Monday, January 16, 2017

It's a cascade of scary

DJT is t-minus four days and counting from the presidency and it's a cascade of scary. 

As the Washington Post has pointed out the presidency of Trump will be like none other; where truth is not truth and where the power of the office will be turned on the fourth estate.

This is deep scary stuff. The US was a continuum of steady as she goes for the world order and it's like the captain turned up drunk to spin the wheel just to see the fuck what happens. 

I read a book recently about the awesome power of the office to do good; the book recounting the deeds done by presidents past that lifted others. But also deeds that damaged. For all the good he did, and there was some governance good, Nixon was treis evil. 

At least Nixon knew government.

Trump is balls deep scary. He has no knowledge of actual government and has lived a life of nasty plenty. He does not care about reality; he cares about Trumpality. 

And he's about to foist Trumpality on the world; the fucking world. 

We loved Obama, we loved his taking executive action (because he had to). But he's handing over that power and those developed protocols to a man, in his words, that is uniquely unsuited for the office; an office that can inflict insta-death on civilisation.

I read too that even Russia got worried during the campaign when Trump slagged off the family of deceased soldiers; thinking for the US people that was just too far. It may have even been too far for them.

It wasn't; he went further. He'll go further still. 

He did not throw the presidential playbook out the window; he just didn't need that playbook. He had profile of looking presidential to morons and he used that to the max. He did it on the cheap too. He got the office like no other person could have done. There is but one DJT.

And now he's going to be #45. 

Probs save us all. I bet those scientists with the doomsday clock are going to move that second needle a lot closer to 12...

Sunday, January 15, 2017


Last night my laptop went weird. It started opening up search windows and it froze in an unusual display. Unable to do anything and fearing malevolent forces I yanked the power—for the laptop's battery never worked and it has to work off the mains.

I sat before it just now, ready to see what the fuck it was that it was when I noticed that the sack containing the Christmas tree was mashed up against the detachable keyboard that was still plugged in. 

Yeah ... the fail was due to "mass button press and hold" by a rogue packed Christmas tree—not malevolent forces.

Unless, that is, the Christmas tree has been recruited and is a Manchurian Christmas tree—like DTJ as soon-to-be comrade head of the executive.  

I'll surveill to see if it does any other weird shit in the shed like meeting with Easter dissidents.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

The Xmas reveal

Every Christmas statements of worth from 2013 and 2014 re-appear above the laptop from where the Christmas decorations are stored. With the boxes gone I can see what I wrote about me from years before on the inside of the shelving unit.

It's pretty powerful stuff. 

They're reminders from past-me to now-me to never, ever feel shit about myself again. I can still feel shitty; just not about me.

Thanks, past-me, for looking out for now-me and I'll see you next Christmas.


Thursday, January 12, 2017

Loss keenly felt

Not only was Obama an awesome technocrat who gave a shit about people not himself or family he could carry a tune.

I hate that he is forced into a role as opposition leader. He should have been able to just fuck off into the sunset leaving a fellow technocrat in charge.

Instead we have Donald Trump. 

I watched an interview with a reporter who was at the white house when the election result was known; he said it like it was death had settled over them. 

And it was Obama who buoyed them, cheered them and reminded them the fight is never done. 

The world was lucky; it had eight years of plenty.

Now let the hunger begin...

Three nice moments noticed and lived in

It's easy to dwell on shitty crap. One way to break out of it is to notice nice moments when they happen then live in those moments.

So here are three.

As I waited for the bus I watched a pair of galahs in a tree.

I caught a bendy-bus to the shops—and I was the only passenger.

After an exhausting pain-wracked walk home I had a shower then hopped in the blow up pool. I sat for 10 minutes with my eyes closed and just blissed out.

Moments grabbed, lived and loved for the win.

Why does he still have intro music?

I started watching the first 2017 Donald Trump press conference and when it came to Trump's turn to appear his intro music started up ... and kept going, cutting over his actual speaking after he got to the podium.

My immediate thought was "why does he have intro music?". Intro music on the campaign is part of that scene, but he's the president elect ... and he still has intro music. 

What kind of fuckstick has intro music when they're the actual next leader of the (free) world?

Then I realised I'd answered my own question.

UPDATE: If Obama had acted and spoke the way Trump had at his first President-Elect presser the outrage from the right would have been deafening—not answering the questions, riffing on how great he is and referring to himself in the third person. What an incredible display of double standards. 

But when you think might or fright makes right then you come up with recessive results like Trump.  

Probs wept. 

UPDATE2: All power to CNN's Jim Acosta who called Trump on his shit and said Trump's response was inappropriate. 

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

First shart of the year

... I'd like to thank the Academy...

UPDATE: My abdomen just mewed like a kitten. That's a surreal experience. 

