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Why is Donald Trump scary as President of the United States of America?

I was asked this question.

My response.



He's scary because he's not bright enough to be President of the United States; he's scary because every interaction he's had with the public since January 20 has been that of an impoverished mind obsessed with himself and how he still harps on media coverage of his winning even though he won; he's scary because his henchwoman Conway told the public there are "alternative facts"; he's scary because he talks of war like it's a child's game, a cartoon in which massive death is not real; he's scary because the energy behind every action we've seen him do comes from Bannon, a smart, educated Nazi bent on division and the dissolution of democracy; he's scary because he convinced a great deal of the American public that he cares about them, when he only gives a fuck about himself. As for the cultivated opinion of celebrities? Some of those people are obviously idiots, reality show stars, much like Trump himself, a celebrity who starred in The Apprentice. But if you love any books or music or movies or whatever, "entertainers" give to the public, and many have imaginations and their minds are cultivated to think critically about issues. They are not automatons programmed with entertainment. It takes thought and a lot of fucking work.

Don't Break Your Back on Alternative Facts

One of my early memories of thinking about thinking occurred in elementary school when we were taught about the distinction between fact and opinion. It was a lesson that burned itself into my mind. A fact is a solid construct that exists outside and independent of our minds. While a fact may be a product of the mind and body, like a desk that’s made with wood instead of plastic, once it’s produced, more than one person can look at the desk, touch it, inspect it, demolish and examine its components and understand and agree that yes, that desk is made of wood instead of plastic.

An opinion is the manifestation of an individual’s mind, an individual’s perspective, a butterfly floating within that space with wings composed of the world filtered through the sieve of that person’s every sense and thought. One person may have an opinion about the desk that contests the opinion of another.

For example:

BLOBBY says: That desk is ugly as pluck.
GORPO says: That desk has been sanded so finely. It is an object of beautiful utility. I want to sit down and write a story on the desk about how
BLOBBY is a festering moron.
BLOBBY says: GORPO has the aesthetic sensibilities of the Salty Slug Club.

But if either BLOBBY or GORPO try to contest that the desk is made of plastic instead of wood, such a statement is neither fact nor opinion.

Saying the desk is made of plastic instead of wood is FICTION.

One can say that it is his opinion that the desk is made of plastic, but every other person who has seen and touched it and recognizes it is made of wood is obligated by FACT to conclude that poor bastard is either LYING or CRAZY.

Alternate facts are FICTION or INSANITY.

Facts allow humans to live in a sane world in which we can communicate and agree upon a foundation that is beyond argument. Facts are the reality that prevent us from slipping into solipsistic MADNESS.

Quickdream: Visitors

I had a dream this morning that a friend visited my apartment with his little girl. He ended up playing video games and ignoring his daughter, so I had to keep her out of trouble. She was a cute, chubby toddler. Unbeknownst to me until they visited, I had a kid, too. He was her age, but his face was a dark, empty space, and I couldn’t look directly look at him. He kept hurting her in little ways, like tangling a band in her hair so her hair was pulled and she was crying. Her face in pain was very clear, and once I untangled the knot, her face immediately alit in a smile and she ran off to play. And my kid followed her.

Missus Gaia Always Clutches At Me

Missus Gaia always clutches at me. Even when I leap with great vigor in the sunshine, the space between my feet and her skin is less than the gasp of a frightened infant. I fall back down. With persistence, she lulls me into a stoop, and I watch the constellations and imagine I am Orion, removed and too haughty for her base embrace. She sings to me more, and I am oblivious to the feel of Time sliding over me. Why are my bones so heavy? I lie down, and even this pitted rock is an easing caress, warm despite that all is ice. I look up, trying to find Orion, but he has spun away. I am too impatient for his return; my mind is perforated cloth. She offers another lullaby, verses swaying over a secret never even revealed in her womb, and I sink into her, my eventual dissolution a million seeds for minute futures invisible to me.

The Microscope Shows Us That Zuckerberg is Made of Likes – based on a conversation with my brother Zach.

In case you can’t tell by reading this, it is naught but nonsense. NONSENSE.

The Microscope Shows Us That Zuckerberg is Made of Likes – based on a conversation with my brother Zach.


I think Zuckerberg is made of Likes.
As my brother suggested, if you examine him closely with a microscope, you will see he is composed of Likes. But not just Likes, they are held together by distraction. How can distraction hold anything together? Trust me, Likes and distraction form a powerful bond.
If he were to suddenly explode, a trillion trillion Likes would blast everywhere, sink into the ground like magic beans, which would grow despair trees. And these trees would produce absolutely delicious looking fruit. But when you bite into one, it will turn to vinegar dust in your mouth.
But people will still Like the trees and Zuckerberg’s body, this time supermassive, will form again from those Likes and he’ll drift in space, eating galaxies and stars while he smiles and shits out infinite versions of hell.

THE END

Seven sentences.

Seven sentences for creative exercise. These vocabulary words are from a 7th grade list.


1. Abnormal

Willy laughed when Sister Flowerpot said his fireball poops were abnormal, when she said they were ruining the school pipes and burning the plumbers; Willy laughed and did not stop.

2. Browse

It took Magdalene 40 days to browse through the menu before she finally made a choice, yet by then her starving girlfriends had eaten everything but her head, and she was angry she had no room for dessert.

3. Counterfeit

Even for a crushing professional like Boomsquat, distinguishing the counterfeit screams from the real ones was not always easy, so he merely bit down on them a little harder to discover the genuine agony.

4. Dismantle

They dismantled the Sun, and found only darkness in all of its parts.

5. Fruitless

Passage through the raven canal proved fruitless, as the troop lost most of their members to scrabblers in the gutters, and when they approached what was thought to be the exit, it was naught but a blue hum that filled their ears and eyes until no space was left.

6. Geography

The geography of his happiness contained islands which he continually forgot, yet each time he landed on one of these hidden spots, gratitude surged up within his chest, and he wept, and seeing his world through these tears transformed him once again.

7. Hospitable

Gary didn’t think the villagers were being very hospitable when they ripped off his clothes, dressed him in a bridal gown, tied him to the stone barricade, and said he was the new bride of the Fen Wyrm.



Quickdream: Fake Bowling in Garage, Women Pretending To Be Scared

Quickdream

Fake Bowling in Garage, Women Pretending To Be Scared


I had this funny dream this morning. A writer invited hundreds of women to go fake bowling in his garage. He invited me, too. The game was very complicated, with pizza boxes and no room for bowling lanes because the garage was so packed. Nobody understood what the hell was going on. Somehow he convinced the women to strip to their underwear. He opened the huge garage door and persuaded the women that to end the game they had to run out of the garage screaming into the neighborhood. They all did, and the guy stood watching them laughing. I tried to understand in the dream what he was trying to accomplish, and just couldn’t fathom what it was.
And I semi-woke up thinking maybe he was trying to convince his neighborhood that he was a lady’s man who scared ladies, and how that only canceled itself out. And it hurt my head.

Dream Over