Filmed in Oblivionvision

(excerpt)

I see that we’re now in the pre-Mercury Retrograde stage and that, also, Venus seems to be wanting to hide Herself behind the horizon. I feel particularly non-depressed this morning. I warm the hound’s food, a treat he dearly loves and wishes I would do diurnally.

diogenes-primary

Madrugada, with distant train. A pataphysical friend, DJW by acronym, has traced where the trains, loaded and moving at night out of the old city, split off to move toward Issa City or Chankamulgee, and we have often burnt spliffs on his porch, studying feline behavior, watching hummingbird feeds, and listening to both ground-grumble & whistle-chords.

 

Trains — why are they still here? They are a bit like public phone booths or even horses. We see horses from time to time along the top road — people take them for brief runs, and it is said the horses are sometimes rented. When I take the hound for his walk, I see no horses anywhere along that road, only one iron-colored mule who never moves from the different place he stands every morning.

 

As a small child I often walked off into the woods. It was the best time of my life, and it was spent, like now, with an animal. Perhaps it as simple as this. A human walking with an animal in deep forest — rain forest, oak forest, pine forest, it doesn’t fucking matter, Jackaroo! Any secluded, quiet spot will do.

 

Stop and keen from time to time. Keen for what? For that which is lost when our instinctive edges soften and blur toward what glozing neuters love to think of as a certain dayindayout blissfulness. It isn’t.

 

The old dog that I walked with (all those years ago) smelled horrible, like shit mixed with death and soaked in muddy water. Had no manners. She was a young German Shepherd/Lab mix and loved every human she ever met so much she wanted to lick them continually. She’d push someone’s trousers up in order to lick their shins and behind their socks, a disconcerting trait.

 

(c) 2018 Thomas N Dennis

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