wraping my head around a snake that wants to eat me

This thing is a mile long, longer more around 4000 miles, and if I’m not careful it could squeeze me. But I am no dummy, and I have thumbs. Much of the stories are not of short relevance and must be told true to the length and spirit. You have noticed perhaps that around Moab SLC the lines have been cut to you the viewer, this is of course on intentional ground. Can I give you the whole sandwich here? NO. But with occasional occasion I shall spill some milk your way about the dwellings and dishevel here.

also check the Gibber for the spilling of milk or beer now.

So it starts as the van left.

So it starts as the van left. Scraping the head on the grindstone to come up with the point. A huge soup with alphabets and nouns swirl in the cracking bowl atop my shoulders. Anything elegant? The forces inside rock me to longwalks in alleys at night. What path, what direction? I know but the mouth is being desiphered. Steps to take, bear traps everywhere. I bet they all, the ones, the bastards must have hit this. Crashed though with blind optimisim to the hands of question. How many dead are there? No way to know. Pictures, words, or audiotape? Something must be punctured and from the advice of a wise man small bites will be enjoyed. Intense with nonsence. And what about the other planets?

Tiz been a while since my last blog, to that I can only account acts of violence, bueaty, and extreme genral weirdness that took places in the desert lands. The storys are also important in detail. But to ballance book costs... Danger ground, this is my pausing of thought.

I added a train story in the "collected works".

Today this scramble amuses me, from this fastpitch nature you get the slips and dwells of inconsistent adventure. Travels and smiles, geared toward deep investigation and appreation of the quiet lives in the land. To be there with fistfulls of the dirt. The sun in the eyes of the moment. The world as big as it is in such a small place. Of course a constant level of understanding can never be maintained, but a focus can be achieved. Revered to feared, but always appreciated. The elegance of time on everything, the changes in the earth and in the seconds of interaction, a calm sea or eruptions. The photographs are my proof of time. My indentation is my proof of my own existence. How would a stone feel if it didn't ripple? And what joy it could bring. Smiles are so important. Frowns have also impact. I eat it up.

More photos are soon to be seen, as the travels bounce to a internet i can compute with.

so today is another day

Let me be clear it WILL never be known. I hope with all that i will never understand the infinite meaning. Here i am i might be getting maybe, what this was always about, but probly not. I shut up myself long enough to say...

America is all about your head and what you’ve heard. Freedom… that word has more points than a loly porcupine never to be heard in any woods… WE will never be a tangleable thing. Freedom exist not only in the long run but totally in the short game. The proof of time and distance is not just photography but obvious and experienced existence. How far have we traveled? What is, and WHO is this “mankidn”? This business we experience. It all makes me laugh, and I love to see people come apart when confronted by a hobo spider. Geniunity. And that’s it. Madness in every corner if we are to presew. And we are to presew.

I guess what this project is all about…. Us..a.

Someone in Portland,

a man and his buggy

sweetface lady

mushrooms at b and n and a's house

oct 4 portland prade

eyes of others many brothers
eyes of soft some stare... alike
some belong to mike
some pass on bikes
some might be obliged

the eyes of others
some hve seen thunder
some eyes can calm the skies
my eyes with hunger find...?