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.. Nothing of him that does fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
The freeway at night,
distant, textured sussurus,
through open windows
Shedding sleeves and socks,
I'm between money and jobs;
a warm animal.
The home timeline on mastodon.network is broken.
Sunset over Great Salt Lake, from Antelope Island this evening. https://mastodon.network/media/qe6xhAUIoqvvuhRLlgI
A dromedary.

In Thomas Pynchon's novel titled Inherent Vice, Larry "Doc" Sportello smokes no fewer than 37 marijuana cigarettes.

I've been keeping track.

The Avena fatua (wild oat grass) is mature, dry, and has dropped all it seeds. Now it's just standing "one-hour fuel" for summer fires.

Still green and blooming are Latucta serriola (prickly lettuce) , the enormous Silybum marianum (milk thistle), Carduus pycnocephalus (annual Italian thistle, both isolated and in stands), and a dozen others. (I know them all by sight).

The electric weed-whacker cuts the green plants up into wet cold chunks, pelting my face and sticking to my glasses.

Oh won't you stay, May?
It's really too soon for June;
I'll miss your jasmine.