monday i mean mister i'm getting you monday. tomorrow will be an ordinary sunday. and i forgot to schedule talk therapy and i forgot to gather rent. an ordinary sunday we'll call it.
i'll unroll your bed and let the air in.

in this life it seems i'm bound to be an awkward soul not understanding the world and not knowing how to communicate. i got a lot of shame about it. my head gets in a quick knot and i can't undo it. i don't know how i do it not knowing how t0 do it i do something i know not what. knot of unknowing. the timing is not good not good time when it should be good when it gets knotted up with shame and anger. why can't i do it good? it's a small unknown it's all made up in my head. what the animals don't know, what the bother is with me. tomorrow it'll be just the cats and mister and me, here in my head knot. i knotted everything up again.
my dad was in corporate communications. he had a way with people. he was the star of every room. with me he was silent, with this son he couldn't communicate. did he feel shame? i believe with him and his dad it was the same way. the shame must come from somewhere, it comes so naturally. they both wanted to take a walk with me and i was struck with terror at the impending silence. is it natural, how nature made me, how shame is a made thing? i'm silent like that now. i'm struck the way dad's silence struck before me i'm struck in myself, dad's gone, granddad's gone into the silence. it still strikes me, i'm stricken, i'm struck silent.

did i tell ya yer goin to the cat house tomoro mr?

i yam? whoo-hoo! i love dem pussy cats!

 i hope they will tolerate me...

suzanne sent this picture of a terrier in a red sweater in a london pub. she mentioned the terror on london bridge and i was unaware and learned in the guardian the killer was restrained by two guys with a fire extinguisher and a narwhal horn before getting killed himself by police. i'm glad she was imbibing in a terrier friendly pub.
 

i'm revisiting the revisionists
i think of late
capitalists how
they cant
think
i can't 
you can't 
one can't
think of late 
capitalism
non-being
not being 
dead yet
think
of the late
capitalist
who still wreaks
he's not late
he's not coming
they don't 
make him 
any more
not like
they use 
his money
yet always here 
working us
to death
so it's
actuarialy he's
dead and feeds
off the living?

we seem to be 
caught 
in a cycle 
of hopeful 
futility  
perhaps 
related
relative 
relinquished
to the absence
of war 
a qualified
neglected
peace
long forgotten

how many times must i climb, so many many times

 these stairs and cry

 in my mind

these stairs are endless in my mind, and i am just beginning, it took me all these years, and in my mind i still see me at the bottom of the stairs, frozen on the first step.

seventy years of nuclear waste in temporary storage.
oh jeez i gotta go.
fog coming on.

happy bird day tony z. love from r&d (and lulu). have a wonderful day.

the memory of trees.

puddle tree.

i wanna give thanks, not to the warmongering state, but to all the little doggies and the little peoples i so dearly love and who love me, blessed are the peacemakers, thank you for coming, come again soon.

this immigration continues.

breaking up with tradition. i was singing cracking up by nick lowe this morning. the refrain i don't think it's funny no more coursing through my noddin' noggin as mister rolled in the cumulus leaves.
one time when i was doing the trail riding business up on gabriola island i went to give a horse an apple thinking how pleased she would be and she turned like lightning and bit my face. i was coming in her blind spot and she just reacted in fear, her instinct before her thought. we're hardwired that way. we get acculturated and our fears also. lots of people have irrational fears in the built world. we don't know what to fear, we just fear. the things that were meant to build trust, that built trust in the past, are not to be trusted anymore. we know how citizens and society use trust to abuse us. 
anyway dogs are like little horses that way, sudden movements confuse and alarm them and they react before they can tell what is really happening. and sometimes we communicate danger unthinkingly. as dogs get myopic and deaf they feel more fear and vulnerability, and they need slow careful treatment and trust.

