![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I probably shouldn't watch high school coming of age films like "The Edge of Seventeen" (2016 with a aging Woody Harrelson). When the movie is over and the credits are rolling, I am happily thinking that maybe I too will have a happy ending and get a girlfriend and a life that I can exult in. Until I realize that the actors, actresses are beautiful people and, most important of all, I am fifty-fucking-two-years-old. It's much too late to become a late bloomer. This story never gets happy.
* * *
This is going to be more like a real 'writing day'. I might not even touch the Old Journal today. I've been in a lowly mood, and I didn't feel like there was any point in trying to put things into words on a page, like, maybe I finally outgrew it - time to put away childish things. I was thinking anew that it might be time to let my journal become a dream journal, with maybe the occasional big drama of home life - something too big to ignore. But I want to fight that, so long as I have the least will to bang out some sentences and actively think a little bit, so long as I still have a little life and fight in me and feel more like a conscious being with feelings and desires and hope rather than just an organic thing being nudged numbly through life just eating and shitting and watching TV. Accordingly, I want to use today to write about a few things that occurred but which I let silently pass by. And, later, maybe in my sixties perhaps, in the event that my capabilities fall off to such an extent that I can no longer put together cogently descriptive sentences, then maybe I can still roughly assemble word-collages (you might not want to call it poetry). Until I am scarcely more than warmed over meat, just waiting for the last brain wave to cease and fall flat.
* * *
Bruce Bartlett: "Literally the second the ink is dry on the tax cut, deficit hawks will emerge from their hibernation, where they have had nary a word of criticism about increasing the deficit by $1.5 trillion, to demand that SS & Medicare be slashed b/c the deficit has mysteriously increased."
The Republicans are nothing if not persistent. Such is the value of having one shiny idea: making the rich richer.
[Twitter]
* * *
Samuel R. Delany: “Today I’m a five-o’clock-in-the-morning riser. Although I do stare at the wall a lot.”
[Twitter]
* * *
Mark Twain at 73 years of age: “As for me. I collect pets: young girls — girls from ten to sixteen years old; girls who are pretty and sweet and naive and innocent.”
[Twitter)
* * *
Perhaps discretion should bid me leave in silence Sunday evening's drunkenness. Lorie and Arthudo. She came just to pick up the TV Guide, but he probably didn't twist her arm too hard to get her to stay for dinner and booze.
There is enough in my journal of such scenes, and I could happily skip it, but early in the evening, I thought I caught her smirking at me. I am sure she has not forgotten our little tiff about their drinking, and so she might have been enjoying some proud defiance at my expense, perhaps even hoping that I might dare say something. I know better than that. We are all living on Arthudo's dime, and if he wants to light himself on fire, then all I can do is try to keep my distance from the flames.
However, if Lorie was thrilling in drinks and defiance, the evening didn't turn out so triumphant for her. I think she soiled herself. I could hear her with Arthudo in his toilet, practically crying about how embarrassed she was, with Arthudo playing the chivalrous man and assuring her that she has nothing to be embarrassed about, "You're home, you're home!" I appreciate his determination. I'm sure such an event would have cooled my affections. It might have inspired my compassion, but the budding hard-on would stop budding.
Nor was that the end of it. A little later on, she fell on the kitchen floor. Arthudo couldn't get her back up. I heard him asking if he should get me, but she was definitely against that idea (what, after all that smirking?). I ended up playing the fork-lift, after all.
I am struggling over the association of their drunkenness to the wilder times of college life - geriatric kids trying to party hard. It doesn't look good when you are young and in school, but it looks absolutely pathetic when you are on Social Security. You would think they might know better but, then, they never did go to college and certainly wouldn't be able to get into any real one.
