the trees are dying early this year: the rotted, decaying leaves have fallen in yards all over the neighbourhood and patty wants to know why. the heat? global warming? i don't know, nothing seems to be capable of making much sense anymore.

i don't necessarily pride myself for it, but for the past couple of years i've been known for my hyper-awareness of political doings and world events, categories which have been completely fucked even more than usual lately. there's never solace there so much as there is a rage that kills and fuels hope at the same time, but now the rage manages to block out hope entirely.

i mean, what the fuck is wrong with people?

so i guess there's a level of apathy in me now for it all. climate destruction, heat waves, trees around here: maybe the israelis did it!, that kid who fought off the gator down south somewhere: it's all blending together into a hostile outer world, pushing me more and more within and forcing me to see how little is actually there. so i keep thinking, reading but not writing, because the words won't come when it's summer or when i am alone. now both of those conditions are in full effect.

so what happens next? i wait a month or so and then everything starts making some sense. during the interim, hey, maybe i'll see another movie or two, next sunday sounds like it'll be fun, other times maybe i'll drive around to the usual expected destinations and waypoints listening to whatever music suits me at the moment. it's just that it's all been done before and i was looking for something different. i suppose i'll have to wait for that, as i've always waited. maybe nothing is actually different, it may all be shades of the same thing, whatever life is, some shades more pleasant than others, but essentially similar-- close enough that sometimes the good and bad can reach out and feel each other's dimensions, like that stab of "this must pass" you sometimes feel during one of life's better moments.

currents and moments of being, sweet and bitter, timeless and transitory: fading memories of what just happened, vivid recollections of the distant past. a room full of people for just one night talking about how much better they used to have it, how life's splendour came and went and they're not at all resentful because they had their moment and perhaps another will come before long, unbidden, because wonderful things rarely come strolling down the walkway when we keep close watch with high-strung anticipation. memories of the good times as what they were when they were happening instead of what they represent now, fading relics of "those were the days," a sense of blessedness for knowing that at one point something went right instead of a dark room in extreme stages of hot or cold where you stare at a wall and will your very skin to again feel the now-diluted sensation of the last time you were touched.

i don't know what i'm saying or how to end this, but actually, on second thought some things, most things, are pretty okay. perspective, sometimes a heartless individualism to maintain sanity, like we talked about the other day. only for a moment, while you need it. it only gets better from here.