one little dream, no matter how small, how wild.


                                                                                  -charlotte mew

in these times of great sweeping loss, of nature and animals, of green space, of devastated people in starved migration, in these times of state mandated terror, the plummeting loss of control of our institutions, our civilizations, and the planet spinning wildly with our machinations, this tragic global loss of our lives, in these times art must be about this waste
of life, this tragedy of control and loss, too.  
in these times we must be, we must find solace in what is being lost.

i get a little sad feeling, a little mad feeling too, when my camera goes blurry, but what if 
this sadness and madness and loss of control is artful? what if it's following the weather 
and my mood, what if my camera is an instrument of sad beauty strumming silently with clicks like a blues guitar?

when i do the numma-nummas he gets happy and runs.

good job, mister! aye-yi-yi yi! numma-numma-numma, you is soul cute, mister boys. 
but why is is doggone muffugin camera so blurry! dognabbit!

she knows where the bones and flowers and fountains are.

we put a city over the wetlands, put a highway and assfault paths. we dump the concrete refuse of the city at the edge to shore up the tide. and the tide pushes back. every place we try to limit or stop nature is now our troubled land. everything we throw away comes back.