* * *
Arthudo has upgraded to a yet larger, humongous computer monitor. 32 inches. It's like having a big TV set for a computer screen. It is rather awe-inspiring, to be sure, but it seems to me that it might be only ideal for watching movies and videos, which is what he was primarily thinking about, I suppose. He has his own Internet feeds that he likes to scroll through full of news and cat videos, but he uses his phone for that. I don't know how comfortably one can use this monster-monitor to do regular stuff like writing as well as reading news and articles. Because the screen is so big, I would think that you need to be some distance away from it to use it. However, I have yet to put in a regular bit of e-time on it. Maybe I will be surprised.
It is perhaps only fair to note that Arthudo offered to get me a new laptop. You see, he was excited by a big cyber-sale promotion. I probably should have jumped on the offer. However, I am so dispirited that I am thinking I could even say goodbye to the Internet once and for all. Of course, it saved my adult life, with that little flowering of e-friendships some twelve, fifteen years ago, but I have nothing like that now. Moreover, I am so cold on the news of the contemporary scene and the new Trumpian politics that I do not mind the prospect of not having to give it any notice. The only think I would miss is the roughie pornography, but with the sun setting on Net neutrality, that might become a thing of the past anyway. There is also the writing and my work on the Three Journal, but ... these days I can hardly work up the conviction that it matters a damn - I might as well be writing on water. I still need to play with words, to cogitate my brain and stimulate my sense of being alive in the world, but I can make do with scribbling on paper. It's not as though I am working on a masterpiece for the literary world, nor even just for blogging friends that I like. And, frankly, I am ready to start spending most of my day sleeping and dozing. Maybe I will dream more, and I am never more creative than when I am dreaming.
- - -
Maybe I really should've gotten that laptop. I just did some work on Arthudo's computer and his new monitor, and my fears are justified. It really is only good for watching movies and videos, when you can simply start the video and then kick back a good five yards to watch it. It's hard to use like a regular monitor. It's really more like another smart-TV albeit with full computer-capabilities, being connected to a full computer tower and a real keyboard. Fuck, man. Well, let's hope my laptop has another year left in her. And maybe there is a function that shrinks the frame to a more reasonable size. It would be a sensible thing.
* * *
Andrew Tate: "Prince Harry marrying a 36 y/o divorcee shows he's the kinda loser who pretends a girl with "experience" is good. It's not. Women with few previous partners are desirable. Female "experience" is a myth, swallowing loads of cum doesn't make you any better at laying on your back."
[Twitter]
* * *
This is going to be more like a real 'writing day'. I might not even touch the Old Journal today. I've been in a lowly mood, and I didn't feel like there was any point in trying to put things into words on a page, like, maybe I finally outgrew it - time to put away childish things. I was thinking anew that it might be time to let my journal become a dream journal, with maybe the occasional big drama of home life - something too big to ignore. But I want to fight that, so long as I have the least will to bang out some sentences and actively think a little bit, so long as I still have a little life and fight in me and feel more like a conscious being with feelings and desires and hope rather than just an organic thing being nudged numbly through life just eating and shitting and watching TV. Accordingly, I want to use today to write about a few things that occurred but which I let silently pass by. And, later, maybe in my sixties perhaps, in the event that my capabilities fall off to such an extent that I can no longer put together cogently descriptive sentences, then maybe I can still roughly assemble word-collages (you might not want to call it poetry). Until I am scarcely more than warmed over meat, just waiting for the last brain wave to cease and fall flat.
* * *
Bruce Bartlett: "Literally the second the ink is dry on the tax cut, deficit hawks will emerge from their hibernation, where they have had nary a word of criticism about increasing the deficit by $1.5 trillion, to demand that SS & Medicare be slashed b/c the deficit has mysteriously increased."
The Republicans are nothing if not persistent. Such is the value of having one shiny idea: making the rich richer.
[Twitter]
* * *
Samuel R. Delany: “Today I’m a five-o’clock-in-the-morning riser. Although I do stare at the wall a lot.”
[Twitter]
* * *
Mark Twain at 73 years of age: “As for me. I collect pets: young girls — girls from ten to sixteen years old; girls who are pretty and sweet and naive and innocent.”
