in dublin, the guiness factory pays only forty euro a year for the remaining 8, 700 and some years remaining on a 9,000 year lease.

optimism pays, sometimes.


tonight, the girls are quiet. feebi sleeps in the shade by the garage. i manage to make granola without burning it. there is a show in placerville and i don't have to drive. tomorrow i can do anything, and i, in optimism, will do everything except nothing, and i will not stop moving until night

( i say i don't care, but my brain is screaming against bad architecture and empty lifestyles, and i might not believe that families can just be okay, just be and be okay, and be satisfied in their own existence, because i cannot just be and be okay here, i need night birds and bats and i need to be able to hear the city or the big wide gulf of soundless land, but i cannot deal with an empty house and teh days stretching on without reason sometimes, sometimes all of them swarm and gather around my throat and chest, the empty months that stretch out in front of me and rage in their uselessness and clog me and drag me down and away

mom tells me at night that she is glad that i'm here and that i'm trying, but i know i just make everything harder, no one wants to watch someone talk themselves into a dead dead end,
fuck you august, for everything, and especially for right now)