News and views percolating through the vasoline of Trumponomics, Trump lawlessness, and Trump craziness.
Mundaz Wandering Political Thoughts
I’d Like to Tune In
Channel 4 to Mark Trump’s U.K. Visit With “Longest Uninterrupted Reel of Untruths Ever Broadcast on Television”
Channel 4 is welcoming Donald Trump to the U.K. with a special program: an unbroken catalogue of over 100 falsehoods, distortions and inaccuracies he’s come up with since taking office in January.
The U.S. President will come to London for a second state visit this month, and the British channel has vowed to put a spotlight on his “prolific oeuvre of untruths.”
On Sep. 17 from 10 a.m. local time, Channel 4 will broadcast Trump v the Truth, the longest uninterrupted reel of untruths running over several hours. The statements will be punctuated by “brief text-based fact-checks, offering viewers the truth behind the tweets, speeches and soundbites.”
Of course, watching this would require me to watch and hear him. That’d be like the tenth circle of hell, TACO’s own circle, combining the worse elements of the circles of fraud, greed, treachery, lust, gluttony, and anger.
But I admire Channel 4. Go, Brits, go!
Mundaz Wandering Thoughts
I’ve often stated that I write to help me understand what I think. Writing is a process that forces me to slot things into a more coherent order. That process helps me dig up what’s really bugging me below the surface of my reactions.
I spent time yesterday walking and then writing myself a letter. It was almost like meditating for me, with surprising results. Turned out that I was angrier, more frustrated, and more depressed than I realized. Baring it all to myself helped me shed those things and reinvigorate myself. Some of the anger was irrational, railing at life for the afflictions happening to friends and family. Some, on a deeper level, were revelations to myself about how I perceived others and my relationships with them.
But once again, writing came through for me. I’m happy with the outcome. Purging my psyche of that anger and depression lifted my spirits and restored my energy levels.
Welcome to MAGALand
Jill Dennison is my online friend, and a staunch defender of justice, liberty, equality, and democracy. Jill found and shared a piece by Jay Kuo about the travesty sickly called ‘Alligator Alcatraz’. Trump likes to joke about prisoners trying to escape the nasty conditions ending ending up as a Mc gator meal. This is a place with the squalid and inhumane conditions of backwards areas of the 1900s United States, places we’d legislated against and outlawed out of respect for life. Now, under Trump, instead of advancing, we’re throwing away due process and law and order and sinking into the miasma of a third-world shithole.
Welcome to MAGALand.
Read it for yourself but be ready for your GRRRRRRRR meeting to go off the scale.
Thirstda’s Theme Music
Mai is about to flip to its second half.
It’s Thirstda, Mai 15, 2025. The weather flipped last night as a cold front jumped into the Ashlandia area. Gone is the rain. Blue sky and sunshine fill the vacated space. That translates to a cold but clear night and day, but one that gives the sun permission to warm us. 68 F is our suspected high for the day. For now, it’s 55 F.
Papi has mixed feelings about it. He’s, “No rain, yea!” But, “Cold air, boo, hiss.” Then he adds, “Sunshine, yea!” He searches for a warm and sunny spot in the backyard. Then he comes into the house and yells for treats and attention. He’s such a sweet-chirping cute floof, our wills melt like ice cubes in hot coffee, and we do as he requests.
Starbucks, where I usually write, was closed yesterday. I found out this morning that it was due to a strike. I support them. They can strike as much as needed to gain contracts and improve their conditions. Meantime, we have other coffee shops in Ashlandia. I went to Roco and staked out a place and did my writing thing, as needed.
Another coffee shop is across the street from Starbucks. I like their products but their space doesn’t work for my writing needs. They supported the SB strikers by giving them coffee. How cool is that?
Today’s music is an old favorite by the late Gary Moore. Seeing sunshine and blue skies, The Neurons fed the song, “Still Got the Blues (for You)” into my morning mental music scene. Yes, despite better weather, the blues still weigh me down. Part of this is due to Mom. She’s become such a bitter and angry person that nobody wants to spend any time with her. She can’t see her own part in her isolation, instead blaming everyone else. I believe she needs counseling to help her deal with longtime issues. She fixates on things and never lets anything go. Her history of what happened when is at huge odds with everyone else involved. Suggesting she needs therapy, though, just sends her into a greater rage and accusations that everybody hates her.
Other part of the blues is all about the political thing. It’s amazing that progress begun over two hundred years ago is getting shredded by one megalomaniac backed by right wingers. That they’re quite willing to do whatever is necessary to break down the foundations of individual freedoms and democracy to gain power for themselves, including wreck the world economy and the planet’s environment. Empathy is not in their wheelhouse. Lust for greed and power dominates their intentions. So, yeah, I’ve got the blues.
