside them, whether they register that fact or not.

a worm withdraws when touched, but if it withdrew at every touch it wouldn't move at all.

as soon as there is stopping, there is happiness. there is peace.     -thich nhat hanh

democracy, what a fucking joke. it's capitalist terrorism.