Tag: vision

Twozdaz Theme Music

Twozdaz, November 11, 2025. Happy Veteran’s Day to my fellow vets. Hope peace and grace find you today and every day. The digit set for today is 49, 58, and 51, with dense fog. Yesterday turned gorgeous for me. Out walking, I encountered the friendliest and most beautiful autumn trees. Such colors and personalities. I’m fortunate to live in a place of such beauty and have the means to enjoy it.

Recovery is going great. Rolled out of bed without any thoughts to the incision sites or how I should move. Just wasn’t any pain or discomfort to remind me to watch out. Having had pain meds in several days. Did begin a protocol of med level Ibuprofen yesterday.

I’m off on a day of errands today. Highlighting the events are picking up my wife’s new glasses. Her last visit with the optometrist revealed her left eye’s vision had severely changed for the worse. She’s eager for new glasses to rectify that. Bought that at Costco one week ago. They called last night to tell us they were ready. After that, Trader Joe for some essentials, and a restaurant to pick up some Vet Day freebies.

With so much information filling our lives on a daily, is it any wonder that The Neurons introduced “Jammin’ Me” into the morning mental music stream? This song is all about too much. Written by Bob Dylan and Tom Petty, who were looking at newspapers and magazines and selecting words and phrases, Petty remembered that Mike Campbell had given him some music, and that’s the genesis of the song. Trippy.

Waiting to see if the Trump Epstein Shutdown of 2025 will end its record run. Disappointing that Dems caved. They won’t earn any credit for caving, and the situation will remain unbearable for millions, and worsen. The cruelty is the point, remember? The destruction of our culture and the rewriting of our history is the point. To put one party permanently in charge is the point. To keep billionaires rolling in money and to enrich Trump is the point. To empower the presidency over the other branches of government is the point. To undermine and enslave the majority is the point. To put children back into factories and women pregnant and back in the kitchen is the point. To have an uneducated, subservient, mute, and compliant population is the point. To have white males rule again is the point. When they say, “Make America Great Again”, this is where they want to take us, back to a time when it was more like this, and regulations didn’t exist to keep people safe and healthy. That’s the point.

Epstein and Trump, party pals!

Time to coffee up. Hope grace and peace find the way to the rest of us, besides the vets. Dense fog just rolled up, blanketing the sun and triggering the house heater. Here we go. Cheers

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The Office of the Presidency

Read on Facebook. Stolen immediately.

Charles Pierce is credited as the author of this opinion. His short but thoughtful review of past Presidents’ behavior are contrasted with the current POTUS’s behavior. Trump’s lack of empathy, lack of vision, lack of manners, insights, and intelligence were again displayed. He is a base and craven individual.

As Charles Pierce shares.

“In my life, I have watched John Kennedy talk on television about missiles in Cuba. I saw Lyndon Johnson look Richard Russell squarely in the eye and and say, “And we shall overcome.” I saw Richard Nixon resign and Gerald Ford tell the Congress that our long national nightmare was over. I saw Jimmy Carter talk about malaise and Ronald Reagan talk about a shining city on a hill. I saw George H.W. Bush deliver the eulogy for the Soviet bloc, and Bill Clinton comfort the survivors of Timothy McVeigh’s madness in Oklahoma City. I saw George W. Bush struggle to make sense of it all on September 11, 2001, and I saw Barack Obama sing ‘Amazing Grace’ in the wounded sanctuary of Mother Emanuel Church in Charleston, South Carolina.

“These were the presidents of my lifetime. These were not perfect men. They were not perfect presidents, god knows. Not one of them was that. But they approached the job, and they took to the podium, with all the gravitas they could muster as appropriate to the job. They tried, at least, to reach for something in the presidency that was beyond their grasp as ordinary human beings. They were not all ennobled by the attempt, but they tried nonetheless.

“And comes now this hopeless, vicious buffoon, and the audience of equally hopeless and vicious buffoons who laughed and cheered when he made sport of a woman whose lasting memory of the trauma she suffered is the laughter of the perpetrators. Now he comes, a man swathed in scandal, with no interest beyond what he can put in his pocket and what he can put over on a universe of suckers, and he does something like this while occupying an office that we gave him, and while endowed with a public trust that he dishonors every day he wakes up in the White House.

