May your intentions be fruitful in this glorious month, Beloved!
It is my fervent belief that the Hate Yam needs shunned. He should not be heard. He should not be seen. He should be paid no attention because he is an incompetent.
The Hate Yam needs shunned. He lies. He lies. He lies. He lies. He lies. He lies. He lies.
The Hate Yam needs shunned. He is endangering all our lives. He is profiteering on our collective catastrophe.
The Hate Yam has no medical knowledge. Neither does that eyed potato that is his second and leading a task force on COVID19. He is the worst representative of the elites, but elite he is. Why is the Hate Yam not funding the acquisition and distribution of necessary medical supplies out of his boundless wealth? Why is he not temporarily nationalizing whatever industry we have left to generate the ventilators and other medical supplies we desperately need?
The Hate Yam should have been 25thed a while ago. He should never have gotten into office. He should be shunned and we need to let the PIC (people in charge) know that we are shunning him because we have no confidence in his sanity, his word, because of his failure to act for the benefit of the public health of the American people.
The wind is high. Already, several tree limbs have hit the house. The first one was slender, showed signs of termites, hollow inside, ripe for being blown down.
Anxiety. What good would it do to call the insurance company? The tree should have been removed instead of my home. What good would it do to call the contractor who botched this job royally? I hope he used my claim funds for something worthwhile, like curing HIV/AIDS or the Oval Occupier.
Women are under attack, but they have always been under attack. We are not counted among those created equal. It is no accident that only men are mentioned. Just like it is no accident that God is allegedly a male. That’s sex. I never thought God had a sex. What need of sex has God? When the myth got started that Jesus was God, I lost all interest in Christian religions. I know they’re gonna be struck by something and I don’t want to get smote.
The Old Testament God was angry, jealous, would tear shit up, or inflict horrors on pretty innocent people. At least, I understand this God. He’s petty.
With the New Testament we throw out the petty God and claim Jesus is God and his son. That’s some hellified double relationship. God made a baby who was Himself. A woman was used.
Women constantly get used. I’m ’bout fed up with that. But women find it difficult to stand together. Wasn’t always this way, but it seems to be the case today. Maybe it’s generational. Women were in competition for men, so they were bitchy to one another. Let a woman get a man and she will abandon her women friends in a combination New York/LA minute. Cisness is death to women friendships.
My best friends were always lavender ladies. They know how to party. They know how to be quiet and comfortable together. They know how to be friends. I wish everyone was multisexual, especially the Christians.
Why do Christians have so much interest in other folks’ naughty bits? Why are they always trying to make women have babies they can’t care for? Why don’t they have as much care for the living as they do for the “pre-born”? I’d like to see a 6 week foetus survive on its own, no machines, nada. Just pretend it is born.
What happened to procreation being a job for two? If the women are being penalized for getting pregnant, why aren’t the men who impregnated them getting some sort of punishment? Punitive. That’s what Christians are. They are sadistic and mean.
Of course, there are sadistic and mean people everywhere in America. They exist in every religion, every ethnicity, every age group, every sex. But Christians, maybe evangelical Christians stand out for their love of death. They would rather see you dead than not believe the way they do.
I don’t know about this type, don’t write thing. I get to saying stuff I think but don’t say. I don’t like confrontation. I don’t like hurting other people. However, there is more room out than in. So, there you go.
All sorts of info, directive filters into my headspace. The title is a result of this seepage. Either I read this dictate, saw it in passing on television, likely in an ad, or it was splashed at me through subliminal advertising. Who knows?
Doing so many things in a day. Ramadan always calls for a period of adjustment, generally a turning around of activity. Eating and drinking can go on during the night, but dawn sees the resumption of the fast. Day is now for contemplation. Night is for getting things done.
Night offers quiet. Getting things done must be accomplished in quiet. It is a blessing. It is calming. It is a refuge from the surrounding madness. The homeless remain, increasing in number. What need have I for pictures when the blind cannot see them? Mummy could ignore a lot of things because she was deaf in one ear. Ceaseless drips from a faucet set my teeth on edge.
