covid-19 – Dog Shit Lit

We know this. Ever since human beings got to talking to each other (and themselves) the fundamental question — Who am I? — has gotten a lot of play. I’m getting up there in age, but I still ask myself that question at least twice a week (usually in the shower looking down).

So, yes, “Who am you?” as my father sometimes asked me when he was either exasperated or, occasionally, impressed. “Who am you, boy?”

Humanity has tried all sorts of ways to answer that question, or at least to facilitate the means by which folks can at least lay claim to attempting an answer. One can argue that all the weird stuff in cultures beyond satisfying basic needs is definitely in the “Who Am I?” facilitation category — haircuts, clothing, special scents, artistic endeavors, piercings, how you dance, what your team is, etc.

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A third storey window view of woods, a hidden railroad, a distant field, pieces of stream brimming with rainwater and life. In just the past few days, the skeletal dormancy of winter forest, sketched brown and black all season, slight olives maybe, smeared white mashed to gray, cold dark shadows growing and breaking and growing again — all glistens now in new light, soaked emerald and jade nippling everywhere, early green plugged in, glow-pulse and skimmering in watery mist and fog, slow-motion rain — a spring like few others in the knowable history of the modern world.

The sky is a lake joining everything. We are afraid or worried or wondering what’s next, influenced by everything that media has to offer. Continue reading “Geometry of the Unknown: Animals with Nowhere to Go” →