Dangerous Compassions

trash is beautiful

Hey, did you know I’m fat and against fascism?  Probably you noticed.


My trike wheel is in the shop, supposed to be done Friday.  We went for a walk out of desperation.  “Walking seems so slow and the incorrect ratio of work to travel,” I told Ming.  “I wish I could trike everywhere!”

But the slowness helped me notice different things.  There was some pretty trash!  Wow!  Cute baby trikes!

pretty trash

There were some big, boring tiles I saw, but my mind can’t stop wondering what I could do with them!

These curved and non-curved brick things too.


This apple on the partially wrecked truck looked pretty.

It’s Hiroshima Day.  Remind me not to get too sad.  It’s the 75th anniversary.  I want to think about bombs and death, but I also realize I’m barely holding on, sometimes.  I vow never to drop a bomb on anyone.  Wish that was enough.

Probably, yeah, you weren’t here on Trinity Day.  Getting that depressed is not good for me.  I don’t like when trauma makes bad feelings later that are like bonus trauma.  Would rather not.

Love to all the activists, feelers, rememberers.  History is relevant, but I need to stay in bed.  If you need me, I will be there, trying to survive so I can do more another day.

Friendly, I waved to neighborhood people.  My shirt is really questionable.  It’s asking a lot, because people have to wrestle with two confusing terms at once.  The purple helps.  My smile and wave help.

The pink crate you see melted in this photo I wanted for a long time.  The book you see burned here–I think it got wet, which expanded it, and then got burned, which partially consumed it.

Please don’t be sad from these weird photos.  I think trash is beautiful.  My neighborhood is beautiful.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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