the heat dome was pressing down so i thought i might expire. i had a deep itch again in the precise spot on my left arm. i scootched ahead a few hundred pages in pessoa—goddam that biographer—makes me think less of fernando, i get the balls and all approach but a life is too much sometimes, the gravity is hard to hold, we're such freaky creatures, specially geniuses. i long to load it back to the lib. the heat was slowly lifting in here and then came the wind and the rain hit the building like a train 3:21. up reading pessoa goddam. 

 in the west fire and drought and fish dying in the slow hot river of disease and baby birds leaping from nests dying to escape the heat dome. in b.c. one billion sea animals cooked in the sea. still they're cutting old growth and building on parkland still they're burying pipeline and fracking the waterways and blasting the earth. still they're sending robotic death machines to kill people. still the state is seething with hate and rage and lust for domination. 

 goodnight or good morning. wake up another day.

 ah, now the air is light and cool. goomo.