I’ve been watching Cesar Milan: Better Humans Better Doggos the lqst few days. I have never watched his previous hsows but the TSST episode of South Park is one of my favourite and I always thought the principles used to correct Cartman’s behaviour were sound with regard to my incompletre knoweldge of fields like social dynamocs, psychology and anthropology.
This show is great. Everything is our fault as dog owners. Lately my pit Diesel has been barking when I return home. He loves me and eagerly charges into our adventures together, but I think I might have scared him a little bit over the last few months of knowing him (two week long visits before moving here full time this month). I took his mom and he’s seen some violence in a past life.
Arguments with Vallerie have undermined corrective moments, but I think she’s starting to see that letting me go will to will with the dog for certain small things up front will mitigate the need for drastic interventions later. She’s seeing that and that’s good. I think I believe that we can survive any hell so long as we can see improvement over time.
My home here in the desert of Phoenix is a lush and verdant oasis—it’s adjacent to a lush and verdant oasis at least. The city is so inhospitable that shaded greenspaces/parks are so much more appreciated.
Guitar playing is going well. I get out a lot in the heat and play. I stick to the shade but I see myself getting very comfortable playing in the sun. I think I gotta start dressing like an Arab—light, blowy linens.
Cesar just finished helping a family of women who had survived domestic abuse and who had no control over the many dogs. They learned courage and that trickles down to the dogs.
Trickle-down sounds good. I like it phonetically. I picture a crisp clear mountain stream that I can drink plentifully from. And maybe that’s why trickle down economics didnt’ work like ppeople might have been led to think it would: if there is a stream you still have to get up, and get out and get after it. Entertain rich people. Dance for them. Debase and humiliate yourself for them and you access that stream.
Everybody’s fucking dying, but I can live. I can make it if I try. I can get through the wire like Jor-el launching Kanye in a pod from Krypton (“Farewell, my son…”)
“Here’s your one chance Fancy don’t let me down”
My wife is having adult career frerustrations and I feel woefully inept to help. It doesn’t help that I’ve been using cannabis products because I tend to look to expansively ad holistically at acute problems. Not that I’m wrong, but not necessarily what someone want to hear when they are venting; not simply a solution, byt a solution which would also require them to look in ward—especially from their musician/blogger husband.
The thing that’s real to us is fortune and fame/ All of the rest seems like work.
Never again will I repeat myself/ Enough is enough.
It’s truly aliiive.
You don’t know what love can buy—neither do I!
Father in law in ER right now for swollen feet. I don’t really know how to console my wife. You see I’m a silly man and a recent immigrant in this country to boot. I’ve always gotten by by keeping it simple and making financial windfalls last—not reinvesting. This has been good because it ultimately left me the freedom to move to the US.
I’m here now—Phoenix—and I’m in a holding pattern it feels like. I’m living with my wife and so naturally I feel like a kept man of sorts. I felt like this back in 2018 while living in Berlin with Anne, but at the time I was much less happy and much less of a man. I felt a cripple at the time; I coudn’t stand up straight. I didn’t really love my frau (although I certainly have missed her at times) and was acutely of how aware my life was bullshit.
I wanted to be in America. Not Germany.
Now, I’m in America. That shit is fucking cool. And Phoenix? This city is cool. It’s got its charms. If you pass out on the concrete in midday for example you will die. The floor is lava. Lots of big concrete blocks with regard to potential parkouring obstacles. Nighttime freerunning could be a cool hobby for me to try. I just looked up parkour groups in Phoenix. Figures they’d be centred around university campuses. My physical and postural alignment is so much better relative to last time I PK’d. Curious to see how much better it goes.
I’m getting comfortable with putting out less polished pieces. More honesty and stream of consciousness is good. Creative free writing. Creative freeballing. Hardballing like the 47th Agent. Toronto Hitman. The man from Toronto. Am I a Marty or a Rusty? Perhaps I’m neither. Perhaps I’m both. Perhaps they’re not so different in fact.
One thing I’ve realized is that I have no idea what the fuck people are thinking and feeling about anything. I only need to look at myself and how I have ascribed meaning and imaginated objective events—willfully and productively in most cases—to be omens, symbolisms or synchronicities.