It’s late. I’m up past my bedtime.

The jury has the case and now we’re just waiting for them to finish deliberating.

I hope they don’t fuck up.


My woman is setting off from Florida tomorrow, going to work her way back home over the next couple of weeks, driving her new campervan, White Dragon Horse. The vehicle that carried the monkey king and his message of the buddha’s teachings from East to West.

Maybe she’ll enlighten me when she arrives.

I hope so.


After I got home from work I picked up my grandbaby from my mom and took him home and feeded him and played with him for a couple of hours and gave him a bath and changed him and gave him a bottle and laid down with him until he fell asleep and if there is anything more holy and real than that I don’t know what it could be.


The last two hours I been reading through the last five years of this blog. Seeing patterns emerge. Looking at the deep ruts I’ve dug in the world. I stick to the same paths. It reminds me of this kid I knew in sixth grade, he had this plot of land his house set on, about an acre, and he had this old working dog that ran the perimeter of their land all day long. It wasn’t any fence to it, except where it fronted the road, but he’d worn this smooth dirt path exactly along the property line all the way around the house.

Probably ran it a hundred times a day.

I’m the same way. I’m not going anywhere, not really. I got my anxiety and my fearfulness and my small-heartedness. My rages and my longings. Deep interstellar space and deep time and evolution and emergent properties and matter and meaning and of course dead bodies and gunfights and blood and tears and shit and art and love and drinking beers around a fire, and that’s pretty much it. Throw in some Cormac McCarthy to read and some Terrance Malick to watch and some good food to eat and you’ve got me pretty much summed up.

But the other thing I saw in going through all that is how awesome you all are. How much sustenance you have given me over the years. How all this time I’ve been rowing in the hold and you’ve been right there with me. Rowing and listening to me bitch. Putting salve on my blistered hands. Acting like you don’t mind when I’m being an asshat.

It’s touching.