Got a haircut yesterday. My barber sends her support for your democratic uprising and says Trump is a strongman much like Kim Jong-il. Mrs. B could not be reached for comment as she was stationed in the park, looking for a rich husband.

Aside from that, my state of mind . . .

How would I describe that?

It’s been better, I suppose.

On one hand, I’m disgusted and full of rage at this constant racist bullshit and militarized police, on the other hand, happy to see people fighting for their rights, but, on the other hand depressed that they even have to, and, on another hand, angry that they have to fight in these conditions; and some hands have the usual strangling guilt that I’m not out with my friends on those streets, a feeling briefly alleviated by the rounds of giving whatever help I can give at distance, and quickly followed the sick feeling that it’s not enough. My feelings have more hands than a fucking octopus. Do octopuses even have hands? No matter, feelings don’t either. End result is exhaustion. Feeling like a useless fucker exhausts me.

It’s very much a wake up and pass out type of thing around here right now.

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