The Manhattan Project Today

This is the Columbia River as understood by the people who brought us the Atomic Bomb.P1060309 Control Panel, B Reactor, Hanford Engineering Works, Washington

This is the Columbia River as understood by American wild west mythology:


Hauling the last of the white sturgeon out of the radioactive sludge, to release it again.

It takes 4 or 5 hours. Cut the line off the hook. Repeat. Two mothballed weapons grade plutonium reactors, sealed in stainless steel shells, in behind.

This is what the Columbia River looks like within the B Reactor complex, immediately before being run through the reactor. The valves are partially dismantled and open to Russian inspection as part of the nuclear nonproliferation treaty.

P1060367 This is the spot where the military industrial complex was invented in 18 months beginning in 1942. The scheme to dam the Columbia at Grand Coulee (and destroy the salmon) to provide water in order to settle 100,000 poor black families as free holding farmers was sidelined in order to generate the electricity to run this machine. It produced the plutonium for the Trinity Test and the Nagasaki Bomb. When the irrigation scheme was finally initiated, the land went to large industrial farmers instead, at a subsidy of billions, originally intended to settle the poor. It was here that the American agricultural dream ended.

P1060275 Here is the Columbia River in the Hanford Reach, the only free flowing section in the U.S. The white egrets have recently returned from what was thought to be extirpation.

P1060773This is the Columbia River as seen by the Wanapum People, the people of the river, who were largely extirpated by the Hanford project.

P1070419White Cliffs, Behind Spirit Island

These cliffs are the glacial silts of the Okanagan, lying in a twenty mile curve where the river breaks out of the mountains into the Columbia Basin.

This is the river as seen by the citizens of Richland, Washington, the residential area of the plutonium manufacturing project:


Totem Salmon in a Childrens’ Playground

There are virtually no salmon left in the river. The dead are honoured as if they are still alive. That is how important the notion of hunting wild animals is to US American culture. Meanwhile, because of a treaty signed downriver at Celilo Falls, more money has now been spent trying to bring back the Indigenous Salmon Fishery than has ever been earned by the technology that replaced it.

This is the Columbia River as seen by the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation:


Outflow of the Columbia Basin Irrigation Project

The pumps at Grand Coulee Dam lift 45 cubic metres of water per second into the system. This is what is returned to the river.

This is the Columbia River, as seen by industrial fruit farmers employing Mexican workers, who are housed behind razor wire, in military compounds guarded 24 hours a day by armed guards.

P1060681Martian Colony on the Columbia River

Since the climate is not conducive to apple growing, Italian poplars have to be fed with Canadian water to break the wind, and overhead irrigation, with over 50% evaporation loss, has to be sprayed over the trees in order to produce edible (but tasteless) apples.  Frank Herbert wrote Dune in this climate.

The American way is to have all of these rivers existing at once and to manage the tensions between these irreconcilable visions on a partisan political stage. That is a questionable way of managing people. In terms of the river, it is abusive. Choices must be made, not between competing human demands, but in the name of the river. Choosing between human demands leads to short-lived solutions — a generation at best — that then lead to poverty and debt.


These are the Orchards of Hanford Town

They were abandoned to build B Reactor. The trees were abandoned and the apples left to fall to the ground. 50,000 workers housed here in 1942 begged to pick them up. They were forbidden.

The engineers at Hanford have now spent a decade trying to clean up the leaking storage tanks of radioactive waste on site, before contaminated ground water reaches the Columbia. They have spent upwards of 15 billion dollars. They have built a machine. It does not work. I present these images to you as a suggestion that the work of rebuilding the earth cannot proceed using past intellectual, social and political tools. This is where they lead:


Evening Sun Above the Richland Strip

During the Vietnam War, this was the image of American prosperity and power. Now the sun is pink because the overgrown sagebrush west of here above the Yakima River at Ellensburg is on fire. The pink is the colour of a century and a half of bad range and grassland policy. Effectively, 12,000 years of wealth have been mined down to this since 1860

They lead here, too:


Waterskiing on the Impounded Columbia in Richland

In the smoke of the sagebrush fire.

