What do I write about today, January?

Honestly, I’m a little stuck. my mood is querulous- petulant and whiny. and nervous. and kind of pissy.

yes, i cried yesterday. yes, i had to pull over when i got a text that trump had already left the building. i had to breathe again, and its been a long time.

and then there is a lot more. i watched the ceremony through my fingers in case there was an assasination. there’s that. the reality of that is not going to go away. so i want everyone to stop celebrating.

and so i wrote and then i kept writing and i’m going down a damn rabbit hole, throwing my lot in with the reproducers and the sex fiends. so there.

And today, sober again. (i really don’t drink fuckers, i mean the sober of seriousness)

So glad there is a leader at the helm, so flustered by the continuation of the problems that brought the other guy there. Its all still there, the ugly, the erosion. Its all still there. I don’t feel nearly as good as I thought I would, though I am thrilled that I don’t have to hear him speak maybe ever again. Maybe never.

And I understand the anger about lipservice and status quo politicians. I do. Look, that speech was great, the poem was too, but tell me where to put my foot for that first step. Somebody fucking tell me.

And I know all about abuse, and not believing it to be over and getting stuck waiting for the shoe to drop. I am not waiting for someone else’s shoe to drop, I’m just dealing with my own.  

The shoes have been kicking shit all over the place for the past four years. I’m not waiting. The shit is here.

What the fuck now, man? We can’t go back to what we were, no matter how many executive orders are shoring up the riversides. Thank god they are, yes, but we still can’t go back. And so we’re left on this crumble.

Aren’t you glad I wasn’t the poet laureate?

Love me love me say that you love me. Fool me, fool me,

love love,


  • no photo because my god. grr. piss. vinegar. all.

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