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Quien, yo?
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My kid had her tonsils out today. She’s all hopped up on pain meds, laid out on the sofa watching Monk and eating mashed potatoes and rootbeer popsicles.
She feels like hammered shit.
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Yesterday I was stopped at a traffic light and a bee landed on the windshield. For some reason, I was struck with this thought that all of mankind and all we had wrought on this planet was of negligible importance to this bee, and by extension, to all of mother nature. 
Now, of course, this is utter bullshit. We are destroying this planet. 
But I guess it tied in with that show on Discovery, life after people, and how a thousand years after we were all wiped off the face of the earth the birds and bees and fishes and whatnot would pretty much recover and go on as if we’d never been there and torn the place up. 
Maybe it was  the windshield did it. Kind of like I was invisible or something, and just watching this bee go about his business. Big shot detective, car, stereo, guns, briefcase, agenda, ideas, plans, compulsions, etc.
But to that bee I was just a place to rest for a second.
Like a rock or a tree branch.
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We overestimate our importance. 
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Smoke pours from the windows and the gears grind and grind and the calliope’s out of tune.
Still, I am grateful for this life and all the good and bad of it. This blog is ostensibly about the attempt to reconcile the beauty with the horror, but I guess if you look deeply enough into it, the reconciliation has already occurred. Or is redundant. 
Look at them long enough and they become expressions of the same thing.
It’s all beauty and horror.
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namaste.
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