i do feel like snacks are in order. snacks to cerebrate. streaming? am i streaming? yes. then i know what to do. i'll read a book. i'll read my own book in my own dreaming manner, improvising the unwritten anarchic order of my own queue. i'll improvise my waking dream. under the skin the world is always streaming, regardless of your particulate connection. 

my sister wants to do genealogy dot com with the daughter of the relative that stole the pictures rose gave to us while she was dying. i balk, that still galls, i say, i want to search the stolen pictures, not the dim and imageless ancestry. i'm nostalgic yes, but for the tactile remains especially. the photographic bones of the skeletal tree. still i'll be on the seeking side awaiting anything that may yield. 

and the word of the day is...

subterranean, subterraneous, ulterior (adj) lying beyond what is openly revealed or avowed (especially being kept in the background or deliberately concealed)

coming at a subsequent time or stage without ulterior argument; the mood posterior to

beyond what is obvious or evident

being intentionally concealed so as to deceive

happening later; subsequent

—and come to think of it and how and it feels, does this not seem a subsequent time? maybe all time has been and always will, a time of wait and see.

is there an ulterior motive for all human matters in the matter of life and death?