I do have the requisite glasses and I live in the right state for this. Or-eee-gone. Or to natives–Ore-gun. [Correct pronunciation– ORE-gun] I hope this solar event [sky event? event taking place way, way above my head?] is everything it’s supposed to be. A total distraction from Life In America, a mystical journey into my soul and a big bag of Easter candy. [Mostly those super-sweet Cadbury Eggs. I’m thinking the eclipse will send a rain of Cadbury Eggs. A girl has got to have #dreams]
I’d write some long-winded diatribe that veers off into #WTFPumpkincuntLOL but hey, tomorrow, if WE ARE ALL STILL HERE, is another day. Oh my gosh…which side won the Civil War again? I have to go check the local statues. Bye!
Um, on a note that has nothing to do with the Eclipsia…coffee is such a wonderful beverage. Sometimes you have to take a stand, ya’ll. [yawl]
Well, it’s nearly ECLIPSE TIME, and boy, is Oregon overcrowded a bit right now. Whee!! I have almost no interest in this cosmic event; it’s rather weird and starting to upset me a bit. I should be coming out of my own skin over this. I should be able to spout eclipse facts and know the exact trajectory of when our common moon eats our common sun up there in that big blue thing for a bit. I should be able to map with geometric exactness where that eclipse will best be seen. Basically, I know in my area it will last about thirty seconds, and over in Weiser, Idaho…it will be about two minutes. That’s it. That’s what I’ve gleaned.
I did manage to go to my bank and get three pairs of viewing glasses. They were free. Whee. Whoop.
Central Oregon [which is code for Not-Portland] has turned into the Los Angeles 405 during rush hour. Crazy, man. Crazy. Prineville, the Ochocos, Madras, Bend, Redmond–crowded as hell’s waiting room, baby.
Gas stations, I’ve heard/read seem to be running out of gas. Basic necessities seem lacking due to all the folks who’ve come from far and wide choking the poor middle of Oregon like a chunk of gristly pork during a family picnic. Gag gag cough cough. Oh and there’s some truly crazy wingnut over on Twitter called Deplorable Amy throwing a shit sandwich of a shit fit over how everyone is so ‘mean’ to her because she’s a Central Oregon tRump Supporter.
TRULY DISGUSTED AT HOW MANY PPL WISH ME ILL WILL BCUZ I LIVE IN CENTRAL OREGON & AM A TRUMP SUPPORTER. THESE AREN’T THE OREGONIANS I KNOW..
One of the replies to that tweet is from Turtle Vision: Oh I’ll say it Do Go Fuck Yourself -Real Oregonian
[Who doesn’t love a good juicy in-state Twitter tirade met by fellow Oregon staters on the ‘other side’? It was under Central Oregon if you wish to go peruse that or even drop a Tweet or several.]
Oh I know why I’m rather indifferent to the cosmic fun about to go down.
My country seems poised to become Whitelandia.
Now!! Oh believe me, I had a whole diatribe about Whitelandia, that batshit insano ‘fake news’ conference where Pumpkincunt went off the rails and tried to take us all with it. [I can’t think of Pumpie as a ‘he’. Sorry. Just can’t do it. I guess that makes me just as evil and awful as your basic Aryan Nations ‘nice’ person.] I live in a state that overflows with those separatists hate the gubbermint sorts who have caches of military grade weaponry ready to go against the leftie commies trying to turn ‘murikka into some commie playground. [That would be me, I guess.]
Portland, Eugene, Salem, that’s the liberal paradise everyone thinks Oregon is. More like most of the folks in Oregon live there and so the state remains fairly blue. As the rest of the state is about as red as a baboon’s ass. But they don’t have the votes necessary to overcome the commie hippie libtards that mope over there in Portland, hello. Otherwise, Oregon would be as red as poor ole Idaho. Californians are also blamed for how ‘liberal’ Oregon seems. [As in they move here, all Cali transplants are liberal and hence they buck up the votes for liberal causes.] This can all be researched on your own time. Take it from a native Eastern Oregon sort…Oregon has a red undercoat that’s dangerous, ready to rebel for white causes and more than ready to kick some commie liberal Portland weak asses. Family values, you know.
I find it hard to write anything these days that doesn’t descend into gibberish or sarcastic despairing. I pull up a new file and my brain meat smokes and fumes. The words that do manage to land seem clumsy or not the words meant. [Which is, I think, the actual curse of nearly all writers ever.] So I’ll return to the eclipse because the stark, awful political landscape fills me with razor blades, gopher poison pellets and an obsession to see if our guns are locked and loaded just in case. Just in case. [Yes, the left is armed and ready, too. Despite rhetoric and the comforting belief that the ‘other side’ are pussies who won’t fight back when, WHEN, it all goes down.]
