why do those people hate so much? 
a bomb exploded sounding like in the living room, i look down a a bunch of tiny kids are running round like crazy. 
i don't hafta go nowhere, where i like to be. i appreciate my life and my little family.
i have a morose narrative i'm going to continue to release, i offer it up to the clearing sky, where it will become light. another story is emerging. i don't know how to write it, it will write itself (in the sky perhaps, in the water, related by birds, whispered and crooned by dogs, mewed by cats and so on.)
i'm continuing threshold by rob doyle. it seems too easy but that's because he wrote it well, or because i read it easy, because i like it. i used to think books had to be hard. that's one of the narratives i got from higher ed. who needs it. i look for common denominators that cause us and i like to think there is us to rise. hate sinks.