I need to rant. Skip it if you want.

 I'm going to piss and moan for a few pages. Skip if you don't care, and don't try to bullshit me, you don't.

If I come up with something clever or get inspired, maybe. Don't bet the farm on it, though.

 I haven't filed anything today if you're waiting. Someone's reading this, apparently, even if it's just the webcrawlers. Anyhow, straight talk is my mind's been on idle all day and I've been too lazy to knock it into gear. I'll get something before the day's out. Mahalo.

 It's an hour-and-a-half later. Me and my buddy Otis, the Jack Russell, took a brief constitutional. It didn't really help spark anything, though. We didn't get far, either. These hot, humid days aren't pleasant in the first place and he is getting older. I do think the "hot, humid" here is worse than the "hot, humid" in New Orleans. You weren't ever far from some serious body of water down there, between the Big River and the Old Pontchartrain. Some days felt like there was a breeze coming in off the Gulf, as well.

 Here it's just green and woods and swamp. Everything's closer together and it seems like the only breeze you get is cars passing. Or it's a lead up to a tornado, one or the other.

 Well, I've gone to staring off into space again. Looks like it's going to be one of those nights. I won't have any Actual Paying Work until next week sometime, either. So I'll keep this page open and blither on it until I reach word count.

 I really can't even get worked up about anything today. There's another round of conservative think-piece writers having a big conference so they can tell each other that they're being censored, but that's just tedious. It's the same whine over and over again, usually in publications and on platforms that the average person couldn't even think of having. And they usually get paid stupid amounts of money for their banal opinions and lack of insight. Every time David Brooks trends, I want to tell The New York Times that I can write 6,000 words of gibberish a week - and indeed, I do - and I wouldn't ask for the six-figure salary that lump of moldy bread brings down for some reason.

 Speaking of Twitter, none of the trending topics are really anything I can hang my hat on. The head of FedEx is encouraging Washington Redskins owner Dan Snyder to change the team's name to something less egregiously racist, but that's nothing new. That being said, we are in the midst of a Thing and if you'd have told me the Mississippi flag would be lamped for a change and it'd happen as quick as it happened, I probably wouldn't have believed you.

I'll save any COVID-19 stuff for the News, but it's looking grim out there, folks. Numbers continue to rise, the federal government continues to sit on its thumbs, and far too many of Our Fellow Americans think they have the God-given Constitutional right to spit in your coffee if you ask them to wear a mask. I honestly do hate to be this way, but being a hermit that's walled himself off from human contact turned out to be a mighty shrewd move on my part.

Well, that's word count. I think I'll tie it off here, maybe come back to it later. Be honest, I've been giving Fallout: New Vegas another swing and would like to get back to it. I'd be hell on wheels if I could stick to one game long enough to finish it. In any event, there you go.

Please don't tell me how the story ends.

 I don't know, man. I just don't know. It's going to be a long summer, I think.

 So, the protests that started in Minneapolis over the murder by police of George Floyd for spending a possibly fake $20 bill in a grocery store have spread across the country. Atlanta, Los Angeles, Memphis, Seattle, Louisville, Houston, hell, even Tupelo. They've gone as far and wide as Toronto, London and Berlin. That's right, our embarrassment of a law enforcement system is a world-wide shame.

 Before we get too deep into it, links from the News of the week:

Monday

Wednesday

Friday

 Monday is basically catching up after a rough personal weekend, and Wednesday's talking about how Bill Barr's Department of Justice is letting insider trader and Republican Senator Kelly Loeffler off the hook. Turns out having your husband - CEO of the New York Stock Exchange - make a million dollar contribution to the President's Super PAC goes a long, long way in the interest of justice. Imagine that.

 Friday, well... I don't want to say I'm proud of it, but I do think it's a good piece. It's about the details of the Floyd murder and how the protests are becoming what they are. I didn't like having to write it, but here we are. Still, whatever it is I do, it's a primo example of it.

 That all being said, the protests have definitely changed. I don't know if it's a natural evolution or if they've been hijacked by people and groups (organized or otherwise) who're taking advantage of the confusion and anger of Black America at yet another murder of another black person by the police to advance different agendas.

 All of that sounds bad. Maybe it is, I don't know. Anti-rent groups, anti-government groups, anarchist black bloc folks, those "Boogaloo" goobers, Proud Boys, soi-disant socialists, radicals of every stripe, and people who just like to see the things burned have been accused - credibly in some cases, others not so much - of escalating the protests into riots by giving the cops a reason to turn violent. And then there are credible accusations of the police meeting peaceful protests with pepper spray and batons right out of the gate. There's been plenty of accusations of cops doing some "agent provocateur" business, and in some cases, the cops' attempts to deny it have come off... well, let's just say they're not due the benefit of the doubt and leave it at that.

