(I’d really like to live inside you, baby)

A single image, giving me hope.

I’ll write it. Maybe I’ll tell it here too; let us blow the cruft out first.

***

The weather fever tried really hard to break of a holy Sunday night. Right up to the edge of it, things were dependably five degrees hotter than they had predicted and then it felt ten degrees worse than that.

The brink of disaster murmuring.

But it did rain finally and for real.

I drove out in it, supposedly to get another bag of obscene berries, but really just to get the rust and dust off the windshield.

Inside, it stays 60 threatening to be lower all winter and 80 threatening to be higher all summer, and so I consider how to bridge the ten degrees in either direction. Cheaply. In some more or less ancestrally appropriate way.

Moving to Argenta. The techs to heat and cool just the sleepy space.

All of that. Yap yap.

***

Driving around with the radio on, I heard a very well-informed source say that at a certain point a few years ago, in urban Minnesota, 37 percent of the homeless were veterans.

I die a little inside whenever one of us pays lip service to their service, and of course when one of us goes off on how lazy and mentally ill ‘they’ all are.

I don’t like your fashion business mister
And I don’t like these drugs that keep you thin
I don’t like what happened to my sister
First we take Manhattan …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

You knew the Mickey Dolenz, drummer, from the fake music group on the TV.

Here he is as a liony tyke, long before you knew.

And here, as an old old man, last surviving Monkee, long after you stopped caring.

I get what you’re trying to do with it, Billy, and it’s not a bad thing, but I do doubt that it is a truly useful thing, even so.

So no, I won’t watch the Tom Morello one. Instead i’ll rage against the creeping meatball my own way.

And watch Trinki purposefully, alternatively.

***

Coming to the end I see now why peddling the image at you would be counterProdoos.

You’ll have to trust me

or you won’t

In the end it’s not going to matter either way, which isn’t the same Necessarily as preaching that Nothing Ever will.