“The scion of a multigenerational criminal enterprise, the parameters of which we are only now beginning to comprehend. A vessel for all the worst elements of the American condition. And a cheap, soulless bully besides. We never have had such a cheap counterfeit of a president* as currently occupies the office. We never have had a president* so completely deserving of scorn and yet so small in the office that it almost seems a waste of time and energy to summon up the requisite contempt.

“Watch how a republic dies in the empty eyes of an empty man who feels nothing but his own imaginary greatness, and who cannot find in himself the decency simply to shut up even when it is in his best interest to do so. Presidents don’t have to be heroes to be good presidents. They just have to realize that their humanity is our common humanity, and that their political commonwealth is our political commonwealth, too.

Watch him behind the seal of the President of the United States. Isn’t he a funny man? Isn’t what happened to that lady hilarious? Watch the assembled morons cheer. This is the only story now.”

– Charles Pierce

Yet, Trump and his supporters believe that this clownish behavior makes America great again. Their vision for America is appallingly short-sighted.

History will not be kind to Trump and his minions.

4

World Poetry Day

Today, UNESCO celebrates The World Poetry Day…

We need to keep looking forward

while still glancing back

as we shouldn’t forget the horror

of all those wars and attacks

something better must be ahead

because look back how it was

it’s a long arc and takes time

but peace and justice for all is our cause

4

The White House Dream

This dream wasn’t about the POTUS home. I was visiting with friends at a white stick frame house. In excellent condition, it was about 100 years old and had an odd layout which annoyed me. The house had a small wing added to it. My friends and I were outside but sometimes entered the white house. But going to different parts required me to pass through the added wing.

I was with four to seven friends. The number varied as people came and went. All male, all are RL dead.

But we were outside at a table in a garden, surrounded by trees, enjoying ourselves, when I spotted a shimmering in the air. “Look at that,” I said. They looked but did not see, following up with queries for a description about what I saw. I’d been looking at a tree framed by blue sky and it looked for a second like it was a glassy pond surface broken by a small ripple.

The description amused the others but they didn’t see anything like that and dismissed it. I kept watching for another, jumping from my chair, pointing and shouting when one was seen. “There, see it? It’s like a clear soccer ball is forming from ripples on a clear lake reflecting the sky.”

Although they looked, they didn’t see, irritating me as they muttered to one another that I was seeing things. I responded by telling them off for not being more alert and aware.

Some of them were coming and going through this so the entire situation was being rehashed for the newcomers. When one returned, it became a joke for them to ask if I’d seen anything else.

I went off to use the restroom, talking to myself with outrage about their ability to see what I now called energy manifestations, as that’s what I thought they were. I passed through the added wing to go from the house’s back to the front and then in to use the bathroom. Emerging from the house on my return journey, I saw another of the rippling. This time, it was a hazy humanoid shape.

It struck me that these were ET or humans from another dimensions attempting to enter our existence. I didn’t mention it to the rest, who now labeled me as a little nuts. Shortly after sitting, I spotted another. This one was definitely a clear, naked, generless human form. I watched it come into being and walk off, a clear thing that went into the woods. Going into the wing, I spotted a short white man with a white bushy ‘stach walking through there. I knew he lived in that wing and then I knew, too, that he’d been one of the what I now called ‘energy beings’ in my head. Thereafter, I tried keeping an eye on him.

Then, from nowhere, we became aware of a large celebration of elderly men taking place in a field. Long tables set with white linen were set up. I realized that four tables were in place, with twenty-five men to a table. They were serving huge pieces of cake on china, with gold flatware. I wanted one of those pieces but it wasn’t offered to me.

The dream’s last scene was of the man who I thought was an ET standing between two large trees, looking at me, holding a plate with a piece of cake.

0

The Glasses

I broke down. It was time. I knew it – I’ve known it for years. I needed new glasses.