 Me, I don't know. Here on my hill in Peaceful Valley, 15 miles from the nearest gas station, it's hard to tell. I am a little surprised Tupelo held a rally, but the Lee County police's reputation with the Lee County African American population is spotty to say the least. This is Mississippi, after all, and old times here are not forgotten at all. I don't really do protests anymore, mainly because my social anxiety doesn't want to be around a large group of people having a good time, much less one telling the Man to eat shit and daring him to do something about it.

 I'm not proud of it, but there you go. I do what I can, even if it's just acting as a chronicler of the times. Something is in the air, though. I mentioned the "Boogaloo" thing earlier. From what I understood, it was an outgrowth of the whole Pepe/groyper/kekistan balderdash of disaffected right-wing white kids from the suburbs who think not getting laid because they have a lot of guns is enough to wage another Civil War.

 However, according to this elucidating thread by J.J. MacNab of George Washington University, it isn't that black and white. McNab studies anti-government extremism and has shown herself to not only be a reliable source of information but also one of the more insightful chroniclers of the world of sovereign citizens, anti-tax protesters and other assorted pissed off white dudes. Some Boogaloos support the police, some detest them. Some support the military, some detest it. Some support Trump, some loathe him. Some are explicitly white supremacist, some are explicitly racist. Age, economic status, race, all of that is secondary to an anger and resentment that's looking for an outlet. It's as varied and lacking in coherent ideology as anarchism is. Some explicitly call for violence, while some merely warn that it's inevitable.

 Me, I don't know. I will never understand why we all can't just be nice to each other and have a good time. Corporate America doesn't have to be a soulless, empty hole of mendacity and greed, and the government doesn't have to be crooked, small and greedy. The masters of the internet don't have to be craven bootlickers to power who sell their soul for 30 pieces of silver and stock options. The cops don't have to be violent and thuggish, and the military doesn't have to bully the rest of the world at the behest of business interests. We don't have to screw each other over and horde all we can just to survive or, if not that, feel worthy of respect and admiration.

 I've said before that as much interest as I have in anarchism, I've never really felt welcome by any of the various strains of thought. Being a weird old writer on a hill suits me more, in that if no one wants me around, I'm fine by myself. Maybe it isn't that drastic, but I'm too tired to care and have too much fun doing what I do to risk screwing it up. Part of me wishes I could be in the thick of things, as I wonder if this is how the air smelled in the late '60s in places like Chicago and Berkeley. Only now, you don't have to actually be in those cities to be a part of the ride. The wonders of modern technology have put us all on the front lines if we want to be there.

 Again, I don't know, man. It's all too big for me. And on top of that, we're still seeing an unchecked, raging epidemic that's killed 100,000 people and shows no signs of slowing down. Be nice to each other. Have a good time but not if it comes at the expense of someone else's enjoyment of life. Don't trust the government, the cops or even the media. Trust yourself and be able to make decisions.

 Above all, get a helmet and buckle in, neighbors. It's going to be a bumpy ride in this long, hot summer.

I can't do what ten people tell me.

 Okay, well. It seems we've got the internet fixed up. Guy came by today and did some rewiring. Of course, the dad-blame internet stayed connected all day today. Typical.

 Anyhow, we're back in business, such as it is. Took Otis and Fuzzy to the vet today so Fuzzy could get his haircut and Otis his check-up. The result is quite satisfying. Fuzzy's half the dog he was and is probably much more comfortable without all that hair. As for Otis, he's got hookworms but otherwise is still healthy as a horse, if a horse was a Jack Russell Terrier. He is getting older, bless his little heart, turns out his hearing and eyesight is going. He's changed a lot over the past year. I still can't wrap my head around him completely ignoring the cats rather than trying to tear them to shreds.

 All right, then, what else is there? Yesterday's News didn't get posted until this morning. I need to re-write one of last week's Actual Paying Work. Little things, just getting into the groove of how it's done. Hell, I don't know what else. I finished The Dispossessed, and I don't think I'd read it before. Regardless, I do like how it presented an anarchistic society as possible but still flawed. Way too many writers would and do take the easy way out and present their utopias as flawless and perfect. This one actually feels more real, and sort of rung true to me with my own problems with the overall "anarchism cultural," whatever the hell that is.

