Yes, true, there has been a grim edge to this week. Hadn’t really looked at it that way, but, yes. The same folks who’s root beginnings were to form up with strange bedfellows to control civic revenues steams and take advantage of the hoi polloi have now taken over our total soul existence in a single century. And tomorrow those who would gladly stuff these green bananas into the tailpipe of anything potentially hopeful for this our glamorous grand guignol & blood orange dollop of dream machine gone greed insane ..WILL, without a flinch, nor a pang of conscience, nor a twitter of humanity, nor a chalice of rhyme & wonder, stake every seeded seat they can have ..and make it into a sold-out and jingoistic bottleneck for the betterment of golden gated community & doomsday parade. Or perhaps not. & then last night Ol’man Bushwhacker & his dog Dubs rode a teary-eyed wave of cheers out to the mound to throw a perfect pea across the plate. A perfect pea across the plate, of course, but oh the atrocities. Still people were crying and cheering as if the Caesars had returned to Rome. & A dirty feeling came over our home. Nope, Not a Boo. Not a one. Not a pffft from behind the scoreboard ..& the fallen. Not an ounce of prevention, not the bells of justice, not even a hint of civil disobedience..while the saxophone wale in the alleyway behind the workingman’s bar & grill. Nope. Just the grim sound of perpetuated smug kinship forever n ever & a pinch to grow an inch. E pluribus unum. I, Robot. Whoops!

& yet Maya, dear (wana be a hottie again) Maya’s counts are nicely improved, and we are an active soup ingredient amongst the living again. (FWIW to the soupee-dupie-group consciousness.) & Silvercat is heading into his senior basketball season. & Fletcherbear drops in to play us ..such ..melodies on keys & guitar. & daze have been grimmer---Grim Reaper grimmer---but this day is just one blessing ..one at a time.. & I can’t remember messybear before October 31st of ’08. & maybe that’s good in a way ..and maybe it’s a sorrow, I don’t know. Don’t know bout much.

& it’s nice to have some posts [and an essay] by Reg again. Being of the 2nd wave to dbis, it still feels more like home to me ..when Reg has something to show &/or tell. Wahoo up from the depths. Now if only the mystic triptych would return in full bloom; lampooning each other like there’s no cartoons tomorrow. Kinda harsh on the surface yet way-way deep if one is willing to take the time to ponder what great force of wonderment and bellybutton lint and sea salt and lapis and vinegar is at the root of it. But I think Ed is still on super-secret sabbatical ((hiding from Brad & Mick)) within some chic Himalayan crevasse conjuring some moon-n-mojo spatial window in the time space continuum as a means to reconnecting Tiger with Lion, Garuda, & Dragon ..but from a Zen perspective …thereby reconnecting the ancient sister with the ancient brother and reopening the door to Shambhala. The door that our antiheroes, Mick & Brad, uh..closed ..um ..accidentally.

Jeez, I miss the feeling we few, we happy few, we band of brothers (& sisters), had at the burning bush near Quail Lake off the 138 some two decades ago in the late, late, wee hours of the turn of the century, under a three-quarter moon, with a cooler of lager and a belly full o guts.