TomFlannery.com

Woke up to a new track from Bob Dylan this morning called “Murder Most Foul“. True to form, he offered no context whatsoever, saying only that “you might find (it) interesting” and that it was recorded a “little while back”.

Interesting dude, this Dylan.

Nominally “about” the Kennedy assassination, it eventually wanders and encompasses….well….everything but the kitchen sink?….name checking the Beatles and the Who and Gerry and the Pacemakers and Altamont and Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks, Don Henley and Glenn Frey, Dickey Betts, “Only the Good Die Young, “Nightmare on Elm Street,” Buster Keaton, “Charlie Parker and all that junk,” Nat King Cole, Marilyn Monroe, John Lee Hooker, Wolfman Jack, Patsy Cline, Houdini, “Wake Up Little Suzy,” “Let the Good Times Roll,” “The Old Rugged Cross,” “Down in the Boondocks,” “The Merchant of Venice,” “Memphis in June,” “Moonlight Sonata,” “Play Misty for Me,” “Lonely at the Top” and “Lonely Are the Brave.” Oh, and Wolfman Jack. Did I mention him? Oh, I did. Sorry.

And that’ about half the song…..it’s 17 minutes long and meanders like a dream. To take it all in I’d have to listen about 100 times.

It’s structure-less and crazy and complete genius and slightly ridiculous all at the same time. In other words, it’s exactly what the world needs right now. I really hope the mad bastard lives forever.

The new Pearl Jam record “Gigaton” dropped overnight as well…..and it’s snarling in the background as I type these words. It’s crunchy and loud and conjures up old ghosts (and if I was a betting man I’d say Vedder had the Clash on some recent playlists) and manages to sound sorta modern at the same time (not sure what that means…but whatever..they still ain’t gonna play it on the radio). It ain’t gonna make anybody forget “Ten”, but it’s still pretty damn good. They sound like something is up their ass…..which is the state of mind you need to be in to make great rock and roll these days. Nobody would have blamed them for living off their past catalog. They’ve given plenty and don’t owe anybody shit. But knowing that these old dudes (the same age as me….so….) are willing to re-form and set up the instruments in the garage and howl about the shit we’re in the midst of warms my depressed and miserable cold dead heart.

I don’t know about you….but it’s the music that’s been getting me through this. Music from my friends (including a version of Joe Exotic’s “Here Kitty Kitty” from my friends Wiggy and Stacie that turned them instantly into my new favorite male/female duo of ALL TIME. Sonny and Cher are silly little bitches compared to this, yo) and music from my Spotify account and music through my TV. Rock and roll and soul and folk and blues and all of the hybrids that are out there in their own corner of the virtual record store. The freaks and the outcasts and the kids you that got ignored in high school for unacceptable weirdness. Since we can’t be together, music is the thing that breaks down social distancing and gets in your face…and when it hits Bob Marley reminds us again and again that we “feel no pain”. So we’ve got that going for us. Which is nice.

And that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I keep forgetting what day it is. And since I’m working in a room in the basement I have no windows so I check my phone for the weather. Time drags and then it flies and then it stops completely. I’ve got my guitar down here and my Quadrophenia poster and my phone and an Amazon Echo my daughter let me borrow from her room. I work regular hours and interact with my co-workers as much as I usually do. During downtime I try to keep my mind occupied. I write and I read and watch virtual live gigs from my friends and I try to get out of the house for solo walks at night. I scour Facebook for Joe the Tiger King memes because I’m a true fucking American, yo.

And I think about those out there on the front lines. Fighting. Saving lives. And risking their own. We have to do better. Don’t we?

Surely we can…right?

So that’s it for right now. Keep your head down. Stay home. Try not to cough all over the grocery store produce. NEPA has been in the news enough this week. If somebody needs something and I can help, I will.

Reach out. Folks are there. I’ve seen it. And it’s been pretty life affirming.

In a bit..

