You only have nothing when you live like you have nothing. If you live in and by abundance then that is what you will have. It sounds like warmed-over New Age tripe™, but it is not. There’s no point in me trying to reassure you. Just try it and see what happens.

How I view money, women and sex has been totally transformed. That probably sounds a lot more suggestive than I mean it to be. I can’t really unfold that statement all at once though. But it’s been on my mind.

A few mornings ago we went up to the animal shelter by the airport in McKinleyville. It’s part of the sheriff’s office for some reason. They have to follow certain protocols. The guy who showed us the dogs landed there courtesy of a judge, an alternative to jail. A jailor instead of an inmate, I guess. Nice guy though.

The dogs were too excited to be out and about around actual real live people to be able to really get a good sense of. I think we will have to probably go back a few times and see what’s what. Sleep on it. One of us will need to get a California license first, I guess. One of the requirements. Plus you have to get them microchipped. I don’t want to have to do that. It’s degrading to a creature of God who has already been abandoned. She said she would get a license here. That’s good because it’s a statement of intent and identity. And it lets you buy beer.

This week almost saw the death of me, both literally and metaphorically. Now I am on the mend. We did a ritual in Wizard’s Grove. It went well.

On the way to sushi last night at Tomo I saw a black dog poking its head out the driver-side of a yellow truck. It did that sniffy nose thing that dog’s will do when they want to see what your deal is. I reached out to let it smell me and instead it tried to take a bite out.

“Did he try to bite you?” His owner said coming back from across the street.

“Oh yeah, no big deal though,” I said, blood beginning to trickle down my finger. On the way to eat raw flesh my raw flesh was eaten.

There was a kinetic sculpture race today. We ate crepes. Inanimate things are becoming more alive lately.

It’s about time.

I just cleaned out the inside of the refrigerator. It smelled like death. You can’t expect nourishment to come to you from a place like that. There is a hop plant reaching toward me right now. It looks like it needs light. Our room is a safe place, but it doesn’t get much direct light. The shovels I bought are resting against the far wall, waiting to be put to use. Did she notice I bought the good kind, the contractor shovels, the ones that won’t break on you? Nobody wants a broken shovel. You need to be able to jam that thing into the ground with your foot.

I am trying to detox for a few days. I got some tea. It will be good for me.

My body was all out of water but I was ignoring it. It was hurting to pee. My blood was getting thick and slow. My mind was choking on its own detritus. It is getting better now though. Our windows are still broken. They still retain the Stargate X’s John put on them for our protection™. It’s not that I don’t feel safe here. But I need a sanctuary. My room is that but I need more than that. I need a clean refrigerator, windows that aren’t smashed, a dog that will lay between us while we watch movies and tell us which noises from the next room we need to worry about and which are just circus people being circus people. The French press is still full of dark blood. Bottlecaps adorn our room like wandering satellites, gathering information about us to be transmitted back to God for His Massive Databanks™ He is studying how we are living our lives, observing the choices we make and the challenges we create and overcome or ignore. He is trying to tailor this reality to suit us better. I hope I am doing a good job building time bridges and web save connecting reference points for later use.

When I left Seattle I was solid. I lived underground. Nothing could shake me after the traumas I endured and integrated last year. When I left Seattle I became shaky, uprooted, insecure, uncomfortable. Root chakra out of whack. Threatened and diminished and confused. Those days are gone. I have banished and reconnected. I am about to burn some sage. I wish I had some goats’ feet to shake over us. Humboldt Honey sits waiting for us on our table. Three mangos of varying ripeness hold the promise of tonight and tomorrow and the next day. The sound of acoustic guitar and flutes envelopes me. I talked to crows today. I buried a sharp stick in the sand with a promise.