 Like the cyberpunk thing, I really don't feel like I belong there despite my affection for and interest in it. Granted, the nice thing, the appealing thing, about anarchist thought and theory is that there's no real set rules apart from a general dislike of unearned authority and rules for the sake of having rules. Working within the system to change it or even just be able survive without betraying your conscience. Working with what works and discarding what doesn't, with the dual purpose of surviving with your values intact while maybe making the world a slightly less shitty place.

 Man, that book took a lot out of me. That hasn't happened in quite a while, so consider The Dispossessed highly recommended. I admit to being a man of habit and any deviation from my routine gets up my nose. So not being able to use the internet like I prefer - to write, to blog, to research, to listen to music, to work - made me a bit distracted. So I haven't done much the last couple of days besides read that book.

 Beyond that, I don't know. It's been a pretty active day and I'm a bit worn out. I'm half tempted to tie this off here and come back to it after a nap. I'm hitting bottom and can't even come up with a clever folksy colloquialism to describe how slow my brain is right now. I will say I don't care for the new Blogger writing layout, if that means anything.

 Been on a big Otis Redding kick lately. I still think it's one of American Pop Music's biggest tragedies that he didn't get to record more or build on what he started with "(Sittin' On The) Dock of the Bay". I would've liked to think he stuck with Booker T. & The MG's as his band for recording. His touring band was solid enough, but nothing compares. Also, in case it's ever asked, I think he'd have done a killer bee cover of "Highway To Hell".

 Okay, that's word count and my head's killing me. I am tying it off right here. Might come back after a little lie down or if anything clever comes up. Otherwise, we're back to normal business tomorrow. I do have some Actual Paying Work due Thursday, but things are a bit squirrelly there because a client's being a pain. And let me take this opportunity to offer my services to anyone who needs something written or edited. Cheaper than you'll find elsewhere, if nothing else.

Keep my nose to the grindstone, work hard everyday.

 So, a little housekeeping. I have some Actual Paying Work due tomorrow. Two pieces of it, as a matter of fact. Since one takes about two-and-a-half hours at 1,000-some-odd words, I don't know if I'll be up for spreading any wisdom here. I hear hearts breaking across the internet, I know.

 I might, might, come back to it after I'm done. I managed to knock out some News last night, and that generally takes much more time. I have some thoughts on the Narrative and how it plays into human misery, but I might want to let that simmer for a bit. I've spent too much time in the past 24 hours playing Phantom Doctrine. It's rapidly becoming a favorite. Finally, got on an Ursula K. Le Guin kick and a Paul Butterfield kick, but who knows where that'll go.

 Anyhow. I may be back and I may not. We'll just see how the night goes. Take it easy.

UPDATE: 9:20 p.m.

 Okay, that's two knocked out and, yeah, it took about three-four hours. It gets easier and, frankly, apart from differing cities, law firms and phone numbers, it's pretty ranch-standard stuff. Like I've said, it's sort of like writing about high school baseball. One isn't much different from the other, the key is keeping them slightly different enough to stay interesting. More or less. This shit is never going to be riveting.

 On the down side, pounding out around 2,500 words has fried my brain and I don't know how to fill this up. I am going to mess around with it for a while, anyway, until I feel like playing Phantom Doctrine in an hour or so. I am going to keep the bit about the Narrative in the simmer for a while, but in short, it goes like this.

 I think far too much of human nature and human history, especially when it goes south in an awful way, is because of our search and desperate need for a Narrative. That is, we want life to be life a story. We want to be the protagonist. We want a beginning, middle and satisfying end. We want our present state to be the inevitable result of human development. In a nutshell, we want life to make sense like a story does because everything we do is based on or taken from something that could be considered a story.

 And life and the universe is under no obligation to make logical sense and, indeed, rarely does. Religions and myths are all stories to tell us how to live, as are philosophical concepts and outlines, but none of us come quite close. Political ideologies and economic theories never quite work in action like they do on paper, but we consider them something to be failed instead of failures themselves.

This inability to match the desperately desired logical narrative and the chaotic nature of our existence drives us crazy. For some people, they cling to whatever their Story is to the point of thinking they should wipe out any other Stories, whether they're in competition or not. Some of us get into absurdism or nihilism and some of us just trudge through life, happy in our ignorance or miserable because the Story's not working out like we're told it should.

 But more on that later, if I ever get around to it. I've hit 500-plus words and my head's starting to throb. I may lie down for an hour before I start playing Phantom Doctrine, because I will be playing Phantom Doctrine before the night's though.

NEWS: The Mystery of 42 is Solved - Numberphile

Makes sense to me, which of course means it doesn't. I just want that shirt, is all.