Three Card Monty.

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The President elect communicates in 140 characters. His childish feuds and 3 am tweets capture the headlines. Daily. Russian hacking. Conflicts of interest in his world wide business brand driven empire. Recently admitted during his victory lap tour that “Drain the Swamp” was a good phrase. One he didn’t like until he saw the rection. Then he threw his slick carny sideshow barker soul into it. Keep poking the media to have them react the way he wants. All giving cover to the serious business of confirmation hearings for the people who will push fake science, anti regulation or ideologically driven attacks on their long hated targets.

One commentary  before the election talked about brand of Trump’s candidacy. He stated that Trump is a shallow thinker ruled by emotions who trust family over outsiders. Unless he could use them to help sell the Brand or achieve his narcissistic goals. Those supporting him are deep thinkers. Of a narrow extremist bent. Their America. Not yours or mine. Not the one of the people who voted for him live in. Then there’s Mike Pence. A Conservative’s Conservative. The True Believer. Question. Who was leader of Germany when Hitler came to power? Not Hitler.  He controlled the largest block of elected representatives in the Bundestag. Appeasement of a radical group for support of a weak leader in crisis.

The illusion of a free and liberal Germany helped elect the very ones bent on its destruction. A National Socialist is a non starter in the US. Cold War propaganda ensured that. Being a newish small “s” socialist in a extremely Capitalist society, I have argued that the color red is a hindrance. Forget the history. It closes the mind to any reasonable thing we could point out. So Mike Pence is waiting on deck. Calm. Sure of himself. Out of the eye of the storm. The favorite guy in the the clubhouse. While the multimillionaire star is an arrogant ass no one willing to have a beer with.

So the question is, who will spring the trap? The ones set by the Democrats are clearly marked to keep the innocent kids away. Safety first. Measures pushed by certain vocal factions. Here’s your signs, police tape and noise makers. Shut Up. We’re hunting here. How’s that gonna turn out? Who’s waiting in the tall grass with the elephant guns? The more extreme portions of the party in power. Those that fell for the biggest lies told by their savior from anything Obama.

I like puzzles. Not the detective story type. More the Sherlock Holmes kind. Clues hidden in plain sight by criminals operating from their basest instincts. The criminal Mastermind is always the ones closest to the mark. Theirs is a high level con. Simply look at the ones surrounding Trump has advisers.  Reminds me of South American strongmen and dictators rather than the European model of democracy. Trevor Noah of the Daily Show found the best comparison. South Africa. The country he was born and raised in. One he knows intimately. The pieces are all there on the table. Edges done in Red State 2010. Just that little bit in the center to go.

The table everyone has studied. Talked about in quiet conversations. A one time chance. Don’t screw this up. Then there that one guy. Listening. Watching. Looking at the human pieces. 3D chess Master. Just my thoughts based on all the speculative fiction I’ve read since my teen years. It clicked with the way my brain works. I truly hope I’m wrong.

Another Universe

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One person who has haunted me. A man waiting for  another bus. Someone that could have been me in another universe. Someone we’ve all seen. The guy on the side of the road holding the sign asking for help. I’ve given money to them. Believing in the power of the 90% rather than the fear of the 10% who abuse the trust. Intent matters.

The wind chill was a painful -6. This long gray breaded gentleman was sitting there on a concrete bench. Hands gripping the edge. Shoulders hunched. Head down. Winter boots and thin jeans. The cold wind was to be endured. His sign was folded under his arm. Around the shoulder of his faded white jacket with the American flag pattern was a woman’s sling purse. Two in facts. Brightly colored. Designed for Summer. The season of hope and rebirth. Better days. He could have been a piece of street art in his stillness. Not the quiet stillness of exploring possible futures. This was the implacable grimness of despair. The glacier that grinds everything before it.

One of the Do All special needs folk knew him. She was the only one who approached him. Used his name. The most important sound a human can hear. No reaction has she guided him inside. Just another bench to brace the weight threatening to crush him. A study in utter defeat of the human soul. Masters of Russian literature could spends chapters dissecting this familiar stranger’s inner thoughts.

What I do know is there but for the right medication and an understanding Ex, That could have been me. If I had gone back to Texas, it would have been. The icy cutting wind was a welcoming warm summer breeze compared to the frozen dagger in that moment of kinship. An intimate connection that forced me to wait outside. I wish him well but can’t help him. Still too close to that edge on a thin rope most days.

