For my own good I was going to lay off that golem who masquerades as our president, but I can’t. I don’t care if it kills me. To say the man is evil incarnate is not only a cliche but also overrates him. He’s like the little roach in the cake batter, you know he’s there but he moves through the sludge with stupid cunning and some kind of third eye, or no eyes at all. Trump reminds me of the experience of having to scrape six dead baby mice out of a far cabinet in my kitchen. They were a gooey pile, some crispy but mostly goo, and although mice terrify me almost as much as golems (gola? goli?) I had to do it and I had to do it quickly or not at all and I had to pretend I was just cleaning up some random mess instead of the rotten dna of six helpless, starved, formerly-living creatures. There were men in the house at the time but being a proud feminist I had to do it myself instead of whining to the big swinging dicks in the other room and yes I am being unfair.

How did we get from Golem Trump to dead baby mice? No idea except that with his gruesome Barbie hair, his pathetic wishful-thinking long ties, his – countenance that is half spoiled baby, half clueless thug, and 100 percent narcissistic pile of goo – now I’ve lost the thread. I have trouble concentrating anyway, what with the mice and the plants and the overall pain – oh and here’s another nice thing to think about: I have these painful lumps along the length of most of my bones and there’s a name for them and they arise in the tissue that has been described as most like the gooey white film that exists between a raw chicken and its skin. Oh my fucking god. So not only do you have this film but it makes lumps that hurt like holy hell? Who thought that one up? And the cure is basically to pound the bejesus out of them.

But where was I. This happens more and more often. The rascally skein of yarn that is satanically designed to twist into a maelstrom of gorgeous slinky silk but what the fuck good is it if you can’t untangle it? (I sense metaphors here, stupid, random, accidental metaphors). The Animal vacuum cleaner that takes all the HEPA out of the room, or something, but scares me and scares the poodle so much he can’t sleep when I’ve stored the thing on top of his crate. Trump! It’s all his fault. I want to tell Angela Merkel, Angela, dumpling, you’re entirely right. This is an idiot, a hand-crusher, a soul-killer, a broken id let loose on the world, and worse, half my cousins voted for him.

When the woman who always bursts into my knitting group, looks around and says “Bitch took my seat again!” I want to say yes, sweetheart, addled dear sweetheart, this is the way life goes. The bitch took your seat again.

At the beginning of the Bad Year I saw a hawk in the top of every tree right after the giant orange insect that mowed the fields had finished, and it occurred to me that I understood the world. It was only natural: the hawk could see all the babies, the foxes and the voles and the bunnies. Boy was I wrong (about the understanding thing). When I read Bernd Heinrich I thought I understood the world. The job of the vole is to turn grass into protein for the hawk. Uh huh. Yepper. Hawk-eat-vole out there, only natural. I should have known that this superior attitude of faux-understanding would lead me straight but not straight enough to the loony bin where I was with my kind: like the guy who watered the paper flowers every day, faithful as the sun. So hopeful!

Don’t get me started on Hobby Lobby may they go straight to hell. I thought we were through with them but no. Their Museum of the Bible (“430,00 square feet devoted to the Bible” declares their website and to that I say is that all you’ve got?) is in danger thanks to the godless Forces that don’t want them stealing artifacts from Iraq as if they were England in the old days. And here’s another thing: a terrorist, by definition, cannot be white. There are no white terrorists even though a white person may burst in upon a crowd with his AR-15 and reduce several dozen humans to goo like those mice, but that was not an incidence of terror because the guy with the AR-15 wasn’t Muslim.

The off-lede in both papers (I’m counting NYTimes and Washington Post) today was about the US standing alone against those Socialist Europeans who have figured out universal health care and kindness to children and the poor (although they could do better with the dark people, just like us, almost) and are mostly way above us on every chart including “happiness” whatever that is. We have decided to go all Bannon on their asses and Stand Alone. Well good. As my crazy mother used to say, you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face. I never knew until just about now what that meant.

Good luck with that standing alone thing. It has never worked in the history of the universe but hey, we’re Trump. We have long ties and small hands and broken and gooey egos and we can only see how inhumanly good we look.




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