maybe it doesn't matter much if another camera dies on me. if my body dies on me it would be but i'd be dead so it wouldn't be for me.

but one of these last pictures today might be this camera's death image. i'm not going to say which one, and fortunately though i deleted some there are still pretty many. i don't know how many days i've been sober, i don't even know how many years, or how many years i've been walking mister, i don't know how  many cameras have died on me. i've grieved each one, but philosophically, each one was made to fail, like each body born to die.

looking back an hour it was barely snowing. now is a howling white out. at misters house the personal organizer said, oh this is not bad. it is bad i said, i'm in it while you are inside organizing. and we have five months more to go. b. said what month is that? march i said. well it's not over yet then. ok six months.
on the day of the first snow is a blizzard. my gloves leak, my camera dies. this winter i promise myself i will not despair. i will renew my promise every day, for 180 days. i'm exhausted already, and sad i can't even show you a picture now, but i'm not despairing. as they invariably say, it could be worse, and it shall, and then again next week it could be 70 degrees.

if we went there to fight terror and make the world over in the image of our fabled demockrisy then we failed horrifically. if we went to kill the people and loot their country we succeeded spectacularly. still the people who live want freedom and will always resist empire.
 

i'm an animal.

i got a snowfall windfall of local apples so i brought a bagful out for the animals and lulu thought it was a delightful idea and a sweet ball had she we. 

the first snow.

  

comet plays ball outside.

hilde plays ball inside. outside she likes to play keep-away and snarf scunci elastic hair ties.

 j. crouches behind the cacti peering at two sparrows making bird sounds.

j. feels my lens sneaking up behind and his sparrows fly.

same

leaf different

day.

naturellement pour les chiens.

mr holloween

mr lickin leaf

everything is normal, yet people act as if it's the end times.

howdy good neighbor. nice day eh? did you hear about the human who fell or jumped off the logan center observation deck and died? that wouldn't be fit for the good neighbors site. too negative. could be political. i can't but imagine people jumping off obomba's tower. falling dark body outlined in white light.

dolly says it's horrible outside. do you walk? naturellement i says, i walk i ride for the dogs. in bed now between mister and pointers i look out the window streaming horizontal white.

the wind sound, cold lonely ghosts keening in the windowpane and rattling the kitchen fire escape door. backache. freezing rain. streets glaze. eyes nod like dried leftover flowers on the border great lawn. i have to ride with the autopilots. winter will kill, me my heart beats. the sirens, the clanging of trains, the keening ghost wind. 
                                                                              
                                                                           ***
few things, however, seemed less reliable to him than thoughts based on his city; at some point, something had been severed and not one of the situations, places, or impressions he recalled belonged in their own right to the landscape of reality; or perhaps it was the other way around, and the present moment was translated over and over again, updating itself by erasing its own shadow, its sense of history, and the traces left on people.
                                                                                                             sergio chejfec
                                                                                                             the incompletes

it wasn't so bad today. the other day i woke up thinking about the flash unit i never attached. i looked and found it in my disused backpack. funny i'd been tweaking the light in post and thinking why do they have a flash setting with no flash. i get more obtuse technologically as technology increases. unconscious deliberation or cognitive dissonance or why botheration. 
well the flash is too much anyway, it's a blast of light, so maybe it's ok to just tweak. 
my back is still stiff. i gotta stretch but i resist idle know why. winter's begun despite what the calendar says and it's gonna be worse for 5 mos. let's not talk about that, or obomba, or the sick orange fuck. let's talk about lulu: adorbs. now what. i'm looking for something to say. after the tree ceremony i sent the link and pictures and no reply. i'm not going to say it was probably dumb i like the posts i often get no reply to email and rarely to posts but still i live and hope sort of expecting nada but now i just broke the key to trudz' lane cedar hope chest brute now i probably got seven years bad luck. 

the sea level has risen 6.5 inches. a rise 6.5 feet is likely by 2050. i wonder what that will mean for chicago. obomba's island mansion will be partially submerged.

it ain't dumb, mister, it's aesthetic. and cute, too.

 

oh, ok, den, if you say so.

ok, i'm taking an informal poll. do you think i've been using mister as a pedestal for my dumb picture show these eleven odd years? in this picture i admit he looks rather annoyed with me, but more because it was raining and he wanted to towel off and have his crunchy o apple treats.

will human society ever achieve total one hundred percent corruption? we shall see, we amos there.

ain't it funny though, there's never enough money for teachers or students or mental health care or nature, but there's always money for towers and golf courses and resorts prisons  walls and wars. i guess capitalism means fuck the poor. i get the feeling the future means more of the same. the rich are like tourists or dictators here. the rest are here to serve and obey or get the fuck out of the way.

oh well it is what it is. people and nature have always been fucked by powerful thieves.
can't do anything to curb the dire progress. we live in the wake of destruction for profit.
this is where we live. we can be glad we live and we can love not hate.

obomba's a god damned fucking liar. he says jackson park is dormant and not used by the community. fucking liar. he's just a whore for hard cash. no one but tourists will use his amusement park. the people will be gentrified and displaced. he's a scam artist and the theft of the people's park and the gentrification of the surrounding communities is his big post presidential scam. he's making a hella lot of money but he's attempting to destroy the park and the community for his own and his rich friends' profit. fuck him and the trojan fundation he rode in on. this is happening all over, the rich taking over. he's laughing in his island mansion. like trump in his world of golf clubs and towers. it's all the same predatory capitalist hoax using the weak and voiceless and poor as raw material to extract from and throw away.

i was thinking about the feeling of shelter. i was thinking about how shelter is a feeling i might have. i was thinking about shelter as a feeling, not a place. i think about giving shelter,
giving a feeling place. i think about how shelter can be a moving place that moves with me. i think of how i can give this place of feeling in me to you and you can be in the shelter with me. i think of how you sheltered me in the first place.

the body is a place we return to and leave.

i don't want to go out there. but i do want to see honey boy.

can you feel that?

even the schmucks in red hats booed orange donny john tee hee.

invert the world.