The issues aren’t costs or worries about my eyes. I dislike taking time out of the day to go somewhere, wait for a person to see me, etc. I’m an impatient person who tries protecting my writing time and routines. I’m like a grizzly mama about those things. Writing time and routines are my cubs, to beat that simile to a final death. This is due to a lifetime of giving and serving others, what people call ‘employment’. I sacrificed my writing dream for others’ worries and concerns. This is now my time.

COVID did play a role. So did changing insurance coverage. I no longer had any vision plan. That went away when I left IBM in 2015. Putting a year to it and doing the math is a thump on the head; that much time has already passed. It is not conceivable. Seems like just yesterday that I was dragging my ass out of bed before the sunrise and logging in, calling in, and doing all the other things to ensure I was electronically tied to the company. My work for them had been remote for the final eight years. The final three, visits to company facilities were cut to nil due to slashes in travel funding.

A new optometrist was required, too, as the other one had disappeared. My wife’s friends raved about the one at Costco. I was skeptical but they said she was great. “Make sure you go to her, though, and not her father.” Okay. An appointment was made, and they were right. She was good, as far as I know. $69 for a new prescription. In and out in twenty minutes. I liked those elements.

“Well,” she said. “You have very healthy eyes and your vision has improved. You’re probably having problems with your old glasses, aren’t you?”

Yup.

“They’re way too strong for you.”

Well, that was great news. I told my wife. She seemed stunned. “Your vision is getting better?”

Yup.

She turned away, muttering something about fairness. I didn’t press. I had some idea of her comment.

I found and ordered new prescription sunglasses from Costco. Didn’t really need normal glasses, I felt. Don’t use them often. My wife muttered something else.

The glasses would cost $129, I was told after I’d gone through the process. Whoa, wait. “What about protective lenses and the reflective coating, and all that?”

“It’s all included.”

I can see so much better now with my new sunglasses, and they’re much more stylish. They’re relatively large, making my big head look a little smaller.

We all need whatever edge we can find.

2

The Dark Dream

Dreamed I was walking home alone, in my present neighborhood. Premature darkness dropped as the wind hissed and moaned, thrashing tree branches. I thought it might rain. Turning up the street, I came to my house. One of those POD storage units was by the tall wooden fence in the side yard, smothered in shadows. I did a doubletake when I saw it, then remembered, oh, yes, I’m getting rid of all those things.

I was inside the house. It was dark, without electricity. We were mixing fruit juices. I was contemplating lemon, lime, orange, with cherry and grape. I said, “Those flavors won’t mix.” I knew someone else was there, but I couldn’t see nor hear them. I collected more flavors but didn’t mix them. Then I said, “I must mix them, and then drink them. If I don’t, I’ll never escape.”

But I worried. If I escaped the house, I still needed to face the vampires outside. Surely drinking the mixed juices and escaping had to be the first priority, though.

One candle lit the space. I was in the dining room. A man came to me with a large, flat red box. He wore a black coat with a white shirt. His face was unseen. He presented the red box to me. I didn’t want to take it. “How much?” I finally asked.

Seven hundred, I knew he said without hearing him speak.

I repeated, “Seven hundred?” I shook my head. “That’s not enough. A thousand.”

A thousand was agreed.

I walked outside. Rain was falling but I was protected. I walked down the sidewalk and stopped. Lightning lit the night. The bolts held, frozen in place in the sky. The rain hung, unfalling, lit by the lightning. I could see miles and miles ahead across the dark landscape.

Dream end

5

Three Dream Vignettes

I experienced three highly detailed, vivid dreams last night, all in a row, flowing from one to the other. First up.

I’m in a car driving in a city in the late afternoon to early evening. I’ve come up to a large and busy intersection. The light is red. I have friends in other cars. We’re all going somewhere. My wife is with me in the car.

I think the light is green and go forward. In a flash, like it’s a film being shown, I see cutaways to friends in other cars saying, “Why is Michael going? The light is red. He shouldn’t be going.” They blow their horns.

I’m driving through the intersection. My wife shouts, “What are you doing? The light is red.”

I’m looking up through the windshield. The light is red, but I thought it was a green light. I’m certain that I saw one.

