8.20.19 helicopter overhead

They hover. They circle back, you try to figure out if they’re on the freeway (which one? You’re between two, always, for some reason, since you’ve been confined to this god-foresaken town.

Eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable –

Mark Gordon’s Criminal Minds Paget Brewster

Who I’ve loved since HUFF where she played Hank Azaria’s (mo/apu+ on da Simpsons)

The

Simpsons did it

-South Park

What we’re they thinking?

The hunt.

More like the cunt. Who wrote that script? What’s wrong with Oscar winner in and out burger girl playing the role of elite killing “deplorable”? And who calls fellow countrymen whose vote your brain seeks but heart rejects, as if political turmoil does anyone any good. As if voting with your vagina.hadn’t been issued from a condescending cunt.

Which curiously auto corrects to cube every fucking time.

That’s the outside world.

In my interior realm, all is tumultuous and at odds with my brain. I’m better than this. Than what? Right on the heels of ranting and raving binge watching you watching me oh my goodness we said worried that waiting for Godot might be real, after all,

I thought I should document my ascent with the sane Isame insightful precision with which I partake in self-esteem inflicted srlf-flaggellation as in the scarlet letter – do things never change?

Cue zombies

I know that guy.

12 most…who you looking at, foo…?

Please be creative with your titles: smart, short and eye-catching.

Disciple.

The St. of Discipline.

Henry Miller.

He had settled on the most magnificent piece of property on the far flung coast, years after starving had given way to dilettante displays of attention propped up by fangirls in their sunned entrances wearing summer dresses.

Fortunes change
Your summer has come

Using a creative, impactful adjective after “12 Most” can go a long way. Check out the posts on this website for reference and whatever you do, avoid using adjectives that have been overused (ie: common, important, useful…).

Don’t ever change

He gasped holding his chest breathing pained and desperate now

Until he got out the words —-


The shoe

Had made quite an impression

on the ex-former-felon

What’re you in for

Hybrid crimes

of dispassionate times


Moral Prejudices

Marlin Rand woke up, asleep, a dream within a living nightmare.

You like to daydream, huhn?

Head lost in the clouds.

Are you listening?

Listening not hearing. The world retracts into a distance illuminated by your reflection, the sun shaft reaching that taillight, sending shards of red through the blinds. Why do we call then blinds? Why are screen doors not calls deafs?

The noise is deafening.

The hard drive is named Friedrich Nietzsche, the router Liza Minnelli and the broadband a traveling troupe of Keynesian mechanics with carpetbaggers galore.

Absurd, says Cumquat Jones, the nommedeplume of Tennessee Williams’ unknown soldier.

… his “hypotheses” on the origins of morality to reading his friend Paul Rée’s book The Origin of the Moral Sensations (1877) and finding the “genealogical hypotheses” offered there unsatisfactory.

Nietzsche decided that “a critique of moral values” was needed, that “the value of these values themselves must be called into question”. To this end Nietzsche provides a history of morality, rather than a hypothetical account in the style of Rée, whom Nietzsche classifies as an “English psychologist”[2] (using “English” to designate an intellectual temperament, as distinct from a nationality).

Find the sinkhole

I have decided to write the gray American novella, where nothing is great just chalky grey like the Greys pasty anatomy of conspiracy theories where secret service reptilian half-breeds are always British.

Meanwhile, the natives are restless and a stretch of doom creeps, breathless.

Jagged ex-whys and all the imagination in dream land won’t fix a fork in the road, bone spurs on a road less traveled, for a reason.

Fourth

Today 6.4 earthquake rattled the spur of land stretching between Death Valley and downtown where dreams are dashed.

And here I sweat on the screen porch taking in the endless human hums from the park nearby–oh how to scream like a child swimming in summer! – the whippoorwill, the engines passing by the old folks, where babies used to be born (I met two), talk about from the cradle to the grave.

It’s summer like I remember, slightly stifling til you’re submerged in cool water, ours a pond, but now all kids in this St. Charles fiefdom are peeing unilaterally in the Powatasookee or, more appropriately, POTTAWATOMIE park pool, mini golf, tennis and ducks-plus fireworks.

This porch reminiscent of Flannery O’Connor or perhaps my mother is a fish but the threat of tornadoes far from exhilarating and my good aunt Jackie has died, and it feels so long ago they things were right.

Cataloging your usage

After abandoning “Don’t waste your time,” I still needed a receptacle for the ongoing churn of real time, actual human assessment of the tools of our digital trade.

I’m an unofficial tester of all things related to aortic writings of a familiar lean. I’ve tried most interfaces and delved into a multitude of platforms. I stopped short of learning how to code (for dummies, et al) because I am too old.

The notion that I would fill up that brain storage space with a language designed to communicate with a machine that is supposed to evolve with me in the time space continuum just isn’t as interesting as discovering the one hundred she eleven languages officially considered “lost” since only one speaker of its native tongue remains.

