Soft Songs, Like Birds, Die in Poison Air so My Song Cannot Now Be Candy

Would have switched out the art in response to my dire prophesies in the prior post (though there are dire prophesies in this post) and posted in its place the photo below taken Wednesday evening fifteen minutes to sunset on Woodlands Trail, Great Falls, Maryland, a better response, but blooger said no and I said OK, vouch to vow to not break what I can't fix, I typed Friday

Friday we hiked the new loop in Black Hills and extension trail to Bucklodge, L told me the color of the dead soybeans is taupe, when I asked her how to mix it on a palette she said 60% yellow, 40% purple, and complementaries only way to brown without cheating so she's right like always

No taupe in self-portrait below, I'm now out of the blue mix, barely have amber left, lots of red remains, plenty of fountain pen ink to make new ones, how to make a yellow that stays yellow when dried?

TODAY IN MY UNAPOLOGETICOMPLICITY:

I'm meeting Dr Z at Seneca Creek Disc Golf Course, one of the world's great courses, at eleven this morning! I doubt all the baskets will still be in A since we played three weeks ago

TODAY IN MY APOLOGETICOMPLICITY: iPhone dying, problem solved

Above from Saturday's unapologeticomplicitous Needwood hike
Existence is a guerilla campaign
When your political opponents have no shame or regard for facts
Reminder: shitlords hate you more than they love money
How shitlords robbed and left for dead rural America
Openly declaring a Crackerstani reich will be installed and implemented to the cruelest possible extent draws yawns from corporate media and Professional Democrats, hmmm
While I keeping buying shitlord products and services
Reminder: shitlord owner of local helmetball team a despicable shitsmear
Roadmap to escape the West's stranglehold
Not a possibility, not a probability, an inevitability
The Democrats are now Bush-era Republicans
How the war in Ukraine ends
Maggie's weekly				FRESH HELL
Why Liberals should give up on the judiciary
Edge of ice and sea				Sins of silence
Annie Ernaux's justly deserved Nobel
The gif is on it's deathbed?					Laugh, I've been meaning to teach myself to gif for my art
Fans quitting spotify: I miss making my playlist CDs and my car couldn't play one now anyway
{ feuilleton }'s weekly				This is why I keep blogroll purgatories, in case one of yinz wakes up I see you floating to the top
Three hours of Fairport Convention, yo
Without Tina Weymouth Talking Heads would have been just another band
Confession: I have zero desire to listen to Talking Heads now, gone the listening-way for me as The Beatles
John Lennon born 82 years ago yesterday (sic) I do still listen to his solo work I confess only two days a year I do, and this the lesser one

APOLOGY FOR APOSTASY?

Etheridge Knight

Soft songs, like birds, die in poison air

So my song cannot now be candy.

Anger rots the oak and elm; roses are rare,

Seldom seen through blind despair.

And my murmur cannot be heard

Above the din and damn. The night is full

Of buggers and bastards; no moon or stars

Light the sky. And my candy is deferred

Till peacetime, when my voice shall be light,

Like down, lilting in the air; then shall I

Sing of beaches, white in the magic sun,

And of moons and maidens at midnight.