what a good dude Trump was for supporting white supremacy . . . something like that. Then he packed up a shit load of guns and to a masque and open fire on every non-white body in front of him. Woman, children, old men . . . dirt-bag boy didn't give a shit. When he ran out of ammo, when back out to his truck, car, whatever he was driving, reloaded and went back to make sure he didn't miss anyone. I mean, I think that's the story. It's still bit hazy. The local New Zealand cops are piecing it together. Oh, one thing I know he did? He video taped the whole dame thing with a mobile camera strapped to his forehead. He put it on social media. I didn't see it but my friend said it was really creepy. It looked something like a first person video game only this were real people and there was real blood being spilt. So, I'm not gonna waste much more time on this fuck-ass motherfucker except to say . . . what a little bitch he is. Tough guy, bullshit. A punk with a gun. Yeah, yeah, yeah. He did kill a lot of innocent people for some racist bullshit nonsense . . . . but he's still a punk.
Saturday, March o6, 2o19
Well, it's just a smidgen cold outside . . . just a smidge. I went out on the bicycle today, a vest, short sleeve shirt (my Team Jesus shirt), sweat pants and my "work-a-day" tennies and I was just fine! Finally, not freezin' my buttocks off! Riding on the bike, though? A bit of a chore. Breathing to rough to go for very long, but I did feel better, and I'm sure that if I keep riding every day, my lung capacity will improve. Hey! We went to the art museum today! Haven't been there in a while. Lots to see! There was a mirror exhibit that was really interesting. Sort of played around with dimensions. There were holes in the mirrors where a person could look in . . . and it was freaking as hell to be IN the mirror room with someone who you couldn't see but for their eyes staring at you.
Sunbeams attack my right side, setting on fire the cotton blend, which radiates the sun's warmth at a disturbing Fahrenheit. Without a command from me, my hand reaches over, grabs the blind's strings and gives them a tug, and the blinds slam shut with a deafening THUNGH!
A pounding sound. A thug against the inside wall of my brain housing group. My eyes close and open then close and open . . . as if the magic of their repetition will somehow end the pain. It doesn't. If anything the pain doubles, triples . . . even stretching the tension entrapped within my neck does nothing to stop the constant banging going on behind my eye sockets. A perpetual frown invades my lips. My breath kicked to the curb . . . each in tack of breath accompanied by a mousy wheezy sound. Not much can be down except bear the torture old age is inflecting on my beat down body. P.S. Happy Saint Patrick's Day!
Monday, March 18, 2o19
Always keep your mind as bright and clear as the vast sky, the highest peak, and the deepest ocean, empty of all liming thoughts. -From The Art of Peace by Morihei Ueshiba