Observations from a Bus.

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The great equalizer in our society is public transportation. Modern technology has replaced the folding newspaper or a book has the barrier to looking around at the others. Forget the windows on a cold Michigan day wrapped in endless clouds diffusing a weak winter sun. There is no cycling gear that protects you in single digit air temps and negative wind chills. I’ll leave that for the young and hardcore. My answer is the bus. (The time and planning to get anywhere is a topic for another blog.)

The city bus station is an open shed structure built to keep the rain out. The attached small square building with the ticket window and a waiting area with bathrooms. Nothing fancy. If your leaving town, you better get there during business hours for the passport to some place else. This along with the one stop everything County service building slash courthouse and the jail used to be a densely packed working class neighborhood built  across the street from the plant. The plant’s still there. Along with the block long bowling alley and movie/event center built to provide entertainment. Remnants of a post war America. One that replaced lumber and the wooden ships built here to carry it. Green spaces along the river walk have replaced those once bustling areas where men toiled. Plaques with historic pictures and information mark their graves. Ignored by locals. A passing curiosity to visitors.

Concrete barriers block the unused expanse of parking lots once filled with worker’s cars. Nature is slowly reclaiming its own from the asphalt. Automation has taken the jobs that retirement or buyouts hasn’t. The one story  modern social security and 1933 WPA post office with it’s federal court above complete the boundary wall.  Two Depression era spawned programs separate deep rooted industrial areas from the leisure tourist Summer focused Historic Downtown.

Bay City is the northernmost end of Detroit’s automotive reach up the I-75 river of commerce. Where the river and road met Lake Huron. Raw materials and finished goods. Places where industry has thrived since recorded history begin. Babylon. Carthage. Venice. London. Barcelona. Boston. Some were company towns. Others evolved.  Through it all the people lived their lives. The past, present and future. All on a city bus of a smallish city on a cold Michigan Winter day.

On the hour the 10 buses await their riders. One disgorges the youthful wave of teenagers from the high school. Hunter camo mixes with the Midwest fashionable  attitude attire from the Big Box stores. The wave filters through the rest of those arriving. Waiting to be sorted. By destination or condition. The older residents of the numerous retirement tower apartments. Middle aged working class men and women making the best of what we have. Except for the teenagers, all stand alone. Out of habit rather then an active intent. An unconscious practiced state of mind. All sharing a warm place out of the wind till movement is demanded.

The mentally and physically challenged adults are the ones without filters. Child like acceptance of their surrounding which breaks through the barriers. At 3:15 the temporary pool of community is empty.  My bus leaves. The lady sitting next to me with the wheeled walker is a regular. I find out her drain pipes froze last night. Her husband is hopefully taking care of it. The unspoken question is how many times before has this happened? The why is easy.  The pipes need insulation. Easy to do for her husband? No.

There are grey cheap plastic bags from Walmart being carried. Weighing the balance between need and ease of carrying. The young black man, another regular, is working steel toes with tan Dickie work pants. The hunter’s orange knit hat would look out of place anywhere else. One lady is age appropriate stylish.And on her phone.

The teenagers are clustered together in the raised back platform. The bus passes through a neighborhood of working class homes. Where the bright happy group get off. There’s a quiet where their energy was. There are two boys, the sons and grandsons of shop rats. Men who walked into the black abyss before the sun was up. Left when it had set. Everyday for years. A good wage for soul destroying work in order to provide. The boys carry the grim reality of not knowing a future where that’s possible. They want to move away from the cloudy winter skies but not Michigan. I wonder what will happen has I watch them walk down the edge of their street facing the industrial park.

Another turn. Past the wooden warehouse being taken apart for its old growth lumber. Down Woodside. The river on the left. A railroad switching yard. Wild tangles of vines and trees hid the stone docks. Then rows of metal warehouses advertising boat storage do. On the right is street after street of well maintained modest homes. Driveways with newer GM or Ford cars and trucks. The dichotomy of history. Organic city planning  based around distance to work before cars took over. Sidewalks instead of expanses of green to admire but not use. The bus is empty except two others. No phones. We are all watching the endless circle of routine. Looking for a stop that lets us step out into another world.

