writing just after waking, after false dreams of sweet reunion, of goatliving and elkraising, much better than those carnivorous dogs, waking to find company gathered outside my bunk dressed and on their way, a shock of lateness faded to self-reassurance that I can get myself to the statehouse (that I can become statehosier?). some turmoil last night and perhaps this is where I try lying to myself but laying down in warm just letting the words ooze out I'm more curious if fingerprints are just not that special, another edifice of identity a lie as suggested last night by who turned out to be the day's second theatrical manager of public defenders, forcing reflection on the nature of theater and the cultural impact of kid's plays, on the nature of breaking into; back at the extensive cubbyholed air ball and bucket ranch we picked at oranges and at organizing finding soursweet segments to share, myself alone in the kissing glee of a wake.