It's late. Just finished a committee meeting, ran 2.5hrs — UGH! Necessary, but lengthy. I ate dinner afterward —9:30PM, never good— and hoped it would relax me after the odd-hour commitment. It didn't. I have this weird kinda psychic film-wrapper covering me now. I thought about showering, but didn't. I should write something. No, I need to write something... a quick something... anything will do.
"On Perversions Over Lifetimes of Such Senatorial Merits"
CALIGULA steps out of time machine. Approaches.
CALIGULA (bewildered, dramatic, staccato)
"What (beat) year is this?"
"Two thousand eighteen, the month of July, named for Julius Caesar — as you likely already know, sir."
CALIGULA (dramatic, staccato)
"And what (beat) place is this?"
"America, sir. Do I call you sir? I am never quite sure in these situ—"
"Did you say America? Hurry now. Take me to your Senate, boy. I have much to learn."
I have neglected the thing for much longer than I should have, far longer than my wife has wanted. A story, a short novel of 51K words, that I wrote years ago. At first I said I needed to wait because of X, then I explained Y interfered. In reality, Z knew itself to be the true adversary, the nuisance, the hurdle. I knew it too. I have written many things since penning this story; I have looked forward to the day I might return and confront Z. Already 3K words into the edits/rewrites. An unexpected Tuesday.
Months ago —months before I left Twitter, in fact— I posted how great I thought THE MARVELOUS MRS. MAISEL is. It is, it still is. If my memory of that first post is clear, I believe I had mentioned my envy. I remain positively jealous* over THE MARVELOUS MRS. MAISEL: the greatness displays itself not only in the neuroses written but in the neurotics exhibited (wonderfully acted). Fucking awesome.
* positively jealous: jealousy that is positive, healthy, and inspirational.
I relish few things more than pitying stares cast in my direction. They think they know: when they see me exercise, hair disheveled, wearing last year's clothes, walking along busy streets in full view of everyone; when they read me, and filter many words through a single sieve; when they imagine, incorrectly, themselves correct — that they have to be, that they must be... right.
Upon reading morning newsfeeds...
(Trying to) TREND: Jingoist costumes ON SALE NOW! Make every day Halloween. Dress up, swallow the junk. Get some!
Haha! Some of the wee piggies from the media, political and creative class are funny. Just not in the manner they think.
It makes no noise and yet peach pie sounds wonderful.
It's harsh comedy that burns and makes ash of a piece of one's soul: my finding today of a 14-July-2018 NYT article about youth soccer in the USA where Hope Solo says, "...Soccer, right now, has become a rich, white-kid sport." The condition (and those relative) referenced by Solo is one I've noticed over the last couple years; it's one of the reasons I championed our household abandoning season tickets for our local MLS team for the '18 season and beyond.
A friend/colleague often teased me: I swear to god it seems like you can see the future. Tell me. You can, can't you?
My answer then, as now: I don't know, sometimes it seems like it. I see things differently, a multiplicity that often hurts. I'm cursed, not blessed.
Someone told me about something they saw on social media. I don't know when this meme/trend started, or who initiated it. If I understand the exercise correctly, a person selects a movie and also selects one actor from that movie that remains, while the remaining original actors are to be replaced by Muppets. My abandonment of social media is not ignorance, and yet it's bliss. I mean, this exercise seems odd, assuming it was an actual trend, because the choice seems so goddam apparent: The Big Chill, Kevin Costner stays.
Light lunch of plant-source protein, mostly. Splurged a little, here and there, admittedly. So, why now figuratively, if not literally, punch myself in the head? Why ruin my relaxed and stable emotional and psychological states of being with a decision to perform the first read (edit) of my most recently completed short story? For the remainder of the afternoon I am certain to be talking to myself: "No... not quite. Yeah, rubbish — I don't think so. Well, this needs to go, that little bit can be salvaged. Wait... WTF?"
Update: Not too bad, I am already calling on early readers. ¡Squee!
