last time we went to the dunes was winter solstice i think and it was as warm as the fall equinox this year but we arrived later in the afternoon and we stayed on the path by the bog and in the woods. this time we went by the power plant and down the dune to the lake and i swam. the factory and the power plant are integrated strangely into bog and the dunes and the beach. i thought i'd like to have andrei tarkovski come and make a documentary here. since he's no longer living i could do it but i won't. i live through others lives and i sometimes feel i haven't lived distinctly my own, but i did, i do, even the thought that i don't is the way i live. we took the wrong path that went through the rich peoples realm and it felt quite different, like they had colonized the nature area, more than industry had done. i had to ask one in a sports utility vehicle how to get out, which brings me back to the first image starting out, scratched into an electric pole, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE ALL. we paid no heed and felt welcome and we'll come again soon and read the sign and laugh. i thought of how the rich folk might regard us coming into their realm and acting like we belong. i wondered if they had seen funny games. it feels like the events in the city and the world are not entered there, yet of course they are in everything, it's a pandemic world, we all belong and we're all exiles. money can only go so far as protection. of course we'd like to buy a plot of land to call our own and yet we wouldn't be keeping people like us out or looking at us warily.