guns are not the problem six

the major problem with children and Bloggers is the hubristic belief that everything you see, say, take a picture of is somehow interesting or brilliant, when it's not, sometimes it's all just mundane life with average views, and no real audience~
i'd like to have a room in my house one day which is composed entirely of pictures of sky

green pillowy fence wall, i feel underwater swim toward my feet and surface, wire barred

construction free standing sculpture

Seattle University has an Observatory on the roof, wild, are they looking for Yahweh

this is the reflecting pond where i witnessed DW drowning squirrels, as in some anti~baptismal

back in the early days of the automobile and Pike street, all the car dealers built buildings like this, fire proof and they could drive cars up to the roof or down to the basements, those a 2 x 6's nailed together to form roof and ceiling~ when this part of the world was filthy with trees and lumber and wide clear rivers to float 'em down

this is what the future of Seattle looks like, light rail, empty~ condo/apartments, empty~ bars, full ~

my zine in the local book section at BootyLand, where Mee-Mee sells dolls and hats and such stuff that she sews, there is a pretty good kids art show hanging this month~

really sweet black world

and a little lily pad abstraction~ or frogs exploding ?

i ran into these little cuties riding bikes to town on the last day we will ever see the sunshine

this is what New Seattle will look like~ not much different really than~

old Seattle, everyone needs to accept the fact that the city is reaching out to these little neighborhood ~ embrace it

this little Laurel path leads to a junk strewn cottage, set back way off the street, where bad things seem to happen and some old guy lives on the porch, he's been locked out for years, he's looking for his keys, and knocks on the door, i've tried to take pictures before, but he is always standing there glaring at me, surrounded by his outdoor closet/ trash heap~ inside i imagine the old guys or ladies eating potato chips with the tv so loud the windows rattle~ nobody trims the Laurels here, and i am afraid

this is how a little guy ~who is a monster~ eats his apples

presses his teeth into them and throws them onto the floor~ huge food waster

~ once upon a time when i was a crazed wild animal living in an uncaged city with cousins and Friends who glowed in the dark and exploded for breakfast, behind perfectly handsome uniforms~ lived in bars and cars and apartments and we'd travel in packs with girls we knew and didn't know and stumble into topless bars at four in the mornings purple glimmer and ten of us, twenty of us, piling in, beautiful, guests from out of town, Daniel from London and Mary from LA people friends had said should call you and they would ~
and we'd end up at Montero's or billy's topless, or driving across bridges to Long Island City to sleep after sitting on floors all night~gone~
drive to the ocean to eat doughnuts and throw rocks at the waves~
we are all standing around a crowded bar and People are begging me for cash~ to give to strippers and there's a seat open and we all sit and watch the show and some huge mutha' walks up to me and your fucking in my seat, and i look around and laugh, it was empty
and get the hell up he tells me and i stand and in his face laugh and Hugh jumps between us and there's this whole drama of bouncers and pushing and shoving and we all end up outside of this shit hole and this big mutha' is still giving me shit~ when he opens a brief case and pulls out an UZI or some Mac 10 and points it at me and i see two things Daniel dive to the ground and roll under a car and Hugh stepping in front of the gun and saying, Please shoot me, please ~
and a hundred cops jump on top of everybody and we all have a dogpile, giggling
and dust our cloths off and head up the streets looking for parties to crash, things to break, people to tease, food to eat ~ things to die for in the eighties~


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