this week i

saw modern symrna, kissing under calderesque sculpture, literature festival at the culture park.  i drew cobwebbed volumes of past, present, future

sometimes write in italics, it's my heritage after all 🀌 with a time machine, i'd detour harambe's bullet for hitler, recruit luddites to smash the llms

like cain and abel, caesar and brutus, jesus and judas, backstabbers do this -lauryn hill

mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb, bebopareebop rhubarb pie -garrison keillor

and there sat sam looking cool and calm in the heart of the furnace roar -robert service

i must obey the inscrutable exhortations of my soul -bill watterson

doctors managed to reset her jaw more or less.  saved one of her eyes.  his pulse never got above 85, even when he ate her tongue  -anthony heald

why horace vandergelder, as i live and breathe, if you aren't handsome in that outfit -barbara streisand

you have nothing, nothing to threaten me with -heath ledger

the sport of the cowboy a pastime divine / for what other rancher can herd the feline -me stessa


re-dreamed dali's pomegranate bee as eaten by pitch (and it's a yo-yo), detroit or delhi.  then glitter beetles, usb-powered flower, unwaving cat


combined orange countdown clock, orange vertigo, fifteen minutes of famethe peasants . . . just got left behind by the changing technology


worry more of entrusting incompetent artificial intelligence to critical tasks than about its domination of we who know better.  saviano an i.p. lawyer now, chomsky calls it the banality of evil: plagiarism and apathy and obviation.  hear me, barons in your fortalezas (i believe that's portuguese for little farts): heed the vhs fbi warning, and cite your sources!  otherwise you're more parasitic than any retail thief.  why not rebuild babel instead?


predict exoduses, but to where?  will any river delta survive sea level rise?  bengal becomes atlantis, dhaka loses its ending vowel.  are miami & venice our sodom & gomorrah?  are we in the period of late modernity?  would the baptism of lucifer boil away these seven seas?  not great wall but there is one man-made monument visible from the moon: one century of earthrise, how many more till it's that orange you smiling corporate logo?


theorize conspiracy: oligarchs care not of space, they seed the science of survival not to populate multi-planetary terrain, merely to shepherd doomsday dromedary through needle eye of ecological collapse.  billionaires fund hostile environments habitation research not for mars but for earth

read the uninhabitable earth by david wallace-wells

the public does not appreciate the scale of climate risk..we have not spent enough time contemplating the scarier half of the distribution curve of possibilities

the great ice sheets of greenland and antarctica

most people talk as if miami and bangladesh still have a chance of surviving; most of the scientists i spoke with assume we'll lose them within the century, even if we stop burning fossil fuel in the next decade.  peter ward told me bangladesh is "doomed": "the worst place on earth has to be bangladesh"

where are those people going to go?

you probably read in your high-school textbooks that these extinctions were the result of asteroids.  in fact, all but the one that killed the dinosaurs were caused by climate change produced by greenhouse gas

the current rate of increase in global warming is roughly the same as detonating 400,000 hiroshima bombs per day, 365 days per year

heat stress in new york city would exceed that of present-day bahrain

the hajj will become physically impossible

in the sugarcane region of el salvador, as much as one-fifth of the population has chronic kidney disease, including over a quarter of men; the presumed result of dehydration from working the fields they were able to comfortably harvest as recently as two decades ago

the basic rule for staple cereal crops grown at optimal temperature is that for every degree of warming, yields decline by 10 percent

ice a climate ledger

left out like egg salad in the arctic sun

global warming will scramble..ecosystems and help disease trespass..limits as surely as cortes did

our lungs need oxygen, but that is only a fraction of what we breathe.  the fraction of carbon dioxide is growing: it just crossed 400 parts per million, and high-end estimates extrapolating from current trends suggest it will hit 1,000 ppm by 2010.  at that concentration, compared to the air we breathe now, human cognitive ability declines by 21 percent

the amazon alone provides 20 percent of our oxygen

the chinese "airpocalypse" of 2013..that year, smog was responsible for a third of all deaths in the country

in romeo and juliet..'we should go inside.  it's hot out.  we're gonna get pissed off and things are gonna go badly'

west antarctic collapses..drop a ceramic coffee cup on the floor.  do we understand fracture?  sure.  can you accurately predict what one coffee cup will do when you drop it on the floor?  maybe not

our present eerieness cannot last

'where were you when the berlin wall fell?' or 'where were you on 9/11?'" he writes.  "will it ever be possible to ask, in the same vein,'where were you at 400 ppm?' or 'where were you when the larsen b ice shelf broke up?'

