Regarding Clueless Nitwits


Howdy! Just a quick note while passing through home to feed the cat. Thanks to all who read here. I appreciate it greatly. I’m already jonesing while going without much computer time. The iPad is a nifty contraption but it doesn’t cozy up to my usage of the desktop. It will be good for me to have a break, however. And it gives my eyes a chance to get some rest. Having fun at the housesitting job. Will continue to do so. And, hey, what a bugfuck crew we’ve got in the White House – making us all safer by making the country less safe from terror. Makes perfect sense, right? Friggin clueless nitwits. Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

A Day of Breathing


“Fantasy is escapism, but wait… Why is this wrong? What are you escaping from, and where are you escaping to? Is the story opening windows or slamming doors? The British author G.K. Chesterton summarized the role of fantasy very well. He said its purpose was to take the everyday, commonplace world and lift it up and turn it around and show it to us from a different perspective, so that once again we see it for the first time and realize how marvelous it is. Fantasy – the ability to envisage the world in many different ways – is one of the skills that make us human.”  ~  Terry Pratchett

“On the throne of the world, any delusion can become fact.”  ~  Gore Vidal

That was a bit much. Yesterday morning’s sub-zero temperature provided the tipping point for me. I’m now tired of Winter. I still like it though. It’s no warmer this morning than it was then, but I don’t have to work today so there is a minimal easing in my  .  .  .  I have no idea what I was getting at there. Things to do. There are always things to do. It’s this darned sense of urgency again, still, whatever. I think I maddened myself by reading too much political news this morning. It’s been a long week, right? For all of the glaring bizarreness that has come upon us as a nation, for me there is the one telling thing about the size of Trump’s Inaugural crowd, compared to Obamas, or to the Woman’s march. Contemplating that alone could account for any madness that is upon me this morning. But I wasn’t contemplating anything. I just wanted to post a brief one here this morning anyway. It will be a day of breathing, and one foot ahead of the other, and all that happy sort of stuff. I don’t feel particularly silly, which is unusual in itself. Silliness is almost always close at hand with me. All things in moderation, right? Yeh. And don’t even get me started on philosophy. Yeh, I am feeling agitated today. Time to ratchet it down. I’ve got the weekend to myself. Now’s the time. Time to listen to that soft and peaceful smile in my heart, before it finds need to shout.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

A Brief Effective Respite


“Really good fiction could have as dark a worldview as it wished, but it’d find a way both to depict this world and to illuminate the possibilities for being alive and human in it.”   ~  David Foster Wallace

“Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.”  ~  Stephen Wright

“He realized suddenly that it was one thing to see the past occupying the present, but the true test of prescience was to see the past in the future. Things persisted in not being what they seemed.”  ~  Frank Herbert, Dune

It’s a wow kind of cold out there this morning: 0º. There is a feeling much like ambivalence in me so far today but I’m not even sure what the word ambivalence even means right now. I’ve had three cups of coffee since about quarter past two; it is now quarter past four. The caffeine worked but it seems to have faded a little too fast. Fair enough, there’s always more, right?  This morning’s head fog is in part too little sleep, although the “too little” part is more about intentionally nodding off quite early yesterday evening than it is about anything else. There’s an element of fatigue from following the shit show from the White House, yet come to discover there’s a strong dynamic of ‘greased pig’ in the Administration’s antics and proclamations. Best just watch ’em squirm at this point. It will keep my head from going on strike. But mostly this head fog is a hermit/monk thing in that the past two days have been a perspective shift on an unexpected level, and the very force of the shift has required me to draw back and let it all simmer before jumping back in, which happens in just a few short hours. Sometimes a hermit respite need only last for a few hours. It is, after all, the modern world. It has, for these two days, been almost one seamless continuous sychronicity, ever since the massage on Wednesday broke loose a little more of that crusty barnacle  .  .  .  no, wait, that was a really sucky metaphor. Never mind. I’ve been knotted up tight for years now. Massage therapy is proving to be just the thing. Now, moving forward, I begin a week long house/pet sitting gig on Saturday night. I was thinking I’d haul this computer over yonder with me but decided to leave it be. I have the iPad, so I can still write blog posts, albeit short ones. So don’t worry yerself none iffin I miss a day, or post something that seems odd, it’s just shaping up to be a vacation of sorts. I feel like multiple lifetimes are converging on me at this one point and place in time. Heady feeling, that. But here and now it is time to get to the day.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Five Messengers Just Passing Through