While sitting in the family room watching the World Cup championship match and enjoying a late breakfast of maple butter spread on an English muffin, a disturbing thought/question came to mind: what if xylem sap is the life force of fey creatures, and would I stop eating it if I knew it to be true?
update: You're fierce this tourney, France (Jesus H Christ). I love! love! love! that Croatia is not giving up (unrelenting inside the box and earning a second point after having trailed by 3pts). Great attitude gents... inspiring (I still think you're overpaid. Not just you, pretty much all pro athletes are overpaid, especially when one considers how money is a major conduit to much of modern life yet scarce for so many. Also, women pro athletes don't make near as much as y'all... and that seems really fucked up. I also make an exception for professional beer can crushers, who flatten aluminum cans on their foreheads for no more payment than bragging rights and fishing lures)
update: For not a single match did I cheer France to win. Celebrating through a downpour... splashing puddles, tossing out tears of joy... there is something wonderfully childlike, if not human, in the image... congratulations!
Had the dream again last night. Piers Morgan played both hunted and hunter in a bizarre twist on The Purge. Thousands of Piers Morgans took to city streets and alleyways, to suburban cul-de-sacs and shopping malls, to mountain lakeshores and country croplands, determined to destroy themselves. A throng of wee piglets from the media, political and creative classes watched him do so from the comfort of a magnificent production booth — from here they cheered each kill as they read adoring messages received from their faithful; they basked in such glory before more broadly sharing these messages with rest of their fanbase... always seeking, always yearning, always more.
Today's cheerleaders (nitwits) of indictments will be whiners (hypocrites)
of tomorrow's Government-Tech Bro surveillance state.
Some of my favorite stories while growing up were the Alfred Hitchcock and The Three Investigators books. I absolutely loved 'em.
Now, I am reminiscing... goddam, now I am falling into shadow... shit, and now I embrace The Darkness.
[ SKITTER/KIM furtively appears on the rooftop
(out of sight & unbeknownst to all players).
SKITTER/KIM somersaults from roof and, while landing,
wraps bike chain around throat of NEMESIS,
who'd cornered TECHIE/SARAH and HIGHFLIGHT/RALPH
and menacingly approached both with knife drawn.
SKITTER/KIM topples and garrotes NEMESIS in one swift action. ]
SKITTER/KIM (standing up after performing vanquishing maneuver)
Skitter, is that you?
SKITTER/KIM (wipes blood from bike chain-garrote to pants, approaches):
Of course it's me. Who in the hell else do you think it'd be?
HIGHFLIGHT/RALPH (stares at NEMESIS)
NEMESIS (gurgles, blood leaks from neck wound)
We thought you--
Thought I, what? Moved to the Valley with my folks?
Nah, I ran away just after they hit their first Sleazy Burger.
Dad, and his double-cheese addiction and IBS.
After eating, he didn't make it three miles
before having to stop to take a shit.
(stares at, disgusted with, NEMESIS: still gurgling, though quieting)
OK, now that's done and I saved your lame asses,
which one of you pissed-pant losers has a
packet of candy sours in a dry pocket?
FREETHINKER/REBEL's eyes become silver-gray as spirit
of Nathan Hale twists in the air and slowly fills
the beaten & bruised body dangling from gibbet arm.
FREETHINKER (raspy, otherworldly voice):
my only regret is that i am not a new yorker
and, thus, unable to vote cynthia nixon
GUARDS position FREETHINKER/REBEL atop trapdoor of gallows.
EXECUTIONER places hand on lever.
FREETHINKER/REBEL throws shoulders back, stands erect,
eyes white: defiant now possessed by rage spirit
of Philoso-Warrior Samantha (Charlie / Charly) Caine.
Left shoulder projects outward
<<Time For Change in #14>> lapel pin
Suck my dick, every one of you bastards
I reiterate, I am not a hobo.
Who am I kidd'n? I am a hobo!
A goddam, dyed-in-the-wool, rail ride'n hobo.
And proud of it.
I am certain to be the biggest HO you'll ever meet.
And my BO? Well, it's likely the foulest, most pungent
—strip the fuckin' paint right off your grandmother's whitewashed picket fence-
thing you ever had the misfortune to breathe in.
[extends arm, opens fist]
Now, you hoppin' on this motherfuckin' train, or what?
All communists residing in free market economies own multiple houses. It's a label, see. A brand. We'll make room. Cup my junk, comrade* Tickle and please me. Oh, careful now. Mind the ladder. It's leaning, yes, but is strong enough. All's well.
* And I think I'll work with the same Intellectual Property attorney I worked with when I trademarked REPUBLICRAT** at the beginning of the 21st century.