Rastro philio pustrocity

Rastrophiliopustrocity was hard to come by these days, but she prevailed.

These dialects of our tribal languages are inextricably woven into the human (auto corrects to kung-fu, btw🤔) ability to commiserate, collaborate, communicate and concentrate on the meaning of words between like-minded folk.

Those spoken and written lexicons adapted with us over time.

Mutter see

Lena L. Leon

Tuko pamoja.

Together pajamas.


So then, what could’ve been the very first word to ever be spoken?

I have three theories.

Cuidado! a warning to your child that the wooly mammoth behind them is a threat to humankind’s existence.

I love you. The word love needed to be made one day.

God.

Either in caveman prayer or attached as namesake for that particularly desperate invocation, of mythological proportions, why have you forsaken me which must be addressed to some “one.”

We needed an anchor, preferably guttural, perhaps elliptic, but definitely a one syllable word for that guy.

We had to assign forever a gutwrenching association to some supposed creator (would the word for God be different had we known we were worshipping atoms as Adam?).

The poet never knows.

Battle cry


For the record

June 27, Two-thousand nineteen

Review of “mailbuzzr”

Graph and Stat

The possibility for greatness exists: fast, ability to maintain semblance of control over mailbox folders, loads ginormous amounts of unread emails without crashing like other apps. But no snooze option? Can’t customize the swipe actions? All I want is a better version of mailstrom where I can delete multiple emails sent by the same robot and actually check emails I want to respond to (mailstrom aka chuck in mobile platform – talk about weird branding) is good for mass deletion that’s it. So I tried buzzr for a second time since their app popped up as the bee’s knees. All I can say about it is the aesthetic is working for me, it loads fast and the notification sounds are rad. Other than that, there is nothing to set it apart from spark or Edison’s email (which has some terrific features but crashes too much) app which has added features to save you money based on your e-commerce records (without being cumbersome).

No ability to add email addresses beyond outlook or Gmail is limiting as well since I still maintain an old yahoo account due to the  personal and professional accounts associated with it. Not being able to do that means mailbuzzr cannot be the sole email app needed to manage an inbox  behemoth.

Villa Real

The system is based upon ten (originally nine) glyphs.

The symbols (glyphs) used to represent the system are in principle independent of the system itself.

The glyphs in actual use are descended from Brahmi numerals and have split into various typographical variants since the Middle Ages.

Etymology

theintercept.com/2019/06/22/cbp-border-searches-journalists/

That much I expected. But then a third officer, whose name was Villarreal, carefully read every page of my 2019 journal, including copious notes to self on work, relationships, friends, family, and all sorts of private reflections I had happened to write down. I told him, “Sir, I know there’s nothing I can do to stop you, but I want to tell you, as one human being to another, that you’re invading my privacy right now, and I don’t appreciate it.” Villarreal acknowledged the statement and went back to reading.

That was just the beginning. The real abuse of power was a warrantless search of my phone and laptop. This is the part that affects everyone, not just reporters and people who keep journals.

TV I.V.

she strained to listen

or was it

simply

to

hear

An amalgamation of loss

HERE, we found nothing

The player sits ugly

Waiting

the ship comes in

Lady Magdalene

Cartoon imposters

Hold sway

The amount of coin changing hands

with open air moniker abides as

He teetered above

before landing

at her feet.

The marketplace part 1 (to be continued)

Part 2: The quadrants

Wrangler and Peregrine

her otak

Just like her hero Roland in the gunslinger protected her

with vision

She rode the mare Misty out to the point, Chincoteague Island was in the distance.

Part 2: the heroine’s journey

Part 3: Glassell Park where Alayna sits in a tree overhead.

Watching her human spirit reside.

THE IDLE WIND

Don’t go walking slow

man on fire

The Devil’s onto you

Fire man

You’ll get on that talk show

Two hundred million guns are loaded


The sky is blue and so is the sea
What is the color, when black is burned?
What is the color?

Smoke signals don’t look back & Satan’s got your back

ponder perpetual motion

we’ll meet

by the red tree

All I know is

the one I love

is gone

to Zeus

As Hera

Forges

what’s you’re made of

In the basement

kiln of artist and

Demigod

Prometheus

What did he want with

Man, again, she asked

Oh you’re just a girl

That was said

a daily running tally

Kept by all the schizophrenics

she’d ever fled

fed

or acknowledged

YOU ARE INVISIBLE

when you are homeless, persecuted, systematically suppressed- no voice or

words mislead

like the horse

trying to make

him drink

He won’t

He the has not

You the wannabe

Me aha is here

I have an elevator pitch for St. Peter

the existence of

whom

can be called into question

corroborated

but not quite Congo gutted

Contiguous

Configured for this dimension

GTFO!
Olive Oiler

my baby left me, never said goodbye

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