good grief, you know, we got to let it go.

i recall the ghosts of resolutions past.

   someone said they're exhausted in this season, and glad to feel their limit on drinking, and wondering if it's the virus telling them to stop. i'm glad to feel my limit too, i answer, and wonder when it was, what day, was it winter, anyway, it was before the viral time, and i wouldn't have listened to any stinking virus, anyway, telling me to stop.

i sure am glad we are 

driving or flying nowhere. 

2:22, 1/1/22.

happy new year beavers. looks like the beavers are gettin jiggy wit it after watching the obama fundation chop all the trees across the street. 

happy new year and a big earth screw fa you. 

obamaland, 1-1-2022.

 fractured fairytales. a new year from the old playbook. obamalandgrab, 2022.

 at first i found the lost daughter sickly strange, creepy in an unfulfilling way, and i wondered why do the characters act so strange, why do they watch each other warily, like befuddled and suspicious spectators, why do they act so mean and spiteful, and then it occurred to me that the reason it seems so strange and unfulfilling is it mirrors the traumatic reality of the land we're living in, where every connection is disintegrating, in our heads, in the culture of extraction and consumption, in the criminally controlled government enterprise, in the environmental devastation. it's about the resulting depression and disconnection and the welter of confounded emotions that consume us as we try to live in futile, fractured and exhausted world. 

we both drew the blank rune. the unknowable, a death of some kind, and a leap into the void. that's what it feels like on the whole, this time. we watched the lost daughter. it was creepy like the book, and i wondered again why so many are attracted to these characters and this story, it's fractured and traumatic, and i guess that's why. people want stories to understand the times. but that means going deeper into the trauma, and not feeling good. the catharsis is suspended. we keep staring into the void, trying to understand the feeling and see ourselves in the characters in the hope of understanding ourselves in the disintegrated narrative that used to be considered our shared reality.