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We know perfectly well where we came from.
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It rained about a billionth of an inch yesterday, and it rained about a quarter of an inch today. Spozed to increase over the next couple of days, but I have a feeling the bottom 80% of California isn't going to get any. This is not apt to lighten BB2's mood... actually... I don't think I've posted much lately that was what you would call really mood lightening anyway. A little. I try.
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My new pots and pans came today. Even though I'm not wild about the color of them, they're pretty damn sexy anyway. I could never have paid for the ones in a color I liked better, and this one doesn't suck. Not as cheery as the bright red loaf pan... tending more toward maroon... on the outside. White ceramic inside. Not as light as I'd hoped, but much lighter than all my cast iron and much heavier than my toxic pots and pans.
I think now I have a chance of cooking bacon and pork chops without getting grease from hell to breakfast. Those damn spatter guard things pretty much suck and don't help much anyway. And it will all look tres chic with my new sheet metal panelling, I'm sure.
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For weeks now, on my "nights" where I almost get into dream sleep, and mostly toward "morning", I find myself in some manner of the trigonometry of truth. It has the quality of advanced math. Sort of physics, but more a sort of overlay of spacial and conceptual relations... between mysterious things only nearly remembered... is there a type of math I've forgotten that would work better? The calculus sounds too... too calculating... though it is calculating... kind of....
It's a process of codifying pattern recognition. There is no ground involved. It's always a brume at its most vivid, immediately going murkier still as I begin to pull out of sleep, determined as I am to hold onto it. It's that ever loving conviction of rightness that keeps nailing me in my dream consciousness, that feeling of piercing insight, of earthshaking epiphany, of a spiritual certainty that must, at all costs, not be lost... and is lost every single time in the heartbeat after my eyes open.
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Beside harrying you, I have been emailing Watson at Prison Planet, Rense at Rense, and John B at Caravan to Midnight over the FACT that radioactive beach is not thirty miles from the leaking nukes dump off the Farallons. This shit about how connected we all are on the intertubes gets so thick sometimes I like to pull out all my hair.
Yes, yes, they all get thousands of emails every day, and how are they supposed to know I don't email people with hysterical all caps subject lines as a matter of habit? Still, fuck. What if Greenwald hadn't read his email? How do you make enough noise in this cotton barn?
I think I'm going to bury myself under my mattress until my nerves cool off.
