thru sunglasses darkly 

and the windows of heaven opened 

bird & clouds in Sparks, Nevada 

I hadn't planned to bring my computer out west but Beth reminded me that I would need to download pics. I think between memory card and internal memory I can get about 180 pix at a time, a mere pittance. so the computer comes along. and if there si internet access, I may just give that a try, reporting live from the road. we'll be literally on the road much of the time, so I won't be using the computer much. try not to miss me too much.

circs beyond my control prevented me from witnessing any of the Wichita Baptist Church protests. I am kind of down on counter demonstrations, when it comes to the battle of clever placards. even if they refuse an intelligent engagement does not mean you should. I just wanted to see them in their day. I know these people are crazy, but they sure are organized, savvy, well-funded. and confused and hateful. all of which are powerful elements to deal with.

more green 

geranium 

I probably don't know what Tim means by dramatic-monologue-in-advance. I realize there's an if there, so I can misread to my hearts content. I got to thinking of how so MUCH of what I've written in my life was done with no consideration of what it (the writing) was doing. I'm thinking of what I wrote in school, even elementary school: essays, poems, test answers, stories: whatever I was told to write. the diffrence between what I thought I meant, and what the words ended up doing. this is a developmental thing, I know, part of the critter entering the world. at 16 I took the initiative to write what I wanted, even to say poetry. well, I wrote what was present for me to write, big difference: "he wants to say something but is saying it anyhow". gradually I saw that my writing wasn't what I thought. the thing in my head, amorphopus but somehow powerful, was not necessarily what found its way onto the paper. was never so, frankly. so I started rewriting. also considering what the matter of poetry was. that's a hard question, of course. my 10 year old friend Isaac understands his writing as 'art', as some integrative process. he has that consideration when he writes and draws, but he doesn't rewrite. essentially, he doesn't read his work, he still sees on the page what his mind saw in the writing glimpse. wow, I'm writing a confused here, but maybe I'll hit on a glint. my mission, then, is trying to shorten the distance between what I thought (my own writing glimpse) and what makes it to the page (or whatever medium). I'm sure you're trying to do the same. ever since I became aware as a writer that someone on the other end might respond, I assumed a you. readers of my work will see a frequent use of 1st person plural. it doesn't feel like a dialogue, nor solioguy, nor monologue. it feels, to me, however much I delude myself, as an act of sharing. but of course I flub that a lot.

For Tim: Yes yes New Man in the American cell, points gadget at act. Act is vital at the time of words over cooling lava pits, one favourite way of stopping. My ownership wasn't pricked by thorns only for the forested continents of getting. On this we can agree, each in stance, yet requiring has a habit. A lip service that doesn't die like some people die has been condition for our response. We're working on ways to agree without a lot of plight. Plight makes plot. when we follow those literate lines, we discover the book ends suddenly.

grandma called out, but the bogeys were intent 

here's what I say. I say you go back to your Imperial Space Lord and say that Earth does NOT accept these terms. Earth and all Earthlings will NEVER accept these terms!!!