A collection of consciousness with a side of mashed potatoes
The top one is pure Blake.Blue on blue is a gorge mindfuck.Third one down is so perfect it almost looks like a trick shot (arrested time). Hidden moments of balance.Wide estuarial thing scares me for some reason.And when I go up your way I am fascinated by the green shit on rocks too.Gloucester's shoreline right by that that Giant Rock (is that what they call it? Giant Rock? They should. I have Lee's picture standing there) is particularly funny. Because a lot of times it looks like boulders threw up after a night of wild partying naked.We spent hours picking up sea detritus and having as much fun as the little kids on the little beach that you descend to by the steep path sixty yards or so behind the information cabin.We visited Olson's old neighborhood and some of his neighbors talked shit about him.Funny, I'm talking about Massachusetts and you are in a completely different state.But to us down here you're all just "New England."It's like your your own country up there.And yet when you drive down any strip now it's the same friggin thing as here. I could be on Route 22 in Harrisburg: TJ Maxx, Lone Star, WAL-MART, Burgah King, etc.I think Stein was wrong in Tender Buttons when she said "The difference is spreading."I think it's the sameness.My word verify is monfuli.I love a good monfuli.Now and again, I mean.I don't go crazy with it.
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