Type, don’t write. Need to read more Faulkner and O’Connor. 1955 was a significant year. Read Faulkner’s coverage of the Kentucky Derby of 1955 in Sports Illustrated. Got no need for sports, but I do love horseracing. So many Black men built that sport. Built the South. Built the nation. But The Misfit runs the nation right now. Flannery said so.
The recitation continues. May your Ramadan bear fruit.
For Ramadan, I’ve been making socks as I listen to recitations of the Qu’ran and think about the fate of the world. Ramadan is an excellent time for reflection. It is a discipline that promotes self-restraint as well as an opportunity for self-knowledge in relation to the world. Immersion in the recitations is a shield from the world which is why I had no knowledge of the STEM school shooting in Colorado until this minute. We really need to understand what it is we, as a culture, are doing to produce these mad and angry people. We need to understand why we, as a culture, continue to tolerate these assaults on our children, on all people. What is our individual contribution to the lawlessness, hatred, intolerance that plagues us.
In my home, I had hardwood floors so I never realized that the materials of which I make socks interacted with the flooring to encourage or halt sliding. The structure I currently occupy has laminate floors. Acrylic yarns slide on this flooring. Alpaca does not. Not only am I trying to memorize this pattern, I am also experimenting with different types of yarn to discover which are safest for the socks. First was alpaca, second was acrylic, next is cotton.
What does it mean that we are here, now, seeing what we see?
What does it mean that I am aware of the Rohingya, fleeing their lands, en masse; to know, and care, that one-third of Bangladesh is submerged; that 91 people a day die of opiate abuse?
What does it mean that corporations have gutted Puerto Rico’s finances and the island looks like NOLA during Katrina, only more widely spread, people, American citizens, again struggling against unbelievably horrible odds?
What does it mean that I made the-one-who-should-not-be-named my nigger? I did. I tweeted him, told him about the klan military man who would salute a uniform all day, but not a nigger, and I told him he was mine. Sure did and sent it to the POTUS address. I don’t bother with that real thang cuz he can block you. Did me. I have called him a nigger for a couple of days, and you know what? It does a body better than chicken soup and sitting fuming helplessly while my country is made to look an ass because of who sits at the helm.
It is a good time to sit and reflect. I need to sit and figure out why I would do such a thing. True, I was theory-testing. I do love to test a theory, almost as much as I love to knit. A Twitter friend said he reported being called a nigger by some “alt-right” types, and Twitter said none of its standards were violated. So, I said let us see if I can do what I did and suffer no repercussions as I would not be violating any standards. So far, I’m in the pipe, 5 X 5.
I have never written the WH. I have a few favorite presidents, but I don’t like playing favorites. This one, however, requires some face time with me. And I want it recorded.
Good fast to you.
Power of Words
If the One had an eye, I can nearly imagine what it must be like, because of photography and graphic effects, to zoom, from the unknown firmaments that surround us, onto my doings on this earth. A macro-microscopic zoom. Of course, the One, if possessed of a brain or mind such as I am familiar with or can fathom, would need only to think, “Be,” and whatever thought of would come into BEing.
Whatever could make the One, the Creator of All That Is, directly or indirectly, interested in my doings? The time needed to focus on my shenanigans is unimaginable as the One is timeless and can Do or Not Do, as it wills, if It were possessed of a will as I can conceive of one.
Personallly, I do believe the One is not amused, if indeed the One possesses a sense of humor as I know it. My own sense of humor is pretty whack, but the One and I would likely agree that what passes for reality, the quality of interpersonal and international relations on this earth is troubling, not at all funny. Perhaps this is why horrors persist; the One has left us on our own, abandoned us, and we’re acting out our heartbreak and frustration at this eventuality.
For all the professions of faith, many folks act as if it is the case that the One has abandoned them, left them alone like the devil never did.
Blessed are the troublemakers; they shall shake things up.
I wonder what it is I am supposed to learn from the horrid people who live near me. I turn to the I for answers and am given the response to observe what others nourish in themselves and others. If they nourish inferior attitudes and behaviors, they are inferior people and should be observed, but not imitated. From observations of them, I should learn to retain my equanimity and equilibrium in the face of the holocaust of inferiority they represent.
Every day is a struggle to understand and better myself in the face of never ending mediocrity. How to keep the spirit up in a dispiriting world?