The Long Road Out

I think I forgot to take my anti-depressant yesterday. Then I had two small glasses of red wine with dinner. My friend is back. The one who says "you're such an asshole David." Unconnected to anything, which is unusual. Maybe the stress of moving? I'm not conscious of having disappointed anyone or failed to follow through on anything. The usual sources of harsh self-critical thought. What is he trying to warn me of?

Hey moron…   So, now you're acting as if you're an independent power broker with Iran and Israel.  Don't hurt yourself doing gymnastics and posturing.   What a tool you are, Donald Trump.   Europe has been meeting with the combatants.  They specifically excluded you Don, since you can't be trusted and you suck all the air out of the room. This war was caused by you, in 2018.  We had the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action through which Iran agreed to avoid nuclear development in return for Israel's agreement to stop attacking and invading.  You complained back then that Iran cheated…but remained stupidly silent on the fact that Israel assassinated Iranians and others on Iranian soil and continued covert warfare the whole time.  Anyway, Israel got the message that it could keep doing whatever it wanted, and you were too stupid to notice. No military leader in this country who isn't a character in Dr. Strangelove (Pete Hegadeath?)...

The old one will sell this year. In the meantime, I have a room of my own—far more than I need to be honest. I'm proud of every one! I'm happy in every space. There's a fire pit in the back yard and I want to use it. I have Sonos speakers and a printer connected to my network, called Sublime. I might not change those for a long time.

That's what the sale of my beautiful and loved home on Riverside Drive in Manhattan was worth to my ex-wife. Proves the point that love and beauty have no value that correlates with currency (maybe bitcoin, though that seems unlikely?). I loved my ex and I loved my home. Poof. Onward through this cruel cold world, never to be seen again. 652,480. That's how my love paid out on long odds.

 No. Being sad hurts, and good people try to offer aid  to a degree that doesn’t ruin their own lives or negate them   Sadness is narcissistic   Shame, guilt and grieving can. These are states of pain and terror.  These emotions are about seeing the ashes and knowing yours are mixed with those in the nameless pit.  That you didn’t feel a thing until you, yourself, began to burn.   Let’s all hear of your shame and your guilt and your grief.  Speak White!   Cat got your tongue?  Not surprising to find you mute when health, healing, and joy are possible. Healing emotions start at 15…not placating 6.  

 I’ve been told this by past girlfriends.  Coffee doesn’t help. Pineapple does.  Employees of ICE:  don’t force women to give you blowjobs, as you have.  You need to fix yourself first.  Your semen stinks.  While you’re fixing this disgusting fact about yourself that no facemask can hide—stop procreating.  Can you image a kid looking up at you next Father’s Day—or earlier this morning—and seeing someone who does what you do for a living?   Who sees the sweat and blood and urine and shit and tears of the dead before the laundry man comes. Please keep your dementia to yourself until you are gone.  Nice job in LA by the way.  Stay in Orange County with your marine friends, who also have semen problems, though up until now not from killing white men like you on US soil. 

I hiked toward Mt Rose this morning for the first time in four years. I did not aspire to the pinnacle, where I've been dozens of times. I hiked to the waterfalls and back. The gentle Sierra hike was fraught. I am not the same person I was on my previous hailstone-pinged trail run/walk. People I have met since then have already left my life. I had not met my cat Ceci then, and her life has already ended as a meal for a nasty coyote pup. I had not re-met Diana, my off and on roommate during the darkest days of my soul. I was strongish and confident that happiness would be mine for many more years. Now I am weaker, uncertain of my place and my purpose, and often overcome by clinical depression. You could say I am a shadow of that former self, and I would not say anything in response. I would listen to you hoping to understand who I have become. At the center of the transformation of course is the tawdry and cheap dissolution of my disabled and gaslighted marriage. The damage of...

Not to stereotype but the loser who shot the state reps 29 hours ago, apparently because he thought pro-choice advocates were satanical, goes to some whackadoodle Revelation-based crackpot church.  Why isn’t the fraudulent minister who tended to this violent flock defrocked and in custody? Anyone who reads Revelation should be deported. It’s a stupid meaningless poem. I’ve never read a worse one   Ye hypocrites. We hold ayatollahs accountable when they advise jihad. We put targets on their back. It takes a religious moron—a fundamentalist minister in Minnesota for instance—to stir up a sick bitter abusive mind.  It would take a true leader to get murderers to stand down. Trump loves these guys. He’s super happy that local, state,  and federal Democrats are afraid to open their front door.  Like Trump, so does your plain-vanilla Christian minister.  He loves you when you spill blood on the sidewalks, brother. Love thy assassinated brother. You are all sick f...

 I see empty barren fields where no gratitude grew. Only disappointment.  I see myself ignored by passing trucks, unable to hitch a ride to anywhere I wanted to be.  I see a dead weight on the other side of the bed from me night after night.  I see a funeral for my endless capacity for love and happiness…and then the final incineration before I became the ashes I am today.   Horrid demons circling a toxic waste dump  Mina—don’t hurt too many others as you walk yourself home.  I cared for you but all I have for my efforts is disappointment and heartache, and looking back I see nothing but a legacy of emotional stinginess and gaslighting You presented an image of yourself that I don’t think even you liked, and that everyone could see through—but for whatever reason you maintained in lieu of authenticity  honesty  generosity, connection, or love.  You sold your good self to your own illusion, leaving nothing kind for me.  Your spiritua...