Cup My Junk, Comrade™ cups and glasses :: the perfect gift for the people in your life who drink with gusto.
** TRUE. (YODA voice) Trademark, I did. Outright mocking of ineffective and irresponsible two party political system, it was.
Look through many facets of the grand prism, it is clear: Right now is a great time to be alive!
Save NATO, eat toaster pastry! (or buy more tanks, whatever)
* Also, save the tuna. It's a handsome fish. Eat the rich instead, they taste delicious from a can, especially the ones who constantly preen and seek attentions (meaty bits soft & moist).
We split household chores, always have. Some tasks are divided equally, while others are shared unequally. I do the laundry in our house, about 75% of the time, certainly more than 50% of the time since we became a couple. Since it's been this way for decades* you'd think I'd have mastered some routine by now: that I'd recall how our closets are organized for summertime vs wintertime. Nope! I still fumble around the shelves and cubbyholes, searching for where to put our wares like a goddamn gerbil entering a Habitrail for the first time. Fuckin' hell.
* Once, very early in our marriage, my mother-in-law did our laundry while my wife and I traveled. We didn't ask her, she just did it. On return my wife immediately explained to her that I am 'different' [extreme emphasis] — that I not only do the laundry but am quite insistent on this matter. So, you over there (not my mother-in-law), thinking you own the narrative(s), kindly FUCK OFF!
My brain is as dull-edged as a chunk of crystal that's been rolling in a rock tumbler for a decade. Yet, devoid of mental acuity as I am, I don't think I'd describe someone who may have (MAY HAVE, rotflmfao!) committed a STOCK Act violation as mega-cool and smart given how much angst in the USA is due to financial injustice(s) and how much rage is directed (and rightly so?) at insiders in power positions — and any post facto admittance of such a deed by such a person may matter little to voters.
The uber-rich & famous do have their adjectives. And their values. I don't know... guess we'll see how things play out.
No person's pure, only a fool expects perfection in any human being. Forgiveness is powerful. However, that doesn't mean terms used by the rich & influential who weigh in from afar to frame those who seek position & power should be overlooked, or should go without consequence. If the rich & famous try to bring their heft, be objective... analyze the piss outta the situation. Scrutinize facts. Question everything, as best you can. Get answers, ask more questions. Personally, I'd like to thank the rich & famous for sharing what they have here: I have family & friends in TX. I'll be sharing what I've learned. Again, who knows how it plays out. Life's interesting. Surprises 'round every corner. 🎈
I am an inter-dimensional saviour, a deposed messianic ruler in exile from Universe X58B23prime.... unlikely but possible.
The extent to which mania is not only enabled but ennobled... For Fuck's Sake, Chait et al!
Although it is not my default greeting I don't mind the more intimate and friendly salutations where physicality is displayed: the slow & deliberate two-handed shake; the cheek peck; the solid, comforting embrace. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that I am almost certain to run up and hug Stephen Fry should I ever be near him. Now, you can ask me why I think I might do this; in fact, you could ask me repeatedly. I am not sure I have an answer. I don't know why. I suspect he's kind and congenial and, in that sense, 'worthy' (for lack of a better word that my brain is incapable of mustering at this moment). Perhaps it's because his face is reminiscent of both my English grandfather and his eldest son, a beloved uncle. I can tell you it has nothing to do with fame, I'm certain of that. It's inexplicable. Anyway, should a random encounter happen, I wish to apologize in advance, Mr. Fry.
Though I cannot explain why I'd experience an urge to hug Stephen Fry if we ever met, I can predict Twitter's initial reaction to a passerby's photo of said random event:
"corn fed Midwestern man assaults Stephen Fry because (rage du jour)."
Fight then, if you feel you must. But don't pretend. Don't sit around and scream maniacally into server farms from the comfort of your homes* — or during the interstices between editing and photo sessions. That is not fighting. Not even close. Your pennants still fly high: house banners boldly advertise the latest product/project, they wave and snap above your Social Media profiles, encouraging and inviting the gathering crowd: 'Still open for business!' How bad then can it be? You pretend to fight this great battle while from your spear ribbons of advertising copy stream onto the field. The most positive word I can attribute to such action is cowardice, an elitist brinksmanship perfected over millennia by the manipulative swine-class. Have the masses not been sufficiently manipulated? Framed? Taxed? Enslaved? I'll restrain myself from describing more harshly such actions. Regardless, I think diminishing numbers are now fooled by such illusory tactics that ultimately conjure only comedic images of crimson chickens fleeing an already fallen axe.
