i finished another book, earthlings. i measure life that way, by book and post, dog and picture of. i have a new dog, mouna, arabic meaning wish or desire. so now i have mouna and luna. i wish on the moon. 

i went to the library, got two new books, exposition by nathalie léger, and the other name: septology I-II by jon fosse. 

i was thinking what if a diary contained absolutely everything one felt and experienced. it's be like borges' map of the world the size of the world. it would be a thought—impossible to exist. but that's the way it seems, yet everything we think, everything felt, recorded or not, exists, or existed, and if something existed it exists, like dreams, things we don't see or things we forget persist.

after the library i went to get the book of artists of compound yellow i'm in. i thought my text was bad and then it was fine. i'm not one to judge my stuff or myself, i often come up wanting. i'm moving toward acceptance of my ordinary worth. i mean i hate to be grandiose, it hurts, it's like self immolation, i just want to relax, you know, i want to be an ordinary animal like i'm meant to be.

after the artists book i rode to pebble beach and walked carrying my bike along the caved in wall and saw an acquaintance who was warm once when looking for me for dog care, but otherwise i realize has been aloof. i saw a fellow dive in, continued up to the erosion bay and found a fat rusted nail and a green oxidized copper chain. i carried my bike back the same way and walked down the platform me and mister used to sit on. the water was cold, i got out and rode to the point and parked and slowly got back in. this time i swam long, a half hour? water time isn't clock time, but long enough to acclimate and beyond, to feel my muscles harden pleasantly. i got out and tried to read the other name but my body was chattering like teeth. 

my puter is full of images scattered all over the desktop like leaves and there is no space within but r. ordered me a new hard drive for a receptacle and it will relieve my puter memory and save me from the onerous task of deciding what to keep and what to toss away and it will sit in the drawer with the other one and one day someone who sweeps up my detritus after me will wonder what it is and say humph and put it in the box for goodwill.