In a new location, seemingly in a new life.
I’ve moved to Merced, down in California’s San Joaquin Valley and in with a daughter who’s working on her PHD at UC Merced. A short, but complicated narrative found me here, a day’s drive south from the North Coast.
One never knows what can happen next.
Rainy and chilly here this Sunday late-afternoon and my first post in more than three weeks. There’s just been too-much emotion to keep my brain still enough to write anything, especially when shit worldwide is spewing forth with cluster-fuck abandon on a near-about minute-by-minute basis. Reality in the T-Rump era is surreal.
Not only for me, but everyone is facing some heavy-duty changes:
And the shit-tangibility in the realm of alternative facts:
“He’s very happy to be back at what he calls the winter White House and is happy to take a break from the cold and craziness of his job,” said George Guido Lombardi, a Mar-a-Lago member and longtime Trump friend.
“It’s the only time that he’s got to be his real self and let down.”
T-Rump’s ‘real self‘ is too vile to contemplate…
(Illustration out front: Pablo Picasso’s ‘Self Portrait Facing Death‘ (June 30, 1972), was originally found here).