I'm designing a bumper sticker or decal for my Audi. My goal is to express my disrespect.  Here are a couple of the things I'm considering.  Let me know your preferences, or a better alternative.   ICE:   Go home now! ICE: Does your mother know what you do for a living?  Is she ashamed of you? ICE: You are not respected or welcome in my town ICE: Go back to wrecking your own home, and leave mine alone. ICE: You are following the orders of a moron.  Think for yourself for once. ICE: That's not my flag on your underwear ICE: how do you sleep at night?   ICE:  Deport Yourself Now.    Hey, these are all great. What a bunch of feckless losers to take a job destroying families and lives.  And the ICE outfits are so stupid looking—never take a job where you need a gun and the name of your employer on your back and a face mask so you can’t be identified by your victims    

  Dear ICE employee:  I do not respect you.  I do not anywhere near my loved ones.  I want you to return to your home town and ruin lives there if you can't control yourselves.  Go home.  No one wants to meet you.   Meanwhile, here's the Nation's assessment of your ethnic cleansing mission:   Not surprisingly, Trump's ethnic cleansing campaign has many people fearful and uncertain of what to do. Fortunately, there are many immigrant rights, civil rights and faith organizations providing " know your rights " training for people and providing as much legal support as they can, while rapid-response networks are expanding to mobilize people to come to the sites of ICE raids to provide witness and support for those under attack. But this racist campaign has sparked the growth of a broad and diverse resistance movement working to end the military assault on their communities by armored personnel vehicles, helicopters, and mask...

 If you took this job, look deep into your shame.  Just saying. Go home and wreck your own family. Not mine.  You will walk to your grave alone when your time is done. 

So, my divorce wrecked my credit rating. I've never missed a payment in over 40 years. My income is extensive and secure. I have a relatively high net worth. I've paid all my divorce obligations. I assume it's because my ex liked hurting me. It supported her preferred narrative that I'm a deadbeat asshole. She will never deny that she didn't act with the sole intent of doing harm, so that's what I'm left with after 30 years. A soulless idiot who fights like a four year old. And has similar communication skills and temper tantrums and emotional intelligence. You succeeded. You fucked ne over and wrecked my life. Nice work Mina. Party on jackass. How's your partnership game going? Disgusting.  You don't understand, and can't comprehend the hatred you leave behind you.  You are truly the worst person I've ever known well.  Name a category where you don't fall short.  I'm all ears... Behold the daily venom of your continued wort...

Democrat or Republican or intelligent, our government has one color--and it's the palette of the tanks parading in Washington or the federalized troops descending on Hispanic neighborhoods. It's the color of guns and large munitions and helmets.  The color of faceprint.  The color of militarization. That's the US. I hate that color and everything it represents.  And it makes me so sad to look out and see nothing but warriors.  Anti-depressants to not improve the look of military fatigues and a spent nation.   Unlike the pride parade, we are not proud.  We are not human.  We are not sexy.  We are mechanized killers.  Maybe we get a red pickup truck to liven our days, but the swivel machine gun in the back brings us back to drab.  It shows the black in our hearts. Shame on us.   Shame on our allies who intercept aid boats and send their own drones into the towns and cities and farms of the citizens.   Shame on you for laughing at...

Ok, full disclosure. My new best friend is a kitten named Tico. I'm not doing so well with humans these days. I want Tico to determine what he wants and needs as much as possible. I hope to be his ally, providing the centering tendency and safety he needs to face his world with happiness and curiosity. My previous cat Ceci was killed by a coyote six weeks ago. I worry that I'm not good enough now to be Tico's trusted companion. I'm not worthy, as Mike Meyers would say. (The US will get a lot more humor from Mike once we become the 11th province, or the 5th territory, of Canada. Go Habs. Fuck Trump and his voters.) In the meantime, Tico, I look forward to every moment with you. You are truly the joy of my days and my life. Thank you for what you've given me already in our short time together. I want to be better for you, sweet new friend. Partner?

It must be really hard for both of you, having to confront, once again, your own inabilities to form appropriate connections with anyone. And then, having sustained the loss of yet another potential source of love and resoect, to find yourself in that same old familiar spot: alone, and posturing. How many times have you both snarked at the world "I never liked you anyway!"? And then snuck a side glance at your text messages to see if there was anything new from the only source that matters. "Not me! I didn't look! See? My iPhone is silenced!" How brutal the vicissitudes of romance! How undependable the brittle strands of new love. How sad, the empty solace of yet another tragic failure. Will this loneliness never end? "Mommy and Daddy—you owe me. You were terrible love coaches. I still don't know how," sobbed Donald. Either does black-eyed Elon!

Here's a new one: The taxi to and from the runway at Ohare is always abusive. 20 minutes at a minimum each way and frequently significantly longer. It deserves worst airport ratings. I'm on a United flight now. The taxi out was so long the brakes overheated before we got to the takeoff stand. We just sat for 24 minutes while the brakes cooled to regulated temperatures. That's the TAXI!

The Four horses are depression, sadness, anxiety and grief. Their hooves thunder across the arid tundra that is constructed of loneliness. There are cracks and tiny isolated blooms emerge. See the orange petals there. That's excitement. The yellow tendril there? Happiness.

He's a bore and a pig and makes mistakes twice a year that destroy hundreds of billions of dollars of value. The only reason he's not bankrupt is that he has so much cash this psychopathic behavior is buffered. He has no emotional or business maturity. He tried to wreck the federal government and he couldn't do that. The military budget went up more than the cuts he claims he made. Tesla investors: unless you regularly have dinner with this turd, why do you want him back? Volatility is not a measure of value. It's a measure of risk. (Unless you're an inside trader.). If you make money off Tesla stock, you are unlikely to have meaningful friendships. You're a prostitute and not much more. My humble opinion of you. You and your buddies. I will never meet any of you. Trump amazes me.  He destroyed Giuliani—something the five Families couldn’t do. He threw Musk out.  He’s a stupid slimy pig, but he’s apparently good at mob leadership. Musk probably h...