* Many of you engaged in 'Resistance' have multiple homes (or the equivalent) and yet apparently believe you have somehow not been a part of, or benefited from, the sickening state of affairs. I don't mind if you lie to yourselves... you'll not lie to me... nor many others, I suspect.
Had an apple earlier today. Bit into the forbidden, the fruit of the tree. So, chicken and waffles for me tonight because heaven's abandoned me, shut and locked its pearlescent gates, kicked me to the curb... also, and I'll be crystal clear here, fuck yeah!
The Message (gift): I miss the days of yore; however...
The Message (gift unpacked): From my position in the socioeconomic hierarchy I don't care so much about being a tool for the Establishment, that always ends up benefiting a handful while pulverizing billions; and, hey, look at this (self-aggrandizing) cap.
Note: (Of all the days that I might've had to use the internet to perform research) TODAY is a good day.
We want massive change because things are totally fucked up & shit, yo!
Be a love now and ensure the transition clearly follows a 10-point plan delivering doses of newness in small spoonfuls so it just doesn't feel so darned uncomfortable going down.
Thank you, dearie.
[10-July-2018 (last edit 11-July-2018)]
Never has there been a better time to read plain language.
Maths speaks the language of the universe
Yet is foreign, incomprehensible
— at this distance.
So close. Too near.
Here's the line: Which side today?
We're the line: And has it been crossed?
straight over diversity, only
to drive away differences, and hole-punch
a stamped and trampled sameness.
Watch the tolerance
...a little tolerance
And then, no tolerance!!!
Oddly, within such narrow bounds
—an infinitesimally narrow strip--
the upper limit remains outta reach.
And we sink.
ourselves, around what?
Aggression Toward the Mean?
We need to deviate... and yet blind drivers cannot read vital signs*
* Yes, I am totally listening to RUSH right now while drafting Press Releases, part of my volunteer efforts for an organisation I give my time. And, yeah, my lovely fellow Fallibles: "Aggression Toward the Mean" is the title of a story I wrote.
For whatever reason, the following passage resonates. And so I have found myself reading it (and the nearby, related bits of the document) again and again since the lady departed.
Art, Information, Theft, and Confusion
by Ursula K. Le Guin
"When ignorant critics praised her wonderful originality in inventing the idea of a wizards’ school, and some of them even seemed to believe that she had invented fantasy, she let them do so. This, I think, was ungenerous, and in the long run unwise."
If 'Triggered' be the RIGHT's 'Oh, your* just jealous' then 'Fuck civility' be the LEFT's 'Cuck!' :: the tilting manufactured swaggers; the limping struts; the wry twisted mouths, cracked lips dry with hate; the colorless costumes masquerading as ornamentation for dull reactionary impulse.
* Hope ya** saw whadda did der, leev'n dat misspellern. Hell, I laids it right der, naked like, without dis here footnote, fer a gud 24hrs. I dids it fer you:
'Cuz I knowin' ya like feel'n tall, and such like.
** And all y'all totally knows who y'ar, probably gotcha yerselves a pitcha a wunna dem sweet kittens near yer computer, wit wunna dem inspirational sayin's.
For good or ill, I believe it not too early to share an updated version of a post I shared multiple times in 2016:
Recently I took a random stroll thru Twitter. A rarity now... thank goodness. Various Tweets I encountered seem to confirm other anecdotal evidence supporting the following theorem: Once, whether by keen skill or dumb luck, one family member has risen into the upper echelons of wealth and fame in American Culture & Society it is, by all accounts, a practical certainty that their* issue's issue sinks into the mire of entitlement and insular, spoiled, self-important bratdom.
All that wealth, and so much poorer for character. Alas, such paradox.
This theorem may hold in other cultures too; I am not acquainted and familiar enough and, therefore, unable to gather evidence and form an opinion.
* My god! how I wanted to intentionally misspell for the benefit any grammar NAZI (past, present & future) who may come across this.
