This morning she packed up the sick kitten and headed back to the place I call my house. I remained behind at the place I call my home for another two months anyway. They love me and I love them. Who deserves who or not remains an open question.

There was a long hot bath and there was wind. The slick modern woodstove began getting its workout and my head got one of its own.

I am making a little birdhouse in my soul, but I have not decided about whether or not to leave the night light on in it. I leave that decision for another day, habitually.

I am the younger dark-matter version of this guy, but I have no Mexican relatives to run to, and I will never tell you to vote or quit whining. I will tell you instead that Gramps is a libtard even if he is a better man than me.

I’m the artist always searching. There is another place now, also in New Mexico, but without zoning:

“Otero County has no zoning or licensing requirements. However, restrictive covenants, deed restrictions, county ordinances, or the regulations of other government entities may apply. Certain areas of the county may fall under review by other governing bodies in the case of ETJ (extra-territorial jurisdiction) but currently there is not zoning in Otero County.” … https://co.otero.nm.us/183/Zoning

Timberon, the Concho of the East. For my adult life I have dreamed of the person I would be in Silver, but now it’s turning out temporary and that is my fault solely.

My life alone is shrinking to a white-hot point of light with a tent in it.

It’s important to me to be cold and to take steps to be warm, whether that be a rental stove or an alcohol heater that suffices to put the glow on a hundred square feet.

The tossed-together vid about a drive surpasses all expectations while the Halloween one that says Four Weeks Ago now remains chill and sober with a quarter of the views. I understand almost none of it. There is only the work, done well or tossed off, and I am the pawn of the mercyful fates instead of a self-made man.