In history there are no control groups. There is no one to tell us what might have been. We weep over the might have been, but there is no might have been. There never was.

--Cormac Mccarthy
All the Pretty Horses

The first drawings I remember making were of little birds with nostrils instead of beaks. I think I’ve seen other children making this mistake. Anthropomorphism in the form of childhood indiscretion.

bicycle adventure for one

on the riverfront trail, monstrous cranes eat chunks of metal. it was like watching dinosaurs delicately devour fallen prey.
along the riverfront trail.


cherokee street: where skulls shoot hearts from their eyes.

from my yard and my future scarf

it's getting chilly out there.

marketplace

I heard this on my drive home from work today and wrote it on my hand. I was listening to Marketplace on NPR.

Confession: I rewrote this on my hand because the words were almost washed off and, as they were written while driving, quite messy.

manfailure

Years ago, I viewed Douglas Coupland's site pretty often. I'm back at it.

you are the start of something bigger

It strikes me as odd that you can make eye contact with someone that will still proceed to not care whether or not they run you over. Make eye contact, start turning, and still the driver watching you will continue on as if you are not present.

For years, it has amazed me how human walking is always one step away from disaster. We balance somehow, but if balance and equilibrium fail us, it is possible to fall flat on your face. It happens. Biking is the same way, but faster.

hiking castlewood

someone else (or perhaps the same person) wrote "love is radical". i prefer "poop".

shake it.


gnarly.
red flag! actually, these markers were on a lot of trees. from growing up in the middle of the woods, i learned that flags on trees generally mean one of three things: boundary of something, diseased, or going to get cut down.