Monday, June 26, 2017

The Point Comes When I Don't Know What It's Called

Saturday night ^

It's domain name renewal time. Everything at the account, billing information, auto-renewal, I made sure were accurate back in May in anticipation of this annual pain-in-the-blog. I get daily email telling me I'm losing the domain name and that payment can't be accepted. Every. Fucking. Day. Every. Fucking. Year. I have until July 1 to straighten them straighening this out.

If this blog disappears without a bleggalcide note, this is why. The same stupidass vanity that made me want the domain name is the same stupidass vanity that won't permit me to kill the shitty blog without a goodbye note.

Sunday morning:


Franz Wright

If I stare into it long enough, the point comes when I don’t know what it’s called, a condition in which lacerations are liable to occur, like a slip of the tongue; when a drop of blood might billow in a glass of water, blooming in velvet detonation and imparting to it the colorless, tasteless and originless fear in which I wake.


  1. Glad to hear of no face plants or knee skinnings this hike.

    1. We've been on at least seven since then, stayed upright all of them.

      I've put the trekking polls in the backpack but haven't use them. Bigger hassle than help most trails.

  2. Replies
    1. Thanks. It's worked out in the past. This year's different, but every year it's a different pain-in-the-blog. Goddamn my free blogging platform.

  3. Should anyone care to indulge my own brazen attention looseness, the above link so kindly linked to mine on this date has been updated to lend more (and less) charitable contexts.