My stop. 3:28. I, like some of the others, offer some thanks or a keep warm comment to the driver has we stepped off.  The manners taught by our parents and those of the teenagers show an appreciation for another human being. Simple phrases that ease the stress of the day. On bitterly cold ones especially. An acknowledgement that we all matter in our own way. For the job we do. Or being the person we hope to be. Not a throw away phrase to fill an awkward pause.

Could riding a public bus be a cure to seeing others like ourselves? Stop some of the disregard being expressed lately? I don’t know. What I do know is seeing involves understanding and empathy. Something in short supply.

A Look back while Looking Forward.

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Standing on the plateau after the long climb of 2016 gives me a chance to reflect. The dense fog that dogged my existence the past three years was a one way mirror. From here it’s so very clear. The decades long descent into chaos laid out. While another fog shrouds future lies ahead. This is the first flat spot in my journey. One my new reality allowed me to found. Funny what you can see when you’re not focused only on the next step.

Three and half years ago the rowboat I took out into the swells sank. No amount of bailing  could keep out the waves. Finding the bottom was easy. Wait for the pain of rolling across the rocks seen in the troughs between towering seas. Some helping hands guided me over to the sand. My undying gratitude goes out to the nameless faces in the past that fought against the people wanting to cut away of the government support system for those of us suddenly drowning in the unknown. I survived in large part for where I live. While it was an act of escape to something in reaction, it is Home now. Being poor in a poor state is easier than one of rising effluence.

There were two saving graces. The first was I fell from a from a place of stability. Being raised in an upper middle class home left me unprepared for the moment but gave me the tools to think the way through. The second? My status has a Homeless Vet during a time when the nation and politicians actually cared about us.  The sad fact is the political will only exist during that short period when the true cost of war intersects with the public’s exhaustion and horror of the headlong rush into it. The 24/7 news has brought the sanitized scenes into the home. Smart phones streams the unedited to sway the emotions towards a particular narrative. A new tool in the asymmetric warfare of tech savvy Vets against the coming political indifference.

In order to understand for the non military reader, some facts. The VA funding is considered discretionary. A source of funds that are victim to the whims of Congress. The current state of VA services has been building for decades. Underfunded by both parties in yearly budgets. Just enough taken away to keep up the appearance of caring for the Veterans to hide the backroom reelection deals hurting them. Likehe aging Baby Boomers populations are causing budget problems in social programs, many are aging vets. Add to that Korea, Vietnam and all the far flung little armed actions that the VA is responsible for, any cut hurts. One figure is it will cost on average $1 million from the day he or she separates from active duty. That’s also the cost of treatment for each combat critically wounded soldier from battlefield to evacuation for top flight first world hospital.(Iraq) Here’s the numbers of FY2016 of the US budget.

Submitted February 2, 2015
Total expenditures $3.999 trillion (requested) $3.854 trillion (estimate)
Deficit $474 billion (requested) $587 billion (estimate)
GDP $18.819 trillion (projected)
Website Office of Management and Budget

Here’s the entire list of Discretionary Spending. The Political football used to fund the budget deficits created by tax cuts and corporate welfare.

Department    Budget   Emergency  Total
Dept of Defense     $523.9   $58.8    $582.7
HHS       $77.9     $0.4      $78.3
Education       $69.4      $69.4
VA       $75.1      $75.1
Homeland Security       $40.6     $6.7      $47.3
Energy Dept       $30.2      $30.2
    (NNSA)         $12.9
HUD      $38.0      $38.0
Justice Dept      $18.1      $18.1
State Dept      $37.8  $15.0      $52.8
NASA      $18.3      $18.3
All Other Agencies    $135.9   $3.5    $139.2
TOTAL  $1,065.2  $84.4 $1,149.4

 

How does VA spending stack up in the overall percentage? Since 9/11 it’s increased every year. Why? Social Media. The important part for me is “since 9/11”. I’m a peacetime Vet. My GI Bill disappeared after 5 years. Guess being part of Reagan’s 600 ship navy to break the USSR did mean that much in Washington. Luckily I became Homeless. Think about that sentence.

Housing. SNAP. Preference in agencies. Low or no cost medication to control my Bipolar craziness. The water isn’t up to my nose anymore. More at knee level. The shore is a vague glimmer than a visible fact. There are still deep hidden holes in my path. One Aha moment let me find a compass. One of those deeply subconscious operating systems strengthened by the perception it creates. The deepest of the magical thinking children use to fill in the gaps to an incomplete understanding to the world we sought to navigate. The machine binary code on which all computer programs need to run. There’s a maxim fundamentally understood by every programmer. Garbage in. Garbage out.

