Son of a bitch! I'm sorry!

 

it's quieter for bike the drive and you can hear more insects and birds. we went to see trudy but we left as she was sleeping so peacefully. the caregiver said she's doing good, walking to the dining room and back by herself. she walks around saying son of a bitch! and then, i'm sorry! we pause on the bridge to wooded island and i snap a picture of the obamachron tower in the lagoon. it's vertiginous, it makes me queasy. it's puzzling, and it repels me r. says. if you image non-being, how do you imagine it?

 Strange summer, stormy and burning, people are killed, people are dying, and just like that, ears ringing, we're into the fall, and all we can say is, for now, we're still here.

Song of the Day, Dream Brother, by Jeff Buckley

 

There is a child sleeping near his twin
The pictures go wild in a rush of wind
That dark angel he is shuffling in
Watching over them with his black feather wings unfurled

The love you lost with her skin so fair
Is free with the wind in her butterscotch hair
Her green eyes blew goodbyes
With her head in her hands
And your kiss on the lips of another
Dream Brother, with your tears scattered round the world.

Don't be like the one who made me so old
Don't be like the one who left behind his name
'Cause they're waiting for you like I waited for mine
And nobody ever came...

I feel afraid and I call your name
I love your voice and your dance insane
I hear your words and I know your pain
Your head in your hands and her kiss on the lips of another
Your eyes to the ground
And the world spinning round forever
Asleep in the sand with the ocean washing over...

 i know i'm naive but i just can't believe the cruelty of this government. what do they govern? they take, they kill, they lie. government of plunder. government of genocide. government of destruction.

There was only one starling this morning, perched on the iron rail directly in the window of the fire escape door. Olive sat on the sill entranced. One starling representing all the starlings we cannot see.





 

 saturday morning and saturday night with olive.

 i wish the people knew that under the sod it's all styrofoam. our park, privatized—the obamachron.

 Keep asking. Who am I? Who are we? 

The techno-fascists are now colonizing every one of us. It's Palestine against Palantir. This is what they died for. This is what they are dying for. To liberate us. 

Alon Mizrahi

 Song of the day, the things we do for love.

i had a hard time sleeping and waiting for olive to wake me 

and the sun and i'm vague from dream work and the kid upstairs screams and it's a short night anyway approximately 11:00 to approximately 5:30 and the season changes and the migration looms innerly 

and we imagine the starlings have gone south away 

and we behold their return 

to our fire escape and remember 

they haven't even begun their murmurations. 

we live a lifetime of anticipation.

homeland security says we better pray without ceasing. 

yeah, dude 'cause they're coming for all of us. 

 I gave Olive an avocado pit a couple weeks ago and she "lost" it under the radiator bench with several other toys and R. tossed it. Tonight I took an avocado out for salad and Olive came over meowing. I gave her the pit. She knew there was a pit in it. Now it's already lost again.

 

Where's Olive?

Peek-a-boo-boo!

That wasn't me.

 R. and I went back to see if the body was still there in the same position. If it is I said it's dead, but when I got closer it was a sex doll. Oddly I didn't notice until now there was no head. Oddly I thought there was a head with black curly hair. And where the head should be, an empty picture frame. I'm so glad i didn't call the police. I know it's gross, but I thought I should let you know. Life is never boring.

Spirit of Jimbo.

 

 fifty boats are sailing to gaza now, while israel continues the killing. sumud. 

 Lulu and I passed by and I saw this person behind the dumpster. I was afraid to approach with Lulu, and I would have also been afraid alone. I think maybe I should go back and see if they are ok. 

 Old war criminals have a nice retirement. Their crimes of the past are  simply erased.

 The explosive-laden robots are not even the most frightening thing. There are the quadcopters—small, unmanned aircraft that are armed with bombs and bullets and remotely controlled by Israeli soldiers.The quadcopters fill the skies everywhere in Gaza. They fire at displaced people and drop bombs on the rooftops of houses where families are still sheltering, forcing them to flee.

Rasha Abou Jalal

The aim of the Israeli army in these residential areas is not just to invade and occupy them, but to systematically destroy them.

The army deploys robotic vehicles loaded with explosives into the heart of residential blocks and detonates them, causing massive destruction. Then they go to another neighborhood and do the same thing. Killing anyone who remains there. Their goal is to erase Gaza City entirely through this method.

Rasha Abou jalal 

 imagine living in a tent just waiting for a bomb to drop on you.

 How did I get The Blitzkrieg Bop in my head? Was it stored in a secret compartment in my brain?

 Israel is just an Obama away from re-branding itself.  

-Sam Husseini

 the thing about (put name here) is she asks how it's going but when you talk about someone dying or a dust storm or the styrofoam landscape in the park her face closes in a dark way and she splits and it never gets mentioned again and then i'm like ok i'll just smile and be light but then i'll blurt out something else and her face will crumple and she'll say she just can't imagine how we'll get over this, all this, how will the planet get over us, and i say it will collapse and go on and her face will be grim as she splits again.

 i just started reading this article about joshua clover that says he only had one subject, how do we live in a world made unlivable by capitalism?, that's the first sentence and i stopped there because yes, that's the one subject, not just for joshua clover passed beyond, but for us all.

maybe this life would be like a transcription of the inner distant music of past lives if you could transcribe it in time, but how to transcribe it if you don't know how to write down the notes? i suppose it's just meant to be lived, unless you are given the celestial ability to transcribe the music of the stars and your inherently unique past lives.

 the upstairs neighbors with the twins are here and one the kids is screaming a lot and somebody's been smoking and i'm reading walter benjamin stares at the sea and somebody asks everyone if they know why they were put here like on this earth and nobody has a good answer or any answer and i think of my nephew who also screamed a lot as a little kid and i never knew why except nightmares and now i think from a past life or lives.

 Olive helps me make dinner. 

 This is the facade where his sodding specious slogans in stone will go.

 Sod the styrofoam sledding hill. 

Hope wasn't much of a plan.