it's like we never know what's going on until later on. even as it's going on it goes into storytime. we always look stupid looking back, and we're stunned and moribund looking forward, but empirical shit is happening at an exponential pace, and we are the exponents unknowing.

the chase, by sonia gechtoff, 1959.

this painting is the same age as me. i'll never know what she thought of, painting this. many things began in 1959, not because i did, may things in any year begin and i will always note the year and return to the year when consciousness began along with the unconscious me and the unconscious of the world joined in birth.

it seems way off track, but i'm thinking about roundup again. now i think about roundup and the great roundup. mom said today she sees at the store large stacks of roundup, so there is no reason for discontinuing the sale of the cancer agent to kill unwanted insects, and consumers might find no other way to kill small things without killing themselves like weeds or bugs, anyway it's the season to kill in retirement heaven where it's always summa, and may we have many more. i think what connects this up is roundup has been around longer than me or this painting, and shows no sign of dying like the consumers do, naturally or otherwise, in quick or slow time. i'm just thinking we must have some kind of collective death wish to be consumers of this brand of slow genocide in the dream that is the consumers waking life. but nevermind.