Sunny and warm this mid-day Monday here in California’s Central Valley — weather the rain tomorrow today.

In place of anything worthwhile, some music pertinent to the shitty-like nowadays. Just remember, it’s not over ’til the fat lady sings!

First, of course, is what’s happening every fucking day except not necessarily on my fucking doorstep:

Not, too, on the brink — we’re most-likely beyond it:

I thought I’d see freedom one more time again:

Missed the train, ship, boat, bus — not that we’re fucked:

Hello, ominous sense, not my fucking friend:

And to end the beginning:

And to close us out, Miss Emily Dickinson’s most-appropriate, “The Soul Had Bandaged Moments:”

The Soul has Bandaged moments –
When too appalled to stir –
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her –

Salute her, with long fingers –
Caress her freezing hair –
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover – hovered – o’er –
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme – so – fair –

The soul has moments of escape –
When bursting all the doors –
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings opon the Hours,

As do the Bee – delirious borne –
Long Dungeoned from his Rose –
Touch Liberty – then know no more –
But Noon, and Paradise

The Soul’s retaken moments –
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the song,

The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue –

Miss Emily knows a ‘Felon‘ when she smells one.

Mourning, noon and night, or not, yet once again here we are …

(Illustration out front: New Yorker cartoon by Bruce Eric Kaplan, found here.)