if we could.

The boy steadied his breathing and told himself firmly, "You are not afraid of this. This is just a human heart, that's all. Just like in the encyclopedia. Everybody has one of these. I have one."

WUBC, p. 420

i knew i was in for a good week when one of my small ones asked me, "do you want to enter a time and space portal?"

(child, kicking each thistle plant as he walks by)
you're no good at soccer.
you're no good at soccer.
you're no good at soccer, you don't even have hands, you couldn't even be goalie.

why did the chicken cross the road?
because he got ranned over.

why did the chicken cross the road?
to fart.

why did the apple cross the road?
applesauce.

knock-knock.
who's there?
banana.
banana who?
aren't you glad i didn't say banana?

knock-knock.
who's there?
boo hoo.
boo hoo who?
you're crying.

knock-knock.
who's there?
andrea.
andrea who?
don't you know yourself?
why would i be knocking at the door and answering the door?
i don't know.

knock-knock.
who's there?
andrea.
andrea who?
andrea rabbit head.

these children are not afraid to hold hands.

one little sweet babe squeezed my hand twice, and whispered "robin!"

and, walking up the switchbacks this morning, we came upon a rattlesnake. he was just off the trail. i wanted everyone to get a chance to look at him.
i thought we were done when i heard little sweet babe crying. i asked her if she was afraid of the rattler.
"no," she whimpered, "i didn't get to see the snake."

i keep referring to the "kids" as "people".

we all know that children don't become people til late in their fourteenth year. we all know it, except me.

no apologies.

allow me to nerd out.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!NESTCAMS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this one i remember.

saturday night, sleeping on a slab of slickrock hanging over fish creek, i dreamt i was sleeping under a blanket made of tufted evening primrose. beth says i startled her when i thought it was floating away.

i'm ok with my decay.

i quit. then i didn't.

but i might again.

in love with this song.

so our end of mabey drive is torn up. i'm living the american dream on a phreeking cul-de-sac.

two days ago, when the street got ripped apart and large machinery started to appear and orange safety signs materialized, etc, it was a beautiful day. i got home from work, drank iced mate and laid on the grass with my guitar and z-flavor. i watched as drivers ignored the road closed sign, tried to power through, and were forced to turn around. if i caught the driver's eye, i couldn't help but laugh.

well, joke's on me. and z. the czar has a weird thing for large machinery. just as beth and i were about to leave on a sunset bike ride, cub cub rubbed his face on the greasiest, narstiest tractor bits. and then he proceeded to let his tail join in the la brea fun.

some people get angry when it rains just days after washing their car. i get annoyed when the chug rubs on tractor tar just days after a bath. who bathes their kitten two times in one week?

and now, shivery kitten, still wet, huddles on my lap. poor fing.

the quiet.

sometimes things should speak for themselves.

the attention economy.

interdisciplinarity. made up, but i'm using it.

funny how when it gets dark you can't see out the windows. only dark reflections.

these glass rooms with kids studying, writing on the glass with markers, so intently.

give me litany or give me death.

michel foucault: a good looking human. archetypal, almost.

yes, i do see you checking yourself out in the reflection.

that stegner quote is bullshit. only being in the desert cures desert desire.

the waitress from indochine, who remembered everything perfectly without writing a word.

times like these, i'd like to be with my guitar.

how the hell did 552 fotos of me end up on phacebook? i have no privacy, and it's my fault.




sometimes the attention lapses into a catatonic informational philandering while one does one's homework in the library.

blood and dust.

i have to fill my tank today, or i will run out of gas the next time i drive.

(and i don't want to live through another "running out of gas" incident. always ridiculously embarassing.)

so here's the problem:

i started working at red butte garden (which is my new boyfriend by the way. i love it/him very much) and i haven't figured out the bus schedule/shuttle schedule/etc yet. so i've been driving. the fatty. fatty fatkins. and though he is a kind and reliable friend, i don't love driving him.

i miss my little walk to the bus stop. i miss seeing my favorite tree on 27th south. i miss my little friends, who wear rain bonnets and say HELLO so very loudly, who discuss the weather with me. i miss zoning out and staring out the window for approximately 15 minutes each way.

absence makes the heart frown, sometimes imperceptibly. i need to figure this out.

but this is a list you want to kiss.

in the garden yesterday.

a pair of red-tailed hawks
a pair of woodpeckers (hairy maybe, but maybe i don't know)
a pair of canada geese (courtship dance and mating included!)
a flocklet of ruby-crowned kinglets
a pair of quail (not california quail, but some big fat quail, maybe chuckar)

i wish i knew birds.

there will be no pictures of you and willie mays pushing that shopping cart

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised- Gil Scott Heron
Uploaded by larsen42. - Explore more music videos.

i am ready

for a barefoot summer.

the takeaways.

i have a crush on 65 year old woman who is deeply enthusiastic about geomorphology.

pleistocene rewilding is not a figment of my imagination and the nine-banded armadillo is a proposed species of the project.

sandbar willow has another name: coyote willow.

and finally, i don't know about this blog.

silence.

play a little.

thermals.

http://mrdoob.com/projects/harmony/#shaded


reading old blog posts. funny how things change.

date the landscape.

i'm pretty exhausted, but i think the exhaustion comes from returning.

i could stay out another week.

and now i'm pharting around on phacebook.

let's take and informal vote: should i go back to the desert in one week or two weeks, or bolth.

overhead.

The White Mountain (extended) from charles on Vimeo.

i'll take three earths, please.

my eco footprint

So Thoreau.

Better if they had been born in the open pasture and suckled by a wolf, that they might have seen with clearer eyes what field they were called to labour in.