The World Is in Pieces. We Must Not Say So

Sunrise, 7:35 AM this morning from backporch of the house we rent for this week

Been using ancient technologies of ink and paper while L paints on our hikes, working on language to paraphrase once fucking again how crackers will never uncracker and christers never unchrist and people, smart people, still don't comprehend the danger they and their loved ones are in (much less understand that it's too fucking late anyway) 

One sentence I wrote yesterday in tablet echoed in this article I see this morning, will *any* GOP candidate concede defeat in the midterms two weeks from today? (103.5 FM in Washington DC the traffic/weather on the eights station, here in Michigan it's the White Christian Nationalist station, hear it when changing Bandcamp albums, between hourly National Anthems and hideous Christian rock the station hocks oz-like miracle products attuned to God's plan for your body followed by declarations that America will be a Christian nation or no nation at all.) More later in notebook, more here or not or not or more

The leaves are peaking though slightly diminished by drought, finishing up all 36 miles of the Waterloo-Pinckney Trail, when you're here, park at North Lyndon Township Park on North Territorial Road and hike north on trail toward Embury Road, the best two miles of the 29 we've hiked

Agency is a genuine natural phenomenon
A provocative history of indigenous America
Empty time				Ethnic studies
What are you rehearsing in your dreams?
Minimum political conversation in the foursome I was in at Ella Sharp Park Disc Golf Course doubles in Jackson yesterday, rest assured Big Phil will die fighting before he lives in a country run by communists and faggots
Free agent beaver				What does a fish know?
Yes, I understand I need to scream as much if not more about motherfucking Democrats full participation in the crackerization of America than about motherfucking crackers themselves
Percival Everett interview!						Love, Loosha
I did ask my partner Ted (we finished 5th out of 14 teams) if he really believed people were handing out disguised fentanyl candy for Halloween and he laughed and said no but that his parents do
New Andy Partridge article/interview
Horse Lords interview / new album!
Listening to the new Bill Callahan and new Archers of Loaf on drives to and from hikes and disc golf (I hit the chains of Ella Sharp Park's hole 8 yesterday, closest first ace ever, there were witnesses had ace stayed in basket), the Callahan more than meh but less than wow, the Archers of Loaf? Wow

SIX NOTES

David Baker

Come down to us. Come down with your song,
little wren. The world is in pieces.

We must not say so. In the dark hours,
in the nearest branches, I hear you thrum—
....

The deer come to die beside the creek.
Mud the color of walnut stain. Reek and

runoff from the new development, there,
beyond the woods. Rib and skull. No jawbone—
....

It makes a soundless scream. I hope for peace
when I walk here sometimes in the dark.

If not peace, clarity. If not clarity,
at least a place to breathe. Else I’ll scream, too—
....

Come down, little dove, far above the bay.
I hear you in a thirsty palm or up

beyond the rocks. A windy reed of song.
Blue sun, blue cloud above the sweeping bay—
....

Sometimes we have to say so. I don’t know how.
A man, a boy, an anger with no tongue

took his automatic rifle to school today.
The report we hear, discharge, echo—
....

is the sound of sorrow, reloading.
No matter where we walk, we hear it call.

Little wing, little creek, little bay, dark hour.
Come down with your beaks of morning and blood—