–tf

I’ve lost track of how many days it’s been. Maybe 10? Maybe more?

I keep forgetting what day of the week it is.

Our family is extremely fortunate. We’re able to work from home. Our sacrifice has been minor compared to many. We work and then we eat and then we sorta wander around in circles and maybe find something to watch or to read and then settle in and wait for another day.

But still, it’s surreal.

We only step foot outdoors to get supplies, or to go for solitary walk/runs. These usually take place at dusk. It’s eerie out there then. Just a few cars, and no people. The soundtrack is birds and the barking dogs that spy you as you pass their front parlor windows. I usually take music with me, but for whatever reason that feels like an intrusion now. So I just listen for the silence and think about where we go from here.

We talk of things going back to normal. But what will be the definition of “normal” when that time comes? Eventually, if all this isolating flattens the curve, they’ll be some sort of world-wide “all-clear”. That may be months away. Maybe the summer. Maybe even longer. But when that day comes, what then? Are you gonna buy that concert ticket? Or visit that crowded mall? Feel comfortable sending your kid off to college? Are you gonna gather and hug it out with everybody you so sorely miss? Or did this thing damage something internally, permanently.

It’s become politicized because we politicize everything. But you can’t lie or bluster your way out of a pandemic. And you can’t build walls to keep it out. Or slander it away. Our nation should have been more prepared, and we weren’t. It is what it is. The buck stops with the one in charge. Fix it. And fix it now.. If you need help, there’s plenty of grown-ups out there who have already taken the lead. Follow them. Stop being such a whiny fucking pussy and do your goddamn job.

(Sorry…..I wanted to put that another way but couldn’t think of anything better.)

The news has been so relentlessly bad that I stopped watching network TV….and have limited my facebook time. Facebook has become a breeding ground for the stupid virus, which is way more infectious than Covid-19. Since so many folks are home, the number of users has exploded, which means there are literally millions MORE people popping up that don’t know how to use “there,their,they’re,to,too,your,you’re” correctly in a sentence, and it’s slowly breaking my soul into tiny irretrievable pieces.

When it’s this quiet….I often miss my parents. Their reassurance. The way just a short conversation with them could do wonders for my mental stability. My father was never flustered, and focused almost exclusively on those that lifted others up. He had no tolerance for hate, and wouldn’t give it the time of day. My Mom was…well…..she’s a mom. And she soothed me as much as a grown man as she did when I was a wee one. Because that’s the superpower that Moms have. I miss her now. I miss him now. But in a way I’m glad they’re not forced to see what’s become of us. And what we’ve managed to do to each other. Each had a huge heart. Which made it exceedingly fragile.

I hadn’t really noticed until last night, but it’s staying brighter longer. Winter seems in the rear-view, and all those birds will not be silenced. Dogs have never been happier. The end of this thing is gonna result in a lot of guilty stare-downs from our best friends. But I think they’ll understand. And they might enjoy the quiet time to catch up on some napping.

Late last night I couldn’t sleep, so I was watching the Ken Burns “Baseball” documentary on PBS. It struck me that maybe the “all clear” that we’ll be waiting on will come when the umpires yell “play ball!”. Even world wars couldn’t stop it. Or terrorism. But now this. This cruel thing. Unseen….nowhere and everywhere….punishing us for seeking the company of others. I was watching last night……the section of the film that dealt with my childhood. The 1970s. Pete Rose and the Reds. My team. The Big Red Machine. The Mets on channel 9. The Yankees on channel 11. The Phillies on channel 17. I wanted a hot dog. I wanted an absurdly expensive beer. I wanted to sit close enough to hear the chatter. I wanted characters like Casey Stengel to invade my dreams..

“Most people my age are dead at the present time, and you can look it up…”

Thinking about it damn near made me cry.

When the boys of summer return……that’s when we know. The healing has begun.

In a bit..

