indigo 

blowing wish

tree for the future sebastian. the children wrote messages to the future sebastian who turned ten. the children had the feeling the earth would end in explosion and perhaps also people would never grow old, injected with young mice serum, and some would go planet hopping when the earth was exhausted. i was struck by how politically aware they are and how they condemn the politicians for their endless war making. when i was a kid did we talk of the future? i think the future has altered since then. and we with it. 

girls are different. well it was a boys party mostly, but the girls observe and ponder. i feel an affinity and an allowance to ponder and observe gazing with them at the actors.

i have a job

indigo 

                       indigo (bunting)

inside joe

inside joe

the mulberry pickers

this tree fell yesterday. there was coyote scat on it. i walked out and it bobbed slightly supporting me. a mother duck came calling distress but more curious, as her babies came along too and copp just studied the lagoon detritus and bubbles.

the future is mindful

everything is mindful, i feel loss, lost, in a species way, though i'm a depressive and have always seen the world thus, so who knows what.

still it's good to study maybe without a plan. 

it's good to be immersed in it.

the creatur has a masta plan. we were raised on master plans. now there's only creatures wandering. there's no master and no plan, only masters of war and control and dark energy. 

tree for the future unfinished

try again

try me

turn your light on me

who wants an ass-kickin? it's my birthday.

sometimes i actually feel free, when i'm not thinking of the humans. 

the roys on parade

what we need is independence from our rulers. they're so sick and archaic. ah freedom from greed and exploitation, from every form of slavery subtle and crude. that dream of independence was a dream even in 1776, now it's a puff fairy tale.

assemblage. feeling taut stringlike between heart and groin. i guess i'm feeling better. there's a moth in my chest but i was permitted a movie in public, the missing picture, clay figures depicting the khmer rouge. wierd how dissaffected it felt, the narrator and filmmaker a victim. he kept trying to find the missing picture. and i guess that was what was affecting about it. the horror resulting in profound dissaffection.

a morning with the audubonders and the bridge and fog and the green lung.

the natives call it catalpa, head with wings. some body is buried under it, stephen douglas?, nourishing the white profusion of annual cherubs that cascade through the soft air and light the dark pond.

for sebastian, my dear nephew, who has ten years in him today, who loves amphibians and reptiles. frog love to you mon ami.

my friend dolly says she's inspired to do a blog but she can't imagine doing it in public. i sometimes feel acute embarrassment but then i do that anyway, i always felt inside out. i rather feel the blog hides me. even in revelations. she writes in public and orates which i could never do. this has nothing to do with watching a dog watching frogs, but then in a way nothing has to do with anything, hence everything with everything.

copper was rapt, and the frogs were so full of courting they didn't mind the audience or perhaps were thus inspired. 

it's been so rare to see these lovely creatures, and to hear their bass song thrills my spine to my amygdala, i think.

so long darlings.

green lung so valued so needed. i know how precious these bits of life are, how we need the help for our lungs and spirits. how much degradation of the environment, of the animal, the human web, how lost we are as a species, how close salvation might lie, while we celebrate independence day with giant fences and obnoxious music and bombs, how fierce our independence kills our spirit, occupies the world, ransoms freedom. 

the only arms 

my zen teacher

the white spider 

was shy 

in her embrace.

i been sick. i don't know how to live. i'm blindsided by it. i walk around in a daze, seeing only enough to step slowly, looking mostly down. copper wants me back. my spirit has left my body, leaving memory, raw and unyielding, a bristled fur on my lungs. stopping blogging became a negative space, a compulsion as locomotive as blogging. i missed it though. being sick and alone i've missed my life. and when i'm well it's at least more manageable. being sick and a failure is much more an onus than simple failure. let me be a healthy failure, please spiritus mundi.

out of no order,  the spiritual wilderness looks back, recognizing you.

keep finding yourself even if you can't get the whole. reality is still the realest. 

my frontal lobe on benadryl

on purpose

ruins. some of us last a long time and seem to have always been that way.

we have a mirrored memory.

stopping became as compulsive as going.

pleasure of being merely abstract

spiritual wilderness. and a ball to fetch.

the true outlaws are the governors. 

like a dog most of my memories are without words. i don't know if this is a lack or only a sometimes perceived one. for him nothing is lacking, his memory is alive.

i was going to quit. i did, but i didn't stop you see. it's pointless to go on.