The traffic turning left against us is light. The drivers of those cars are aware that I’m not doing something right. They give me space and distance. No one is hurt except me and my pride. What is wrong with me?

I pull over to the curb. I’m alone in the car. I’m trying to understand why I thought there was a green light. I look up in time to see a young driver execute in the other direction. He’s driving a mid-sixties Pontiac GTO. Classic muscle car. It’s in impressive condition, with a well-maintained, shiny body. As I watch, this young white guy, maybe seventeen years old, does a U turn and hits the side of my car.

I can’t believe this. He’s pulled over. I get out of my car and look at the damage. My car is silver. The damage is light, toward the rear quarter panel. I approach him, and tell him, “You know the drill. License, registration, insurance.” He’s crying because he just got his license. He knows he’ll face trouble. I feel sympathy for him.

My wife comes up. I ask for the camera. She starts making demands about how this will be handled, wanting me to make promises. We get into an argument. She won’t give me the camera. Irritated, I find my computer to take pictures. I know I can, but, the computer is missing its two AA batteries needed for the camera aspect. But, I have batteries in another part of the computer, use those and take the photos needed.

Number two.

I’m talking to a friend and mentioned something about the Chevy El Camino. I ask him if he knows what they are and how they look. He’s not familiar with it, so I tell him I’ll draw a picture of one. For whatever reason, I’m referring to the fourth-generation design from the early to mid 1970s. I’m explaining the design details as I draw it, talking about the front grill, and how it went from a single headlight to a double-stacked headlight on either side. I realize that I’m drawing on top of another drawing someone has done. I’m astonished. How did I not see that?

I don’t want to draw on another’s drawing. It’s a landscape, sort of a primitive style executed in charcoal. I admire it, erase my drawing, and find another piece of paper. I think it’s blank but as I begin drawing again, I see that there is a drawing on it.

I’m amazed. Why can’t I see those drawings before I begin drawing?

Number three.

We’ve arrived at a huge factory. Besides the factory, it has a large administrative/office section. I’m with a party of friends, all male. I think there are twenty of us. None of them are people known from RL but I know all of them in the dream.

A young brunette woman with a ponytail is showing us around the building. When we walk into one part, we men all start laughing. A tall space, it’s divided into sections and cubicles and is stacked from floor to ceiling with mechanical equipment and electronic gear. I exclaim, “This is exactly the kind of place that I used to work in.” The other men are saying the same thing. We’re all laughing and agreeing, it’s just like where we used to work. We just walk around, talking about the environment. I follow the path, remembering where my cubicle would have been located. In RL, I never worked in a place like this, but in the dream, I turn a corner, and there is my old workstation. Pointing it out to the rest, I laugh. When they see my station, they go off and start finding their own old workstations. How is this possible, we wonder, because we all worked in different places?

2

Another Dream of Frustration

Yes, another dream about communications. Being in the military. And technology. Except it wasn’t the US military. Wasn’t the Air Force. I was part of a different military organization. Black or very dark blue — couldn’t tell in the dream — one piece uniforms. Like coveralls. Belted. Black boots. Caps. Insignia that was made up of diamonds and stars in silver and gold on epaulets.

Some disaster was eminent. Tidal waves, storms, and flooding. Another guy and I were trying to organize stuff. He outranked me but I was asserting my ideas. It had to do with displays. What should we put on the displays? What would be most useful? A tech informed us that we could have more than one display up concurrently. How many were the max? Four. Then let’s put four up.

A vision came to me about what we could do. I became animated with the idea. Was trying to explain and sell it to the rest, especially the man in charge. My exasperation expanded. How could he not see and understand this, blah, blah? I slowed down. Became patient. He began to grasp the plan. But whereas I wanted to display information about the weather, our readiness, etc., he countered, “Let’s put information about eggs up there.”

Eggs. I was taken so far back. “Why would you put eggs up there?”

“So that everyone knows how many eggs we have,” the man in charge replied.

“Why would anyone care about eggs? We’re a military organization. There’s a storm due to hit at any minute. Why would we put information about eggs up?”

But he was insistent. The dream ended with me turning away and walking off, shaking my head.

3

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