The ground-as-bucket for water from above

Along main street, the pointless decorative flags flap with captured fury; I cautiously arrange my umbrella so it doesn't feel the same anger. The rain mutates from drop to pellet, ignoring the will of the Earth to fall straight down, sometimes being pushed to the side by the same fury. But at some point the drop-pellets become a clear mass of liquid, deceptively deep in places. Instead of going "as the bird flies", I detour to the left, to the right, unconscious straightness morphing into unconscious curves—not for exploration's sake, but because I don't trust the waterproofing of my black leather boots; already the tread has worn smooth in parts. All I do is walk at least two miles a day in them, on concrete. "Worker's boots" they are called, the bourgeoisie in me shouldn't push them so close to uselessness in only three quarters of a year. These are the days that even though the facts suggest global warming; even though the calendar says June; even though commencement is soon; I cherish the regression to the days of March. As long as this continues, I can put off my continual grumbling about the weather. I finished yesterday _The Deleuze Connections_; more on that in a later post. I also began and finished recently _Marching Plague: Germ Warfare and Global Public Health_ by the "Critical Art Ensemble": I'm going to work on a grown-up "book report", known as a _book review_, soon. Perhaps I will publish it here, or perhaps I will try and shop it places; who knows. In the end, however, the listlessness I feel in my research is the only reason I have the time to read these things. At some point I need to latch onto something for an extended period of time. I have ideas, but I await responses before unknowingly walking into the chasm. Perhaps in the meantime I can let these softly-formed thoughts fly around inside my head, and focus on what others consider to be more concrete. Maybe if I choose one question a day, and see what I can find out about it. Of course I can't cover everything, but enough to be conversant. So: is tonality innate in humans? Can you _recognize_ emotions in music, or do you experience them? What is known about relationship-forming in creative groups? _Etc._ Overarching, the need to combine these things with technological things of my own making.

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