Despite the blues, I have plans. They begin with coffee. I can check that off my list of things to do for today. Have the best day you can. Cheers
Munda’s Theme Music
Wind is rocking us, sunshine is bathing us, clouds are covering us, and rain is spitting on us. Yea verily, it’s Munda, Feb. 24, 2025, in Ashlandia in southern Oregon. Currently 59 F, could it go higher? Mabbe, mabbe. Depends upon the outcome of the war between the sun and the rain.
I rolled through some my standard early morning clickstops. First was a page where I learned that Roberta Flack passed away. She delivered her share of evocative music to us so I tipped my coffee cup in her direction and told her thank you. RIP.
Next came a stop at Project 2025 Tracker for news of how the Misery Party, aka the GOTP, formerly known as the GOP, has inflicted new shit on the nation and the world. After a GRRRRRR-filled persual, I stopped at Breaking News USA for some headline touches from blogs and respectable news sites. My share of daily misery was quickly filled. I mean, the misery tank doesn’t empty these days. The Trusk Regime offers a dark view of the world and is doing their fuckin’ damnedest to deliver that darkness. Well, so long as they’re gettin’ rich, right? That’s what’s important, innit? Serious gag reflex to puttin’ that snark on the screen.
Yesterday’s fill of misery was topped off by a news story regarding Arizona’s growing drought. That’s not good news; it’s worse news when the Federal government that’s supposed to help citizens is effectively shunning its responsibility. So I checked in to see what AZ voters thought about the Trusk Regime’s moves. And I found: Focus group: Arizona swing voters to Trump, Musk: Keep it coming. That story offered gems like this:
- “I like how he’s cleaning house in the government,” said Jonas G., 55.
- “I approve because I believe he’s transparent, and we haven’t had that for the last four years,” said Ann B., 54.
The bottom line: “These swing voters are delighted by Musk’s Trump-endorsed government housecleaning,” said Rich Thau, president of Engagious, who moderated the focus groups.
- “The prospect of a looming constitutional crisis is completely inconceivable to them.”
- Trump, Vance and Musk “should be ecstatic” about the 11 swing voters’ feedback “and Democrats should be scared to death.”
So, wow, another case of same world, different reality. What Trusk is doing is transparent? Fuck me, they’re seriously sucking down rightwing memes. I was worried about the drought on my fellow citizens, but I guess I’ll just let them worry about it. I’m sure PINO Trusk will take care of them. Yes, my friends, that’s snark.
On to the music! Because, you know, might as well enjoy some tunes as the world crashes. The Neurons have the J. Geils band in the morning mental music stream residency. They’re playing a 1973 tune called “Give it to Me”. It’s a chortling nod toward Trump voters. Hey, you wanted cuts? A strongman ruler who cuts ties with allies, supports Russia, raises prices, crashes the economy, increases homelessness, and undercuts health and science, well then, here you go. I don’t know what is warped in your head that causes you to wish that for yourself and your relatives, friends, and neighbors, but alright. He’ll give it to you.
Coffee is in me and my energy is risin’. On to other Munda matters. Be good, children. Hang in there. As we used to say in a happier age, peace out. M
The Factory Dream
I was a young man, possibly in my early twenties. Some other fellows were with me at a factory. I’m not sure how many were present. There were at least three, but maybe five, not including our overseer. I never took a head count.
We were in a factory doing a special job. No details of that job are available. It was cold but sunny weather. The factor was a plain, spare building with a whitewashed apparance that presented an air that it was on the verge of being abandoned or falling apart. Corrugated metal construction. Gaps in the walls. Bare, cracked cement floor. Signs that it’d be used for something else before and was now on a fifth or sixth life.
Under an uneven combination of weak overhead lights and sporadic, fading sunlight eking in through large, filthy windows, we worked around a long, dirty conveyor belt putting things together. As part of this, each of us were given some small black devices which seemed to be some sort of governor and also a CPU that told the system what to do. To install mine, I had to climb up a tall metal shaft and slip it into a slot just so. Some jiggling followd and then the conveyor belt sprang into noisy activity.
I don’t know what we were making but we shut everything back down and gathered again. The overseer, an oversized white guy in his mid-forties or early fifties, receding brown hairline and white short sleeve shirt with a tie, told us that we had one more run and then we could go home. But the other run was at another factory, about a mile away.
I had a car, a dark brown 1970s era Chevy Malibu. Sort of a ratty vehicle. I asked another for a ride to the other factory. Once we got there, I realized that I would need to return to the previous factory. We’d been sleeping in some little locker room there on cots. I’d left my clothes and gear there, not to mention my car, and would need a ride back.
This seemed to irritate the other guy, a big, good-looking guy with short, curly hair. He turned surly, and then shunned me during the rest of the session and wouldn’t speak to me. I was taken back by the change and wanted to talk to him about it.
The regular factory workers arrived. They all seemed to be foreigners to go by their dress, appearance, and language. They watched me as I climbed up to install my governor, laughing and joking about it. I gathered they had some other way of doing that and my method seemed strange to them. I tried explaining, “This is what I learned,” and asked for information about the other way. They wouldn’t address my questions.