–tf

Tom Flannery – Virtually Live
from the Home Office

March 26, 7pm

It’s a strange thing, this isolation.

Living inside our own heads. Communicating with our thumbs on small devices. Missing our friends. Missing where we used to gather. To eat. To drink. To laugh. To play. Even to work. We took all that for granted, until now.

There’s more than a few still out there….feeling invincible. Beaches are packed…..parks are packed….no social distancing for this lot. I went for a solitary walk yesterday and was surprised to see so many large groups of people still wandering….inches apart. Seemingly oblivious. Judge not lest ye be judged, but I gave them plenty of lee-way as I slid my way past.

And for the hypochondriacs among us? This is Armageddon. Every sniffle or cough or sore throat or stubbed toe is proof that the virus has arrived. Self-diagnosing has gone into overdrive, and with so much conflicting bullshit out there, what could possibly go wrong? When facebook memes replace our primary care physicians, it’s time to reboot the internet.

And, as always, there’s the invisible among us. The ones who can’t “stay home” because they don’t have one. There’s not been much mention of our homeless populations recently, but then again there’s never much mention of our homeless populations. Just another slit in the safety net. I have no idea how they are coping now. And I have no idea how they were coping before this. And that should be my shame. And ours. Maybe this will change things for them as well. Maybe they’ll be invited out of the cold. Maybe we can help find everybody a home to quarantine themselves in.

And through it all the same idiots are out there, filling up their shopping carts with all the toilet paper and all the eggs, smirking at the bewildered empty-handed elderly as they load up the SUV and tear away. These are the worst of us, and will probably come through this without the proverbial scratch. Because there is no such thing as karma, no matter how much we pretend otherwise.

But still…..for every shithead, there’s 100 angels. Even though we can’t be together, I’ve seen folks come together in so many ways. Folks offering to deliver food. Restaurants offering free meals to the elderly. And just a bunch of regular people saying “I’m here if you need anything, so just ask.”

Teachers had a day or two at most to come up with a plan B….with no extra resources. No extra money. And no real direction other than “figure it out”. And they did….which is why my daughter is sitting at her desk in her room right now, in a virtual classroom with all her classmates, learning. Small miracles are breaking out everywhere, and they are not coming from the titans of industry…..the gods of Wall Street…..the 1%-ers. They are coming from the ones so casually dismissed just a few weeks ago. Cashiers. Cooks. Warehouse folks. Drivers. Minimum wagers. Those pesky teachers who “only work 180 days a year”. And through it all Washington has only made things infinitely worse, so at least there’s some continuity and comfort in a sea of change.

On Saturday night I did my first ever “virtual gig“…..streaming live on Facebook from my basement. I played for 75 minutes and had a great audience cheering me on (and a local audience of my 2 daughters) the entire time and I can’t remember ever feeling better about what I do. Because it came into focus that the music, not just mine, matters. Call it what you will. A diversion. A distraction. I don’t care. But these virtual gigs are popping up all over the place now, and folks are tuning in and dropping coins in virtual tip jars and artists are playing and singing their asses off. It’s a place to go for an hour or so, to sing and to dance like nobody is watching, because nobody is. So maybe once we get past all this madness and you’re out in your local watering hole and there’s some musicians there, maybe give ’em a nod or a wink. You have no idea how much it matters. But then again, now, maybe you do.

It’s a strange thing, this isolation.

We’re learning about ourselves. For some, introspection like this is uncomfortable. For others, it can be a revelation.

Stay safe. Stay home. Be good to each other. More music is on the way..

In a bit.

–tf

Saturday, March 21 at 7pm via FaceBook LIVE

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Where Do We Go From Here?