I've come to believe, at some point over the last few years, that JK Rowling (et al) is enamored with 'big capital'. It's as though she forgets* the damage done by the underlying infrastructure and supporting systems to many of the people she oft claims to support. Now, it is too simplistic for me to say I am against whatever she is for... that's an unproductive (i.e. fucked up) binary... although that idea can be considered to be housed close by... because it is difficult for me to accept (believe? trust?) that anyone embracing, directly or indirectly, the underpinnings, and thereby the results, of massive concentrations of wealth and power is actually a friend of the downtrodden... at least, to my mind (feeble as it is).
* or ignores — either is atrocious... and damaging
Congratulations PLACE WHERE THEY FILM GAME OF THRONES*
* Well done, gents. You are Croatia, the land of my grandmother's people... but, let's be honest, many in the Western World (and here I mean America & England — who often believe themselves THE whole of the western world) know you by your informal name: PLACE WHERE THEY FILM GAME OF THRONES. Much of America and England celebrates your win, if only because it means Russia loses. Yeah, a helluva STATE of grace, huh?
For lunch there was salad of lettuce and beet greens (tops) and other vitamin-rich culinary shenanigans. And last night there was roasted veg with butter and spices — OH! So many flavors, lips and fingers wet with juice. I'd post a photo but it'd be so much internet porn... and the Better Business Bureau* has a law, stating: veg fornication shall only be done in private or in the presence of a BBB-licensed coital veg-machine-operator.
* Not that BBB, but THAT BBB. You know the one, yes? You ARE EXPERIENCED, yes? Have you ever been experienced? Well, I have.
<<Recommend viewing on PC. Not recommended for mobile-device viewing as side-by-side nature of post lost.>>
Thoughts while walking today... some people say we shouldn't publicly share such unrefined things (early conceptual ideations) like this...
Neon Knights(lyrics by RONNIE JAMES DIO, TERRENCE BUTLER, TONY IOMMI, WILLIAM T. WARD)
Oh no, here it comes again
Can't remember when we came so close to love before
Hold on, good things never last
Nothing's in the past, it always seems to come again
Again and again and again ooh again oh
Cry out to legions of the brave
Time again to save us from the jackals of the street
Ride out, protectors of the realm
Captain's at the helm, sail across the sea of lights
Circles and rings, dragons and kings
Weaving a charm and a spell
Blessed by the night, holy and bright
Called by the toll of the bell
Bloodied angels fast descending
Moving on a never-bending light
Phantom figures free forever
Out of shadows, shining ever-bright
Neon Knights! All right!
Cry out to legions of the brave
Time again to save us from the jackals of the street
Ride out, protectors of the realm
Captain's at the helm, sail across the sea of lights
Again and again, again and again and again
Upchucked sample of initial ideas(formed during walk) — guide to more outlining/storyboarding
Introduce characters / heroes visually (silence)
Gender-less? Gender-free? Gender-fluid? Race-free? Race-fluid?
Address how, visually?
Anthropomorphizations of various aspects of WILL
( (hu)man-made, like neon light, and yet not mere artifice )
STEADFAST (immovable: titan / golem -esque in appearance?)
RESTRAINT (self-explanatory? more here, but what?)
VOLITION (act/direct/mot -ion; rides TRON-inspired bike?)
POISE (archetypal healer-figure?)
REMINDER: For Sale sign
(RE: setting D.C. present? future?)
REMINDER: K-street (explicit visual cue or implicit reference?)
Setting determined before this lyric, so...?
(Initial thought: Niece "J's" voice; regardless, a child's voice, though confident, deliberate, purposeful tone)
"And know, these knights are not only mine to command."
Close-up || Tight on speaking child::
"For this is not MY kingdom."
Visual, multitudes of children on a dais located in a field (Elysian Fields? Royalty (children) not in a castle — not walled, in or out, not captives of structure. Not above their plane of existence —not a religious heaven— but IN and OF the reality of their own making/choosing.)
ALL (in unison)::
"It is ours!"
Anyway, should you happen upon this (and the above, related) blurb...
I suspect we totally think of similar things as we listen to music while walking outdoors, enjoying the sunlight.
Happy Independence Day!
(P.S. I fucking miss you, R.J. Dio)
Smiling, after staring out the window, I reach for the brochure kept to my right, a trifold paper pocketed between the seat cushion and armrest, and then scan the contents. Want to learn, want to commit to memory. My desire: increase the number of birds I can identify by sight. I study the photos of KS birds. Navigating poorly, soon lost. Eventually I look up and again stare out the window. A sparrow — but what kind? Not a Harris', definitely not. Don't think so. Hard to tell. The window screen distorts vision. I tell myself this for the benefit of my eyes, in case they're listening. They are sensitive. I don't want to embarrass them.
