triumph. ish. blue bear style.

I may see if I can upload voice recorder notes as soundtracks…

banjo practice is like a voice, isn’t it?

show details 12:13 PM (1 hour ago)

Well, my plans to train myself to stay up late are going just swimmingly. Not being so dreadfully under pressure helps IMMENSELY. Of course, there IS a great deal of new pressure that has supplanted the old exhausting pressure.

I am writing a lot – as you must imagine. Most of it self-absorbed drivel, but I try to make the syntax interesting and also introduce new vocabulary for old, tired feelings. And I say drivel for the sake of token self-deprecation. I get the irony of focusing on myself so that I can realize how small I am.

My head is filled with weights and measures. I need to flat-out learn metric. I probably know it – a casual absorption of knowledge that I rarely use. Not because I am anti-metric, but because I rarely actually measure anything with the finality of a ruler, a tape, or a scale.

Here are some ‘how – to’s’ and a draft video that is surprisingly pleasing…just found the movie-making function in the technology…

DaaDoo’s All-In-One

small triumph.

I have images for two more ‘videos’ – How to Make a Ragged Rectangle Turn Triangle and Then Square

AND How to Fix Your Turntable for a Buck…a silver dollar. Hope to add them later today…depends on whether or not the pile of green biomass moves itself.

I may see if I can upload voice recorder notes as soundtracks…

banjo practice is like a voice, isn’t it?

I stayed up ’til 3-ish. But, I don’t feel too weary. Actually more awake than I did when I slept all the damn time…when was that – a couple months ago. Pre-Simulacra and Summer Vacation.

Yeah – there is pressure, for sure. I have to be better than ever before if this is to be sustained…and that’s the thing, I WANT this to be sustained. With this I am better than

almost almostalmostalmostalmostalmostalmostalmost

I ever was; I am happier.

Perhaps I will loose my hold on these hard socially ascetic lines I have drawn lately.

It is inevitable.

I am going to, maybe, post these ‘how-to’s’ as


I love that a worn out blue bear made

in china
and a cousin to all bears

that are sentenced to hang at state fairs

I love that this bear
was a gift to my son

he was and is quite remarkably blue

(And that lady, she smoked)
(And they called her Monk and she loved with a face straight and honest)
(And I never felt out of place with her)

She saw my children as the dark-eyed ones they are and she loved them

In spite of

they were not cute in a smooth-haired way

And the bear was forgotten and

found by the girl and she loved it

though it wasn’t hers and

…it was okay because the boy: he never cared much for the bear, never saw the depth in the hard plastic eyes

Probably fastened by fingers small like his own, but quick like lightning and hunger

The bear wasn’t meant for him…

to the girl he was a first friend, and she called him DaaDoo’s and her mother loves him, too – – –

This is how DaaDoo’s will be more than he was ever intended to be. More than a toxic blue bear.

“They got bins of ’em over at the Dollar Store. I got a closet full of ’em -” Monk told me, on Preschool Graduation Night when I thanked her for the blue bear…

a little tearfully for giving my kid a half-fighting chance each tearful and screaming and strangestrange morning.

Thank You, Miss Monk. RIP.

The boy gave his old skateboard to his sister just this morning.

Small grace find us, after all.


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