“Every spoken sentence beginning with ‘I Am’ is a powerful spell exhaled into action. Describe yourself wisely.”  ~  Dacha Avelin

“Your body, which is bonding millions of molecules every second, depends on transformation. Breathing and digestion harness transformation. Food and air aren’t just shuffled about but, rather, undergo the exact chemical bonding needed to keep you alive. The sugar extracted from an orange travels to the brain and fuels a thought. The emergent property in this case is the newness of the thought; no molecules in the history of the universe ever combined to produce that exact thought.”  ~  Deepak Chopra

There were five of them, altogether. Four were hanging close together and the fifth one seemed to be following. I was at a friend’s house, tending to her cat and dog. A flash of motion outside the front window, a picture window, caught my attention. Three of the animals had already passed on down into the sagebrush, but the fourth one was just coming along from my left. She stopped in the yard and stood still for maybe 15-20 seconds. Such beauty! I was breathless, and sans camera I felt somewhat helpless. As she left the yard I went and grabbed my camera in hopes of getting another chance at catching a photo or two. That chance came about fifteen minutes later. Lucky me. That was the second powerful event of my day yesterday. The first was a massage. Perhaps I am getting more out of a massage than I am supposed to. Isn’t a massage just something to loosen up all of the kinks that daily life can deliver just by happening, and then you go on with your business as usual? I’m not seeing it that way because I am not feeling it that way. And – maybe I just get dramatic at the basic happenings in daily life? Yeh, maybe. I mean, these were just flesh and blood wild animals. They are pretty much ubiquitous as a species. They live in the wild, and in some cities; throughout the country. Pretty impressive. It didn’t used to be that way. They kinda sorta just branched out. Oh, wait  .  .  .  I was talking about the massage and somehow slipped on back to the coyotes. It’s all interconnected, my friends. It’s all flow and process, energy and information. Cue the spooky music – there is really no such thing as a thing. Wait, what? No, I don’t believe that. So, moving forward, I am consciously framing the massage therapy as a tool in the now beginning transformation I so deeply need. I had reckoned that said transformation was something that would simply pop up from the plenum, quite naturally, and when it was time. And only then. Turns out I was wrong. Imagine that. I can look back at the series of what at the time seemed to be chance occurrences, and maybe not all that noteworthy, except that the events set off a quite pleasant and mysterious sort of ringing in my soul. And in looking back I can see that I was following something without being aware of it. Of course, as I have mentioned here before, the massage is something that I am using as a mundane self-improvement tool, to address my coming of age at 62. But  .  .  .  and this is important to note  .  .  .  in my planning for the beginning of the endgame of my life I had neglected the magick of life. That was a dumb thing to do. But in the grand scheme of things it is actually the way things are supposta be, to go, whatever, right? Aww dude. That is why the coyotes showed up, to confirm that I have a lot of waking up yet to do. I don’t know if you have ever encountered coyotes up close. They are magickal beings. There is a reason they were deified by many peoples back in the day. Yes I know that, being ‘the Trickster’, they have a bad name for many folks, but I am not too concerned about that. For me they represent transformation, which is something that is foremost in my waking and dreaming life these days. They represent balance, and borders, and Creation. Dark and light, life and death. That kind of stuff. So let’s cut to the chase here. Transformation is not really my idea of a good time, but it is worthwhile to pursue. What I was getting at a few sentences back is that I consciously chose to begin transformation of my being. In doing so I committed myself to a new path, which kinda took on a life of its own. Momentum. The massage yesterday loosened up more reservoirs of psychic and emotional toxins. I feel all loosened up this morning, but I also feel like shit. In opening a new door I am duly reminded that the pain from past choices doth not go away, and iffin ya want to move forward ya just gotta deal with all the toxins that have been warehoused within. That’s what I am up to today. Psychotherapy session at noon. This is a lot of work! And it hurts to walk through. Whatever. I see bright shiny things on down the road a ways. So – were they just animals or were they messengers come to teach me a thing or two? Both/and. That’s all the more I’ve got to say today, except that Trickster Coyote is a shapeshifter. I am shifting my shape, right? Yeh.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Massage and Transcontinental Attention


