If I was a gambler I would bet that Dump will NOT drop - and if he orders the military to drop a nuke they will drop a nuke - a nuke on Iran at eight eastern daylight tonight, but I would take take a flyer on they-meant-to-but-dropped-it-on-Istanbul-by-mistake at +2500
Reminder: Dump is the idiot savant of blunt, he's a shitlord weapon, this would not be happening without their sanction, and he's not who those in Club Shitlord, omerta-sworn and blackmailed-loyal, are scared of
My dying during eye surgery this Thursday in the nuclear retaliatory attacks against shitlords' nuclear bombing of Iran would appropriately complete the Slothrop metaphor of my life's trajectory mirroring the United States of Assholes'
Speaking of which, back afterward, eye hope to, um, see you soon, but if not...
"Nothing I could say about the GOP base is as illustrative as the fact that Trump understands that posting black people in what his audience considers a “white space” will make them incandescently angry"
"One of these political leaders has been repeatedly portrayed as an untrustworthy radical hostile to others because of his religious beliefs. You’ll never guess which one!"
I swear to you, I'd never heard of this guy until a week ago, I only know what I read in this and one other article, I see who hate him so he can't be all bad
L asked me to go to Saturday's No Kings! rally on Rockville Pike at the Strathmore campus so we walked the loop from our house. It was bigger, more festive and boisterous, than last October's. Multiple signs begged god to slump Trump over now as if Trump is the sole cause of the clusterfuck rather than a uniquely skilled and frighteningly effective shitlord weapon doing exactly what shitlords want, as if Trump dying will trigger a paradigm-shifting clusterfuck reset. An acquaintance (the mother of a kid my daughter went to high school with) from Garrett Park wondered why the ruling elite permit Trump the latitude to wreck the world, I... said nothing, I'm nuts, don't you know. Once home put on the album below this sentence and started working on the grid below this song
Am I to become profligate as if I were a blonde? Or religious as if I were French?
Each time my heart is broken it makes me feel more adventurous (and how
the same names keep recurring on that interminable list!), but one of
these days there’ll be nothing left with which to venture forth.
Why should I share you? Why don’t you get rid of someone else for a change?
I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.
Even trees understand me! Good heavens, I lie under them, too, don’t I? I’m just like a pile of leaves.
However, I have never clogged myself with the praises of pastoral life,
nor with nostalgia for an innocent past of perverted acts in pastures.
No. One need never leave the confines of New York to get all the
greenery one wishes—I can’t even enjoy a blade of grass unless I know
there’s a subway handy, or a record store or some other sign that people
do not totally regret life. It is more important to affirm the
least sincere; the clouds get enough attention as it is and even they
continue to pass. Do they know what they’re missing? Uh huh.
My eyes are vague blue, like the sky, and change all the time; they are
indiscriminate but fleeting, entirely specific and disloyal, so that no
one trusts me. I am always looking away. Or again at something after it
has given me up. It makes me restless and that makes me unhappy, but I
cannot keep them still. If only I had grey, green, black, brown, yellow
eyes; I would stay at home and do something. It’s not that I am curious.
On the contrary, I am bored but it’s my duty to be attentive, I am
needed by things as the sky must be above the earth. And lately, so
great has their anxiety become, I can spare myself little sleep.
Now there is only one man I love to kiss when he is unshaven.
Heterosexuality! you are inexorably approaching. (How discourage her?)
St. Serapion, I wrap myself in the robes of your whiteness which is
like midnight in Dostoevsky. How am I to become a legend, my dear? I’ve
tried love, but that hides you in the bosom of another and I am always
springing forth from it like the lotus—the ecstasy of always bursting
forth! (but one must not be distracted by it!) or like a hyacinth, “to
keep the filth of life away,” yes, there, even in the heart, where the
filth is pumped in and courses and slanders and pollutes and determines.
I will my will, though I may become famous for a mysterious vacancy in
that department, that greenhouse.
Destroy yourself, if you don’t know!
It is easy to be beautiful; it is difficult to appear so. I admire you,
beloved, for the trap you’ve set. It's like a final chapter no one
reads because the plot is over.
“Fanny Brown is run
away—scampered off with a Cornet of Horse; I do love that little Minx,
& hope She may be happy, tho’ She has vexed me by this Exploit a
little too. —Poor silly Cecchina! or F:B: as we used to call her. —I
wish She had a good Whipping and 10,000 pounds.” —Mrs. Thrale.
I’ve got to get out of here. I choose a piece of shawl and my dirtiest
suntans. I’ll be back, I'll re-emerge, defeated, from the valley; you
don’t want me to go where you go, so I go where you don’t want me to.
It’s only afternoon, there’s a lot ahead. There won’t be any mail
downstairs. Turning, I spit in the lock and the knob turns.
I was reading in the staff lounge yesterday post-lunch afternoon, one not-my-department colleague present, quiet, over there on his phone, when his same-department colleague, the loudest yappiest complainingest person in the building (yinz have all known, know, and will know a new one or dozen more in what remaining time we have left) commenced kvetching. Today's waah: the AI-created, AI-driven, supposedly mandatory AI training sessions that I've refused to do (with my boss' full awareness) and have garnered no grief
To be fair, both colleagues have elementary school-age children, and the focus of their yapping centered entirely, as it should, on their kids, so their bitching necessarily for their sanity's sake assumed the shitlord sociopaths using AI to help collapse world order so they can immiserate us for profit before eradicating us as rodents are not using AI to immiserate us for profit before eradicating us as rodents. Not enough people are freaking the fuck out, a key function of our shitlord sociopaths' constant relentless reprogramming of our heads. Believe it or not, I kept my mouth shut. Believe it or not, there's new Guided By Voices
Adrian mentioned his son's eighth birthday past Sunday, when his son is my age it will be 2084, the Earth will be here, what world? August 28, 2084 I will be 125. Nick Lowe turned 77 yesterday
My two colleagues also talked about our current nightmare ending and a restoration of democratic normalcy and I did not say the shitlords and their demonic proxies (see link below, eg) have not amassed this power to give it back, they will destroy the world before relinquishing power
"At this point the Democratic gerontocracy can only be viewed for what it is: the modern day Spoils System. Any bullshit about radical change or providing the best effort for maximal effect falls in place of people who simply want to keep a job until they die at their desk"
