yeah actually when i wrote that last post i meant to talk about chemistry, and knowledge, and how little we know about chemistry, it's in our bodies, we have societies, but we don't know how to act, with other bodies, bodies of knowledge, arcane current, it's not some alchemy is it, maybe it is, we don't know alchemy is arcane as chemistry, no, it's pushed back in the regions of the unknown known our most intimately strange terra incognita by some who would profit, the prophets turn profits by our ignorance even death and we can't bear some knowledge about chemistry in our backyard streams even our bodies we continue to dream chemistry is like knowledge to the benefit of humans being, and what we don't know acts within without upon us in our unconscious it streams, known, unknown,  all chemistry.

and jasper so good, good quiet company, we contemplate and daydream, we start early, he yells soul cutely for me to wake, throwing his voice as penny throws her toy mouse, patiently while i dream of a dog, we start early to dream the day away, while impish penny throws r.'s baby crystals and such off the table in the other room, and we talk about the difference in our cats and wonder how we are attached one to the other as it happens, how they reflect on us.

and knowledge

what makes us think though
god made this body, when
it's still just a mystery, well
not just
i mean it's only in relation
it's all just chemistry
but why do the polluters say
it's hubris to say 
we should
save our environment
god made
it just so happens
whatever made us this way
it's not for us
it's not for us to say

a body just happens to be
a body
sometimes a body thinks
what is happening to me
when something is happening
to the body the body is strange 
as
it didn't have to be
it's just happening, a
happening
to be
 

paw boy says, skin is dust. you can sweep it up. even while you look you can see your skin turn to old books, crumbling at a touch, you see your skin turn to dust.

i dreamed of you, mister boy. it was a sweet dream. you were running in a meadow, and i was whistling to you.

if my dad's crystal comes back to me i will put it next to my crystal and see what they say to one another. now night falls my crystal is energized by the sun.

i don't know how healing works. my body used to know how and then forgot. i had to do an intervention, and i'm not sure how this kind of healing works. is my body coming back. it feels like i've been in a bardo of existence, praying to my body or any other body for help. my feet seem to be coming back, but my hands feel strange, tingling, raw in spots, hard and cracked in others. i love this little crystal of mine, and i feel it's energy, i wish it could heal my hands. i gave my dad a healing crystal, blessed by a monk in some cave in the southern hemisphere. he didn't laugh, but i think he just left it on the mantle and forgot about it. he was set to die anyway. i keep thinking about that crystal though and wishing it would return to me. wouldn't it be odd if i looked into it and saw my dad real small like in a crystal waiting room or an alternate reality i could carry him around in my hand in my pocket when i walk the dogs again i could walk him.

is it the oil or 
is it the oil. 
is it the aluminum bauxite diamonds gas gold iron 
ore. is it the arms 
is it the money is it the power. 
is it the love of evil or the evil of empire or is it.

you

will

do

exactly

as

we

say.

soul cute jasper with healing crystal awakening cosmic center.

left!

right!

wail, jasper, at least the escaped arctic cold has halted construction of the grim tower growing like an ugly tumescence of metastatic empire in our window. somewhere it is warm and balmy, but they probably have wildfires or an invasion going on. i'm glad to be in the midwesteren polar vortex of normal obombacized corruption.

i still feel terrorized from within, never mind the hateful coup without, i'm trying to recover from a fungal bacterial occupation. it's absurd to compare one's body to a country that is terrorized by the lone rogue superpower of the planet, but i'm perforce reduced to the scale of my traumatic body.
take a look at this thumb. while the rest of the world's under the thumb of great america like a giant crushing bugs, i'm under the diminutive thumb of my own invasion.

i'm more than a little touched by cabin in the sky fever on the tenth day of my sequestration. jasper has been keeping me company and somewhat slightly sane. 
outside even the trains sound cold and all the buildings are exhaling continuous clouds. there are zero birds on the fire escape. the government, far from shut down, is amassing the lies for a new war to make number forty-five psychotically great (again). i say i'm lucky to be out of the world, out of the vortex, out of the killing cold, but you can't exist in a cabin in the sky , you can't be out of this evil governed world, this terror world that is the vortex of all living things.

are we possessors of thoughts or possessed?  
are we posers posing as possessors of the possessed? 
are we thoughts passing through bodies like moths pass through clothes? 
are we passing through the knowing not knowing what we do?  
are we by our consuming consumed?
are we consummated or dispossessed by the end of days?

tower of empathy and love and community. pray for us now and in the hours of our sins.

thank you nurse practitioner stacey and doctor ed.

there is nothing quite as peaceful i think as cat sleep.

it ain't pretty but it's my life. ha ha, it's me. well least i'm not frozen stiff my eyes seeing fading light fading out in the ice light. i'm glad to see a real life rescue on my little screen with my feet extended beyond. i'm glad my feet have rescued me that i may rescue them. my feet i realize newly are everything, they're my feet, my feet are me, thanks be.

i just watched a body cam rescue of a man in the lake with a leash in his hand they used to pull him over the ice wall. i suppose they would have died in no time. 
i miss the ice of a different time, when mister was younger and i was in better shape. now i'm inside watching the drama from a window with a tiny red flower on r.'s mom's crown of thorns. watching as they say the drama unfold, from within, the drama unfold.
i'd like to look now at the pictures of us on the ice in a different time. mister on an ice bridge, mister floating peacefully on a raft of ice, mister like a boddhisattva meditating on the nature of water, his warm form, floating on ice on water, his breath making small clouds.
i'm glad we have the pictures, i'm glad we have survived.

it's easier to get a gun than a job in the hood.

i had a dream

about walking, and losing, and finding again, a dog who died a long time ago.

is this a system we're living in. seems more like a concretion. cold concrete indifference crumbling. i woke up hard sorry. i haven't been this inside this inside long inside this forever for this long. i feel the cold outside impinging. feel my skin forever molting. i'm an animal stuck inside a system trying to routinely cast off parts of my body. for a body like an animal in a system doesn't know how to act. the system acts for the body the animal. the system acts like denial, unviability, inanimate animal, anima, impractical skin, physically unfitted, ghostmaker machine.
i was rude to r. walked by like in a dream i didn't think she'd notice me like in a dream perhaps i was just hard woke up hard. scared in the kitchen weak flesh ghost flesh scared of my own skin. a new little crack in my palm. if this is a system it feels like more. than a polarized vortex. this brutal weather is only a temperature a wind we've created moving among buildings like displaced animals, wild. we've got so tame we're dying. the system is a continual assault. war by any name. anonyme. anima. if i was back there i'd be in a waiting room. conscious of the un. i'd be saying to my cluttered objects i'm not really live am i, i'm like you, i've gathered my stuff like you here waiting, talking to my objects like you like one of them all the parts of a life, all the parts of me scattered precariously in one place.
                                                                           
                                                                           ***
 What is a system, at its core, if not the sentences that write and, hence, build it?”
—George Abraham

had a dream about barney. i was walking him and he wandered off and i didn't notice and then i got worried but just casually strolled around the snowy path and then i spotted him trotting by a brick wall with a pink improvised leash tied around him like a loose bow and he glanced sideways and didn't see me or did and just kept trucking with his old boney shuffle gait down the alley with me in pursuit yelling barney barney but he was deaf and i knew he'd spook if i ran up too fast but i got him and got him back to the park and our stuff and he tried to wriggle free but i got him back together.

well it's not that interesting as a dream but what is interesting is i haven't dreamed of barney in years. good old barney. it was so sweet to see him. i'm glad he's not lost.