And maybe worst of all to this:


Personal Water Craft and Impersonal Hellish Racket

These offensive stupid machines were invented here. It is this culture of dammed rivers, extirpated salmon, nuclear engineers, subsidized industrial agriculture, boredom and entitlement that led to the invention of these toys. The world’s greatest salmon river has become a toy and a playground. As for machines, they are the modern image of the Cold War, the Manhattan Project, the Atomic Bombing of Japan and the dislocation of the people from the river and the earth.

What we are left with, with which to rebuild the earth, in a Kafka-esque maze of competing government and private interests, is this:

P1060211Chamra Nature Preserve, Richland Washington

This nature preserve at the confluence of the Yakima and Impounded Columbia Rivers, beneath the freeways that serve as streets in this self-professed Atomic Age City, is composed almost entirely of weeds. All the nature you see in the image above is weeds.

This is not nature. This is wilderness. In American terms, this nation, that began with fundamentalist Christian settlers and their  image of Eden, has created wilderness out of lived, loved and livable space, the very wilderness that Adam and Eve were expelled to. It is an image of what those early puritan settlers saw when they arrived at Plymouth Rock. To this date, this has been the purpose and achievement of the American state. Like Adam and Eve, it is up to us now to walk out into that wilderness and make it again a rich and life-giving space. To do this, the river has to be a part of every conversation, on her own terms.

p1070453 Stag Swimming to the Reactor Fields, Hanford Reach

For perhaps 150 years we are going to have to give to the river, rather than take from her. The time of the taking will lead only to increased poverty.

salmon2One of the Last Columbia River Salmon

Only a few thousand of these fish spawn in the Hanford Reach today, in a system that once brought home 30,000,000 salmon a year. Men like this, intent on killing them before they spawn, are operating within their cultural and political rights. They have, however, no ethical rights at all.

Killing the earth doesn’t end with the tar sands of Canada, shale tracking, chemical plants, or the deadly Basa fisheries of Vietnam. It is entirely part of the culture and infiltrates almost every act. Humans have the capacity to kill and to give life. It is time for the life-givers to call things as they are: killing is not a sport for humans. It is a sport for beasts. Let’s stop the nonsense and call things by their proper names. This nonsense of human ownership and superiority has gone on far too long.



There is More Than One Sun and More than One Earth

In 1543, Copernicus published this book and changed everything:


De Revolutionisis Orbi

Before he did that, the Earth was considered the centre of the universe. After he was done, the sun was considered the centre of the solar system, and the stars, well, they were out there.

514px-Nikolaus_KopernikusCopernicus, the Priest Who Started the Scientific Revolution

His model of the solar system looked like this:



It is an elaboration of the medieval image the poet Dante made of the universe in 1320 — a change of perspective but not much else…


In turn, that image goes back to the Greek tragedies, which were stages to represent the zodiacal codes of the Art of Memory, which eventually was codified like this:


Giordano Bruno’s Memory Map

A Solar System, or a sun, by a different name.

Such maps were incorporated into theatre in the Elizabethan age. Shakespeare’s theatres were built on the model of such maps. His plays place consciousness in the middle of them. Kind of like an updated Dante. Here’s Dante:


Dante and Virgil Looking Up to the Heavens

Dante’s world was a stage. (I think ours is too.)

We stand on the threshold of a similar revolution, or extension of old patterns, should we wish to take it. Today, I’d like to suggest that the earth is a planet with many suns, not just one. Here are two.


Two Suns at Dusk in November

One fuses hydrogen into Helium. Its particles take 100,000 years to get from the core to the surface, and then a few minutes to get to the earth, where they reform the sun in many shapes, which are very slow and bind sun, water and earth into complex organic, self-replicating patterns. The other, this sunflower, one of those patterns, carries particles of that sun through the winter into the spring, for the reaction to continue on earth again.

Meanwhile, deep within the Copernican version of events, humans eventually started doing this:

P1070439Torturing the Last of the White Sturgeon in the Columbia River

Four hours to haul it up out of the radioactive sludge, then you let it go and see if you can do it again. These most ancient fish have mouths full of hooks from previous torture events. This is called sport. yes, That’s 2 of 9 weapons grade plutonium reactors watching. The Cold War was largely conducted here. It still is.

We are inside the reaction. It completes itself when it strikes matter. You could say, we are inside the sun. Everything we see and touch, and every way in which we think, are the result of the imaging of the sun in the material of the earth. Copernicus was only presenting a perspective based on the traditions and knowledge of his time. It has evolved into a powerful scientific and engineering tradition. It is only part of the story. The story has evolved. There are so many earths…

P1360227Choke Cherries in November Rain

There are so many suns …


Wild Grapes After the Birds Were By

There are whole worlds and technologies here, far more capable of healing us and the earth than the Copernican one.