“Humans need fantasy to be human. To be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape.”  ~  Sir Terry Pratchett

“There was once a young man who wished to gain his Heart’s Desire.”  ~  Neil Gaiman

“Nothing is lost. . .Everything is transformed.”  ~  Michael Ende

Wow, this country is really writhing these past few days. Who can blame it, right? I just had a flash of enlightenment about an hour ago (5 AM MST), and I was shown that I could go on reading article after article about the shit show we have been presented with here in America, for hour after hour after blessed hour, and I would end up using up a perfectly good day. I have only one thing to say at this point: for all of my personal mental health issues our spankin brand new President is showing me that it could be worse. BTW, he needs a good spanking. Me, not so much. Now, moving forward, I’m making a late start in writing this post, and I really need to step outside for some fresh air, even though it is 19º and pretty darned windy. Busy backson.

“I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living.”  ~  Dr. Seuss

I feel better now. In the corner of the deck, where it meets the house, there is a buildup, a single sheet of thin ice. I balanced my self, with bare feet, on my toes, back against the wall, and looked at the wonderland scene before me. The snow makes everything so nice. My coming day is free, my day off from work, and only two obligations, responsibilities, whatever. First, at 10:15 AM, I have my second massage appointment with my highly skilled masseuse. After only one session I already treasure her. I made a good choice, considering a fairly large number of massage therapists in Taos. I was pretty yakky last session, about the stuff that put me in the condition I am in, but I wanted her to know about the PTSD I have from the bicycle accident back in 1984. My goal is to work out some of the emotional toxins from the resulting PTSD. Not to mention the physical pains and knots and stuff I have from more immediate stressors and exertion. There are days, quite a few actually, when I just don’t even want to leave the house. But I go. It takes tremendous exertion to walk through a day. No ‘poor me’ necessary here. It is simply a fact of life. I am working on accepting my life as it is, with no undue judgement, and I’m like all merciful with myself and stuff dude. Dude it’s just the right thing to do dude. No praise, no blame.

One of the themes of this blog is NDEs. I had one of those NDEs when my bicycle went down in a freak accident. At the time, as a moderately depressive lad, I never expected to see my 30th birthday. That sorry excuse for an expectation almost came true, coming up short by only eight months. Close call, right? This has come back to me because I sold a book on Amazon two weeks ago (shameless self-promotion: click here to see my Amazon sales page). It’s a pretty good book. The Fates led me to being included in two mass market books about NDEs. One is The Wisdom of Near Death Experiences, by the lovely Dr. Penny Sartori, of  Wales, UK. A synchronicity led the author of the second book to Penny, who referred her to me, and it turned out that the author and I actually already knew each other, casually! Go figure, right? The second book has nearly a full chapter about the after effects of the NDE and how they changed my life. The book is Life After Near Death, by the lovely Debra Diamond of Baltimore, Maryland, USA. It’s all been great fun.

But, now, back to the massage. I really need it today. The after effects from the first session lasted comfortably for 4-5 days, then pains returned but their nature was different, and the locations were not configured in the way they used to be. Interesting. There is obviously a change in the energy flow in my body. Another thing was a lifting of my usual drab and darkish mood up into actual happiness. I told my psychotherapist that I had just experienced three consecutive days of actual happiness, and she was like all I’ve never heard you say that before. This is good. Boy howdy is it ever! That is one of the weird things about mental disorder, you seem to remember so called ‘normal’ functioning, even though you never are really in a so called normal state of mind. Cognitive dissonance anyone? Yeh, buddy. But life is good. Freshly acquired Social Security benefit payments. A good though supremely annoying cat named Rosie. A good job, with a fine team of coworkers, all of whom have good senses of humor, along with good work ethics. A solid start on a metaphysical novel, The Final Convenience, which is both serious and comical. My car needs some work. A quiet life in a stunningly beautiful place. And a new massage therapist who is highly skilled, and both pretty and sweet. I prefer women when it comes to physical and mental health providers. It’s a nurture thing. There is much more. My sense of gratitude flows freely when I have enough sense to let it do that. My spiritual connections are always strong, and always on. Yeh – hey, I gotta go now; go out to the car and see how much snow I gotta sweep off the vehicle, and I’ll get a good gander at the Sacred Mountain while I am out there. Before I go I’d like to welcome a new reader from the UK. And potential new readers from Ireland and the Isle of Man. I like this transcontinental attention. Welcome, folks!

