And why? And what does it matter, really?  Fall, like the future, remains unevenly distributed,

as do the purported disasters [“debates” and “town halls” included] reported in the news* while

where we are, fortuitously, disasters remain distanced.

Orlando brought his equipment up to move some dirt, ours included, in anticipation of

Andreatta’s excruciatingly lengthily delayed well-cleaning as the air cleaned itself up

for the first time in awhile…not utterly pristine, but clean.

A tiny bit hazy maybe, but after a slow start in a slow summer a few small things began for me

to come together given the ongoing luxury of continuing non-demand; a slow [and smoky] year.

In other news, after stumbling onto Klea McKenna’s covid journal I thought to revisit her father’s work and came upon a nineteen minute talk which I passed on to L. who, having just finished Katie Mack’s “The End of Everything”, was so taken with the parallels that she went looking for more, coming up with Opening the Doors of Creativity, considerably longer but even more resonant as she painted away on her latest model…so much so that she listened to TM again

while peeling tape up in the toolbox the next day, the very day Christine sent a link to “Beyond the Visible”, all about Hilma af Klimt, even more attuned to what Terence had espoused in Port Hueneme nearly thirty years before. My only problem with the film were that the German and Swedish subtitles were often indecipherable given the backgrounds plus one of the Swedish speakers was so stunningly beautiful I had a hard time paying attention to them anyway.

Hilma might well have been a perfect example for Terence, but as his chosen exemplars ranged from the Grateful Dead to Jackson Pollock [with a little Max Ernst as an aside but no Dorothea Tanning or Lee Krasner] maybe not.  Anyway, a film well worth seeking out, and serendipitous that it came to us immediately after the one-thing-led-to-anotherness of the McKennas.

Then of course it was back to the creek, the fall of fall before the fall, perhaps,

of these American lives.  We kept crossing in and out of fences to avoid the Large Breed

Puppies’ threatening the small Sprout and one of those days made it into town

for the dump, the Safeway, last week’s paper and the post office where, unlike Jola in Gerlach,

Pam refused to release our packages [or even look for them] before her self-imposed 1:30 official daily release time.  That sort of nitpicky rule-ishness seems to be more and more

a feature of life down around here but, at home with the paper, we learned all about the upcoming local elections and how after a Repuppetlican congressional challenger showed up

in Walsenburg she organized one of those [suspiciously identical] Maga parades of shiny pickups and flags to go cruising out to La Veta where, met with some negativity, she was then able to retroactively declare anyone who disagreed with fealty to their xenophobic misogynistic narcissist to be “un-patriotic”.  Count me among them, and screw your Tainted Flags.

This country, if it survives intact, might well need a new one, and no fucking Stars and Bars

[yo, Mississippi!] need apply. But I’m just being starry-eyed unrealistic here…

Life is good in the mountains although it remains dangerously dry and so uncommonly windy

that most of the leaves are off the trees already.

Tuesday we visited Dean to drop off ‘zines and tell him about Hilma, deciding on the spur of the moment to see it again, with him and Sibylla**, before the election…before we leave.

The work goes on…there and here…

nonetheless…why not, eh?

 

*As Paul Fuge astutely pointed out to me, quoting Zappa; “Politics is the entertainment division of the military-industrial complex”… now more than ever. It’s interesting that even the Fake news outlets bowed to the Will of the Leader to slip both Town Halls into the same time slot.

**Sibylla may well help us with the German, though that will not exacerbate my dilemma with the Swedish.  See for yourselves…