Chaparral Fortresse

Early aughts, London Internet Cafe My first, sheepish, blogarithmic wave to the rest of the world. A score'n a'skosh later, South Motherboard, CA From the recliner cum home office Um, hi. 👋 (Again.)

Whenever I find myself on the wrong side of exit liquidity (too often as of late) a wee, melancholy trader-elf sings a little Queensryche-inspired ditty which then plays on repeat in my brain-meats the rest of my waking day.

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I like world music in an it's still 1993 in my heart, I'm wearing overalls with men's boxers and a short tank top, sucking on peach rings from Sweet Factory, and looking at all the cool shit in the Nature Company, kind of way.

This is not the country we should be.

Today's neurological oddity is pleasant (for once). Ah, the phantom smell of sweet, salty ocean. I'm at the recliner cum beach today. Thanks, faulty wiring!

The disparity btwn what’s actually happening in Los Angeles and the way it’s being mischaracterized is one of the biggest stress tests of modern media in recent memory. Botted socials, AI, old clips, declining literacy—it’s like seeing a broken emergency response system hit by a storm.

I'm ready to throw my mostly incapable ass in front of some fascist thugs. Fuuuuuuck these assholes so hard.

What can we do? Can we literally go there and bring comfort items, food and drink?

This is both grotesque and embarrassing. Humanity is failinggggggg

I hope this finds you well Where well=eat a dick

If you're heading out to a protest, there are a number of concepts to keep in mind to keep yourself—and your data—safe.

“It was as if the detainees’ lives were worthless,” another said. The flight attendants who spoke with ProPublica believed those lives were not worthless. That, many of them told me, is why they no longer fly for ICE Air. It’s also why they decided to share their stories: tinyurl.com/bdz5dc5f 10/

The insult to injury of chronic illness is that I have all the words swirling around in my head, but too little cognitive energy to express them at length, the way my noggin *wants* to work. If only! my creative brain meats were capable (of brevity).

i think about this a lot: Is this the future? No will get degrees in philosophy, humanities, journalism, or any other profession that deals with questions. We will graduate digital intellectual share croppers whose job it is to tend to the fields of AI training.

I miss having friends, work, and a social life. Chronic illness is my life as a wool sweater thrown into the dryer. My grandest escape that remains is within. When I collapse into myself at the end, I'll finally sleep well.

A quick post-cruise refresher from me before I do any serious delving into any particular current events: Fuck fascists Fuck -phobes Fuck wealthy sociopaths Fuck immigrant-haters Fuck sexists Fuck anyone who wants to invade Canada and/or Mexico Fuck vaccine deniers Fuck this administration Etc, etc

Billionaireism is immoral. Who among us would hoard wealth without feeling a moral obligation to flood the world with our financial excess? How are we on the cusp of trillionaireism? It's grotesque.

I'm in a pretty bad place, really, but am oddly at peace about it. I didn't want to be here, but it was a better choice than the alternative. And all things considered, I have the love of my life and the unbending support of loving family nearby. I'd/we'd have been homeless awhile ago, probably...

Eddie Vedder is leading the call & response: "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay..." I once served him a cup of vegetable-ish soup & a Cobb salad w/o egg. Except I did bring it with the egg, pretty sure, & he was either almost gracious or was gracious enough-I can't remember-to not send it back.

I miss being completely anonymous online without much effort. I loved unspooling my innards, serving them in Styrofoam for the unamassed few. "Powered by vodka" comes to mind. A cheeto-dust rim. Chum for breakfast and a nap for dessert. You know: college.

This may not actually be obsolete, I just don't know, but my 1st grade version of a fidget spinner was turning my Ticonderoga round and round and round in the little metal pencil holder at the top of the flip-top desk. The hexagonal edges made pleasing little clicks at each turn.

Because if there's one thing the corporate world is currently lacking, it's obviously men!

Hear me out, fellow creatives: it's the "Everything Is Awesome" song from the LEGO movie, except we change the lyrics to "Everything Is Awful."

Billionaireism is immoral.

I wish Medicine understood & accepted post-viral sequelae. The stigma of suffering from health problems not widely accepted by doctors is a burden I would not wish on my worst enemy. Living with a chronic illness is bad enough, but being told your literal pain is 🤷 -- Not cool, humanity. Not cool.

It's ugly, I'm ashamed, and I admit that I made all of these decisions myself. It was this dumpster fire instead of the more permanent one. This is what giving up looks like, in my own way. I'm sorry.

Is it "performative nostalgiabation" or is simply "performative nostalbation" colorful enough? Currently editing some scholarly bits.

One of the most difficult aspects of livin' all chronically ill & shit is having to regularly repress and conceal my disdain for my condition, lest I repel the few people left in my life. Some of having no friends anymore is my own fault, I know. But when talking hurts, you go without. 🤷‍♀️

Apropos of everything: A proper tortilla chip should never blink at the sight of a heaping mound of guac.

Human scruff Like a bear Falling from an oak And breaking each branch on its way But in slo-mo and internal hi-fi Ad infinitum