Saturday, February 1, 2020

Sometimes I think part of my sleeping problems, or the current iteration thereof, is that one of the reasons I rarely get more than two or three hours a time, is I’m remembering my dreams again. Read somewhere that heavy marijuana use is inability to remember dreams. I am here to report that, yes, all that fits in.

Since moving home, of course, I’ve had to cut back. Get wired-&-inspired once in a while but not the constant pleasant buzz I was going for back in the day. So I’m remembering my dreams more and my dreams are, at best, boring. Once in a while I’ll get depressing or melancholy, but most of the time just flat dull. Stuff I do or used to do everyday. Who wants to remember that?

But it saw me melancholy and dispirited this morning. I hate to say it, friends and neighbors, but I think we’re going to be a solid enough beating come November. Between still fighting the Sanders-Clinton fight on all corners – again – the Trump people has basically been told the only thing they’ve done wrong was not be more brazen and fumbling in their previous behavior, maybe put a bit more effort into it next time. Like 2004, plenty enough where there isn’t any reason to look for the marked cards or loaded dice.

It’s not Wednesday yet, though, and a couple of interesting things have come to light since the Senate voted to not hear witnesses in their trial of President Donald Trump on charges of corruption and obstruction of Congress, for which he’s already been impeached.

For one, the Department of Justice two dozen emails concerning the Trump Administration withholding $400 million in aid to Ukraine unless the government agrees to dig up dirt on Hunter Biden and Busima, when it had been well-establish there wasn’t dirt to be dug up. Between them and the Office of Business Management, the emails tie Trump to the actions he’s already admitted to without a shadow of a doubt. Congress and the American public are still blocked from seeing them, of course, but everyone says they’re there and that’s what they say.

Whether this has an effect on things, I don’t know. It’s apparently still not enough to push the needle for the True Believers, the MAGA zombies or those who just want to see the libs owned. But nothing will be, so no use in crying about that. Even its legality is a question, which means there’s enough wiggle room for Mitch McConnell and the GOP in general to allow Trump to sleaze through. What is legal and beyond question, however, is the revelation that the Trump’s legal team gave thousands in campaign contributions to prominent Republican senators to like McConnell, Ted “Footstool” Cruz and ever-faithful Lindsay Graham.

Again, totally legal; just tacky as hell. Especially since it came from Ken Starr and Robert Ray, both of whom were balls deep into Clinton’s impeachment. But, as my old pappy always told me, that’s politics, baby. We’ve all decided we’re cool with it, despite how much noise we might make otherwise. People have been yowling about the undue influence money has in politics since I was a boy, yet things have just gotten worse. I’m beginning to think y’all don’t mean it.

Anyhow. The day’s mellowed out some. Not completely, but some. I don’t really know much about Brexit business, as I’ve said before, but if the U.K. thinks the Europe Union won’t be petty as hell for a couple years, at least, they haven’t been paying attention to European history of the last thousand years. When the sad bastards yammer on about “European culture”, that’s basically it. People don’t just start wars over it quite as much anymore.

Whoah. Tired all of the sudden. Just got through with supper. Momma’s developed a taste for chili dogs more than I think is necessary, and the nitrates get to me. I got a couple other things, but I don’t feel up to going into too deep a detail. Different reasons, though, apart from just being lazy. This is just horrible. In short, a parole board in Canada sent a paroled wife murderer to a prostitute to satisfy his “sexual urges” and he killed her. This was in Quebec City, where prostitution itself isn’t legal, and the board is re-evaluating this otherwise acceptable to the courts facet of their parole law, but the blue hell is going on in Canada, man. Who ever thought that was a good deal in the first place?

Then there’s this, and I’d have to do work on it. Seems the Baltimore Police Department – and if I have to go into why the BPD is a mess at this stage, you’re reading this for the wrong reason – is putting together some sort of program that would let them combine evidence from different shooting scenes. They’d use that combined knowledge to “predict” where future shootings will happen, and it’s like none of them have ever read any Philip K. Dick at all. I’ll have to do more looking into it, because it just might be me.

Sounds like bullshit, though. In lighter news, here’s a nifty story about quantum entanglement and consciousness, both natural and artificial, and how it’s all an intrinsic part of Reality. I don’t know if I understand it fully or, indeed, at all, but it’s enough to make one pleasantly dizzy for a bit. Enjoy. And since it’s Langston Hughes‘ birthday and he’s one of my favorite poets, here’s a link to a portion of my favorite poem of his, Harlem.

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