
foggy hilltop:
something moves,
striped by trunks.

foggy hilltop:
something moves,
striped by trunks.


a cloud shadow
dragged over the hill
like a blanket.

nothing moves
on a Summer day,
but sneaky clouds.



Lucky Devils: The True Story of Three Rebel Gamblers Who Beat the Odds and Changed the Game by Kit ChellelDefinitely not. There are – literally – robots on the streets where I am today. There were cows on the streets where I was a year ago.
I don’t find picturing the future to be a productive endeavor. A year from now the robot wave will have hit Bangalore and cattle in the streets may be a fixture of Atlanta (because raising one’s own cow will be the only way to afford beef.) [Not to mention, there’s a significant chance that I’ll be in neither of those places.]



Shopping for crazy. I’ve become aware that – during some time periods, it’s mandated that there be one bat-shit insane person per subway car — and that, if there are more than that, they need to spread out evenly and give the stage to one among them — a Car Crazy Champion, if you will. After riding in a car with a urine-drenched crack addict who paced the length of the car eating (and sloshing) some pungent food from a Styrofoam container, I realized I should have been in the next car with the very nicely dressed and clean-cut man in what seemed to be a self-created and self-imposed uniform reading aloud from the Bible. I no longer concern myself with what car gets me closest to the appropriate exit, rather I shop around for the least objectionable crazy.

sunlit garden
to distant mountains —
every shade of green.