Knox Bronson ~ Riding The Wild Bubble

One week out from the home invasion

Getting back to normal. Tooth fixed, nose reset. Gonna wash the dishes and polish my boots in the morning Monkey Blue is cuddled up next to me. Oxycodone kicking in, sleep approaching rapidly.

It Hurts To Look At Willie Nelson's Guitar, Trigger

He makes beautiful music with it, but it pains me to look at Willie Nelson's guitar, Trigger. Below is a video of five facts about the guitar. I just learned he uses a guitar pick. That explains the hole.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n7IKXJ9UJVA

Ringing The Doorbell & Running Away, Looking Back From Afar

The man chased us in his car around the neighborhood for a half-an-hour. We were terrified and thrilled. Looking back, I think it must have been performative on his  part. We never rang his doorbell to run away, again. Too scared.

Long Live PIXELS at an Exhibition

Bye-bye to the old site, hello to the new.

Kamala

I feel that change is in the air.

Raw Sugar Is Bullshit

I went to a Starbucks this morning for a coffee. They were out of white sugar so I went to a hipster cafe nearby. All they had was "raw" sugar packets. That shit is not sweet and is absolutely not any healthier than refined white sugar.
It's just tribal virtue signalling.

Home Evasion, Pistol-Whipped As I Slept

That's right. These assholes were trying to rob my next door neighbor in the warehouse where I live. They didn't find anything. On their way out, they kicked down the between his space and mine and they saw me. They thought I could tell them where the money and weed was. I couldn't.
I'm glad they didn't kill me. They sure threatened to.

It’s World Bee Day. Let us sing the praises of bees!

Bill Wilson Bob Smith David Jones

The most impactful men I have encountered, with such bland, commonplace names.

A reading: Dylan Thomas ~ Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Kinda speaks to me at the moment. I didn't realize he died at 39. A drinker and a smoker and a philanderer, he died primarily of a lung infection.
Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas1914–1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn and rave at close of day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,Because their words had forked no lightning theyDo not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how brightTheir frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sightBlind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.Do not go gentle into that good night.Rage, rage against the dying of the light.