I don't have a lot of hope for humanity at this point, but whatever, erm, humans vote for genocide. It's late stage zio-capitalism, new world order chaos, warcrime normal, post-human, psychopathic, midterm you-are-america skeleton dance. 

 

What is the empire of chaos doing? 

 Sorry, the democrat and republican ruling class wants endless war, so many more will die in mercenary genocides, and we are all fucked.

 I remember Rose dying. I remember her dreaming while dying, talking in her dream about being at a long table full of delicious things, tall enough to see, but too small to reach. It seemed she was asking us to lift her up, or hand her some tasty things. She loved food and felt like she had to be frugal all her life. She took us to happy hour to eat free. She asked me to reach down her plaid suitcase and asked if I wanted to keep it, as she wouldn't be needing it again. She said she didn't believe in the afterlife, but I think she felt she was going somewhere, as she was leaving here. When she died I felt Rose rise, Rose rose, and as she rose I saw the butterfly shadows from her sliding glass window on her headboard flying.

Just as I finish writing this I'm listening to a song called Last Breath.

 If you talk to people who died it seems that money and power don't matter. They say all we have to go on is the love we've managed to generate despite the cruelty and the hate.

 Dad appeared in f-book friend suggestions. I sent him a request. I tried to send a message but it said Bruce can't access messages yet.

 Olive Palestine and Bourgeois Coldness. I'm not reading it yet. I'm reading The Director by Daniel Kehlmann first. We're going to make a section on the shelf of Anti-Zionist Anti-Imperialist books. I'm resting my back. Speaking of bourgeois coldness, Obama was at his fortress, in town doing his stump speech song and dance for demockrisy closing the library early. 

 The dystopian oligarchs will destroy us. 

 The art of the steal: fortress America in the people's park.

 You're going to be seeing a lot of fake news. 

 The terror state is playing its terror games.

Obama is such a huckster, I can't understand why people can't see it. The way he carefully and deliberately folds the cuffs of his sleeves gives me the creeps. They take and take and call it giving. But this is the way it works in the built world that advertised itself as democracy. It's a world of denial and delusion, land theft and genocide. People can't bear to see the illusion. They must deny the underlying reality. Let's study this thing. Look at the arc of justice, the tension of the structure, the lack of structural integrity, the force inherent in the twisted arc in front of the branch library. Walking through the Obamachron I feel the falseness, the styrofoam reality underlaying the carefully wrought illusion of community.


 

 it's really something, there are different realities happening simultaneously all around the earth, and on the deepest level we are all connected. with a frog in big marsh, or a stranger in florence, we are amazed.

from, and for, r.

 I like the word, winnowing. I put the word yesterday but I'd like to make it the word for today. To linger in the word, winnowing. Somebody used it in a poem today. In the poem a poem is winnowing through the reader's and the listener's minds, making them of one mind, winnowing the words of the poem. The poem referenced is not specified. Only the winnowing is left in the poem in mind.

 I can't see this as anything other than a dystopian fortress of American empire. Yet it's our neighbor. We lived here before, and we'll continue to live next to this fortress of dystopian tourism, and we'll pray for the resistance, wherever it may grow.

 As the atrocities of Israel escalate, the hegemonic machine advances toward the collapse.  

 Happy birthday Rose. It's like we're dreaming of this life, like we could be floating in space, dreaming of this. I repeat myself. I know you didn't believe in the afterlife, and I haven't seen you in my dreams, and you used to cross out God in your Daily Reminder, and you asked if we wanted your and Stanley's plaid suitcase, saying you wouldn't be needing it, and I said no, now you'll be traveling light, and you said Oh, right, with a choir of angels singing me to heaven. Anyway maybe it's all imagination, and I sing happy birthday to you in the imaginary afterlife, though I never really liked the birthday song, it makes the room feel awkward. Anyway, I imagine everything is different than we imagined it would be in the real afterlife. Anyway, my back is feeling better, and I'm gladly resting, with our dream cat Olive beside me, as you may be wondering.

This cat is dreamy. Sometimes I feel like we're dreaming of this life, like we could be floating in space, dreaming of this. 

 

Your claws are getting a bit too sharp for kneading the old man's belly, kid. 

Oh, ok, I'll bear that in mind when I claw the couch. 

Gotcha.

 i also noticed, or i think i perceived, that we can see the curve of the earth in every body of water, no matter how small, even a drop. happy birthday, jay.