The underclass has come up with a clever plan for avoiding a #MeToo conflict. They just wear t-shirts that say, "I want to have sex with you." Up front. I don't know if that will hold up in court, but they sure as hell think its funny. One guy I talked to who was wearing the shirt said "Hell yea I mean it. Tell me a guy who isn't looking to have sex. It's stupid. Women know you want to have sex with them. Everything is just a dance around that. What kind of fucked up country has this become?"
He was a roofer. I guess he didn't feel he had any coercive power over anyone.
I don't need to go over it. You all know what last night was. The papers made a big deal out of it for a week. So Ili and I went out to look at it. It was a beautiful night for looking at the moon, completely clear, without a cloud in the sky.
"It looks closer," she said.
And then we went back into the house.
I've been looking at the moon for years. It is a wonderful thing.
But man, I think it has been fucking with me. I haven't felt right. Sometimes I think it is a touch of the flu, and then I think it is something else. Who knows. Astrology will serve you just as well as anything else in The Age of Trump ©.
I am extremely weary. Have been for awhile. All I want to do is come home, eat, and lie on the couch. I am afraid I am extremely boring. Last night, I told Alexa to play the Beatles first album. After a bit, Ili told her to turn it off. Jesus. What is wrong with me?
What do I know? Every show people tell me is a must-see has some fantastical element in it, vampires or demons or transformers or something. I can't stand that stuff. They tell me, "No, no, it is not really about that," but I have no interest. And the things that I know that once fascinated others. . . well, nobody gives a shit now, really.