That’s where the dream ended.
Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts
One of the baristas seemed angry with him. He didn’t know why, but she appeared to act colder toward him, like he’d offended her. Searching his memories, he didn’t find a triggering episode. It could be other things, he told himself, like he’d imagined her being nicer and friendlier before, or he was imagining now that she was angry with him. Or, she might be upset with something happening in her life, and he’s just reading her interaction with him and misinterpreting it.
Really, though, while all of those were logically possible, it felt to him like she was angry with him, and that bothered him.
The Shorts Dream
I was visiting with family. We were going to a special event. It may have been part of a wedding or a holiday. Never clear to RL me although dream me understood.
Women and children dominated in the dream family. I knew none of them from RL. A chaotic dream, almost immediately upon arrival, I set up in my room, a narrow, tall space with a cheap bed. This room later changed, becoming wide, and long, with a low ceiling. I didn’t notice the change during the dream but as I look back on it, I can see the difference.
Word was given, time to start getting ready to go. I dumped my suitcase to go through my clothing. I’d only brought shorts with me even though I knew it was supposed to be a fancy function. As I went through the shorts, discarding many as unacceptable, I chastised myself with my packing decisions — what the hell had I been thinking? Women who were dream family members kept coming by to see what I was choosing to wear. I had the impression that they were taking their cues from me. That unnerved me, as I felt pretty clueless and unprepared. NTL, I was going to do my best.
I tried on a pair of black and white shorts. Knee-length, they had a pleated waist and fit me well. Now a shirt! I found a silvery one which I decided went well with the shorts. Women coming by came and told one another, “He’s going to be sparkling.” They went off. When I next saw them, they were dressed in glittering sequined dresses in red, blue, black, gold, silver, and white. All wore ornate necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. They seemed like they were quickly ready to go.
But the children weren’t ready, and were following me around, waiting for me to dress. It’s now that my room became different. As I held up the shorts and checked myself in a mirror, I realized my shorts were muddied. OMG, now what was I going to do?
I began going through my shorts again. At that point, a young man came in. Supposedly another relative, he acted a little off. I thought that he could be on drugs. Other than that, he had short blonde hair, was my height but very muscular.
He walked around my room, telling me that he was just looking around and then asking me what I was going to wear. I showed him my muddied black and white shorts, then set them aside and continued going through the others. He complimented me on my shorts, walked around a little more, then suddenly moved. Grinning broadly, he left.
I decided that I’d wash the mud off the black and white shorts. They were gone! Realizing the guy had taken them, I went out after him. I quickly chased him down. He denied it at first, then held up the shorts and confirmed he’d taken them, but justified his behavior because he liked them and I had a lot of shorts to wear and he had none. As he finished this, I jerked the shorts out of his hand.
Shouting, he threw a punch. I dodged that and scrambled backwards and up onto a low wall. Fists balled, he came after me. Others were watching. I knew he was way more muscular than me and figured that he would easily beat me senseless. As he approached, I said, “I’m not fighting over shorts. This is stupid. These are mine. If you want to steal them, you can, but everyone will know.”
He’d been about to take the shorts and hit me. Jerking to a halt, he started berating himself. I grasped the gist was that he had problems and he was struggling to change. As he did that, I slipped away.
I still needed to wash my shorts. Locating a bathroom, I went in, closing and locking the door behind me. As I bent over the sink, a woman pulled the top of the door back from the frame, unhooked a lock and then reached down and unlocked the door. She opened it; I pulled it closed. She opened it again.
Another woman came up, demanding to know what was going on. I explained my end. She answered, “We can’t have this.” I realized that she was referring to a locked door. Leaving that bathroom, I went off to find a phone.
Dream end.
The Car Mod Dream
Another short dream. I was part of some kind of team. Can’t say it was or wasn’t military but ranks and uniforms weren’t in use. I received a phone call about modifying a car for a mission. The car, a silver 2022 Corvette C8 convertible, belonged to another individual who was more senior in rank. I was to approach him and tell him we were going to use his car, and then make changes to it.
I approached as directed. The guy vaguely reminds me of Paulie “Walnuts” from The Sopranos, played by the late Tony Sirico. I give him the message. He stares at me for about five seconds, grunts hard, then tosses something up against the ceiling where it makes a resounding bang and sticks. As I protest that I’m following instructions, he storms off.
That’s the dream’s essence. Further instructions are received. More mods are needed. I tell ‘Paulie’ that they’re needed and I’m going to do them. His anger increases each time, but he does the same thing in response – throws something against the ceiling. Bang, and cracks. Glares at me. Stalks off. As this plays out, I’m getting angry, too.
But there’s never any cracks on the ceiling the next time it happens. And other than his reaction, I enjoy modifying the car and I’m eager to do the work, and gaining confidence that the team will succeed.
Michael Seidel, writer 