there was a post by maria wulf on thanksgiving r. mentioned and it was uncanny. she always shied from holiday-making and felt she didn't belong and wanted to curl up with a book rather than feel estranged in company. but she made her first thanksgiving, like r., and like r. had three people to feed. and it was good. i felt that way too, though i kind of hung silent in the adjoining room some of the time, i felt united in the sharing of the wonderful lovingly prepared food and in the table games after. i also blogged some, and we drove our guest paige home on quiet streets, quiet ourselves, still digesting the day. maria wulf's day dovetailed nicely with ours at a distance, like two branches of the same plant transported to separate locales.

we're going to go to the big marsh i think this next holiday, the product placement one, like last year, to a place human industry left to return to nature with human help, to see the sweet and curious deer and the waterbirds. 

well, here's the song, since it was in my head on the walk, it's there in the background now, i'm not cracking up, but that's the way i feel not belonging in the larger society, and it's soul good to know there are other misfits like me at large.

Cracking up, I'm getting ready to go
Had enough, I can't take any more
No pills that I can take
This is too real and there ain't no escape
It scares the daylights
It makes a nightmare
I'm tensioned an I'm nervous

Everybody all around me
Shakin' hands and sayin' howdie
I don't think it's funny no more
Cracking up, like a worn out shoe
Ain't wet, but the world's leakin' through
I'd run, but I find no pace
I laugh, but it's wrecking me

Wrecking me
It make a shiver, it make a shake
It make a monster, just like an earthquake
Everybody havin' fun
I don't know how they can carry on
'Cause f don't think it's funny no more

At dead of night time, at crack of dawn
It comes upon me without warning
If I were a gunman I would shoot
I'd tear the hair out by the root
I'd make a knife out of a notion
All at sea in an ocean of a emotion
I don't think it's funny no more
I don't think it's funny no more

Cracking up
I don't think it's funny no more
Cracking up
I don't think it's funny no more
Cracking up
I don't think it's funny no more
Cracking up
I don't think it's funny no more
Cracking up

g.w. carver crossing the delaware and jasper waiting for reddi wip.

thanks jasper. thanks penny

 thanks jasper.

thanks penny.

stacks.

live there in your mind as it's unoccupied.

fire escape starlings.

i'm in the adjoining room listening and looking at these pictures of the embankment by the tracks. i'm listening to james blake. lulu is running back and forth through the woods and around the green looking at me through the vines and weeds. i'm warm and clean at r.'s glad to be back with honey girl. there's stuff to work on i been nurturing years to find a good place to be. r. and p. are talking and cooking in there, in the adjoining room. there's no separation though. i'm not too inspired, that's ok right, we need to be empty, we need to be ok, we're not where we're headed yet, we're never there really. there's no one there. we might be an empty room sometimes, we don't need to fill this space.

mister's getting blind and i'm thankful for his time, his time and mine, our time. he's getting blind and deaf and he's already there, i see him, turning this way and not seeing, and i clap my hands and i see him not hear me. we get to be in another place still in the same place we gradually get displaced still we're here in the same place. 

wave dog.

hot pink spray paint marks along the sea wall. i want to watch it erode beyond the fences, beyond the new bicycle path, now the shared pedestrian bicycle path, by the highway as the old pedestrian bicycle path is left to disintegrate beyond the fence, i want to see how the sea reclaims the shore, how i fear what the pink spray paint marks mean. i wonder in the breathing space what the rising sea and the crumbling sea walls will come to mean.

ply

american drift football.

what are we thankful for. not the american conquest. not the slaughter of the indigenous. we're thankful for what survives and what resists and continues to love in the overwhelming midst of genocidal greed and hate.

let me roll it

i can't tell you how i feel
my heart is like a wheel
let me roll it
let me roll it to you
let me roll it
let me roll it to you 




paul & linda mcartney, 1973.
 

douglas dairy.

i found this milk bottle this thanksgiving morning in the rubble by the sea wall and the swamp. think of how many times the milk was delivered in this bottle. and it's still intact. think of reuse in the age of single use plastic waste now each one of us contains micro-particles of our own packaged devising. let us give thanks and pray for deliverance.