the ides of July

I am fond of my world. 

I don't think about it often- smug git, why would I?- but I still abstractly remember how fucking miserable I was 10 years ago. Summer of 2005 I was clattering through a horrible marriage in a godawful isolated dead-grassed place and feeling like I had no options and didn't deserve any if I did. I contemplate that era as though it happened to someone else, a thuddingly dreary story I'm merely familiar with. 

my "appreciation" of the seemingly inane may come across as, well, seemingly inane, but it is well-fucking-clawed for. 

so like this, today. this is how I live now. 

space-age artichokes! 

anomalies on yet another houseplant. I forget what this is, but it seems quite content here. 

"fries with eyes." the menu's wit, not mine. what else could they be? smelt who felt? fish in a dish, if you wish?

abstractly lit at Revolver. 

another filter of the toilet-portal. the Schneider-perv who fixed the seal was cheerily brusque about the whole thing. "ah, it's just a toilet!" he said several times. I bleached the fuck out of my bathtub after he left.

another filter, 16th & Olive. twice I have lived within one block of this corner.

the belligerence over the "gentrifuckation" of this fine berg was one of my catalysts for fleeing to Alaska- which is many things, but not (though I felt like it, at times and in places, really kinda wanted to be) particularly gentrified. but now, and I've undoubtedly pontificated about it before, I'm like fucking lighten up and just deal with it, ya twerps. this is a great sign, though. 

also, I can say all these things because I inexplicably have a great deal on a great place and I live the ideal Urban Life, and I know it. 

in proof: the Ideal Urban Life, 13:22 PST 15 July 2015. have you had an ass in your face today? 

"it seemed strange to be out. it seemed strange to be able to walk in any direction I pleased." Bukowski