of lobsters and men

In a state of revery, of suspended animation these images are invoked:
my little red bird who has passsed away
some other blue bird will come and stay

He would spend nights, angry nights awake, consumed by the lobsters' fates in the restaurant below. Eventually, he moved to avoid a divorced from his increasingly annoyed wife. They moved I should say. Animal rights versus human agitation. The lobster, unworried in his tank, unaware of the fate that awaited him, my father obsessing over the moment. Both made little sense. no sense boiling creatures alive really. Barbaric.

pill droppers annoy me.

the new aesthetic

in the tradition of reading of symbols, semyotics, again, a nation at war invokes again and again the camouflage in diapers as mentioned in the New York Times and apparently NPR . The glorification of the soldier in all walks of life. The agrandization of the testosterone experience and how it can be reproduced in civil society, no matter the cost. Most of us are struggling, have always been struggling, but a few have found their niche in the language of war. A constant