I, like others, am waiting for a Savior To Rise and make all this jagged awfulness go away. It’s like lines from Thunder Road, a Springsteen song– You can hide ‘neath your covers and study your pain/Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain/Waste your summer praying in vain/For a savior to rise from these streets…
I think after the eclipse mania dies down, we’re gonna have to save ourselves. There’s no deus ex machina about to swoop in and make it all better. After all, we’re not about to repeat history over and over and over and over and over. We’re not that fucking stupid, are we? [Yes, yes, we are. I was being, like, totally sarcastic.]
I wrote something snarky about the events of last weekend. The murder of Heather Heyer, the POS POTUS who still has a big grin and a hard-on for white supremacists and how this is America; we’ve just been hiding it better some years.
Instead…I’m tired. It’s August. The eclipse is nigh. It rained yesterday. It never rains here so that perked me up. Storms, weather, wind and rain and snow, yes, please. I don’t live in a place like Tornado Alley or Hurricane Way or Big Awful Storms Every Other Day place so rain in the high desert is welcomed. What happened in Charlottesville devastates me. We were supposed to be over this shit by now. We were supposed to be moving forward, not exploring what it felt like during actual race riots and World War II fistfights. Everything old is new again should not apply to…oh fuck.
I watched a Dodge plow into pedestrians. It got splashed all over social media. You saw the car reverse and a red tennis shoe fell away from the bumper. And people died, there were three deaths and numerous injuries from one guy driving a car into others. It’s a terrorist attack, it’s supposed to make us terrified to resist, to speak out, to do something or do anything against those in the KKK, involved in the Aryan Nations, involved in the Alt-Right circle-jerks, involved in anything that smacks of white power or white nationalism. And yet…a bit of light and hope because people are speaking out, doing something, denouncing this…45 was quicker to jump down Alec Baldwin’s throat than Richard Spencer’s or Jason Kessler’s. He has yet to denounce the white pride groups that adore him. That the White House had to keep ‘clarifying’ tells me this is another PR blunder for those in power, not an actual moment when they need to stop stumping for votes.
And I actually despair watching people wait for that actual ‘White Supremacists are bad hombres’ to happen. Haven’t you figured out who this fuckweed is by now, my dears? He’s not going to go after those who adore him and praise him and call him strong. Any more than he’d cut off his hands. I despair at people crying out for something to get done about all this.
Because sooner or later, we the people are going to have to ‘do something’ about all this. Beyond maybe voting in the next election, that is. And that’s where I see darkness and dragons. I want so badly to naively believe that ‘love will win in the end’. I don’t think it will, at this stage in my life. I, too, waited for the current president to denounce all this happening on American soil to fellow Americans. I waited like a dope.
I waited. I knew better.
And I waited.
I don’t know what’s going to happen now in my country. Or my life, for that matter. I am just trying to make it through each day, with some sanity intact. I try to write and not cut my wrists most days. That’s about all I can do. I can’t find clever words for all this vomit and shit and actual dried blood on metal at the moment. This vomit, this shit, this dried blood on metal that is America right now and…
I think this one is broken/Or I should/ give in to my dark side and go write romance novels that/ end with everyone getting a chainsaw up/
Should we vote on this? vote vote/vote for nothing that matters that’s/ amazing and amazeballs
The next time I get some cold, hard cash/ I’m going to/ buy some vodka. Some cheap/ vodka/ And some cheap mixer. And some smokes. And then cut off /all my hair and glue it to the wall/ Because art, baby.
You are not welcome to join me/go get your own strychnine
Well, what to write this week. If anything to write this week. The world slumbers in the dog days of summer and nuthin’ is going on. Except the threat of nuclear annihilation and some other stuff, but hey…
I did write a very Mean Girls post but my better angels punched me in the face. So.
I’ve been doing submissions. Always a fun time. [That was sarcasm.] I did two this morn! Two. An excerpt from a novel entitled The Adventures of Grumpy Odin and Sexy Jesus. A one-act play about two star-crossed lovers at a Las Vegas bus stop, called Free Range Chickens. That one place did say you could submit excerpts from novels…and hey, I took them at their word.
It’s been a rather smoky caul over my tiny corner of the universe lately. Rather like being back in Shenyang City, China. That was heavy industrial pollution, this is just wildfire smoke. Or being in Beijing, which is even worse than Shenyang! I know! They are trying to ‘clean’ that all up now, that pollution over there in China. We here in America are prepared to take up the pollution slack, however! Yay! Can’t wait! I’m not bitter at all.
What have I been writing? Oh? Um. well, let’s kindly call it ‘crap’, shall we?
Yeah, don’t worry. I will not be smearing that clear-the-head writing here. It’s bad, trust me. Note: maybe I will. I have tons of it. It might be the next ripoff of Games of Thrones meets LOTR with a splash of Story of O. Intrigued???
