1/28 - grim indeed, so deep into this foul year of our dear lord Trump, the 1st of his name, blessed be his orange-mane, and yet i'd not made it to beacon to bare my mangled soul?
many things have passed, most of them tragic - what can they matter against a backboard so bleak?
much snow n' ice this month - work all ahoo - the good country on the verge of a solid-gold cunt taking control - what can you do?
the silverman crew in camas not too early in the morn, me emerged from my overnight couch-nap n' crawling in w/ a bit of a cloud-fuck hovering over my head
the typical chuckles n' cheerful banter backed with chutzpah as we wandered back east through the growing wind n' wicked glowing snow, not knowing what is adling toward us all (and eager)
yarg, the ranger in the lot, w/ the all too familiar yack-yack-yack
the corner was the call, and the walk down had me all grinning - snow the whole way, my boots fortuitously in the car, and a snow-pole too
curious indeed - can't recall the last time i tumbled towards the corner in this late winter season n' was skunked by some new comers, but sure as shit, there they were - battle-ground bryan n' his boi cluster-fucking their way up the rather wintry first pitch - i cracked open a beer n' waxed philosophic, but my crew grew cranky, and soon we were on the tracks n' headed west for a true circumnavigation
the labyrinth was the call, on the logical assumption the east wind would be more merciful on the west side, though it wasn't - we wound our way there n' kicked in our place among the snow and the oak - kyle carried us up there as we froze n' fretted, then we continued our hill ascent through the cluster-fucked cold n' fuckered off west to near the boat launch
had a beer n' some failed-fire laffs, then some redneck hijinx in the snowy parking lot, then that was it - the day done amidst the wreck of dogs n' burgundy n' bitter embers of this unctuous underworld...
Ignorance is Strength
War is Peace
Freedom is Slavery