Spam Capacity?

 

 

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So. I’ve been doing a somewhat half-assed experiment. With my Yahoo email account. A couple weeks ago…my spam started getting twenty to thirty hits a day. I at first, plucky sort that I am, tried to block, filter, set up rules, blah deeee fucking blah. I even made the mistake of trying to unsubscribe to whatever Luciferian list my email got put on. Nothing. Nada. No cease in the flow of spammy spammity spam.

Nothing worked.

And it’s spam from the same set– the same bank/s, Lifelock, AIG, DNA kits, burial information, Liberty Mutual, Proactiv, Lyft hiring RIGHT NOW, senior home living, Choice Home warranty, the Wall Street Journal subscriptions, Incontinence, Rosetta Stone…the same handful of home warranties, get a loan, clear your pimples, find a man, find out who your ancestors raped, nursing homes not run by Satan, banks that want to just give you credit cards; it’s fucking endless.

[Note– I am probably going to cuss a bit. If you’re an eight year old child, you already know these words but pretend you don’t and certainly don’t tell your custodians that you learned said words by reading this, m’kay?]

Right now, at 10:24 AM, I’m at 1078 spam emails. Yes. That’s a thousand and seventy eight emails. Or is it a thousand seventy eight? [Grammar police? Hello?] I’ve been taking pics of this. The procession from a few to FUCK ME DOES THAT SAY FIVE HUNDRED AND SEVEN? It’s kept me off the streets, and mildly occupied. It’s a distraction.

America is slightly bonkers right now. Slightly. A lil bit. God probably went out for a taco. When God gets back, however, yeah. Am I the only one who notices Americans have a savior complex about their politicians? Probably not. But this post is about spam emails so back to that!

I keep thinking Yahoo will send me an email telling me my junk email is OMG TOO FULL EMPTY THAT THING LADY. They have not. But I do notice emails going directly to the trash. Nothing I’ve marked as ‘spam’, however.

Yours truly was going to empty the spam trashies when I reached five hundred. Then I wondered…hey. How many spams does it take to fill up my account so that nothing can go in or out?

[Don’t worry. I barely use this one anymore. I know you’re a bit worried here. Worry about the flooding in Houston and so forth. If you want to do some good.]

I’m over a thousand. I thought…a thousand spams would surely render my account frozen until I empty all those emails.

Hotmail empties your junk spammy crappola after ten days or so. Just sayin’. Just puttin’ it out there.

So, I’ll keep watching the Lyft offers for employment, the AIG whatever, the nursing home lookatme, the credit card attempted seductions junk emails pile up higher and higher and higher yet. Maybe my new spam number will be 2000. OOOOOEEEEE.

Turd-day, Aug. 31– 1248. Come on, spammers!! You’re slowing down a bit! Only a hundred fifty or so since Tuesday??? I’m ashamed of you fuckpuffs!! Where else can I somewhat ignore insurance offers, credit card come-ons and burial plot beggings?

 

 

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Clumsy Words

 

 

 

august2017ditch3 013I watch from a distance as my friend faces death.

The real death, the one you can’t avoid. The one that comes like a thief in the night, to use a Biblical phrase.

Liver failure. He’s been posting his spiral into the grave for about four months now. Lyrics to songs. Updates about waking up on the sidewalk. Messages of slight defiance against that dying of the light.  Humorous little nibbles of life whittled down to a few days. Not wishing to stick around until the bitter end. Or whatever his end is fated to be.

There’s no miracle expected.

There’s no last minute reprieve around that mystical, mythical corner.

There’s just a man dying of liver failure and trying to face it.

We offer prayers and thoughts, and words become clumsy forays into how to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time, so perhaps…better not to write a farewell at all.  I hesitate, I hesitate, fearing I will say or write something that brings pain and scores a bloody hit somewhere that  he already bleeds from…

Except.

This is not about me feeling awkward or misplaced or that my feeble sentiments are not wanted…this is just a few kind words for a friend who’s far away and possibly already gone to wherever we go. If we go anywhere at all.

He did not deserve this. I’ll say it and mean it with all my heart. He did not deserve this. I have such anger and bewilderment that such a death came for someone I know, for someone who always tries to do good, oh. I wish I could say that one thing, that ONE THING THAT WOULD MAKE THIS NOT TRUE. Or that one thing that would smooth over the rough edges and…oh.

And so farewell, and so, goodbye.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in// Leonard Cohen– Anthem

Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it’s all right//The Beatles–Here Comes the Sun

Update: my friend died today. It’s Sunday. Last night the owls called and hunted. I could hear the babies cawking to their parents. My friend is dead. Goodbye.

 

IT’S ECLIPSE DAY!

 

 

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from NASA

Mornin’. It’s, yep, ECLIPSE DAY!

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]

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KTVB archives. Central Oregon normally looks pretty empty, traffic-wise. 

Diversion, soul journey, chocolate. Yay!

Oh– go vote for my book cover. #FuckingShamelessPlug

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]

Um, back to the Eclipsia– there’s a massive wildfire by Sisters. 

So. HAPPY VIEWING, EVERYONE.

Hey and hello: here’s some pictures my crappy little camera managed to take. You’re welcome. No damn chocolate. Dreams die hard, fellow babies…

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OREGON ECLIPSE MANIA

 

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from Exploratorium

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.

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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.

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from the Daily Progress. Idiots out for walkies with their gunz. In Charlottesville, VA. 

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.]

 

 

https://www.space.com/33797-total-solar-eclipse-2017-guide.html

 

Everything old is new again

 

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The Owyhees. Eastern Oregon

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.

But honestly.

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…

It’s August and yesterday it rained.

my broken blog poem

 

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my broken blog spoken poem

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/

their cooters.

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

and we’ll die in different rooms

totally

happy/that we’re drunk

and poisoned/watching cat videos

where the cat

dies.

Amen

 

 

 

 

 

DOG DAYS AND HAZE

 

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Molly is not impressed with anything I write, sadly. 

Before I go any further…my play, Lady Judas, was a finalist for New Light Theatre Project–

The 2017-2018 finalists include:

Like Jelly by Jeana Scotti

Lady Judas by Ann Wuehler

American Tradition by Ray Yamanouchi

 http://www.newlighttheaterproject.com/new-light-new-voices

Onward!!!!

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.

I’ve also been writing while Oregon/Idaho/Washington State/Cali burns. The haze, baby, the haze. The sun peeked out today!

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 Alice cooks 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.]

I shall sludge ahead through the sludge, oh yes.

September is just around this hazy bend.

My book comes out.

THE HOUSE ON CLARK BOULEVARD.

GO VOTE ON A COVER!!!!

http://www.kensingtongorepublishing.com/house-on-clark-boulevard-cover/4593976991

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!!

http://www.one-act-plays.com/dramas/free_range_chickens.html