I have written about the results. The endless dominoes hitting the next for last 40 years. Small nudges will shift the next 40. At this point my old reaction would have been Run Away. Run Away. Followed by the deep depression for the lost opportunity. Lock the door. Cover the windows. That parallel path is very close. The Middle Way is my response.

This past election cycle was a distraction in following that path. It also help to strip away the muck. That layer of randomly collected ideas that bury core values by sheer volume. The Downsizing of my physical world was the first step in changing how I navigated through the interior one. For the first time the wind on my face isn’t the gust front of a coming storm. The calm isn’t the eye of the hurricane. All the dips and detours of the coming climb won’t be seen has a descent into darkness. More  a period where the  absence of light is a temporary condition to be passed through. That’s my hope. Experience has taught me backtracking will happen.

Which is where my binary programming can be changed the most. That change will take a long time. One day all these blogs will be collected into a book. If by throwing my thoughts and words out into the digital ether brings help to someone, my purpose has been fulfilled. Maybe for more than one. Right this minute is a good place. One to be appreciated. Never to be repeated. It’s unique. So that’s where I’ll leave it.

 

I’m a Romantic

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This is about a world sport growing in America, Soccer. There is a philosophical divide driven by a passion unique to the sport’s culture. Intensely local to a club’s history. It’s working class beginnings. A trophy case of the stadium located in the heart of a neighborhood. Streets filled with supporters and fans walking there on match days. Local businesses where a fathers, sons and friends have broken bread for generations. But soccer is a business. There are clubs with worldwide brands and slim profit margins. The Myth and Reality.

Soccer is my religion. The stadium is my cathedral. The pitch is my altar. My family is the choir. My Club is Detroit City FC. A 4th tier summer league for college players and those who still love the joy of the game. We have a large footprint on social media. Larger than most professional clubs. Because of the supporters. Modern soccer news is filled with the BIG Clubs. Filled with multimillionaire players. Whose choice of hairstyle is reported with the same breathless tone has their goals. Four clubs traded the EPL Championship till last year. They are top of the table again. Last years Cindrella might be shown the door to the lower league at the end of the season. Most leagues have two or three dominate clubs. For rest of the league those matches are guaranteed sell outs. They help keep the finances from being deep red. Soccer is all about the glamour.

Then there’s the Romantic sides. Soccer is nothing without the fans. The atmosphere in and around the game is what sets the sport apart from anything in America. The majority of clubs allow their supporter sections to stand. The entire match. We sing. Chant. Beat drums. The lower leagues have smoke sticks in the terraces. The crazier sections smuggle in road flares. This atmosphere is critical because some matches are painful to watch. But it Our Club till We Die.

Now to address a common misunderstanding. The violence of the 70s, 80s and early 90s in England is gone. Centuries of economic and political competition or conflict is now wrapped in the small majority that would be the first fight in a long history of armed regional conflicts. Distance between metropolitan centers insures the it’s highly unlikely to happen in America.  More important it’s not in our culture.

The Romantic view is desire for the history of supporting a back to basics clubs. Smaller venues.The Atmosphere cable and satellite brought into suburban living rooms. One absent in current top flight leagues. There’s an energy lacking in American sports. Except hockey or the Black Hole in Oakland. Some American football fans prefer college over the NFL for this very reason. We understands to lack of polished skills. But love the Grit. The hard work. Disappoint discussed in bars not TV. The tight knit community bonds that unify. A new family.

My Northern Guard Family is diverse. The founders put their stamp on the early core with the articulation of what they believed. Passion for the club. Swearing. Smoke. Standing. What’s not allowed. Homophobic , Racist, Fascist or personal attacks on any player. Throwing objects. There’s a very large banner at the entrance to the section. LARGE and Public.  All in line with the ownership and front office vision for the club.

I’ve asked if I went to the international matches at the Big House. My answer is no. Not even I was offered tickets. Modern soccer is all about making money. Understandable. Except when it’s the only goal. FC United of Manchester is the answer to that. A direct response to the Glazer family of AIG money buying Manchester United than loading it with all the debt.  Soccer’s roots are in the working class. Factory workers filled early grounds. Now stadiums have to have 4G WiFi. Put your phones down. Better yet turn them off. And to the big clubs, Let the Supporters stand.