"Mook," the bird seems to say, easily identifying me with a twist of its head.
Stirring occasionally, managing the burner, coaxing the contents toward perfect caramelization, the heat just low enough but not too low. Rare is the thing instilling a more relaxed state than slow-cooking vegetables — except maybe doing so while sipping on a glass of organic lemonade charged with a splash from an $80-dollar bottle of tequila. ¡Viva México!
[Heads high now, gents. Heads high. Good match, Brasil.]
As an intellectually curious amateur (citizen) scientist I ponder potentialities and ramifications regarding implications of things such as:
What if probabilities behind half-life calcs are [more/less chaotic, non-constant, non-exponential, etc. over a period of time that's been unobservable (e.g. some wicked-strange step function, or something)] -- then what?
And as a curmudgeon, albeit an affable one, I don't care two figs about what you think of me doing so (FUCK OFF*).
While as a writer and musician (and (hu)man inspired by esoteric shit)... holy sweet-baby-bajeebus! such mental meanderings are grand indeed.
* FUCK OFF has been intentionally capitalised** for the benefit of Rubio.
** Spelling of capitalised (using the letter S) has been done for the benefit of non-American*** English speakers.
*** The twisted brains of some interpret non-American as un-American, and I pity those who suffer from this controllable (correctable) delusion.
I remain amazed by the number of VERIFIED-types who seem to equate shouting into cyberspace (at their minions) as meaningful surrogate for action / activism. Their egos are on par with that of TRUMPet POTUS-man and I fear their rage displayed is a response to this awareness.
Honies, y'all may be on different cars but rest assured, as is TRUMPet POTUS-man, you just ridin' that Fame Train. Toot-toot!
ACTION is power. Power fuels motion. Movement, graceful. Your (plural: women MARCHING) grace, beautiful & cleansing.
Go! Go! Go!
Creativity eludes me. My Switter handle is... what?
The Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez win is a far more enduring (and meaningful) injection of hope and inducement toward additional action than rich, white (mostly) guys on the left throwing cyber-punches at rich, white guys on the right. No matter the stage/scale (district, state, federal), the efforts creating the former (Ocasio-Cortez win) require work and possess substance, the other actions (the barbs) are dick-measuring contests for eunuchs. The former is showing up; the latter (the 'bald' barbs), while laughable, run the risk of inciting (& emboldening) opponents — because the human animal resents being mocked yet seems to regularly appreciate, respect & admire the difficult, yet noble, work performed.
Blow, winds. Blow.
Having to do the bachelor thing again and so returned to Korma Sutra. It will be my one meal for the day. I walked 4mi earlier and will do so again tonight, along with weights.
I am making notes on Indian musicians, learning from the waitstaff.
Seated in front of me are two girls, sisters presumably. One looks to be home from college, taking a little sister out for lunch, the younger's first Indian meal based on the smiles or winces she makes after each bite. She is twelve, I guess, being escorted into the mature world by Big Sis. I doubt the girl's expressions and demeanor would be the same if she were here with her parents... I am speculating here but think I am correct.
To one side of me, a black man and a white man are lunching and talking Jesus (the mythical baby grown, not the name of that one Mexican man who worked on your A/C and charged a pittance). The white man is listening in earnest and the black man speaks eloquently. They both shatter stereotypes currently vended in cyberspace, where the Fame-junkies & Hopefuls pick a side and press SEND hoping for Likes and RTs... because it has become gauche to snort blow, but that monkey on their back still needs grooming. Here, I see neither unbridled hatred or thuggery in either man and I listen in on their discussion now that I have noticed them.
I am nestled between these two tables, the restaurant wall's to my back and the large front windows to my right, where a summertime KS thunderstorm has quickly formed and now rages, replete with hail.
Blow winds, blow.
There's no way for me to know if a real —not this hyperbolic horseshit of hysteria— battle is coming (I broke my crystal ball trying to get to the candy corn trapped inside). What I do know is that if you —and you know who you are— exhaust the troops before the real fight begins then you are an absolute shit General... and you really need to resign your command, self-appointed as it is.
