"Lovecraft's guiding literary principle was what he termed "cosmicism, or, "cosmic horror," the idea that life is incomprehensible to human minds and that the universe is fundamentally alien."

T. creates a vehicle from legos.  remarkable torque, i tell him, as it is small and towing something larger.
well, its solar powered, he says, and can pull anything that can pull it.

the calm before the zucchini storm.  cucumbers, elegant indeterminate tomato, the miracle of a bean.
the blanket knit and finished, all the ends woven in, thrown into the dryer with some softener sheets purchased for just this occasion so it doesnt smell like us.  on the ride there i rub good feeling into it, soles in the wind, broad humid geology of farmfield, jessica.
i leave trucks feeling calm and peaceful.  it was a weirdly intimate event, mostly locals, that enclosed emptiness i attribute to my hometown.  the event of my summer, and home together for watermelon and onion rings before tuck in, a few pages, and bed.  

the opening band man said you have to give away what you want to receive.  i tried to think of a word to describe the stars.  ripton called them lemon and thats a good one.  sharp, implacable stars.  so many folks never look up at the sky.  the invisible accumulation of clouds into formations you can tell the weather by.  the personal mythologies of stars.  other planets visible with your very own eyes.   spell of dusk or revelation of daybreak.   leaves, trees, sunflowers, hands.  just look at something.  keep looking.