Two Billionaires have decided, based on Detroit City’s success, to bring an MLS franchise to Detroit. How do they make this grand announcement? In a closed door press conference with selected reporters and security. Rouge and Gold not allowed. No one knew the location except for those invited. Reality of the modern game for a league pretending to be major but. Just that BUT.

There will be an ML$ team in Detroit. Money and power. The time frame is 4 years minimum. There was a great sentiment from one of the supporters in a podcast linked from a recent Huffington Post article.

Detroit was forgotten by everyone. What we have, we built. We painted the flags. We formed the Northern Guard. We help in the community. We help the front office with match day. A club owned by five local guys who invited us in to part of Our club. Would two billionaires and a league bent on control do any of that? Can’t buy my love or the full back tattoo for my club.

I’ll leave the colorful profane answer for you to fill in. This is being written approximately 90 miles north of Detroit by a Michigan transplant. Wearing an FC Bayern Munchen warm up top. It was free and a great layer for riding a bike in cold weather. It has drawn attention from other European soccer fans. The look on their face when I explain who is my club is great. Then comes the invitation to join me in the Terraces come summer. Standing terraces without rows of dangerous seating. In an old school stadium.

For more do a google search for Detroit City FC. There are too many links to post here for articles. Have a Happy and safe holiday season. Cheers. DCTID.

 

 

Corporate Feudalism.

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Trump’s choice for his cabinet are all Millionaires and Billionaires. A Rogues Gallery of merge and acquisition specialist whose slash and burn tactics please wealthy shareholders. The President elect bragged about not paying taxes. Warren Buffett paid less in taxes than his Assistant. He thought that was wrong. What I think a dollar is worth is vastly different from the Wealthy Class. You and I manage a budget. The wealthy manage debt. We get loans. They Leverage debt through cash flow of projected revenues. Paid back to themselves. or written off has losses to lower taxes.  Modern day Warlords carving out a power base. Their arms covered in red ink to the elbows has they wield a gold pen.

Feudalism grew out of centralization of power. Warlords became Kings.Those that supported them grew into Nobles of the Realm. The defeated lost not only their lives but their land. Conflicting oaths of obligation and marriage was the name of the game. The pieces were the daughters or widows. By controlling key chunks of the land and rivers, status followed the wealth. The King’s tax was paid with a little money but mostly in goods. Absolute control of production from the masses tied to the land. By law and custom. The growth of trade and independent chartered City-States threw a wrench in the whole system.

The how and why of the  economics happening during this time was a mystery. Our current understanding of the mechanisms involved. Enter the New Nobles of the 21st century Gilded Age. Adam Smith’s Invisible Hand was the basis of the Industrial Age laissez  faire free market policy. Until the Great Depression. World trade spread the virus in ways unheard of before.  Enter Keynesian economics. Government involvement smooths out the business cycle. The masses agreed. FDR and the New Deal. Republicans hated it. With the blind visceral hated of a Crusader. Worked with tweaks until Nixon. Reagan’s Neoliberalism repackaged Laissez Faire. Free Market on the rise.

Technology and trade are understood by multinationals corporations. Rule of Law? Forget About It. The Niger Delta has had a BP type of oil spill 10 times a year. No one reports on it. Corporate Media and Big Oil own each others stock. Cheap labor broke the unions. Today robots displace more workers than immigrants. Public education is under attack not because of concern for the students. That the smoke screen that hides a Trillion dollar program of federal money ripe for the taking. Devos money has backed the EAA, their company, in taking over public schools in Michigan. Funny how they’re always in the poorest socioeconomic areas where the hollowing out of manufacturing centers are targeted. Union strongholds.

The Devos Family are the king makers in Michigan Republican politics. The Koch brothers own Kansas. A Libertarian experiment gone wrong. The Republican super majority was backed by one man in North Carolina. Enter Trump. Social media personality star. Granting audience in his gold plated three 5th avenue Trump Tower penthouse. Rules are for Peasants. Style and flash. He broke all the taboos about who can be accepted has a Presidential candidate. Bankruptcy. Two divorces. Three Marriages where he traded for a younger model. Literally. Lied like a cheap rug. And shamelessly admitted it all after winning.  All Hail the New King.

