Age of Consensus

I hope people are not misreading me on the Epstein thing.  I am no fan of the sleazy bastard, a shit heel on every level.  And anyone who needs to see the Epstein files to know that Donald Trump was part and parcel of the club is really dumb.  Of course he was.  I think it is perversion on the part of those obsessed to be consumed by this salaciousness.  It is more Puritan America at the ready.  The age of consent in most European nations is 14.  France just raised that to 15 in the past year.  And I can't help but wonder if it is because we keep infantilizing youth.  And yet, just now, England is considering lowering the voting age to 16.  

In the U.S., you can sign up to be part of the military, can be a Green Beret killing machine, but you cannot drink alcohol.  An 18 year old high school student can vote.  

If you want to really get off, kids, look up the Age of Consent in the U.S. for the past century.  There are still states where it is 16.  The age of consent in Georgia was at one time 7.  

And let's not overlook our" help the children decide what gender they want to be" debate.  

"Do you want surgery or hormones, honey?  Or both?  It's up to you."

But of course, this is merely about identity and not that other, baser thing. 

Well, I'm sure I've enlightened you now.  You're back on my side of the argument.  Bingo!

It doesn't really matter to me anymore, though, other than intellectually.  My life is a prison cell of care and concern.  

I went home yesterday to prepare the kitchen for destruction.  Did I tell you that the carpenter informed me that we would have to tear out the kitchen floor to get to the rotten joist?  That he will need to get some kind of jacks to hold up the roof?  

"It's getting to be a bigger project. . . but don't worry. . . ."

Sure.  I'm not the worrying kind.  So I needed to empty the shelves and put all that in another room.  I couldn't do it.  I was overcome by some strange paralysis.  My body shook, my breath was quick and shallow.  I went to bed instead.  Is the term "nervous breakdown" still used? I believe that is what I had.  

When I got up, I came back to make dinner at my mother's.  We can't talk, really.  She doesn't hear me and so I have to yell.  Now we sit mostly in silence.  I had brought my Amazon Firestick with me, and so after dinner, I decided to steal her t.v.  I couldn't possibly watch "her westerns."  I pulled up YouTube and let it play music videos for us.  

"Mom, you can just pretend we are watching The Lawrence Welk Show!"

Everyone is going to the beach.  It sounds awful--shark attacks, skin cancer.  No, no, I'm better off staying right here, safe and sound and away from the terrible sensual fray.  

One day, though, I hope to sit in a cafe again, a place where the beautiful people go.  

Hey, friend. . . watch these kids cook!  Know what I mean?