Scratch it off or mark it down for all that it is worth
a footprint or a whispered smile to spread among the earth
scream en masse or breathe it in or raise a virtual beer
the question that remains is where do we go from here

Like thieves we come out at night and frighten without sound
and then send up a drone to watch the chaos on the ground
a dab of sanitizer or a wash in memory’s tears
if we keep it all at bay where do we go from here

If you can sing an old song and make it sound brand new
and the words come ’round the bend like the chosen few
that means the world is silent when the coast is clear
and with no sense of direction where do we go from here

All boats rise with the tide to reach the summer moon
that lights the way for those of us who might have spoke too soon
nothing seen or unseen can spread quite like the fear
of a delayed new morning….where do we go from here

Boots and hearts on the ground like the laughter of a child
that breaks away from panic like a river running wild
all that we hold sacred and all that we hold dear
are looking for a clue as to where we go from here

Everything is dark. Everything is empty. More than panic, there seems to be a sense of underlying sadness out there, perhaps because of the cracks that this is showing in ourselves. Our inner-dickishness.

Driving through town yesterday things seemed so quiet and desolate, but there was almost an electric current of tenseness around every unknown corner. It’s almost like we’re sorry that we’re about to act like an asshole, but then do it anyway, and then sorta regret it later. But not enough so that we don’t act like an asshole 10 minutes later.

Never before, in my lifetime at least, has society shown itself so vulnerable….so nakedly hanging by a thread. All the illusions we had about our own advancement have been ripped away. It seems the maxim that any society is only 3 missed meals away from anarchy might not be as absurd as it sounds. Anybody who has read “Lord of the Flies” is currently navigating grocery stores with a clenched sphincter.

Is any of this reasoning 100% valid? Only time will tell I suppose. I can only praise whatever your favorite deity is that this generation (and government) wasn’t in play during WWII. We might have collectively set ourselves on fire.

Our generation, in comparison, has begun calling 9-1-1 when the toilet paper has run out. I wish I was making this up but I’m not. There is a fine line between prudence and idiocy, and the world suddenly seems filled with tightrope walkers.

However, a sliver of silver lining. The term “essential personnel” has never before come into this much focus.

The kids manning the registers. The delivery drivers. The warehouse workers. The ones keeping your power on and watching over your elderly parents. The faceless people answering your panicked phone calls and keeping your internet working. The waiters and waitresses and the bartenders and actors and actresses and the folks playing the live music so you can maybe you can forget that you’re now living with the sword of Damocles over your head, at least for 3 minutes at a time. Next time you shit on the service and entertainment industry, remember these strange days. And then shut the fuck up.

Everybody is preaching to everybody else. It’s easy to tell others to stay home when your salary is guaranteed, or you can do your job remotely. But what about those who don’t get paid if they don’t leave the house and deal with others face to face? Are they supposed to buy their toilet paper and bottled water and pay their rent with a note from their mothers? Should they wipe their ass with leaves and drink rain water?

Are we gonna stop ordering stuff online? Who is supposed to pick and pack it? Who is supposed to deliver it? Are they supposed to “work from home” as well? People are furious that store shelves are empty. Who delivers to these shelves? The magic grocery fairy? Are truckers “endangering your Mom” by hauling supplies….so that your Mom can have them? What would happen if the folks who worked at the store decided to stay home en-masse? Would you shit on them, or applaud them?

Sometimes there is no safety net. Some folks want to build one. Others devote their lives to ensure that will never happen. And now here we are. To paraphrase Mike Tyson, everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.

What to believe? Who to believe? From a pool of morons comes the experts.

Things are changing. Day to day. Hour to hour. Minute to minute. The world we woke up to today is different than the one we went to bed in last night. And that one was different than the night before. The only way to detect light at the end of tunnel is for things to remain constant for…..a few hours….a few days.

So all that’s left is to do the best we can. We can be a little nicer to each other. We can share, although based on the amount of shopping carts I’ve seen stacked to the ceiling with Charmin, and the price gouging that goes with it, that doesn’t appear fucking likely anytime soon. We can be like Italy and sing arias from our balconies. We can wash our hands and say I love you at the end of the day to those that make us whole. We can hang together or we can hang separately.

