Recent 🏚️

Probably a gnat.

Thanks, Shannon. besides adoration for this work on paper, finally my artist's statement has a concrete purpose ;o)

Received the night before, upset, Id been reading hate letters; how Id tried concealing messages from Louise who, regardless, learned my business no matter whose report arrived to resource.

So far out in the road, jumbled by train carts, how she had read me I couldnt say.

Signing Louise through a sun cuffed fabric, "Marshall taught not to send addresses," Id said. "Especially ones deprived of names marked for mountain house."

Bunched into the curbside, her invisible shelter exposed, I was unable to read from middle of the road.

staying Standard like AZ &tc

How could I know who was killed or who was conditional on radar?

An all-black bird perched on the arm of a powerline. The view is from below, with the bird's tail to the right and its head turned to the right. The massive black beak is what stands out most to me. Its head feathers are slightly ruffled by the breeze. The sky behind is a uniform pale blue.

A common raven (Corvus corax) on a powerline in the Caja del Rio area west of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Photo taken on February 16, 2026.

#nature #naturephotography #birds

It's ok to rest 🤍

Some unwieldily status transference refiling security deposits; unnamed, unmarked character caches hidden in shrouds and carried, like me, by the undead bloodeds.

Retail profit divisions reported a caliche box trader, a criminal reregistration.

Louise instructed, so I keyed-in the code; my disguise unsteadied in proximity violations.

Steel Bridge, right on ;0)

As Louise listened for signal and symbol, a ghost page jabbed onto a clip—common, unspecific words: finishing or fishing or closed out.

Id tramped down the undergird of a train cart, quacking traffic sounds, diverting my screen, beaming numbers away in check back to resource.

Indifferent city bell tonight, reaching forest station independent sleep, four quadrants contraband paper nestled to my palm.

Hidden by marks at Stock Still, my city block mined in fire, Id paid Avenue without a drink, a dreary withdrawal returning me to signal.

Before Id passed, a warning from Marshall: better prearranged endings than hunting the dark.

Everything’s a scam, a gamble, a fake, a posture, a shakedown. It’s disgusting. I’ll be a loser — a misser-out-on-“opportunities” — in this world, and I’m absolutely fine with that.

at some point, I had stopped reading all about it... and started writing "fiction" all about it

Instead of a steel beam, piecing combinations, Id supposed, fashioned into a garrote built onto the center stage.

Veering away from the road, the crowd mystified by Louise, I reinstated my cloak.

Struck cymbals closeup.

Burnt lightning to taste.

"In the end, it's your fault," Louise wanted to joke. "Always the smallest parts desirous more time."

As sleep, losing spinal fluid, I gelled into my bone trying to wake up.

In turns of words, Id nodded sign and semitone clicking from a place where Louise could watch how I moved toward the road in answering her call.

"Gut's alive," Louise whispered. "What's living on your brain?"

Id coughed my last pint behind the alleyway dumpster.