What a long, strange trip it's been from this time last year.

Low-key, solemn as can be.

I did get a vibe of serious mourning yesterday from our lizards-in-skinsuits “leaders” yesterday. Not for the lives lost, though.

Variations on the old joke, “You can’t fire me—I quit!” for the Fake Age.

Gore Vidal once remarked that the U.S.A. stood for the United States of Amnesia. It’s an even more apt observation now.

It’s Monday morning in the last week in July. This could mean something. The potential is there.

“You can’t make this up” goes the old saying, and I’m here laughing, thinking, well, somebody sure as hell did.

There’s the Thousand-Yard Stare, and then there’s whatever we’re calling what’s shown in this screenshotted Facebook post.

A Post-America public service kind of post I hope will encourage and entertain in the course of educating. Or something.

I used to hang my facemasks over my music sheet stand close to my desk. Last week I put them in my winter sock drawer.

Wherever you see this flat, generic art, you can be sure you’re being lied to about something.

More notes as the smoke clears in Post-America.

Sitting poolside, enjoying the decline.

Notes following a landmark Independence Day, 2021.

All the people I’d wanted to impress with my poems and novels and stuff left this Earth a long time ago. I have no idea who my audience is.

...or something better beginning.

So much has already disappeared down the media’s memory hole, but there’s so much too many of us cannot, will not forget.

These are our world's leaders. Don't like it, build your own world government!

I’m not saying never, but it’ll be the next best thing.

A poem of repentance.