The Poetry and Science of Flight

I am trying to learn how to read. So, I’m standing in the middle of the road hoping no car will come. I’m doing this because it’s time for the last birds to skedaddle. They get ready for the big push south by swirling around in tight, restless flocks. It’s breathtaking.

flying4 From below, they are written in one language, one of a single plane of identical creatures simultaneously beating their wings as if sharing one breath. From the side, though (it might help to open the pictures in a new window to see them in a larger view), there’s a different language entirely.

flying3Flapping and soaring of all kinds.

There are even paragraphs.

flying A little closer on that kind of thing …


Yup. That’s the winter fog above them. That’s why this place is not arctic.

Kind of like our own local Gulf Stream.

Amazing! It’s mathematics, physics and language all in one, but, here’s the kicker: it’s not human mathematics, physics or language, or, better put, it’s none that come out of the human traditions that bear those names. Because it has no name, it is called poetry, and set outside the boundary of discussion. It’s beautiful, right. Over and done with. The thing is, beauty is form and balance, which is to say, mathematics, physics and grammar. In contemporary ways of thinking, if this language of the birds could be measured or statistically analyzed, it could be included in the discussions of contemporary science. In fact, however, it goes to the very ground of contemporary science, because even the most precise, machine-based science holds within it a split between two traditions: one that sought to divorce humans from God, and one that sought to bring them closer. This is the closer part. Ah, but we were talking about migration. It’s not for everyone this year, I’m afraid.


Weathered American Robin Watching the Bird Show

Suddenly, there are robins everywhere. They must have arrived from the north. It must be getting frosty on the plateau. This one, though, I think he’s here to stay. As for language, photography and visual art have developed a grammar for what these birds are doing, and poetry, too, in moments of brilliance. It’s science to which it presents an open door into the complete unknown. Here’s how  science puts it in the age of algorithmic computer modelling (the quote is in the American language):

Basic models of flocking behavior are controlled by three simple rules:

Separation avoid crowding neighbors (short range repulsion)

Alignment steer towards average heading of neighbors

Cohesion steer towards average position of neighbors (long range attraction) Source.

All fine and good, but it does not describe, honour or in any way approach this, or at least in any human way:


Now, what is a flock? It’s an old term from weaving. It is the process of building up texture on a surface of cloth or wood by the application of small amounts of material over and over again. The icons of the orthodox tradition are flocked in this way. As for starlings, the birds whirling around in these images, the word is ancient, and comes from the proto-Germanic Staraz. It means “rigid”. So, rigid plus ling = little (or most loved) rigid things.

Most loved stiff things swirling in the air.

In those old languages, it wasn’t the birds that were doing the flying, but the flying that was catching up the birds and flocking them, or building them up on the sky into texture by the application of small amounts of material one and over again. There is room for science to grow into the space that describes. It would be a science of humans on this earth. It would be wise. Not stepping through that door would be, well, not stepping through that door.

P1360510Robin Nest with a Hole in It from the Fall Rains

The world offers many doors.

This is one.

Meditation on Light

The human mind reads patterns.

panorama2 Perhaps it does so because it is formed from an earth rich with patterns.

panorama4 Perhaps the moment of apprehension of pattern is called meaning.P1360572


Perhaps that comes after the moment and is weaker than it is.

P1360581 Perhaps “meaning” is a false path, because there is none.

panorama2 But perhaps there is pattern, shared, and that is more. 200 years ago, Goethe proposed a science based on such principles. 100 years ago, Heidegger proposed a philosophy based on these principles. They have been discredited because their observations led to neither science nor democracy. No?

P1360461What if you include the earth and the water in the community of humans? Isn’t that where we need to go?

P1340092 The arrival of the first snow. Bella Vista.

Shouldn’t we include the sun?

P1310914 And our brothers and sisters teaching us how to come home?


Nk’mip Sockeye Salmon Coming  Home, Okanagan Falls

What are we afraid of? Losing our identities? When we can gain the world? Isn’t this how we can stop being an endangered species?