I’m one of the lucky ones I guess. I have a roof and a decent job and my family is here and we’re all safe and we have what we need, and the means to get more when the time comes. At least for now.

But once that 3 meal threshold comes and goes? What then?

We’re not as different as we think we are.

In a bit..

–tf

We’re scared.

Of everything and everybody. We’re scared of what we can’t see, and we’re scared of things that jump into our face.

We’re scared of what we don’t understand. We’re scared of each other and what might happen and what might not happen. We carry fear around like a wallet in the back pocket.

Mostly we’re scared of the things they tell us to be scared of, while the real terrors whistle with us as we pass the graveyard.

The fastest way to dumb down a population is to scare them.

We lay awake in the middle of the night staring into the void and conjure up every monster we can. We walk through our days like zombies and stare into our cups late at night looking for solace. We build walls and quarantine ourselves and blame the guy who looks different than us. Fear pushes people away and turns communities into no-go zones. Fear spreads faster than any virus, and can lay you out with the same vengeance.

There is no vaccine for it either. And there never will be.

To live in fear is like living with an infectious disease.

It can nibble at you….raise itself in the back of your head and make its way round to the front every now and again. Or it can bludgeon you like a 2X4 to the temple. And it will always show up at the most inopportune time.

To be afraid is to eventually become furious. So we lash out. At loved ones or the guy who won’t get out of the left lane or on some near-stranger’s facebook feed. We become instant experts and if only folks were as smart as us none of this would ever happen. Fear turns everybody into a narcissist, so the fear of others matters little…..even if theirs is what is feeding ours.

Fear despises intellect, which is why we ignore those who are clearly smarter than we are when they tell us that our fears are unfounded, and grasp the trouser leg of any moron who feels the same way we do, because there’s strength in numbers, Bubba. Fear constantly seeks validation.

We’re afraid for the young and we’re afraid for the old and we’re deathly afraid of cruise ships and running out of toilet paper. So we wash our hands until they crack and smartly buy up all the hand sanitizer so there’s none left for anybody else to prevent them from infecting us and suddenly men’s rooms are backed up and the entire world is coughing into their elbows and cancelling their St. Patrick’s Day parades and posting stupid memes in vain attempts to be clever and saying things like “but Dr Drew said” with a straight face and allowing Corona Beer stock to fall 40% and after a while dying of pneumonia doesn’t seem so bad after all.

We’re told to stay home and hunker down and we stare at the television and thus see nothing but more scared people acting like they’re not scared while they rant and rave at each other about how dumb everybody else is. We look to our leaders for any type of guidance and find….well…..about what you’d expect. So nobody really looks there anymore, unless things are moving really slow and you need a good chuckle.

FDR once said that “we have nothing to fear except fear itself.”

Donald Trump once said…” ‘Does anybody die from the flu?’ I didn’t know people died from the flu…”

Clearly this man has the BEST BOOKS.

(Actually, this sort of inspirational leadership might be one of the reasons day-to-day living now resembles a Walking Dead episode, but I’ll leave that for you non-partisan keyboard warriors to ponder and scream at each other about.)

And it’s 2020 and it just dawned on us that we’ve been washing our hands wrong this entire time, so clearly we’re not as advanced as we think we are.

This too shall pass. I hope soon. And then we’ll have something new to deal with. And then again. And then again. These days not walking around with fists clenched probably means you’ve hit on the correct medication. So good on you.

We fear most for our children’s future. Because I don’t want them staring into that same late night void. I want them leading the charge, not falling into line.

In a bit..