climate anxiety

hail rocks will quadruple in size

what the victorian anthropologists identified as "dreamtime," or "everywhen" out-of-time past, when ancestors, heroes, and demigods crowded an epic stage.  you can find it already watching footage of an iceberg collapsing into the sea - a feeling of history happening all at once

the industrial world's kamikaze mission 


this week i

visited hawk conservancy trust for nature's air displays, parliament of owls, unclear ethics of pedestal-chained peregrines.  give that bird half a cow


declined urination invitation a la who's next cover art, accepted central branch lower-level maritime room historian's microfiche search of that century + a dozen years ago catastrophe.  (borges in my pantheon for his belief that paradise a library.)  these flowers on this tree, they face me?


deify ancestors: our own stubborn effort, says beneatha. does your heart balance a feather? quetzalcoatl weather vanes prompt my prosthetic smile


illustrated a quote below.  pardon me madame, you seem to have dropped your microphone.  one pair unlike others: πŸˆπŸ† / πŸŽ€πŸ’§ / 🦸🎳 / πŸ€©πŸ¦‰


read never let me go by kazuo ishiguro.  euphemisms between sentient lambs before slaughter, lies as large as louis the way you sing off key to ella

someone cleaned a toilet with his toothbrush so it was waiting for him with shit all over the bristles

we often had our most intimate conversations lying in the dark before we fell asleep

if you wanted to praise someone's work, you'd say: "that's good enough for the gallery"

people out there, like madame, who don't hate you or wish you any harm, but who nevertheless shudder at the very thought of you - of how you were brought into this world and why - and who dread the idea of your hand brushing against theirs.  the first time you glimpse yourself through the eyes of a person like that, it's a cold moment.  it's like walking past a mirror you've walked past every day of your life, and suddenly it shows you something else

i don't know how it was where you were, but at hailsham the guardians were really strict about smoking

if we were keen to avoid certain topics, it was probably more because it embarrassed us

 soldiers in world war two being kept in prison camps.  one of the boys asked if the fences around the camps had been electrified, and then someone else had said how strange it must have been, living in a place like that, where you could commit suicide any time you liked just by touching a fence.  this might have been intended as a serious point, but the rest of us thought it pretty funny.  we were all laughing and talking at once, and then laura - typical of her - got up on her seat and did a hysterical impersonation of someone reaching out and getting electrocuted.  for a moment things got riotous, with everyone shouting and mimicking touching electric fences

none of you will go to america, none of you will be film stars.  and none of you will be working in supermarkets..before you're old, before you're even middle-aged, you'll start to donate your vital organs

the sex lectures..once, she brought in a life-size skeleton from the biology class to demonstrate how it was done.  we watched in complete astonishment as she put the skeleton through various contortions

i still feel bad about it

your place in the wider world

so many of their mannerisms were copied from the television

the blankets often weren't even blankets, but a really odd assortment - old curtains, even bits of carpet.  sometimes it got so cold you just had to pile anything you could over you, and if you were having sex at the bottom of it, it felt like a mountain of bedding was pounding at you

"are you the dynamic, go-ahead type?"

"look" with a staring eye drawn inside each "o"

we're modelled from trash.  junkies, prostitutes, winos, tramps.  convicts, maybe, just so long as they aren't psychos

norfolk..the lost corner of england

why are you looking through old porn mags for your possibles?

the natural course

i can't help picturing a swimmer taking a dive off the top only to crash into the cement

"i was pretty much ready when i became a donor.  it felt right.  after all, it's what we're supposed to be doing, isn't it?"