Spring Spinach in November

While I was away, under the care of doctors and nurses, it got down to minus 11 degrees Celsius. I’m mighty sad to have missed it, but the spinach isn’t.

P1360544 This spinach, planted in October, is as happy as can be, although the soil goes Clunk! when you bang on it.

P1360543 Yes, folks, spring is here.

P1360542Ta da! It lifts my spirits, you know.


The Spirit of Colour

Goethe’s theory of colour postulated that colour was an edge effect between darkness and light, and that the colours the human mind viewed were dependent upon mood and health — that they, in fact, displayed it. If that’s the case, take this as Okanagan Lake seen from my house on the day I returned home from six days in the hospital with pneumonia, much of it in isolation in the basement.

sunset22Never has anything looked so good. Here’s another view, this time to the sun, and clouds, and breath:

P1360459Goethe was onto something.



This Beautiful World (And how not to lose it)

Look what this lavender bush has done.

P1360148She has sieved leaves out of the wind. Or is it …

P1360147… she has stopped them from blowing away? Everywhere the earth is trying to get us to stop.

P1360197Snow Buckwheat in November Light

Long past the season of blossoming.

We stop just like the leaves in a bush of lavender and then a moment of wonder and balance comes, one of those moments we humans call beauty and the earth is.

P1360194Cottonwood Sapling

Such a young one at the beginning of a long career of giving up her leaves to whoever will have them.

Things are connected in place. That is a form of intelligence, written in a physical language. It’s not randomness that’s the active principle here. The principle is balance. It contains randomness but is not contained by it. Otherwise there’d be only death. So, a thought, today: when you go out into the grass or the woods or the rocks with children, don’t say it’s to satisfy their natural curiosity or to allow them their sense of wonder or for recreation. Be the wonder. Be the creation. Otherwise you aren’t.



Finding Dante in the Bella Vista Hills

Each of these grape berries is a sun that the grape vine has created out of the only materials it has — not intellect, certainly, nor such products of it as nuclear fusion reactors (very pricey) but the physical stuff of the world. It is, in other words, a photograph in a technology based on life. P1360208 The image isn’t fixed in time, as intellectual and technical products are, with their roots in the eternal world of the medieval church, but flows with it, recreates itself within it, and does so without leaving unity, balance or physicality.

P1360213Contemporary Christian philosophers would argue that this break between natural cycles and eternal lines is the fundamental genius of Christianity. The contemporary Christian pastors I know would argue that this is an image of original sin. Standing just a little to the side of all that, I’d say that those are the same thing. I am haunted by the thought that these Christian philosophies come to the present through a Europe that was both Celtic and Roman, and carry the spirit of those cultures forward in some way. Could it be that reclaiming the natural imagery of the Celts, that would have seen these grapes as part of a natural cycle of life and death, could deepen (or soften) the concept of the individual within contemporary society and return the onus for thought to the world from the self, which is a pretty new piece of technology and might just lead to the replacement of humans with machines? Might this, in other words, be a human image?


Choke Cherry After Leaf Fall

It certainly was in Dante. You know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking we don’t need to reinvent the world. After all, there was much about Catholic cathedrals that was not Christian, or, rather, was Christian and earthly at the same time. Like this;

erfurt moonMoon Above the Entrance to the Erfurt Cathedral

Constructed by the Bishop of Mainz, a long way to the West, and Mainz was, well, Rome.

That’s one of the things I’ve been trying to do here, to put things together into wholes — to draw human identity out of the depths of time, rather than to use the products of time and history as arguments in a story of the self. I’m very excited by this work. Thanks for following along here in my valley in the West beyond the West.


Farming and Art: Ancient Sisters

I was walking along the old water canal the other day, and then up the ravine and along the coyote track across the top of the vineyard, and I saw this…

P1360254Industrial Plantations, Bella Vista

Those are apples in the background and grapes up front.

I realized in a flash that this technology, the one I came to light in on this earth, is not farming. It is an industrial process. These are factories. So many changes have occurred, slow step by slow step, to the ancient art and intellectual traditions of agriculture, and have become so swept up by new scientific metaphors, that it has been easy to confuse this new technical activity with the old traditions it replaced, or even to insist on a continuum with ancient practices, just now with better tech. That has been a mistake. This is not farming. These are plants arranged to meet the needs of machinery.


