Author: harold

This is a local’s car that is usually looking pristine and always perfectly parked just like on this picture. Only this time it’s a little bit more folded than usual.

Broken axle, flat tire, gas tank destroyed. RWD. This car can’t move on its own.

Behind me and onto the right side of the car are tennis courts; no one can come from there to hit this car. Plus, it would have been sticking out on the lane with the impact thus, removed.

If somehow a car had been going through the sidewalk and hit this car there, the grass would show some severe marks of fight and again, the car would not be perfectly parked. So how? How is this car in this state on that side yet, perfectly parked?

Drugs + paranoia? An artist with a hammer? All of the previous?

Many things don’t make sense at all anymore so I’m not surprised surprised. But still. When physics don’t compute, I kind of notice.

Very sad to hear about the passing of bell hooks.

I had just started reading her stuff, which I enjoyed very much. Her non-negotiable stance on blackness, love and community is like wildfire. So contagious. Her writing is so relevant today.

Wishing all of bell hooks daughters, in the flesh or in spirit, the most delightful and enjoyable future.

1. Insist on the right of humanity and nature to co-exist in a healthy, supportive, diverse and sustainable condition.
2. Recognize interdependence.
3. Respect relationships between spirit and matter.
4. Accept responsibility for the consequences of design decisions upon human well-being, the viability of natural systems and their right to co-exist.
5. Create safe objects of long-term value.
6. Eliminate the concept of waste.
7. Rely on natural energy flows.
8. Understand the limitations of design.
9. Seek constant improvement by the sharing of knowledge.

Those principles were stated in 1992 and they are absolutely relevant and needed right now? Bet.

(reading The Upcycle from William McDonough)

So,

800,000 deaths, two concurrent variants fluttering around, and you are all travelling all over the country as if that two year old pandemic had been a dream?

Just checking. I wish I could hibernate for real.

Hospitals staff, I’m so sorry in advance.

Constant rain for longer than one hour is so rare here.

Time to handwrite holiday cards. Which reminds me of this recent article that says about handwriting,

“Writing forces you to slow down. It’s impossible to do anything else but focus on what you’re putting down at that moment, something that otherwise feels increasingly rare.”

Verdad. As our constant computers constantly spin, constantly getting closer and closer to pure slot machines, being in the moment and focused is a skill that needs practice.

As the hoodie-wearing gentleman in Star Wars, my man Palp, would say: dew it

I couldn’t put in down. Fantastic, adult writing in comic book form? All day. Every day.

I had read her book Fun Home, another biographical comic book. But this one is more revealing about oneself. There’s more material to dig for personal use.

Existential dread! Yeah. I imagine that we all go through it.

I can see my memoir being in a form of a comic book. I’d say it would sell like a mf.

One is the drug.

The next one is a hot black woman in a popular show.

The last one is a 70+ year old white woman who I’ve known for years now. It had been a while but I saw her this week. A very sweet lady.

It amuses me that this first name conveys a sense of lust and hotness while my reality with Molly is really, really quite far away from that.

I have a neighbor, she’s always working. Seven days a week, she’s just home to sleep.

She doesn’t do anything else. She has everything automated with people doing it for her: driving to work, delivering fresh laundry, food or anything.

So it dawned on me that she’s slaving at work to make others slave for her.

There’s no joy of a walk in the sun, a drive down a boulevard, saying hi to neighbors or having a friend over. There’s nothing but transactions.

It’s pretty sad.