[Twitter)
* * *
Perhaps discretion should bid me leave in silence Sunday evening's drunkenness. Lorie and Arthudo. She came just to pick up the TV Guide, but he probably didn't twist her arm too hard to get her to stay for dinner and booze.
There is enough in my journal of such scenes, and I could happily skip it, but early in the evening, I thought I caught her smirking at me. I am sure she has not forgotten our little tiff about their drinking, and so she might have been enjoying some proud defiance at my expense, perhaps even hoping that I might dare say something. I know better than that. We are all living on Arthudo's dime, and if he wants to light himself on fire, then all I can do is try to keep my distance from the flames.
However, if Lorie was thrilling in drinks and defiance, the evening didn't turn out so triumphant for her. I think she soiled herself. I could hear her with Arthudo in his toilet, practically crying about how embarrassed she was, with Arthudo playing the chivalrous man and assuring her that she has nothing to be embarrassed about, "You're home, you're home!" I appreciate his determination. I'm sure such an event would have cooled my affections. It might have inspired my compassion, but the budding hard-on would stop budding.
Nor was that the end of it. A little later on, she fell on the kitchen floor. Arthudo couldn't get her back up. I heard him asking if he should get me, but she was definitely against that idea (what, after all that smirking?). I ended up playing the fork-lift, after all.
I am struggling over the association of their drunkenness to the wilder times of college life - geriatric kids trying to party hard. It doesn't look good when you are young and in school, but it looks absolutely pathetic when you are on Social Security. You would think they might know better but, then, they never did go to college and certainly wouldn't be able to get into any real one.
* * *
Arthudo has upgraded to a yet larger, humongous computer monitor. 32 inches. It's like having a big TV set for a computer screen. It is rather awe-inspiring, to be sure, but it seems to me that it might be only ideal for watching movies and videos, which is what he was primarily thinking about, I suppose. He has his own Internet feeds that he likes to scroll through full of news and cat videos, but he uses his phone for that. I don't know how comfortably one can use this monster-monitor to do regular stuff like writing as well as reading news and articles. Because the screen is so big, I would think that you need to be some distance away from it to use it. However, I have yet to put in a regular bit of e-time on it. Maybe I will be surprised.
It is perhaps only fair to note that Arthudo offered to get me a new laptop. You see, he was excited by a big cyber-sale promotion. I probably should have jumped on the offer. However, I am so dispirited that I am thinking I could even say goodbye to the Internet once and for all. Of course, it saved my adult life, with that little flowering of e-friendships some twelve, fifteen years ago, but I have nothing like that now. Moreover, I am so cold on the news of the contemporary scene and the new Trumpian politics that I do not mind the prospect of not having to give it any notice. The only think I would miss is the roughie pornography, but with the sun setting on Net neutrality, that might become a thing of the past anyway. There is also the writing and my work on the Three Journal, but ... these days I can hardly work up the conviction that it matters a damn - I might as well be writing on water. I still need to play with words, to cogitate my brain and stimulate my sense of being alive in the world, but I can make do with scribbling on paper. It's not as though I am working on a masterpiece for the literary world, nor even just for blogging friends that I like. And, frankly, I am ready to start spending most of my day sleeping and dozing. Maybe I will dream more, and I am never more creative than when I am dreaming.
- - -
Maybe I really should've gotten that laptop. I just did some work on Arthudo's computer and his new monitor, and my fears are justified. It really is only good for watching movies and videos, when you can simply start the video and then kick back a good five yards to watch it. It's hard to use like a regular monitor. It's really more like another smart-TV albeit with full computer-capabilities, being connected to a full computer tower and a real keyboard. Fuck, man. Well, let's hope my laptop has another year left in her. And maybe there is a function that shrinks the frame to a more reasonable size. It would be a sensible thing.
* * *
Andrew Tate: "Prince Harry marrying a 36 y/o divorcee shows he's the kinda loser who pretends a girl with "experience" is good. It's not. Women with few previous partners are desirable. Female "experience" is a myth, swallowing loads of cum doesn't make you any better at laying on your back."
[Twitter]
