February 20, 2005
Heavy thunderstorms during the night. Buddy Boze Hatkiller pushed open the door and ran inside, went down the hall with that "I'm inside! I'm inside! What do I do now?" Kathy got up and shooed him out.

Newspaper came late because the delivery guy couldn’t get across the washes. Everyone on the west side of the creek has been trapped for several days. I rode my bike down to the cement crossing on Rockaway Hills. Water really raging across. Barricades with signs, "Do not cross!" all across the road. I stopped at water's edge and looked over at a woman standing there, looking back at me. She had a look of someone who needed to get out, but she wasn't going anywhere. There were six Arizona Republics in the ditch on my side of the creek.

Worked on art, stole some rocks upstream. Kathy made homemade bread and chicken soup. Nice meal at home. Enjoyed it. Went to bed early and read some of Dale Carnegie’s “How to Win Friends And Influence People.”

Also read the profile on David Milch in the new New Yorker. Milch was a heroin addict and still is a compulsive gambler! Yikes! Which help explain the following rationalization of using foul, contemporary language in the HBO series: "we understand how provisional the meaning of a word is contingent upon the energy with which it’s endowed by the speaker. Energy is a gossamer and intangible and variable commodity, and words in a story are more clearly contingent and variable than words in a proof. The highest form of storytelling, it seems to me, is mathematics—where literally the signs contain within themselves the most violent and basic form of energy. Einstein understood that if he was able to sign correctly he would experience the secret to energy."

Thanks. I feel better now.

"The world is made for people who aren't cursed with self-awareness."
—Old Vaquero Saying