#uncoffeed...

Milensia Virginiensis I saw this tank with wings patrolling my tiny cottage a couple days ago, and then it was gone. And then it was back last night. I enjoy all the beasties that find their way into my home, and I enjoy putting them the fuck back outside. I've liberated many spiders, including an adorable teenage Orb Weaver, moths, a butterfly, a skink, two baby snakes and a mole. Not the ants . I thought at first it was a variety of bumblebee who'd bumbled in from the mint out front. I couldn't find a picture online of a bee like this -- but wait...shoot. I'd forgotten all about yellowjackets . One of the first things we learned as wild kids in Michigan is that bees don't want to hurt you, because they will lose their stinger and die; wasps and hornets can sting you over and over, unrepentantly. While I flipped through pictures of things that will stab me, the hovertank disappeared again. I thought maybe it had gone to bed, so I would do same. And t...

Deconstructed Crow 1 - Fibonacci (in progress) I'm making phone calls, entering data, but all the inside of my head is wings. My brain is rendering raven feathers in pencil and ink, in paint, in chalk, in actual feathers. They beat against the inner wall of my skull; beaks and claws scrape across the sphenoid. The phone rings; I pick it up. I can barely hear a voice through rustling wings, but I answer the question. It's almost lunch-time; then I'll be able to empty my head onto paper, fix down the ideas with Scotch tape. in progress Yes, I'm messy. I sleep early, wake up earlier. Put on my baja shirt to go outside , crispy-frost grass under my boots.   YES - the air is icy and clear enough to see everything: Orion, the Sisters, the Twins, the Crab, the God of War; my namesake the Scorpion hides just under the horizon. I know where he is though he can't be seen , always opposite the hunter . When I was small I used to dream of being Cassiopeia...

What did Robert Louis Stevenson write? my name (only for about .36 of a second, but it was awkward) the layout of hotels around Fisherman's Wharf in Monterey, CA the names of clouds meaning of ancillary  Chief Seattle (looked it up but promptly forgot again) what a catbird looks like where I put my owl-shaped rock how to give a fuck about my future (this one was not resolvable by internet)

I like real things, organic things. Sculpting in porcelain, digging in dirt, touching the smooth surface of a marble wall erected centuries ago. Real things break more easily than synthetics - stoneware vs. plastic - but they feel more genuine in your hands and they sound more valid when they bump up against each other. That which is contrived by human machinations feels insufficient. Sometimes you need superficiality, though, like a Band-Aid. Sometimes a bit of fake stuff is useful to hold everything together, like a trash bag. Plasticity is a term that doesn't always apply to synthetics, and it's something you would be wise to grok .  Thank you, Robert A. Heinlein . Don't be mad at yourself - it is good to be flexible. Plastic is better than stone for floating. Try not to get comfortable in it. Try to remember that you're working toward actual brick-and-mortar. Have goals. Float while you must, but aim for the shore and start collecting rocks. 

trees show wisdom in the bends, branches, fractures they do not discard. that which falls in the forest is susceptible to transformation - a free for all, up for grabs - a mere piece of wood retrieved by a boy is whittled by a pocket-knife lent by his grandfather and reborn into a measuring stick. *inspired by Peter Kidd, my best guru