Nascosta in Bella Vista

Hatred Killed Good  Hatred killed Good.  That's all it's ever done.  Good is a poet, many poems now. Good always has been.    Di Dove Sei?  Last night I dreamt of running dogs. We hunted, together. Later in the dream an octopus came ashore, I watched it advance behind me and then out of the sea walked a little dog/fish/cephalopod creature. It struggled on land, in a way the octopus did not. It looked for its mother. I carried it to a cat bowl to eat kibble.  This morning at the bakery, while paying for our daily bread, the owner finally asked me after months of seeing her twice, sometimes thrice weekly... "Cara, di dove sei?" And without my usual hesitation, I'd answered this same question last night when the woman I see several times a month at the citrus stand asked it, I told her.  "Tejas." I say it, always, in Spagnolo. Why choose one colonizer from another? But what connection do I really have, have I ever had, to the English besides their la...

It's been a long time since I kept a blog here, but after several years of posting on Substack I'm exhausted with the Feed-ing.  I've been carrying around artwork and notes that people give me for decades. I carried them across continents, tucked neatly inside my Vital Statistics. I'd like to share what I haven't lost or thrown or given away.      There are stories here, that have crossed some geographical, temporal and existential distance.  Stories about little girls who show others how to poop in buckets. Driving a manual car for the first time, almost into a wall, and then biking to another village instead to watch some forgettable movie. Nazi youth becoming Christian elders reflecting on the mundanity of their past evils. Best friends becoming architects and being widowed. Failed Friendships and Failed marriages. A sat house I almost died in, and a wild artist whose drug addiction almost killed them.  Among the things I've lost or given away are a turt...