Monday, January 24, 2011

Hanging fire...

My first impulse is to go on and on about this terrible weather we're having. But what the hell, whining about it isn't going to improve things. Spring will show up one of these days down the line. For about a week. Then we'll head right into a sweltering summer that I will be inclined to bitch about.

If I were a rich man, think I'd head back to Hawaii. As I recall, the climate there was near perfect all year around. I remember roaring through the countryside on my old '49 Indian motorcycle, the smell of pineapples assailing my nostrils. It was still an idyllic paradise in the fifties, no so overdeveloped like today. I suppose today it would be just another commercialized version of hell.

You can't go home again, for damned sure. Well, you can, but it's never the same as your remember. Few things are ever as good (or as bad) as memory would have us believe.

I can't say the writing is going badly. It's not going at all, other than for about a page I wrote the other day, which may turn out to be the opening of a new novel. I haven't done anything more on the next true life book either, beyond that short start.

Just haven't felt the inclination to do much of anything lately, and also haven't felt well physically. The reason for the latter is apparent to me, but thus far I haven't made the changes necessary to begin a cure. The old body can stand just so much abuse before it begins to rebel. Mine seems to be well beyond that point.

Way things are going I may well outlive America. The country is going down the shitter in a rush. With this weak incompetent we have running things, that can only get worse.

I'm too old to worry about it, but you younger folks need to begin learning to speak some form of Chinese. They're going to own us economically first, and then militarily. Kissing their asses at state dinners (and allowing them to sneak in anti-American piano tunes) won't appease those sons of bitches.

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