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.



No Specific Strange Attractor

snow ridge 042.jpg

“At any rate, during the few hours when the depressive state itself eased off long enough to permit the luxury of concentration, I had recently filled this vacuum with fairly extensive reading and I had absorbed many fascinating and troubling facts”  ~  William Styron, Darkness Visible

“Great dreamers’ dreams are never fulfilled, they are always transcended.”  ~  Alfred North Whitehead

Snow fell while I was sleeping. Now, after a couple of hours awake I have yet to see more. Yesterday the realization came to me that we are deeper into Winter and I have yet to tire of the season. That’s a good sign. Aggravations, sure, and annoyances as well. Going out on an icy highway when you know darn well that there are people out there who coulda used a little rudimentary physics in their schooling. Whatever. Here it is a peaceful morning, yet I am not at peace. It feels okay this morning to feel this way. The over-the-top outlandish antics of our new President and his crew are, I’m sure, disturbing many people. I consider myself lucky that I don’t have any vocal, overt Trump supporters in my immediate circles. But it is still quite early on in the game. Do I accept him as my President? The question is meaningless to me. Don’t even try it. This is also one of those mornings when I can feel the tenacious pull of a strong depressive cycle yanking at me. I’ve not given in to this kind of yanking in quite some time. It is often tempting to let depression have its way with me, but that is not somewhere I am willing to go anymore. This past Sunday, a mere two days ago, it almost sucked me in. I can’t rightly claim that I have much to live for, but that is not the point. The point is that I don’t need that, I simply need a lodestar, a beacon, whatever. Without a specific strange attractor, material or otherwise, a basic garden variety willingness to get there is all that is needed. Wherever ‘there’ is. And the truth of it is that there is no ‘there’ there. At all. One good example of what I am on about here is the infatuation I have going on these days. Infatuation may be too tepid a word, but that too is beside the point. Keep moving. That is the point. Please, just please, don’t even try to go all metaphor on me and mention a light at the end of the tunnel! Just don’t. I’ve been down the tunnel and into the Light. I absolutely, no way, no how, don’t recommend it for anybody. Not anybody. I’m SERIOUS. Life is in session here. I ply patience, force of will, a conviction or three, and a nice little toolbox of values. And keeping moving will take me right on into the shower, right after I first turn on the Enya Channel on Pandora internet radio. Morning and music. Move, my lad, just move.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Between Fantasy and Dreams


“The best way to show people true things is from a direction that they had not imagined the truth coming.”  ~  Neil Gaiman

“It’s a rare gift, to know where you need to be, before you’ve been to all the places you don’t need to be.”  ~  Ursula K. Le Guin