Ahem, anyway!! It has the depth of My Pretty Pony fanfiction. Not that I’ve read any. I’m assuming most of that is unreadable claptrap. I’m also taking a break from politics, life and life’s politics via said Claptrap Crap, which helps yours truly do some very minor coping.
I also now have Ibuprofin and have resorted to using the morning’s old coffee to make iced coffee in the afternoon, because I’m a resourceful little kitty-cat. And, poured over onion-flavored ice [don’t ask], leftover morning iced coffee treat is…well, something I can drink that’s not water-flavored. It’s the little things, baby. I’m jonesing for black cherry Kool-Aid, by the way. Yes, I made some sun tea! Geez! I found some ancient tea bags I got at the Dollar Store. Yum.
Now for a Serious Writer Gal update: I went back into the third book of my trilogy wannabe and let the chips fall where they wished. I’ve got the ending [note– it’s a sad ending for right now. I am letting that soak in the inner crock-pot gravy, don’t worry!], so where was I? I have the ending, more or less, and now just need the beginning and middle! [As the ‘story’ keeps shifting about like a damn Garden of Eden snake. Eve couldn’t have crucified that damn snake and…anyway.] Whee!! Woot woot!
Saint Lysette and Bloody Alicecooks in my inner crock-pot. It heats up slowly, I can leave it all day, come back in the evening and viola, meal. If you don’t know what a crock-pot is or why you can leave it all day…Google is your friend. [Not if you have a vagina, though…tee hee.]
It will be cooler. Hopefully, we won’t be fighting for scraps in the bomb shelters. [I don’t even have mine dug yet!!! Fuck. Sonofabitch!]
Football, and pumpkins, and dying leaves, oh yes! The blankets come back out. Rain returns. We’re supposed to get another bad winter. I should dig out my mittens and scarves right now! Or go dig a bomb shelter. And find some, what, lead? Maybe line it with mangina juice scraped off King Magical Pumpkincunt? I had to get one shot in, come on.
Hey, if anyone wants to read Free Range Chickens or, um, like, produce it…HERE YA GO!!
PART ONE: IN WHICH I DECIDE TO TAKE ON UNICORNS AND RAINBOWS
It’s hot. It’s smoky. There’s wildfires burning merrily away. Merrily for the fire, not so much for the men and women fighting said merry wildfire/s. Clownstick von Pumpkincunt lied about the Boy Scouts calling It to tell It what a goodly, bigly speech It gave to the Boy Scouts. Woot woot!
Um, Pumpkincunt and Racist Elfboy [Sessions]now say it’s white folks who are the real victim of discrimination. They are diverting money from actual programs set up to fight racism and segregation and etc, etc…to investigate the real victims of America’s racist climes–WHITE FOLKS! Oh my! I wish I had made that up; I’d win some goddamn writing prizes, for sure, for sure. Or maybe not. I’d have to use a different name, maybe Sally Houswifelady. Or Jellytits McFly.
I mentioned, casually and off the cuff, that I should write a happy post about…wait for it…wait….wait for it…
Unicorns and rainbows. Mostly because my last few posts have been in the Debbie Downer column. Politics. Depression. Writing about writing. Ugh! Gross me out the door already, right?
PART TWO: ECLIPSE, NEW MONTH, NOT YET TO THE UNICORN OR RAINBOW GOOD BITS
And it’s a new month.
A brand spanking new month. Where anything can happen. Like an eclipse. I have no actual interest in the moon eating the sun — science is a liberal plot to get free government cheese and free cell phones for illegal pretty-girl dismemberment teams. The eclipse– is that even an ENGLISH WORD???— is a sign that Jesus doesn’t want anyone to get gay married, that women should become livestock and that tax cuts for the wealthiest is one of the Beatitudes.
Apparently, if you say ‘just kidding’ after whatever batshit statement you make…it absolves you of all blame and responsibility for whatever happens/doesn’t happen. Yay!
PART THREE: BIG PHALLIC HORNED VIRGIN FINDERS
Unicorns. Mostly what I know about them is that they’re virgin-finders. A white horse with a big phallic ‘horn’ sticking out of its forehead goes about finding pure gals…yeah, can you say fragile male fanfiction about their own genitals? Weee.
I remember a tale about how to capture a unicorn– you find a virgin [good luck with that, eh, boys??] female and the unicorn will find her and put its head in her lap. Um. I guess if the girl is not a virgin, you find that out, too, when no unicorn shows up. A version of Medieval slut shaming, weeeee. Though, they didn’t have social media back then to slut shame, they had other methods. Like oh, burning them alive for witchcraft, woot woot, for one. We all know witches are sluts and should be burned alive, that’s just a given.