Don’t get me wrong: this is not farming either, over in the ravine…

P1360234November Choke Cherries that the Bear Forgot

So many times it is said today that farming is the human activity with the greatest impact on the planet, and then the argument is dismissed because of the necessity of farming for contemporary food supply networks. That, too, is an error. This is not farming …


… but it is the production of food. The two things are not the same. Here’s a thought. You know the beauty of skeletons, right, the bones in perfect proportions, the exquisite physics at play?


Cat and Skeleton Source

Notice the beautiful tension caught in Its hind legs and the perfect arc of its front ones.

This is a story told as science, and is often used to explain evolutionary processes as solving technical problems the most efficiently. Fine enough, but, well, what if they were not  technical processes per se, but artistic ones?

easterhorseIcelandic Horse on Easter Morning

A perfect creature of the grasslands, or an artwork?

Well, both at the same time, I expect. A separation between art and technical usefulness is precious and given the state of the Earth, self-indulgent. Might it not be that when humans find the art in land use again, farming will re-surface from the ruins? For instance, is this light a random act, based upon the angles of the hills and of no consequence …

P1320637… or it is an unbalanced photograph of the land that leads to apples without sugars, which must be industrially marketed instead of celebrated with the joy that life and food from the earth brings to human bodies, because no one would accept them otherwise? And to think, I was just walking along the ravine one day, when it stopped me in my tracks, step by step. First, this…

P1360237Red Delicious Apple Seedling Making a Break for It

A note on that tree: if men from the government find this tree, they will cut it down, because it might harbour pests that could damage the industrial viability of the food factories next door. You can only get to that point of arrogance if you believe that life is a random event, much like light spilling over a hill and showing us the way. So much of the contemporary world is like that now: what has been forgotten is described as random, and dismissed. No, it’s not random. It is only unknown. What there is is only a failure of language. There are, still, old words for it: farming, for one. Art for another. In this context, an artistic or literary education is of immense practical use. A technical one can be used to bring art forward over the  hundred years of its neglect.

The Future of Remembrance

Autumn is a time of year when mixed maturity and loss exist together in the poignancy that for much of Western history has been the heart of art.

P1350731Autumn Study: Red Cabbage, Sleet and Hawthorn Leaf

And a beautiful thing it is. The mushrooms popping up everywhere on the hills…

P1300728The berries ripening on the hedges …


The ragweed finally laying its pollen to rest and making peace with all men …


There’s something about the colour of this season, as in these “Hens and Chicks”, that never looked like this when they were digesting the summer sun.


The grapes on the vine, lingering forgotten long past harvest …

Can you hear the starlings?

The roses, catching the red rays of light and pulling at the heart strings…


The dogwoods, too, of course, showing their true colours, battered by a season, cut adrift by thin layers of cork at the base of each stem. They’re on their own now…


Soon the wind will take them.

For a long stretch of human history (well, all of it up until the last century) this was a human story, and a spiritual one. Now it’s part of the randomness of the universe. Ah, but look at the sumacs!


Random? Really? It Looks More Like the Big Bang.

Even cruel and stinking, disgusting weeds put on a show now…


Knapweed bursting in supernovas out of dead stalks. 

Life, it seems, is not going out without a bang.


This is the glory time for orange lichens. They match the snow buckwheat flowers perfectly.  And the snow buckwheat leaves match the grey lichens on the rocks. Is that random?

I’m not saying there is intelligent design in this universe. I am, however, pointing out that human observers see what is there for them to see. That includes the glory of harvest, the work of men and women with their hands to purify from a year’s sun and wind and rain the spirit of the year, which for millennia has been called wine.

P1310372Winemaking in Canada


P1310365Boys with Toys

Notice how the forklift appears to be powered by a beer keg.

Do no men touch the world with their bodies anymore and make of it an artwork? Have we, those of us who are artists, failed? Could it be that art is not part of the solution? That it’s part of the problem? Of course. It’s part of the culture. It’s still beautiful, certainly.


Modigliani Copy Contemplating a Feather, Gallery Vertigo, Vernon (Click)

But humans are not the only ones making art…


Coyote and Deer Footprints in the Vineyard Roadway Mud

Yes, of course, art theory holds that

if it’s not a conscious pattern it’s not art.

Isn’t that part of the bias? Isn’t that part of the problem?


The Glaciers Left It

Glacial erratic at the the top of the oldest rock in British Columbia, Okanagan Falls.

