it's not just opportunism, it's disdain.

 charlie and rafa. love is all you need.

book of the day, afrofuturism, dig it.

 there's a big ass mufuggin' storm a-comin', lulu. 

 ha ha ha ha ha, i win! i'm a winner!

 hopeless change—the obamachron.

the first day of school, i was not yet five years old—i wanted to drop out, but i was not in charge of my little life, so i kept going, growing up with the desks, feeling like a captive drop out, naked from the waist down. sixteen years on i finally did drop out, as far as i was able in the forsaken country of the forsaken land. fifty-nine years on i sometimes dream of being reborn as a dog.

 we walked by thresholds and saw a bunny couple bouncing and coupling. lulu looked like i looked, appreciating. after, i saw a message that magic had caught a bunny in the park, and i felt sad, for the bunny and magic, who can't help but follow his instinct. i pray the fascist vallas is vanquished at last. 

 charlie laid in a puddle, rolled on a waterhole cover, sat on a sidewalk looking at me, came over and when i said can i take a picture she laid down and chewed on a vine looking thoughtful.

 fear was part of life in nature but we're both in and out of nature now and fear is in the air and everywhere and it's not at all natural it's the built world of money and power it's the absence of safety in the make believe world but as always there's another make believe world in this world free from the death grip of money and power.

 boy magic.

 we have such good safe fun in the secret magic garden. i hope they don't lock it up again. i want to dream it will stay, knowing it must go sometime. they put a chain lock on the passage between the buildings, but we went around and the garden is still open. what a relief. when they destroy this place me and magic will be in harmony and i will be confident when he roams in open space. but we gonna miss this place. 

 the daily obamachron. it doesn't seem real, it is. to the real estate oligarch, it's an immense gift. to us, it's a disgusting, venal, viral enterprise in our park. 

 a praying mantis pod in the secret garden. i hope to see the babies come out.

marx, lenin, trotsky, lulu and sparrow.

 you want dis?

 the word of the day is kestrel, and oh, my word, who should appear?

power con. obamachron.

 

 daffydil sundial falulu.

 hope to action. the women's garden memorial. the obamachron.

 what part of what you see here is carefree? if only you could understand the sadness of the ones who grow the delicate flowers of buffoonery, protecting them from the slightest gust of wind and always on the verge of despair! 

osamu dazai, the flowers of buffoonery

 magic boogaloo. the kid was sweet fun today. he ran after a bunny this morning and in the afternoon we saw that somebody had caught a bunny. magic grabbed a puff of fur but dropped it when i said drop it. when he was on the far side where the balled and burlapped trees that were left to root for themselves are now blooming, he came straight to me when i whistled.

the dusty graffitied gymnasium of bruno bettelheim's cruel school is a bardo of kid ghosts.

 every time i look down at it i get the same feeling of falling into an abyss. when the ivory conning tower towers over us i'm sure i'll still have the same infinitely sad depthless feeling. it's death in life.

 message of the day: grieve the destruction and be glad you're alive.