12:58-1:08

i dont want to talk about the mundane things. i want to talk about what it is in flowers that makes some of them smell sweet and how that is connected to honey. but all i have are questions. no info. the pressure for constant rhythm. get rhythm. I've got rhythm. show tunes. follow me. judy garland down the yellow brick road. a musical based on a book about the gold standard. creativity. god bless creativity. holy water and all. bears. i live in the bear valley. in the western part of marin county, california, usa. i live in a town of 54. the post office is in the camp ground. i live in a 200 square foot trailer. no shit. conservation of space. out side my door is the big wide open expanse of nature. and cool breezes. but magical california sunlight bathing everything in shimmers, just like in the moves. its the west coast seduction. the south may have soul but the west coast corners the market on light of the sun. in part because the warmth of the light is a welcome addition to the day, not something to hide from or sizzle in or blow around. it could be better. constant judgement. standards. guarantees. sliding scales. quantities of measurement. its not going quick enough, this expanse of time. prefer to pass time than spend it. grown up goggles on. children. who are they? creatures of play and imagination, foreign in my life. needy nose drippers. absent from my life. but they all fall, don't they. trusting the place. i was never much into saying grace, but my grandfather was and that's cooler in retrospect than it was in living. a pause before ingesting to bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies. nourishment said in the way only a man of my grandfathers place could pronounce. the r getting tangled, gnarled slightly in his dentured mouth, almost caught up like a word of foreign tongue, but meeting his table regularly. he grew vegetables till just about the end. then he got too old to live alone but he did anyway and that is depressing.