it got real hot again.
i just got back from honduras. on a plane going out of miami there was a guy with my same connection accross the aisle. i over heard his phone conversation. "i barely got out of honduras." he said. he looked tired, like me. i felt a sort of affinity with this statement. i was stopped at every security checkpoint and scrutinized, at least on some level. there were long layovers in between puddlejumpers flying through central american slash and burn haze. yeah, i barely got out of the country too...

"it was a riot..." yeah. hes right... totally worth it... good time... "...no... civil unrest. there was a huge gas strike going on... barricades in the street made out of burning tires. the americans had a really hard time moving throgh the city. three people in the bus that was stopped in front of us got shot. pretty hairy."

oh... he really did just barely get out of the country.

the other day we were playing ball on a practice at break and pat spotted the birds nest he had almost knocked all the way out of the gutter last week. he was trying to dislodge a hackey sack from said gutter with a cross country ski.

today i saw that it had fallen. on the back porch another one had fallen. it was much smaller and fell a much greater distance.

The Chicago Institute for Advanced Research and Discussion’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, life about art.
CIARD on photographic absurdity or cartoon realism.

A dead bee on the dashboard following us through the summer and into the desert (where he finally made his move) is different than a dead bee hanging from dental floss off the back porch (after being captured during an attempted dream interruption, frozen, and then tethered to the balcony in a windstorm).

Dream notes:
“Our captures were wearing armor fashioned from old tires plated with scrap metal and were armed with automatic weapons and aluminum baseball bats. They took great pleasure in conversations revolving around our torture and eventual execution. It was so unbearable to watch that I decided to make my move before they were able to stop their heinous cackling and wringing of hands (I think there were claws… maybe). I jumped up and punched the guy with the bat. He flew up against the wall (curiously, as I was only a fraction of his size and while he grunted gutturally to communicate I could only making empty high pitched squeaking noises), and I grabbed his bat in time to hit the bigger guy with the gun squarely in the face. There were sound effects, but no dialogue*. I took his gun and we shot our way out of what was actually a huge slum in the middle of the island. There was a hidden entrance which meant that there was, for us, a hidden exit. This would have been ok, because after the initial panic we found our way over the several tin roofed shacks and out of the crack in the brick wall that was hidden behind a sand dune, but this dream, it was a tricky one. Every time I got out of the crack and was safe for just a moment, didn’t have to kill or smash or avoid being killed or smashed, the dream started over always just at the part where I first jumped into action.”
“…Once I killed a dog that was chasing me, once I cut dinosaur man’s throat…”
“ I finally decided that while I didn’t want to stay in, I really didn’t want to be on the other side of that wall either. In my dream I knew I didn’t belong in either of these places, so I stopped looking for the exit and I stopped fighting and I just wandered aimlessly somehow always avoiding recapture.”


* “…there was no dialogue, there was no way for me to articulate what was going on or really communicate with anybody. But telling it after the fact, diction becomes a fundamental element in my ability to share it with others as well as being able to deduce meaning or tie together other concepts or memories that are relevant.”
“My mother and I recently had a conversation in which I used to term nefarious to describe a friend. She stopped the conversation and asked me to define nefarious. I did as best I could, but for a little backup we consulted the big dictionary on the stand in the living room. This is the same process that led us to the research and repeated use of the word “pedantic” many years ago.”


See also… ciard.com

(p)didactidactyl.