It’s not art in a human sense … so? Isn’t it time to get over ourselves? When I was a kid, I lived in the world. Now that I’m approaching the, ahem, autumn of my years as a man on this earth, I am still haunted by images like this:

P1310335 Zinnia, Two Weeks Back

Each of those petals is a seed. You don’t get that in the summer.

I think there’s something to learn from the world. Like giving yourself away freely, as this rose is doing:

P1310315 And fog. Contemporary culture says that fog conceals. Does it not rather also reveal?P1330290 Are patterns dimly perceived perhaps stronger than those seen in sharp light?

P1330265 And are three seasons of care not worth one flower?

P1330099And does that flower not contain the universe? Let the empirical workers scoff. What else is there at this time of year but this all-revealling, all-encompassing light?

You can’t measure it, 

hold the voices of scientific mythology. Really?

P1350714Can’t you make coffee out of it? Is that not a measuring? Is it not “taking the measure”?

Dandelion root in a place of honour at the top of the day’s harvest. The anticipation of the hand work ahead of me, and then, finally, those few cups of glorious drink, fills me with joy. What else is there in this world? Not-Joy? Would you choose that?

So, maybe the thing is there are no words for this. That brings me back to my point: we, who call ourselves poets, have failed. We got distracted by words. My cousins, the Swiss Lutheran pastors, I’m pretty sure would say something like this,

But this is the price of original sin, Harold. Of course human cultures are broken. They can’t help but be.

Wise words. There is still, however, the mystery of grace.

nutLook at that. You can pick the universe off a tree. You can crack it open. You can taste it. You can be nourished by it. Yes, there are hard choices,

the price of progress,

and all that, but those are military choices, and militancy is not the goal. Peace is the goal, and union, grace and joy. There just are no words for this. They were blown out of the world when they were taken far too lightly by  men called officers and the men they sent to die in the muddy fields of France in 1914, 1915, 1916, 1917, and 1918. We, who call ourselves poets, who stand in the shoes of the men and women who made our language out of the earth and the air, need to do the real work now, the work that was left off a century ago. What is that work? Well, maybe a start is to say it’s time to stop making art like this:

P1280811Harvest: A Lure for Humans

The shed no one uses, the wheelbarrow no one uses, the romantic flowers, the pumpkins no one eats. That’s a poem. It brings bodies in off the street, who bring their selves and their wallets with them. That’s not really respectful. That’s not really spirit.

So, I stopped by Poetry Magazine today, to see what they’re doing with their $100,000,000 bequest. I found right up front this poem by Fady Joudah, called Tell Life. Such beautiful language, so skillfully arranged, so deeply felt …


You can read the whole poem by clicking here. I suggest you do. It’s a strong piece.

… and so empty of spirit and of words to speak the ineffable. What is says is, really,

There are no words. One can only howl.

Really? There used to be words for this. The triumph of science and mechanized culture has stripped them from us … but shouldn’t we resist that, with grace?


Menhirs, Yverdon-les-Bains, Suisse

After 4,000 years, this place is still alive. It’s not history. It never went anywhere.

It is a commonplace of humanism that humans are masters of their own destiny. Does it have to come with spiritual poverty? Is that the price?


Are we all for sale? Are we all selling each other and our selves to each other? Really? Is it a price worth paying? Let me tell you my answer: no. It’s possible to talk. If this is where the language of poetry is now …

P1290159 … and spiritual nourishment, the sacred apples the monks distributed throughout the German forests, to feed the people in body and soul has come to waste like this ….


Discarded Apples in Vernon…

left to Rot because they were marked by hail or touched by insects or wind.

… then it’s time to be men again. Cheap apples on the shelves of industrial grocery stores are subsidized by the death of culture and community. They leave us all alone on a dying earth, to celebrate dead soldiers on Remembrance Day, who died under the direction of fools. Why do I speak so strongly? Well, the mechanized killing of a million men in a summer to see who can kill the most is not worth celebrating. If we celebrate anything, let’s get the words right. That’s the real remembering. After a century of forgetting. Let’s start by correcting the original humanist and nationalist error, with one simple sentence:

It is not about us.

The owners of this place are watching.

P1290974It’s time we built a relationship again. Yes, with words, not with critical analysis, because, and I feel I must repeat it:

It is not about us.