“The stuff you bring back from dreams is free.”  ~  Neil Gaiman

Whatever I was dreaming just before I awoke this morning was truncated by the cat. Or at least I lost track of the storyline and was left with only the feelings involved. Or some of them anyway. Who knows, right? There was a definite feeling of excitement, and of struggle. But I was pretty much obliged to give my attention to the meowing cat, who was only about 18 inches from my face, and she would reach out on occasion to pat my shoulder, then drawing back each time, acting like nothing important had happened. She was right about that. The only thing of real importance I could have done was to get out of bed and supply her with her 2 AM snack. I did get out of bed, groaning all the way, but I decided to refuse her the snack for a few minutes. It was the least I could do, besides vocally calling her an asshole, thus starting the day off on the wrong foot. Never a good idea. The wrong foot thingy is for my benefit, not hers. Starting the day by amping up my incessant anxiety would be just plain stupid. Anxiety is an interesting process, and a process it is. Mine – ummmm, yes, I like totally own it dude, which is better than blaming it on somebody else. Mine, as I was saying, is strongly guided by PTSD, which in turn is strongly, at times, guided by paranoia. To override paranoia, I am just coming to find out, it is often clever to head it off at the pass preemptively by substituting fantasies for the dark fears that the process delivers on a regular basis. Fears need not be vanquished, me hearties; it is best to just walk right on through them as if they were phantoms. And phantoms they are, in some ways, but these nano-nightmares have very real power over both the Central Nervous System and the imagination. Long ago I commandeered my monkey mind by retraining it to become a narrator of sorts, giving it something to do that was not so uncomfortably close to blathering. I not saying I am enlightened or anything, but I suspect that we are all enlightened already. Just watch. Creating an observer stance is a way of expanding awareness, a way of entering the “compared to what” continuum. The “compared to what” continuum operates much like the chicken/egg continuum, through introducing nonsense to the equation that is in essence a piss poor excuse for an equation. The Cartesian model of human existence, wherein we are machine-like in nature, totally separated from Spirit, went the way of the Dodo oh so long ago. As far I know we are now seen as quantum processes entrained by fields of coherent information, and we are inherently informed by consciousness, not the creators of consciousness, as we have long been told. Of course, doubt can really muck up the works by relegating participation to the WTF continuum, wherein fantasy is used in and for simple obfuscation. I hate it when that happens. What got me off into this musing on fantasia and stuff is that romantic fantasy I have mention here recently. Like just how do I know that it is a fantasy, and not a real gift from the Universe? Here we would begin to enter the realm of destiny and soulmate speculation, but what is the real essence of the so called fantasy is the feelings. Like the feelings that emerged from my dream this morning, in spite of the cat’s attempt to make me be practical and of use. The difference between fantasy and dreams is that dreams can come true. Fantasy, not so much. And so it is that I begin prepping for a visit to my day job. It has brought me great joy to speculate on this stuff this morning. As I like to say: better speculate than never. Doh!

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

New Socks


“If you worship money and things — if they are where you tap real meaning in life — then you will never have enough. Never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your own body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly, and when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you. On one level, we all know this stuff already — it’s been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, bromides, epigrams, parables: the skeleton of every great story. The trick is keeping the truth up-front in daily consciousness. Worship power — you will feel weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to keep the fear at bay. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart — you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. And so on.”  ~  David Foster Wallace

One thing I learned from my mother is the pleasure of wearing brand new socks. Something that I noticed yesterday, when grabbing a pair of clean socks to wear for the day, is that the top edges of the socks were beginning to fray. Checked a couple of more pairs. Turns out I need new socks. So that is my big plans for the day. I’d like that to be enough. Feeling emotionally exhausted today, from all of the intensity of politics. And while Donald Trump never made me cry the immense marches and rallies for women yesterday did bring tears to my eyes. Beauty does that. Other than that, and the socks, I don’t feel like writing this morning. Tis a day of rest. Three days away from the next massage. I look forward to that.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


Life Is In Session


“I believe in the resistance as I believe there can be no light without shadow; or rather, no shadow unless there is also light.”  ~  Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

“We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art, the art of words.”  ~  Ursula K. Le Guin

Soft snow falling, deceptive at a rate that will pile up significantly in time. It’s still dark. Coffee gone. The cat is pissed off at me for some reason, likely that I will not sit still long enough to make lap time feasible. I’m short of time for writing here this morning. There will be some shoveling needs doin’. My hair needs washing and it must be mostly dry when I go out to clear the paths to the chicken coop, and to my car. All mundane life stuff. This is good in many ways. I’d love to muse on the new President. Boy howdy, wouldn’t I ever! It’s a work day. My life at this time, this morning, is all staccato Hemingway sentences. A better life in many ways than the one I was living just one month ago. I can take care of myself in a better way. The massages were and are a high priority. Better food and more. The ways are more than I can count right now simply because I have no desire to count the ways. Just live dude. Just live. As I have said before  .  .  .  well, life is in session. A long hermitage seems to be breaking up, shaking up, of necessity. This shakeup gives my day job a new sheen, casts it in a new light. It betrays my surprise at the smiling flirtation that is ongoing, and greatly cherished. I don’t know. I’ve got stuff to do before work. So this short post is also of necessity. It is snowing and cold. The visual beauty of it will become a treasure to behold in just two hours. Small things. I dream again. Dreams in the past three years have all been refracted things, and the lens has been either dirty or flat out dark. Whatever. Yeh. Things are looking up. So mote it be.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Adrenals and Tribbles

flight 042.jpg

“Every bird that flies has the thread of the infinite in its claw.”  ~  Victor Hugo

