Drizzling-misty rain and cold this late afternoon Friday here in California’s Central Valley — wet, chilled weather seemingly for the times.

First post in two weeks, and only the sixth since election day. Shitty, but I’ve not had anywhere-near an overwhelming desire to write/postulate/or wax whatever about our current, real-time experience. One which seemingly already set in notion-motion an analogy-thesis for 2025: Chaotic-mad ferociousness.
Nifty, kind of a tongue-twister title for a mini-era, huh? And is up-to-par with these three days into the new year.

As I type this, the top-notch, major news item out in the ether (NYT live blog): ‘Speaker Mike Johnson on Friday won re-election to the top post in the House, salvaging his job in a dramatic last-minute turnabout by putting down a revolt from conservatives. He won with just enough votes to clinch the gavel, 218 to 215, but the vote reflected the steep challenge he faces in governing a slim and fractious majority.‘
Mayhem among dumb-ass, mean-spirited pieces of shit. Republicans going in can’t/aren’t prepared/able to govern anyway, and now they’re stuck with a minuscule-tiny majority with enough divisions among themselves they couldn’t float any kind of legislation or really do anything.

After Kamala’s defeat and the T-Rump elected (yuk!), I figured we had a respite until Jan. 20, 2025, when the Orange Turd took over, and the real, horrible shit would hit the official fan. However, it’s been shitty these last near couple of months despite Joe Biden still being president. T-Rump and assorted characters continue to saturate the airwaves, in just about every way and direction– from his agency/office nominees to wanting again to buy Greenland (and take back the Panama Canal) — WTF! And the far-flung MAGA shit doesn’t seem to stop or slow down.
And entire the resulting ambiance sucked/sucks.

And then New Year’s Day and horror in New Orleans and Vegas. Again with a loud scream — WTF!

Maybe it’s all an enigma:

Or perhaps a moral sequence from Miss Emily Dickinson: “It was not Death, for I stood up”

It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down –
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Siroccos – crawl –
Nor Fire – for just my marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool –

And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial
Reminded me, of mine –

As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And ’twas like Midnight, some –

When everything that ticked – has stopped –
And space stares – all around –
Or Grisly frosts – first Autumn morns,
Repeal the Beating Ground –

But most, like Chaos – Stopless – cool –
Without a Chance, or spar –
Or even a Report of Land –
To justify – Despair.

And we continue, or not, yet once again here we are…

(Illustration out front: Salvador Dali’s ‘Soft Watch at the Moment of First Explosion,’ found here.)