Unutterably Beautiful

Unusual anomalies in VLF recordings, WV (soccer field, evening):

http://www.asondheim.org/vlfsocr7.mp3

Regular 'stuttering' towards end.

http://www.asondheim.org/vlfsocrground8.mp3

Body grounding and new phenomena.

The atmosphere was incredibly active with dense clusters, trains, and
singular spherics. NASA VLF-3 radio with 8' vertical antenna.

The 2nd mp3 was almost, but not quite, breathing. Stretched dawn chorus
comes to mind.

I believe these are unutterably beautiful.

We have been in West Virginia for close to ten days now on a house-sit. I don't sleep; I worry about money, about survival. I said to Azure that I have to work as hard as I can since it doesn't feel as if I would be able to again. The future is too emptied out, too bleak, and our stay here is unbelievably rich.

Tonight I awake and hear the crickets chirping in the lizard cage. As part of the house-sit, we take care of an anole and gecko. They're doomed, of course; we bought them to be eaten. It's heart-rending; I couldn't own anything that needed live food, food bred for live consumption. There's a metaphor that makes me uncomfortable; I identify with the eaten, not with the eating, most likely part of my depression. We have a cat, who has us, Boojum, and of course we buy food for her as well, back in New York (she is now subject of a chain-linked house-sit). And of course that is also meat; I'm aware of the hypocrisy here, and after she passes, it would be hard, for me, to have another such animal. She is friends with both Azure and myself; this isn't about her, but about all of our footprints on the planet.

For I think to myself, however large or small my footprint, it is too large; it should be reduced. And reduced and reduced. Reduced to nothing, and then some. Disappearing in a hollow occupying as little space, however as much time, as possible. Leaving the rended and rendered earth to itself, and perhaps one cricket better. All one can do is atone and clean up one's own mess and then others and then others and others. But I imagine the emptied footprint, an outline of the passing of a human, all these files and transformations. And the footprint slowlly disappearing from view - slowly, because I have unquestionable pride, and think of legacy as much as anyone else. My legacy however is tinged with regrets, embarrassment; it's peripheral, hardly visible. Culturally, I belong nowhere at all, but listening to the sky is never enough; if I consume it is knowledge, and knowledge's transformations. I am a cultural machine in the virtual; I can't help this, and that is my failing. I - I - I - I- I - am crippled enough to believe that if I don't produce, don't create, I have no reason to simply be. So I am. So I listen to the skies as a reporter, and other works and workings follow suit, and if they don't, then I am not. And Azure suffers daily through this selfish nonsense...