deep listening, deep fog. listened to full pink moon opera povera in quarantine four hours last night and opened up the laptop where i paused imagining it still going on and on people signing on when they wake and others go to sleep, a neverending improvised opera unfolding like a dream. i dream of striking, striking happening without leaving home, just not working, not paying, not me i continue to walk the dogs, but i'm in grim solidarity with the strikers, the workers, who suffer this brute economy. fog so thick i only see fog i imagine stepping out the window up here the fog supporting me so solid i could walk on it. wake to love, touch the only ones. it's another day in pandemic paradise.