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Pain free > did chores > gagged and hurt back

When you're a person with disability (multiple) that causes discomfort and pain, when you have those rare moments not soaked in pain you rush and do stuff before your body says no again.

I can ride 20 kays on an exercise bike with some effort but bending and lifting objects is hard for me due to a failing skeleton. 

I had to de-turd the cat litter. I rarely have to do it but I was the only one on deck so after a number of other chores done I did it—having saved it to last in case of disaster (1).

It's lucky I did because it was full—with a planned 10 days between total change—and it needed doing. But because of its heft it was hard to pick up, hard to carry and, as it was day five, it was hard to be around. On the third gag I wrenched my back—the very back that has been healing and causing pain and discomfort in addition to disability as usual.

Fortunately the wrench, while it hurt, didn't stay hurting and the cleanse was completed.

That's what it is to live with a disability. That you master some parts of your life with ease but other parts are a hurdle.

But I wouldn't have it any other way; the disabled—we're diamonds in the rough.

(Fist raised for comrades with a disability).


(1) Like how the live tiger scene is always shot last in a movie.

Fail to strangle a baby in its crib then watch it strangle back

As a confirmed wikaholic and a nerd I spend entire days lost in Wikipedia following interesting wikis. 

I've read a lot about revolutions of late and how those movements govern themselves and others and it very much seems to be a case of baby see, baby do.

Each of the big revolutions such as Russia in 1917 and in China from 1911 onward until 1949 when the communists won saw these revolutions countered with foreign actors supplying materiel and money to do so.

It turns out revolutionaries take that shit personally. They also take the lesson of not only fighting back but then purging themselves and their people of anti-revolutionaries of which not that many are at all anti-revolutionary. They're typically normal people from the wrong place or class or they're the people who spoke up against the toxic effects of revolution.

That's when perverse anti-people acts like death lists happen.

The Russian revolution was actively fought by Western powers and then Russia, now a paranoid super security state, not only savaged their own people in rebuilding the state but rightfully prepared for action against the Western powers that tried to strangle it in its crib. They also forced Marxism on other states to further protect themselves.

The west did that in China as well. And in Vietnam. And in all three countries oppression resulted from that interference. Oppression from the status quo then often worse oppression from the new status quo. That and and with now hardened revolutionary leaders in power often means awful governmentAction! Vs talk and consensus leads to appalling democidal outcomes.

Revolutions are hideously messy horrors but almost all of them are sparked by shitty treatment of the populace ... who then act shitty to the former oppressors, their friends, family, their interests or people who wear glasses.

If there is a lesson out of this I guess it's you better be sure about strangling that baby; because if you fuck it up that baby will grow up and strangle back.

History; it's top down meets bottom up.

Saturday, January 07, 2017

Book nasties

As a short fat kid unable to do sport I read a lot of books. I read books to transport me out of the real and horrible world into worlds of magic and wonder where even a short fat kid can forget he's those things. And if there is a protagonist who has any of your traits you glom onto them.

We are Bastian.

I still do it now when I read but unfortunately there will be characters that share your traits who are disliked and or fated to die.

We are Piggy.

I don't know the fate of this cat in The Secret Agent, Michaelis, but he's got a like-name, my height, is fat and spent long periods of solitude in leftist-laced oration. Not only that but all the other characters hang shit on him for it, noting his monstrous corpulence and wishing they could lock him up in a health farm given his height accentuated rotundity.

That's what I call a book nasty. And, like with horror films, as a fat man he is likely fated to die, die, die.

But I'm committed to finishing this book, even with my doughy avatar at risk.

Probs wept; fist raised in likely memory of comrade Michaelis.

UPDATE: He survived; go alter me!

Risked a chicken run

I had to enter the pen to collect eggs and face off against the duck. This time I went on the offence and when I entered I grabbed the duck and put it on the compost bin. It's about four feet high so the duck can safely hop off but it takes a while for it to leap to do so.

As it was dazed by my bin-relocation and unable to attack me I checked the new hutch for eggs and finding none then checked the old, seeing five. The duck had gotten off the bin but because I had picked it up and "dominated it" the duck avoided me instead of attacking.

No, instead the fucking chickens attacked. Just as I was going for the eggs and putting them carefully into a red plastic jug they attacked my hands with fearsome pecking. I got all five eggs then when I straightened they didn't continue the attack like the duck would have by going for my feet. I think the chickens thought I had treats in my hand and they were rightfully seeking it because thewife and theboy give them treats from their hands.

Fearing future animosity and understanding their desire I later fed them the spoiling seedless green grapes from the top of the fridge. Not from my precious hand, though; I chucked them over the fence.

Those fuckers better remember I ponied up with the good stuff the next time I risk a chicken run.