another flood of pain

one of those little islands of lucidity

three separate sketches of a kind of frog - except with a long tail as though a part of it had stayed a tadpole

washing her hands of everything

you've had good lives

no one will ever take from you



this week i

cycled william the conqueror's forest, noted in the great survey.  once a grizzly wolf shark, always a grizzly wolf shark.  zero verbatim results no more


ferried to cowes.  madeira manny made me bacon baguette.  i hugged left coast, ponged off needles, north at wight mouse, despacito like escargot


drew vitruvian with aerial screw. at other end of tmnt, a zoom, detail of creation of adam maybe god sprinting behind missed train? + punic war four


drew barcode unrecognized and rush hour traffic yielding to rapid response vehicle.  would john edwards be chasing them if not for rielle hunter?


read the myth of sisyphus and other essays by albert camusdelay suicide till it's regicide as well.  if i could bore you 4 6 or 7 minutes.  plus in paris

in 1940, amid the french and european disaster, this book declares that even within the limits of nihilism it is possible to find the means to proceed

the relationship between individual thought and suicide of the heart.  an act like this is prepared within the silence of the heart, as is a great work of art.  the man himself is ignorant of it

living, naturally, is never easy.  you continue making the gestures commanded by existence for many reasons, the first of which is habit.  dying voluntarily implies that you have recognized, even instinctually, the ridiculous character of that habit, the absence of any profound reason for living, the insane character of that daily agitation, and the uselessness of suffering

but one day the "why" arises and everything begins in that weariness tinged with amazement.  "begins" - this is important.  weariness comes at the end of the acts of a mechanical life, but at the same time it inaugurates the impulse of consciousness.  it awakens consciousness and provokes what follows.  what follows is the gradual return into the chain or it is the definitive awakening.  at the end of the awakening comes, in time, the consequence: suicide or recovery

during every day of an unillustrious life, time carries us.  but a moment always comes when we have to carry it

to understand is, above all, to unify

all thought is anthropomorphic

the unreasonable silence of the world

"it's absurd" means "it's impossible" but also "it's contradictory"

a total absence of hope (which has nothing to do with despair)

in this ideal world without hierarchy, the formal army is composed solely of generals

he rejects regret, that other form of hope

that other absurd individual, the traveler

a revolution is always accomplished against the gods, beginning with the revolution of prometheus

the absurd joy par excellence is creation

on a sheet of paper to be found after his death, he wants to draw a face sticking out his tongue

"man simply invented god in order not to kill himself.  that is the summary of universal history down to this moment"

nietzsche, the most famous of god's assassins

man exchanges his divinity for happiness

chiaroscuro more gripping than the light of day

sisyphus is the absurd hero

kafka's secret.  these perpetual oscillations between the natural and the extraordinary, the individual and the universal, the tragic and the everyday, the absurd and the logical

the crazy man who was fishing in a bathtub.  a doctor with ideas as to psychiatric treatments asked him "if they were biting," to which he received the harsh reply: "of course not, you fool, since this is a bathtub"

all the headlands of the coast look like a fleet about to set out.  those heavy galleons of rock and light are trembling on their keels as if they were preparing to steer for sunlit isles.  o mornings in the country of oran!  from the high plateaus the swallows plunge into huge troughs where the air is seething.  the whole coast is ready for departure

we turn our backs on nature; we are ashamed of beauty.  our wretched tragedies have a smell of the office clinging to them, and the blood that trickles from them is the color of printer's ink

we are progressing toward theocracy like those whom the greeks called barbarians..among our philosophers who is the true rival of plato.  "only the modern city," hegel dares write, "offers the mind a field in which it can become aware of itself."  we are thus living in the period of big cities.  deliberately, the world has been amputated of all that constitutes its permanence: nature, the sea, hilltops, evening meditation.  consciousness is to be found only in the streets, because history is to be found only in the streets - this is the edict.  and consequently our most significant works show the same bias.  landscapes are not to be found in great european literature since dostoevsky.  history explains neither the natural universe that existed before it nor the beauty that exists above it

nature is still there, however.  she contrasts her calm skies and her reasons with the madness of men.  until the atom too catches fire and history ends in the triumph of reason and the agony of the species

i read my age in the faces i recognized..they had been young with me and..were no longer so

when one has once had the good luck to love intensely, life is spent in trying to recapture that ardor and that illumination

sandy slopes covered with heliotropes

the era of chairbound artists is over