sweater? I hardly knew her!

...stop, unfunny wench. 

I promised myself long ago, decades ago, that I would never bitch about the heat; I shall continue to do my damnedest to uphold that vow. 

the city smells of porch barbecues and marijuana and lavender and rotting garbage and the beginnings of blackberries. it's lulling and marvelous and I feel like I'm moving through liquid.

*

weeds against the church near my house. 

13th Ave? 

looking northwest on the sinister, secretive Duwamish. 

and a 180 degree turn with no bedraggled dust bowl patina. 

I must be getting old and more unremorsefully dickish, because my first reaction when I saw this was a rather surly and vulgar one. 

I rarely take photos from the loft. trying to sleep in a loft on a hot night is as exotically tropical as you might expect! this is why I am completely awake and unexcitingly sober at nearly 2 am. and I saw the shit-cat (who has done nothing but sloth around for the past 48 hours) and thought "unfiltered entropy!" and it reminded me of "unpainted huffheims", and I wish I could just fucking quell my inanity sometimes. 

the moon's extra sexy tonight. 

*

the next day...

today, as it were. 

I accomplished very little. 

what did I do? I bought soap. I drank coffee. I ate crackers with ricotta. I washed dishes. I day-drank on a covered patio while Iggy Pop played. i danced alone in my hot apartment. I went on another long walk and saw an epic monkey tree. 

and a hydrangea so lurid I nearly winced. 

and the western sun reflected off the apartments across the street and ricocheted into my sultry lair. 

then entropy put her ass in my face. 

why should life be made endurable?

-Iris Murdoch