little bear at the little libeary. i'm eating cold leftovers. i haven't got out of bed ncept for to go to the front desk to retrieve pie left by mary sweet. the word of the day is quondam—belonging to some prior time. that gets it today, i gotta praise the word pickers. i'm trying to extricate my head from the fossilized past. don't want to get bogged in previously spent fossil fuel. funny thing is i'm not even really consciously thinking of the past (much) but it's still tweaking my thought. i finished surrender it was good. surrender is this ecosexual gathering which i could not join but can totally relate. now i'm staring kraft but slow. kraft is flying to l.a. from germany to an essay contest on the theme of whatever is, is right. that gets it now too, because what else can it be, so maybe the book is right.
i know the picture we were presented of this country is a false one, yet i'm coming around to thinking the holidays are not just a crucible of divorce and shuttling between angry residual parents and the false narratives that don't have to dominate any longer. can i let go the angst? why not? it's past! out there in the forsaken country something's coming to an end of hate and that means something's beginning of love. maybe? we can be thankful for the good things in life without celebrating conquest and occupation by the ruthless and powerful, the rich hucksters and tyrants on the take, and we can see the good things that can't be taken, the good things we're getting, we're making and giving.
the ruling class says the cure can't be worse than the plague, meaning herd immunity. it's democracy. we all gotta die sometime. this is how we do it. follow the money follow the disease.
most animals kinda hunker down in the rain. you don't see a lot of animals out frolicking. little bear started out trying to outrun the drops i think. then she gave up and looked woebegone. when we got home she ran to her bowl and i rubber her down while she ate. her spirit lifted and we played hall ball. in canada they have thanksgiving october 12. two weeks later they have a spike in infections and deaths. the first wave started with people traveling for the lunar new year. in the 1918 pandemic a wave surge of death followed thanksgiving that last til summer. millions are traveling now for the u.s. thankstealing holiday. it's a celebration of mass death, the genocide of the native people, come home for the holiday, it may be your last, come home, for life is short anyway, come for the long home holiday.
happy thankstealing, little bear, and holy short week, kid. i'll hug ya monday. don't eat too much big bird.
happy thanks giving mister. i haven't posted with you for a while and i sometimes catch my breath and feel a whoosh in my chest wondering if i'm forgetting you and then whoosh you come back and i think i was just resting with you sleeping beside me but down deep and you know i can never ever forget you even if i lose my memory.
i was talking to my beloved librarian and she said she's scared and staying home, and i said me too. but the grim colonial holiday tradition of disease-borne death continues. did you see all those souls gathered at the airport and the supermarket? i got four books, little eyes, from the back room, so i don't want to get in a malaise over the exploding empire. i'm gonna make a sexy mount of mashed potatoes and push my face in it, wipe it finger-licking clean and read on.
