there's no going back now.

i'm still wondering about the whack-job born again psycho phd. s. asked what he looks like so she can avoid him. i'm not good at describing people objectively but i said he's skinny and kind of bent like a scythe, has a whitish beard, and glasses from the eighties. i wonder if i can look up his license plate number. i also wonder if he saw us first and if he pulled over to harrow us. i can't imagine why he would park and walk across the midway with an auto club and lug wrench. where was he going? he strode forth like he was on a mission, yet he didn't come toward us, our paths just cryptically kind of converged. anyway he may be on a mission, but he'll probably fuck off now, like the other righteous bugbears of false religion who fancy their asses as saved.

he seemed to think dogs were evil, like the sign of the beast, he said he was saved and would kill the beast. imagine: lulu. i'm sure he was afraid, but rather than keep his own counsel he was preemptively attacking. it's difficult for me to fade away from sanctimonious assholes anyway, but as it happens i'm usually with dogs (or on the bike, which also provokes their wrath) and lulu was obliviously friendly, like mister is when i'm in dangerous confrontation. my dogs are either oblivious of menace or of the simple faith that everything, even human tangles, can be resolved in a peaceful way. 
s. said he might be from indiana. might be a pence-accost-al freak-of-god. yeah, i somehow don't expect to see him around here again. the worry was lulu would get too close and he'd start swinging at her. my instinct was to distract him from her by being as batshit crazy as he was, and louder still. i cursed his saved ass to hell. 
isn't it an odd phrase, batshit crazy? i spose that comes from the nitrogen narcosis you get from caves where there's little air and lots of bat guano. 

they're breaking ground on a new hotel tower across the midway where the orthogenic ghost school now stands. it will host the clients of obomba in obombaland. i feel him encroaching with each new building that rises as the poor take flight and the rest try to hold on. i want to think that preservation is still possible, i don't want to fall into doom and gloom, and i don't want to believe all hope and change is exploitation by the rich. but the rich have already invested so much in the takeover of our park and neighborhood.

that hat suits you. you look really cute. it's all a matter of luck. by sunday you'll be a puddle. love ya headly.

think you very much, much obliged, you're too kind, tres gentil, never mind, it's your hat, dude, anyway, remember me in summertime.

i know it's passe to talk about trump's anus mouth or his orange q-t tan death mask but what the fuck, is no one able to tell him? i was thinking in the shower if a mortician did a job like that they'd be fired toot sweet. maybe it's different with the undead though. i wonder who his mortician is.

whelp, they can't impeach the sick fuck trump, motherfucker can do any fucking thing he wants, the sick fuck trump is the leader of the free world, kill nature and assassinate people as the dems and dohs blather on and on and we pay for zero justice for the biggest criminals and gross injustice for the poor the indigenous the animals and what remains of nature and the environment and sure as the sick fuck trump is q-t orange, we're afraid of the whack em hard government, those of us who have a vestigial instinct for preservation and the rest have phobias and constellations of tics.

anxiety can really distort things and make you more vulnerable but it's a hard not to be anxious with the predator elite running the war of terror show, and all its psycho minions roaming the streets.

please smile please it's going to get a lot worse.

today lulu got the head of the snowman, but there was another head beneath, and no born again godforsaken autoclub phd. in religious psychopathology anywhere to be seen.

the onus is on us. transgress.

i mean seriously i cant believe its just done.

it walks
through the harrowing time, bowing
unbowed.

it walks
unbludgeoned. 
it walks humbly
to meet you.

honey boy doing good. we went to the model yacht pond and saw lucy. i told her mom mister's harrowing story at the hyde park animal hospital and she decided to switch to dr. jewell. she had been thinking that way already, and i hope more people do. if i can save some folks and dogs unnecessary suffering i will be happy.

i soul glad we dint get bludgeoned today. the auto club psycho recalled another dog hating psycho i called the boxcutter. they pop up occasionally and i try to make them disappear. i was telling somebody about the incident today and he said you just never know who's going to pop with the level of anger today. this country is falling over the precipice, screaming in hate and pain.

i think me and lulu handled that fucking psycho well. she just kind of danced around him, not getting too near, while i countered his threats with equal or greater vigor. i'm sure he was terrified, like most stupid fucking bullies are, and should be. they should cower before the vehemence and violence of their own seething, annihilating hate. i would not be surprised if he thinks the orange beast is the second coming.
when we returned to vista one of the workers said maybe he should bring his blue heel pointer to work my magic on. i thanked him but said i don't know about magic (i almost gave up one time and cried when lulu bolted) and another worker said she's the best dog he knows, said, she's an angel. riding up the elevator i said, you are an angel, lulu, you did so good, and she looked up at me with her bright eyes, that car club lug nut psycho-zealot's a beast—you're my sweet sweet angel girl.

the barf, the bible, the black iron jack.

what profit is an idol
     when its maker has shaped it,
     a metal image, a teacher of lies?
for its maker trusts in his own
          creation 
    when he makes speechless idols!


do you think the bible is a curse on me? throw it away, says r. what if that's another curse, oh dog.

he was just a fucking psycho, like the box-cutter. some people are just evil and wrathful and call themselves saved by god and righteous in their violence against anyone they hate.