To my mind, Tea Party asshats did more to prop up Obama's image and support than Obama-supporters ever might've. Today's hysteria does the same for TRUMPet POTUS-man. The Doctrine of the Worshipful is scribbled and canonized as much by detractors of any Cult of Personality as it is by acolytes.
The Bogeyman is projected from fear as often as it is constructed thru faith, and the irony of the human condition —lamentable & confusing as it is at times— is that it's blind to THAT particular difference while noting (& judging?) most others.
Don't know about y'all but I'm totally taking cues from the VERIFIED-class on how to withdraw from the (perpetual?) state of crises. I mean, hell, look'n back thru history, it's clear they've done a bang-up job for simple (contentable?) folk.
Update: To my friend who appreciated the glotónes double entendre: Yep, I can do things like this now, even in foreign languages... Yeah, writing's improving... I am better than before, maybe... Some sayin' much... I don't know, it's all a bit weird... And no one is more frightened by this than I, truly... Thank you!
#WOLVERINES [ OG > reboot, yo ;) ]
For as much gaslighting as you do I am surprised you're not better at it.
Wife's away. I told her what I was going to do. I have no room for shame or guilt, and you've no place to judge. I just spent the better part of 2hrs, enveloped by strangers, exploring the Korma Sutra.
Korma Sutra in Lenexa, KS -- some of the most sensual Indian cuisine ever spread atop a buffet.
Troubling as the images and practices are, I will be surprised if the handling by the Establishment Left regarding the treatment and politicizing (theirs too!) of children results in the gains apparently expected.
Separating children from parents considered criminals (at least as defined under law) is not new, the practice of deportation is not new, this has not happened only under TRUMPet POTUS-man.
Where has the rage been? So, why now?
When the factual history and details come out broadly, and they are and will continue to do so, the Establishment (Corp? Elite? Media?) Dems will once again be on the defensive, a place hypocrisy and situational & conditional Hot Takes continually place them (as they do the Establishment Right when they too engage in this behaviour).
If this was an honest exercise about generating action among the citizenry I'd be less cynical. But it does not appear to be that at all. Much of what I am seeing is better described as an Influence Campaign (and depending on the harshness of one's viewpoint, one might use the label propaganda). It comes across as a desperate attempt at a land grab (in Honour's fancy dress) by the Establishment more than it does an effort to sincerely & honestly protect and serve the needs of children and immigrants (I note a few exceptions in this regard).
And why do I conclude this? Because if it's not what I describe above then many of the faces you see pleading so vocally now would have been less silent when the same shit was happening in the past (when they felt, or were, in control).
Addendum: And I's jus'a dumb-ass hick, after all. A transplant to Kansas, but still just one-a-dem corn-fed, country bumpkins. If I can see this, y'all betcha smart-folk gunna see it.
[IN-PROCESS] Publicly pitching (twisted from the headlines):
A public figure finds their spouse masturbating to a photograph of another public figure with whom there's soon to be a summit and the the buffoonish (first) head of state plans to enact their (envy-fueled) revenge with a series of shenanigans meant to disrupt the pending multilateral talks. [Note: second public figure —one in the photo— lives to the north, somewhere. Maybe along the border, I'm spitballing here.]
This modern-day Shakespearean(esque) farce is sure to amuse the audience and includes numerous POP culture references. For example: We will have a great wall in the north, mindless WHITE-walkers, and the egg-timer used during the masturbation scene is more than an authorial hat tip, the device lends a deeper meaning to the title of this proposed stage production: The Timing of Lemieux
Excerpt from 'The Timing of Lemieux'
"No harm will come to you. I give you leave; speak freely, Steinway."
"Perhaps you, the people's most POTENTATEDNESS, should not comment, with such earnestness, OUR* desire to see others stand erect. It may, err... well, that is to say, it may backfire, sir... and, um, cause the people to question OUR own erectability."
* definitely playing up the 'royal' we here
Oh hell, the A-side | B-side argumentation is maniacal at present. Fortunately I am a multi-dimensional object... and, fuck off!
There's a woman who calls often, and does so from (apparently) all over the U.S. She leaves messages, sometimes. Tryin' to sell me something. She must have a huge sales territory, perhaps her employer might hire another rep to help alleviate the burden. Wait! What's that? You say her solicitations are a scam. A scam? Really? Fuck me, Making America Great Again seems altogether similar to the last 2000yrs: Dipshit scumbag criminals hiding behind the (gossamer) veil of professional commerce.