And unicorns are pretty! Big, pretty, white or golden [I’ve seen unicorns featured in other colors, with lion tails, etc.] horse-like creatures that have magical virgin-finding powers, among other gifts. What girl, with some mild or actual artistic talent, has not drawn herself an entire portfolio of unicorns? Are there any tales of evil unicorns? Mm…
PART FOUR: GOD VERSUS EVERYONE ELSE OR THE HAPPY RAINBOW
Rainbows! God’s promise, in the Old Testies, to NOT KILL NEARLY EVERYONE ON THE PLANET BECAUSE THEY WERE ICKY. Sinning. Whatever.
It’s the symbol of God saying, hey, I won’t destroy my own creation anymore but hey, I’m still gonna keep score, you fucks.That’s my own interpretation of those dusty verses, anyway. Ahem.
The rainbow is also the symbol of Gay Pride. We’re queer, we’re here! Love trumps hate! Love wins! Love love love! All of that celebration, parading and legislation to make ‘those’ into actual ‘citizens’. Which sets the Christian Right’s teeth on edge; not only on edge but shatters those teeth. [And to be fair…no, no, I don’t have to be fair. I don’t have to say Not All Christians blurgh blag bluk. They go low, I give them wedgies.]
That rainbow flag waving about versus some dusty verses in the Old Testies…that’s just good old-fashioned fun right there. If you’re sitting on the sidelines with no dog in this here hunt, that is. [That’s an American idiom– no dog in this hunt. I understand it instantly, but I am from an actual hunting/farming/hillbilly/poor folks background.]
The rainbow is also some scientific thingie
to do with weather…or something.
But hey, let’s not bring anything so liberal elitist social justice warrior feminazi victimize the white folks into this here discussion on how the poor rainbow has been used to take down Jesus. Amen.
PART FIVE: CONCLUSIONS, MEANDERINGS AND GENERAL SMARTASS-NESS
Purity and visible evidence that God won’t take us out again for being sinners. Unicorns and rainbows. Cute fantasy figure and using the visible spectrum of colors to fight for inclusion of LGBTQ folks in all walks of life. An equine symbol of purity [sorry, gals, not even Mother Teresa can out-pure a unicorn. Even the Virgin Mary looks like a grubby pole dancer next to a one-horned horse.] and a symbol of God’s divine decree that even if we’re down here lining up puppies to debauch, God won’t send a heavy rain.
God didn’t say anything about earthquakes or other natural disasters. As people, to this day, equate a local/not local earthquake or some other fun Mother Nature-ish event, with some judgment they just know is being delivered on the heads of the local/global sinners. God punishes everyone they hate —It’s just great that God hates everyone I hate, ain’t it??– with a tornado.
It’s very convenient, random punishment by random earthquake or other disaster natural or otherwise, and such conclusions of divine justice involve no actual work or use of brain tissue. Earthquake equals suffering and death for sinners. And a few innocent bystanders who probably deserved it.
Yeah. I once had a carload of elderly ladies try to tell me that earthquake in Fukushima, Japan was God’s judgment on Japan for being atheists. My my my. We humans never seem to get away from branding all happenings, good or horrible or in between, with some sort of divine agency. Yes, I came to that conclusion all on my own…I amz smartie.
Back to the divine symbol of God’s forgiveness--I forgive you motherfuckers for being shitbirds, even though I designed you, but I ain’t taking any responsibility for how you fuckwads turned out, no way, no how! Have a goddamn rainbow, you sunsabitches!
So, God is reduced to striking small areas along fault zones or in tornado alley or in the path of hurricanes or…yeah, instead of punishing us all at once and just starting over with new models.
PART SIX: TEQUILA!
Why didn’t God just wipe out Noah and company, too, and start over? Other mythologies have just this– where the gods and goddesses had to start over and over and over again with humanity. So why didn’t the God in the Old Testies just do that with the obviously fatally flawed shits it created from dirt and probably a truly gargantuan cosmic-wide tequila bender? Yes, God created tequila before he created the sun. I know it, you know it, let’s get over it together, fellow babies.
Having been the victim of that truly evil liquid myself, I can well sympathize with God cataclysmically messing up humanity and forming them into such imperfect little shitwads of hatred, nastiness and so forth. Who hasn’t done stupid things while buzzed on tequila?? Hands? Hands? Yeah, okay then!!
Am I actually blaming the faults of humanity on God having one too many shots of demon juice AKA tequila? Yes. Yes, I am.
Oh that note!! August, it promises to be a super-hot crap-smeared slide into madness and further obscurity for yours truly. Hoooray!! If I start low, all I can go is high, right? Shhh. I think I hear a unicorn…nope, just my hopes and dreams being stomped to death by an angry horse with a plastic horn duct taped to its face.