i don't want to be mean. i hate being mean. meanness redounds to the mean. there's meaning to be sought, there's being mean to seek respite from, there's the golden mean- is that the same as the golden ratio? i have a baggie of golden rations in my purse.  
what i set about saying was about the black trumpsman. i feel mean calling him that, but oddly it feels mean because that's what he is, how he calls himself to be. i thought it was better left as a possible irony, but it's outside the box, it can't be put back. i think there is something of self hatred in our present depravity. the black trumpsman no longer seems like paul, though i know i didn't know him at all. if we identify what is mean then may we seek the golden ratio, say, if secretly everything mean seeks balance, say, even in destruction, even in soul murder, even in the destruction of the mean self to be free.

i was going around the black trumpsman, and he was ignoring me. ha, maybe he thought i was a hater too. if you're seeking hate in others you'll hate the love you find. the funny thing is i think being betrayed by obomba made him a black trumpsman, when neither occupant gives a damn about him. hate with trump or love with obomba, the funny thing is it's the same damn thing.