#422

Four-two-two. Four two two. Man, that's fuckin great. That's so fuckin awesome. What a number. A four and two twos. Just a parent and a pair of twins. Just a big child and two parents. 4=2+2. 

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The dude that lives up on the near corner of my street is his own man, and I respect that. He's out with his crazity-ass biting dogs in the public park opposite his house. They are not on their leashes and he is using the "scream at the dog" method of keeping them under a semblance of control. 

Kind of suboptimal in my view, but like, I ain't gonna yell at the guy--I mean, the dogs are loose. I ain't goin' near there! I guess that's the point. For right now, that real estate is his in every way that matters, which is something of a breach of the public trust. 

Couple of city utilities trucks rolled up kind of in formation, looking for eyeball confirmation I guess, then rolled away without fully stopping. Should I expect law enforcement next? Probably. 

I would like to formally assert that I never contact law enforcement. In the wildest, most apocalyptic scenario I can imagine, I might, if it occured to me and fit the situation, call the local sherriff, because he used to be my wrestling coach. If he loses the upcoming election, I wouldn't even do that.

Anyway the situation--and I recognize that it is a situation, with like scared people and my own sense of justice and fair use somewhat bruised--isn't legally a problem unless it actually causes harm beyond fear, in my view. If I were taking a walk and came upon a different corner where this was happening without warning, I can see becoming quite frightened because the possibility of being mauled or simply terrified and then laughed at--

WHOA. I interrupt this bulletin from the ground to let you know that even closer to the ground, I just pinched my knee-skin and pushed off a perfectly healed scab, fully intact in one glorious perfect flawless moment, that scab-coming-off feeling so pure and unadulterated, baby, yeah--good god damn.

Anyway, wow. Um. Yes. That would not be great, but I would not be harmed. In my own estimation. If the dog takes a piece of me, or like mauls a child, then it's a different conversation.

I'm not scared of dogs, and I'm not scared of his dogs, even though he and his family kind of all implied that I really should be last time I was near all of them at once and not exercising proper caution. They got 'em tied to the park fence now, not that anyone would be wise to go near anyhow. I mean, do you want to toddle up to the playground so bad you'll walk past a dude screaming at three jumping, barking, pitbullish dogs? I dunno, maybe you don't care, maybe you know 'em, maybe you decide fuck it. 

With all the rest of the related and merely corollary yelling and cussing that's happening, my corner is not a tranquil Thursday breeze today, is what I'm getting at. But I ain't care. 

Lived in too many neighborhoods where nothing fucking ever happens, not for ten damn ass years. That out there seems fine, and whatever.  It could have been safer and calmer, but it reached an equilibrium and a peace, with the dogs quiet and wagging and everybody chill. Too chill? It's a free country, man. Abide. 

That out there is the texture and occurrence that is supposed to define life, not interrupt it. 

Dang, three of the dogs got loose. I must shake my head. 

Man, that scab came off iconic, people. Phew. God planned that moment out my entire life. Wow.

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Live, up-to-the-minute stuff! Wow. Stupid. They got the hoop up on the street and they're shooting some baskets now. I'm still just up here approximately one hundred feet away and up fifteen more feet, typing and looking up information and planning art projects and writing projects and not checking my email enough.

Have a happy Thursday! Keep your wits about you, though. You never know when they might be called upon.

--JL