“The existence of the writer is an argument against the existence of the soul, for the soul has obviously taken flight from the real ego, but not improved itself, only become a writer.”  ~  Franz Kafka

“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.”  ~  Ray Bradbury

Here in a northern notch of El Prado, New Mexico, the Trickster is afoot in the land. The neighborhood dogs know it, and well, and as I sat outside my door a short while ago I found myself thinking about one big dog in particular, who was making the biggest and most raucous protest, and I’m like all: dude chill dude, yer gonna squeeze that heart right into the ER dude. Yeh. There was also a lack of the forecast moisture in the form of snow. It will come, they say; three back-to-back storms. Not to mention that Donald John Trump becomes President today. Barak Obama’s term is over. Fuck it, I’ll cry later. I’ve got a work day ahead of me, selling hardware and housewares, and probably a few candy bars and snack chips as well. I listen for rhythm, for cadence, in these sentences as I write. I feel strangely into it as I loom over the keyboard like some  .  .  .  oh, for the love of Mike my mood is not that dark. At my side, down on the floor, sits a box of unused metaphors, and when I glance down every once in a while they look forever like a box of tribbles, and I’m like Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, and I be all like dude, haven’t we got better things to do dude? I want to strongly emphasize here that it came as a mild shock to me that the word “tribble” is already in spellchek! There is yet hope for the world. I mean, Star Trek has acquired countless fans along the way, but only those of you who directly experienced the 60s will likely know just what this means to me. Deep stuff, the stuff stars are made of. Yeh. I write “60s” and my monkey mind thoughts squirrel on over to the scene from “Field of Dreams” where James Earl Jones is spraying pesticide from an old school manual pump fumigator all over Kevin Costner, because Costner has just admitted that he is from the 60s. Kevin has just driven his vintage Volkswagen bus over 1200 miles, from Iowa to Boston, to seek out James Earl Jones, because Jones is an iconic inspiration as a writer about freedom, and James breaks out the Roundup?! Un-fuckin-believable. I know, I know, my writing is drifting a little toward the vulgar side this morning. My bad. I’ll step outside and chill a spell. It’s 28º. I’ll go without my knit cap. My brain is on fire with a sense of urgency. The sense of urgency is always there, but it is stronger today for some reason. Busy backson.

Yeh, that sense of urgency. Adrenals locked and loaded at the best of times. No praise no blame. But sitting outside for a few minutes did cool me down a bit. Now, here I sit, with the cat asleep beneath my chair, and a box of tribbles at my side. Life is pretty good for me right now, regardless of the low moan urgency I just mentioned. Dark times are upon us, no doubt. I could sit here and write it all out as it unfolds.  Nope, work shift today. No can do. But it is the creative drive I exercise this morning, as I do almost every morning. The drive is one of the blessings in my life. Hey, I almost lost this life some 33 years ago. That’s good, right? Yeh. I love my job. I am receiving monthly Social Security benefits, so I can afford to live a little instead of tabla rasa subsistence. I have an uplifting sweet smiling’ infatuation these days. My cat’s diabetes is totally regulated. No time for more blessing counting. Yeh, maybe one more. I love a good hot shower. I call it a shower vortex. Time gets all distorted and stuff when I am in the shower. I’m like all OMG I only have time for a quick shower before work! And that sprawls out into 20 minutes, and yet I still get to work on time. I am painfully punctual, often right down to the minute. And yet I only have time for a quick one this morning. I just feel dirty, what with the inauguration and all. I don’t know. I’ll have a good day. Three days this past week I have actually felt happy. I don’t remember the last time I have felt it at all, much less three days in a row.This is a good way to begin. Yeh. A good way.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.