Fuck Trump, says Bobbie De Niro? Well, fine. Agreed. And also, fuck De Niro... and every other entertainer that's made a mint working under the umbrella of MNCs (bolstered by and bolstering 'the system') peddling distraction, escapism, and choreographed nonsense under the guise of art.
And yeah, Bobbie, this is me, from the other side of the mirror, I AM talkin' to you.
A world awash with high-minded folks who neglected equitability, who for years gave values lip-service while distracting you and serving themselves a sizable slice of the capitalist (human meat) pie. I reckon a fix will not be had in the near term. Best to buckle up... and provision well.
01000110 01110101 01100011 01101011 * 01001101 01100101 , 01011001 01101111 01110101 * 01100001 01110010 01100101 * 01110011 01110100 01110101 01110000 01101001 01101001 * 01100001 01110010 01100101 01101110 ' 01110100 * 01111001 01101111 01110101?
Turning over social media accounts to commercial operatives will likely not improve the condition of discourse. Helz Belz, come on now! Pussyfoot'n 'round and relinquishing communication channels to corporate interests only perpetuates the humans-for-and-as-consumption model. It's grotesque and demeaning. You're either in, or you are out: stop fucking about.
Today's Nat'l Bourbon Day. I'll avoid equivocating: I cannot stand the taste of Bourbon (Scotch & Irish whisk(e)y are fine, I guess) AND I'll celebrate regardless. Carry on.
I discovered, in AM news that I have pushed to my desktop, the following article from Forbes, titled: Is Theoretical Physics Wasting Our Best Living Minds On Nonsense?
My answer: I doubt it (though time spent watching overworked, long in the tooth TV shows about theoretical physicists probably is).
Summertime is catching the juice of watermelon before it reaches the precipice of your chin. it is chasing lightning bugs until dizzying yourself by running in narrowing circular patterns. And If you disagree with this definition we cannot be friends (I'll also think you more ignorant and foolish than Señor TRUMPet POTUS-man).
There's only one thing more comical than witnessing the fawning over celebrity by celebrity and that's seeing Señor TRUMPet POTUS-man getting a metaphoric* (maybe literal, who knows) chubby over celebs.
* So, we'd say meta-phallic then, or no?
On the things I am proud of and recalling the last few days...
We weren't able to use our KC Pridefest tickets. So we gave 'em away. It was a bummer; however, we were able to stop by another pride parade while we were traveling. While there we read something posted online by a friend, a man who had come out (we were honored to be the first) at a mature stage in life, after a hetero marriage of many years. He reminded me of one of the things I am proud of: who I select as friends. I will paraphrase what he said this weekend: I can be who I am, no questions asked, 100%. Even in Kansas you can be yourself!
He's not afraid of who he is - where he is.
My friends and I, we'll leave fear-mongering to others.
A super-busy weekend means we cannot use our KC Pride Fest tickets. But we found someone who can use them, and so all is well.
I don't know what's disturbing the monkeys at this moment. It is likely different from yesterday's perturbance, and you can be certain tomorrow's will be altogether dissimilar. There is always something: always at least one of them dragging a stick — click! clack! click! — across the bars of the cage they've imprisoned themselves. I certainly cannot predict or control them, nor do I want to. What I can do is choose not to live among these rapacious, maniacal sorts.
I am not numb, yet have come to no longer concern myself. They're self-aware, responsible and accountable for their actions. So when they rush headlong into deafening echo chambers, I care not. Let their ears bleed...
their minds melt.
Dirty cops or filthy _ _ _ _?
Morning routine assaulted at finding this link to article discussing Twitter's announcement of their decision to support behaviour modification and social engineering. I understand why certain people think they want and need something like this be done by Twitter. However, this act, and those similar, have MASSIVE implications: social conditioning, selective spotlighting, and sculpting. It is culling —by a corporation— and it is not right.
You are on your own, netizens... good luck, and good night.
Not cops but _ _ _ _!
You say you don't drink, yet you appear constantly drunk on SELF. I guess I mean to say, that is, well... you can polish your penis until it shines like a star, it would be appropriate because from where I stand it appears no larger than a tiny speck.
Egotists often find others jealous, their delusion built on illusion.