P.O.F.

The world is too weird for me now.  Trump is a genius.  He has liberals siding with America's intelligence agencies.  We're pulling for a porn star/stripper to bring him down.  We're a hell of varied menagerie.

My Zen didn't last long.  My mind began devouring itself around 2:30 last night.  There is no stopping it.  It has become Jabba the Hutt--insatiable.  In the darkness, I think there is no way to survive.  In the morning. . . just one thing at a time.

Of all the things I've lost, my self-confidence. . . yada, yada, yada.

I never mentioned the first roll of film I shot with the Olympus XA4 I was so excited about.  It sucked.  Not the camera.  It worked fine.  But there wasn't a single image I would pretend to use for any purpose on it.  Since I got the film back, the camera has stayed in the bag.  I figure that if I want to be a good photographer, I better by another camera.  Right?  That's how you get to be a great artist.  You just have to keep buying things.

Having not slept, I lay in bed too long this morning and now must make myself start the day.  I have been desperately lazy for days and have gotten nothing that I needed to do done.  I looked it up.  It is called a "malaise."  I have it, I am certain.

It is nice to write to you in the mornings, though.  You are my only friends.  You are all I have.

(Oh, the poor old fucker.)