made a little trip to big marsh and did a samhain loop. saw the same old  stacks and wondered if people climb them and what it's like inside. saw some fairy houses in the trees and a graffiti angel head on the way home.

 head groggy maybe from hunger of some sort. i believe we're gonna see the old lynch dune tonight. ears ringing (still?). 

  we got a weird world here. 

 goo'morning. how'd you sleep. it was cozy up in here. i found this pair of delicato squash binoculars yesterday. luck. how it all happens is a mystery. maybe it all comes down to attachment. what or who we're attached to. the focus revolves on who. the question is circling you. it grows when it breaks down too. leaves beam light then soften the ground then enjoin the soil that grows into trees. it falls together even when it falls apart. it breaks down to rise. the color of leaves falls through your eyes, down to your feet. light steps on leaves, each a falling toward, feeling toward how, why everything happens at the same time, one by one, during samhain, apart and together, already known in the bones, at one with this curious place. 

 gonna get a trial month to watch dune in the fond hope it don't suck spice. sunny! listening to terry riley, sun rings. funny how everything kronos plays sounds kronic, in a good way, natch. bones tired, bones speak like inward-groaning doors in old films. always feeling the corresponding door opening inside, protestingly, reflected on the screen. had a bad dream last night my bike was stolen from a strange house. one locker empty, the other side open wide. a dream that tells me wake up, look in the hall, your bike waiting sweetly. the sun is sinking now, with strings. 

dune is about the violent extraction of resources from the ground (and human) by imperial force warring for control of the planet. it tells the story we have a difficult time understanding due to the fact we're living in it, the story of colonization that keeps insanely plundering in the inevitable collapse. 

it's one of the few science fictions i've read, many years ago. it's the story of the colonized earth. i was dumbfounded, enthralled. i'm still dumbfounded and enthralled. 

they will try to make a film about it and it will never be as real as the book in your head, but with the book in your head you may have a greater appreciation of the sincerity and reverence of the film, if it has those. but what are we to make of reality. 

what should i do?

listen to mogwai, and sweep.

 faux renegade space ghost land thief. 

i wanted to do something for samhain and scruffy rascal spirit charlie who hates loud shrill machines like fen did til he died at 13. halloween was an appropriation with tooth rot and fairy errant consumption. we live with tombstone teeth and return to the spirit guides of the spirit world. the corrupted corroded colonized collapsing world is making way for the otherworld the conquerers claimed.

 if he stutters it doesn't mean he's not sincere, he's not, but he's a stutterer. oh, that's another post. to mark it. to market. what you see is who you are. changing all the time. the apple farmers gave me nine apples for five bones because i told him r. was making pie with homemade crust. mutsu, cortland, northern spy, he said. i take his word, i take their apples. at 9:59 i report my camera missing to r. at 10:02 i report it found on the end of midway among the gathered geese. i mark, r. does not respond, 11:15. thas ahright, i got the pictures, she got the pie.

tyrannies invert the rule of law. they turn the law into an instrument of injustice. they cloak their crimes in a faux legality. they use the decorum of the courts and trials, to mask their criminality. war criminals get rich and win peace prizes. advocates for justice get jail. time is not a river that flows inexorably to the sea, but the sea itself—its tides that appear and disappear, the fog that rises to become rain in a different river. all things that were will come again.

happy saturday. it's dark outside but it's still daylight. go with me to get some delicious apples of the sun.

(chris hedges, me, robin wall kimmerer.)

if someone could look down on us from above, they'd see that the world is full of people running about in a hurry, sweating and very tired, and their lost souls, always left behind, unable to keep up with their owners. the result is great confusion as the souls lose their heads and the people cease to have hearts. the souls know they've lost their owners, but most people don't realize that they've lost their own souls.

                   

                                                                                        olga tokarczuk                                                                                                        the lost soul

 we don't take anything for granted like the earth taking care of us, we know how it's been abused. we spin clockwise and counter in charlie's new light harness and long rope lead. back home i find a fish hook embedded in the weave. 

 this is yesterday, i got to go back for this. we scoped each other two sections of midway and met on the last corner like fate.

 time, the march, 
 

 captive sadness of the city. 

 rain day with charlie. the days are short and gray, but the rain shows the colors. and the cars whisk around but there are no people out walking, only two chesapeake bays retrievers and a man we've seen before limping along behind. whatever comes we can be like they are and behave like we were born to this. 

 charlie at the green lagoon. i was thinking today washington park is what jackson park would have been and will not be now obama has taken possession of it. i don't want to write about that anymore, but i can't help thinking of it, and then i have to write about it. but we still have a place to show us what a beautiful place a park for everyone can be. 

 another day in obamaland, his scam-a-lot, makes us sad. there's a development they're calling the presidential square in woodlawn, a block from another one where the family was about to be displaced. in the library's on order list a book they're calling renegades, obama and springsteen. that makes me sad. i once liked springsteen. now he's just another huckster in the empire of hucksters. it all makes me sad what is happening to the land. money encompasses all the dreams of the land.

 charlie got a new harness, less cumbersome, less soggy with rain, less rolling like a crazy girl wishing to be free. she gets so angry at those orange facilities services wagons, she was going to attack one in an intersection pouring rain. some things piss her off but not me. 

crow time.

 

rain falls like millennial prayers on his renegade phantom empire—obamaland, 10-29-21.

 

 oh, what a farce. 

obamalandgrab, millennium water park south, 10-28-21.

 

 honey girl lulu.