Ashland, southern Oregon. Saturday, September 5, 2026.
Labor Day is just around the corner, but it feels like a gorgeous spring day. Warm sun, blue sky, scattered white clouds. Now 65 F, it feels warmer. Yet, as I walk, the wind carries yellow and red leaves past my head. Summer is ending; autumn is coming. Our high will be…70 today.
Today’s music comes from The Stooges. “Search and Destroy” is in my morning mental music stream after I read about Trump’s latest, and the nation’s latest with him in the Oval Office. Feels like Trump is out to destroy all evidence of anything good, all to glorify himself. So sickening.
The song came out in 1973; the title was derived from a newspaper or magazine article about the Vietnam War. The Trump era feels a lot like that period, when Nixon took over and dirty tricks became the new norm for a while, culminating in Nixon’s resignation. We can only hope that Trump will resign but he lacks the intelligence or grace to do so; resigning would require a self-awareness that Trump completely lacks.
May your day be filled with hope and optimism, as well as peace and grace. I think we’ll often need these things going forward in the coming months.
Things must be getting worse for Trump. As he hasn’t won the non-war in Iran as he said he almost has done seventeen times since the war started over six months ago, and the economy is going to crap AND his approval is dismal outside of the MAGADome, Trump and his beloved Natalie Harp has put out another piece of AI generated crap.
Trump or his handler does this whenever Trump is spiraling, probably to protect himself from realizing how pathetic and inept he is and convince him he is not. He often puts himself alongside real leaders, celebrities, heroes, people admired for what they did. All Trump has ever done is con, cheat, lie, and steal. No one except the MAGAzens think he’s special.
Today, Trump is pretending to be a military hero. Comparing himself to Generals Patton and MacArthur.
Fuck him.
Truth, fact, history: Trump is not a military hero. Trump is not a military veteran.
Trump has not won a single military ribbon or medal. Those are reserved for people who pulled on the boots and go through the training. Trump has not served one day in a United States military uniform. Don’t give me that crap about that military school he attended. It is not the same.
Look at how Trump adorns his own chest with far more medals than those two who truly faced adversity during times of war. He also has two stripes on General MacArthur’s sleeve. Like WTF?
The image also depicts General MacArthur smoking a regular pipe and not the handmade Missouri corncob pipe associated with him.
Any military vet should be disgusted. Shame on Trump.
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.
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.
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.
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
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 USAfor 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
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.
Michael Seidel, writer 