A weak leader that the strong Elite Noble class mobilized the party they bought to finish the Crusade. What’s next? The new Secretary of State, Former Exxon CEO, had a deal with Russia stopped by Sanctions over Ukraine. Now he decides who and how the sanctions are applied? Corporate interest instead of moral leadership in the area of Human Rights. France has been accused of not only dancing with dictators but bending over without the reach around. America Real-politics has done questionable things. Iran. South America destabilization. Supporting Warlords in Africa.  To Keep the Oil flowing. Out sourcing to Mexico.

In the book Rivethead by Ben Hamper were stories from the assembly line. One passage stood out. Soon the jobs will require a passport. That was if you still had a job. Carrier comes to mind today. The Flint Truck and Bus of the 1980s. Funny thing is every time GM moves an assembly line away to a newer plant, They bring it back. The quality and hard core work attitude did follow. Call it culture. Or Desperation. Flint water disaster is the logical outcome of decades of the hollowing out of opportunities Unions provided and protected. Robots are taking the place of humans on assembly lines. The bottom line profit in a global environment is more important than any local community.

Shared a long flight next to a Canadian electrician returning from Mexico. He did the work to remove automated million dollar machines. Then reinstall them in the compound GM built. The local sewer pipes can’t handle toilet paper. The workers have grown up throwing used paper in the trash. One challenge for the managers was to convince them the larger 3 inch pipes could handle it. The bathrooms stunk. Four workers to find one who actually did the work. Every Friday the managers went to the pawn shop outside the gates to buy back all the tools taken by the workers. Every Friday. None of this happens in Canada or the US.

Infrastructure investment fueled the Post War boom. Taxes paid for it all. Brag about being a success by not paying taxes while the major bridges, roads and water pipes fail is criminal. Little Rock built a new water treatment plant in order to get a Frito lay plant while a neighborhood didn’t have sewer or reliable water supply. Priorities? This trend will get worse with robots undermining the basic concept of tax breaks for corporations will keep and create local wages that can be taxed.

The Great Recession of 2008 forced every company to streamline or fail. Technology replaced tens of thousands of office positions. People who never imagined they would need welfare or food assistance. While corporations still made huge profits. Laws tying the peasants to the land have changed. Enter mortgages, student debt and aging parents. All eroding the disposable income and resources necessary to change the future. Age will contribute to this growing underclass. An underclass desperate for hope. Something the snake oil salesman of all stripes can take advantage of. Smoke and mirrors. All funded by politicians dependent on corporate money to get reelected.

I served overseas in the Navy. On a supply ship that kept moving. The corruption wasn’t hidden. It was part of the economy. An cash only economy that took money out of the tax base. Puerto Rico. The lack of general infrastructure was a niche filled by Criminal gangs paying for government contracts. We still have a naive concept that our laws prevent this. Who writes or enforces those laws? Corporate Feudalism is out in the open. The knights used to put down the revolts still use wooden weapons and body armor so the peasants are hurt not killed. You don’t kill the Golden Goose. The solution is simple. Give them their say before streaming the latest celebrity news to their phones. Tweak the algorithms to filter the feeds.

Here’s my prediction. Corporations will fund the push for inhabitable space stations. A completely controllable Capitalist wet dream. William the Conqueror’s view of England. They will become the Grand Tour for the rich and power scions of every nation. Luxury hotels with views of the Earth below. And the workers providing the profits for such expensive excursions. The Edwardian world of Downton Abbey recreated in near earth orbit.

Random thoughts.

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Seems I’m writing long comments in response to other blogs than writing mine. Mostly due to time constraints and laziness. Damn you YouTube and Facebook. Depending on the public WiFi at my coffee house living room has a great deal to do with this. A 2 gig phone plan is all I can afford. Good thing my life doesn’t demand instant connectivity. Winter weather plays a huge factor in my mental ability to leave my apartment. Michigan is a state with a high number of gray cloudy days. We make up for in the Summer. But.

So to those I follow, here’s hoping my thoughts start a conversation with me. I also happen to be a lonely voice in the enclave of Trumpland where my home is. Generational believes based on half truths and false facts. Can’t seem to keep my mouth shut some days. Most days. Every day. You get the idea.

Thanks for following me. Also reading my infrequent sporadic postings. Still working out the best method to communicate my thoughts.

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