genocide joe pardons hunter and turkeys and leaves leonard peltier to die in jail. i remember a protest for freeing leonard peltier in carbondale, 1978. the state terrorists are still in power in 2024.

thanks, sarah kendzior, for the truckstop paytriots.
 

the cast may change, but the show goes on.
it's the fascists and the oligarchs show. it's not ours.

 

i was tired of the empire a long, long time ago.

 

 i get a little sad after the cranes pass. i keep looking for more. the cat waking me before dawn leaves me tired. when i'm tired i get a little sad. it's so cold. my back's a little stiff. i think of what other fellow creatures are going through. i know i'm lucky. i'm reading about our disconnection from nature. it's like planned obsolescence writ large. it could be worse, it's true. i'm being here now, but we're getting to the point of no return. 

twelve one twenty twenty four: a fish for olive.

 

 last night just before sleep olive was on the windowsill and then suddenly by the dresser pacing back and forth looking up. i said she's gonna jump and she jumped, landing in the tiny space between my book stack, tray of crystals, and the monster poinsettia from astrida we didn't know where to put safe from olive's curiosity, and nimbly turning around, looking up, looking down. the camera was fuzzy as if in disbelief like my eyes. we put the giant flower, poison for cats, which i had joked might give me nightmares, into the kitchen, and closed the swinging door. the kid woke me at 4:40. i shooed her away but got up at 5:30 to feed her. sorry doug, it was my stomach, that's all, it could be worse. yeah, that's one thing r. taught me. and cats.