 

The bible was open to HABAKKUK 2:17: haha, have a kook!

The violence done to Lebanon will
           overwhelm you,
     as will the destruction of the beasts
            that terrified them,
for the blood of man and violence to
            the earth,
     to cities and all who dwell in them. 


Yesterday i saw the robins return. Last year at this time was the polar vortex and i was in bed with my skin affliction and R. taking care of me. Thankee hg.

at the end of the hilde and comet walk i found a bible. hilde barfed and tried to eat her barf again. i rolled the head of a snowman over to cover her barf. she tried to eat the head and the barf. we left.
we took some pictures with the bible and a giant black iron jack (pictures to follow).
i got lulu, went to the midway and put the bible in the stick hands of the snowman falulu. and it was good. when we started back a craggy fellow was crossing the midway south-east perpendicularly holding an auto club and a big ole lug wrench. lulu started toward him playfully. he said keep that beast away from me. i've been saved by god, he said. i'm a phd. i will kill the beast. i said if you touch this dog i will kill you, i swear to god. he continued threatening and i got lulu secured and he walked back to where his car was parked on midway facing west. he sat a spell while i wrote down his license plate number. idle know what i would do with it but i got it. so, today started with my horoscope, respect yourself, then the grim catholic boy, then the hilde barf, the snowman's head, then the bible, then the snowman and the bible, then the born again psychopath threatening to kill lulu. one more walk, no bible this time, we want no wrath, we walk in peace. 
post dat. mister got his staples out and we did have a blissfully peaceful walk. we met coco, a little tiny thing who got skeered and started to cross the street but i said he's ok, he's big but he's sweet, and she came over and saw, we come in peace.

there's a catholic boy that we see on the morning walk south down cornell. he hit's me in my solar plexus. he's doing nothing but hurt. i have to say something. last time i smiled and said good morning.—good morning. absolutely no response, i reiterate and sang a ditty, like whistling past the graveyard. a solid ghost. today i saw him again. i said to myself: grim—that was a future suicide, already happened. interesting that mister doesn't seem to notice him. maybe he only appears to me. what would the message be. why does he so affect me. he's a mass of impacted molecules spelling grief. i think of jim carroll's song catholic boy, because the grim kid goes in the catholic theological union. he sings, i was a catholic boy, redeemed through pain, not through joy. does pain redeem? what does redeemed even mean? to gain or regain compensation for something—lost joy? to compensate for the faults or bad aspects (of something). his is a bad aspect, is that the aspect of his nature, or is his nature walking dead?
post dat. maybe i have looked like that.

anthropocene: the human epoch is reviewed in the revelator. it's in my hold at the library. it's incredible what humans have done. just beyond imagination.
 

horoscope for thurs. respect yourself. yesterday i was thinking why i call obomba out of his name, not from a lack of respect, but from a virulent disrespect. it could be anyone, it just happens to be obomba. there are many obombas, obomba contains multitudes, like trump. respect for the likes of these is respect for money and power, disrespect for green space, for life. respect yourself and you respect life.

i was a little trepidatious but i wanted to return to the place where mister's trouble began. i don't think he has traumatic memory, but we've always gone back to where trouble began. 
the circle comes around, naturally. we had no trouble this time, but the alley is spooky. and those black doors—foreboding! what was i thinking. i must have been sensing trouble the last time i posed him here when he barfed the moment after the picture and we slunk home. he's been falling some. he fell playing in the house once or twice and collapsed on the stairs once with me. he's missing his therapy. kimmee's dad died, and he still has his staples in, so it'll be a while before he gets his good stretching and laser treatment and water treadmill. so in the meantime i'm carrying him up and down when he hesitates.

goose ice landing.

up dat: sylvia.

we rode the passenger elevator with sylvia this time. last time it was the freight when she dropped the ugly bomb as she stepped smiling off. she was chagrined we were on the people elevator as the freight was in use by the construction crew. idle know if john spoke with her in between elevator rides but while i subdued lulu she told me why she thinks she has a hard time with dogs: it's because the only dog she ever had was unwanted by the whole family when she was a kid. then i felt sad for sylvia, and not defensive of soul cute lulu. it's not that she's ugly, it's just that sylvia can't see properly due to the emotional residue of childhood shame and guilt over the poor unwanted family dog so long ago. she must be in her 80's now. think of all the good dog years she's missed. sorry, lulu, you can't make up for that lost dog in time. now i understand. i want to understand a little more each day.

 a disarming kiss.