–tf

Super Tuesday is over. All the armchair warriors have tweeted and facebooked themselves nearly to death, explaining why they are so smart and everybody else is so dumb. It’s a two man race right now, between Biden and Bernie….and may the best man win. Honestly, at this point I’d vote for a diseased toad over Donald Trump…..so it is what it is. I’m surprised Elizabeth Warren didn’t do better. I’m not surprised that Mike Bloomberg tanked. But I think Bernie and Uncle Joe are both fundamentally decent men. I wish they were ten years younger, but my hat is off to anybody who throws theirs into the ring. Bernie has always been my first choice. Warren my second. But if it’s Joe, well he’s got my vote. There is no alternative. I’m 53 years old and have no yet voted for any candidate endorsed by the Klan. That’s a pretty decent litmus test. It should be yours as well, doncha think?

My politics are to the left of Eugene Debs, and I make no excuses for that. The things that Bernie is asking for hardly sound radical to me. Just plain old decency and common sense. Nobody wants free stuff. We just want what we’ve already paid for. Everybody yells at me when I say this, but my give-a-shit level is now in the basement. Some folks are fine with kids in cages. Others are not. Some people believe in science. Others think Adam and Eve frolicked with velociraptors. Personal preference. I see zero point in arguing such matters. Buy me a beer and I’ll buy you one. If you get sick I want you to get well. I presume you feel the same about me?

But in our current climate somehow this wild-haired grumpy grandfather from Vermont who doesn’t want us to die indigent due to lack of health care is painted as the next Joseph Stalin. Our nation is not only ignorant, it’s gleefully ignorant. We bask in what we do not understand like pigs lolling in mud. We tar with words we do not know the meaning of. We’re intentionally and almost casually cruel. We deserve the leadership we have, and we deserve the leadership we’re gonna get.

Oh, and we’re also apathetic as balls. The promised “youth vote” that is always ready to descend on polling places and scare the hell out of the establishment once again found better things to do. Their turnout was as low as it always is, despite the obvious stakes. Maybe they’ll find the time come November. I guess we’ll see.

Trump talked about “draining the swamp” but subsequently filled the White House with so many cartoonish thugs and soon-to-be felons that Richard Nixon was taking notes from hell. It takes balls to change things from the way they’ve always been. A bully has no balls….so the President has actually made things maniacally worse. People on both sides of the aisle seemed terrified that Bernie just might have the stones to burn the place down, so it’s probably not coincidental that so many jumped in to endorse Biden at the last moment. Including the hapless Bloomberg, who spent half a billion dollars of his own money to win American Samoa. He could have bought the place and pocketed the change.

Once again the last ones standing are rich old white men.

But there were strong women. Persons of color. Youth. And nobody voted for them. So as much as we whine about change, we apparently ain’t ready for it. A third party is laughed out of the race before the horse is even loaded into its stall. Money makes it all go around, and when it comes to money, nobody likes surprises. The same companies that own most of the establishment candidates own the media companies that report on them. You might be on the merry-go-round for a long time, but intellectually you know that despite the constant movement, you’re not actually going anywhere.

And so that’s my state of the union address for the day. Bernie could still win this thing, and I hope he does. But Uncle Joe has got the momentum for sure. And his wife Jill came up huge last night by body-blocking that protester to keep her away from her man, something nobody could envision poor Stockholm-Syndromed Melania doing. Politics is a blood sport, and Dr. Jill has laid down a marker. She’ll broker no nonsense.

Meanwhile, our commander in chief, in between sniffs of crushed Adderall, tweets childish insults at everybody involved. Lincolnesque as always.

As for VP picks, I think Kamala Harris and Elizabeth Warren are both in play. As for Trump, once he finds a way to blame the Coronavirus on Mike Pence, he’ll need another lackey in there. Somebody with the same ball-kissing skills and the willingness to believe that the world is only 5000 years old even though man has been brewing beer longer than that. It ain’t easy navigating that world, Bubba. If the poor bastard believed in science he’d probably be busy trying to clone Lindsey Graham.

Enjoy the circus.

In a bit..

–tf

Spotify playlist is churning in the corner of my home office. The end of a long day.

The Beach Boys. “In My Room”.

There’s a world where I can go and tell my secrets to
In my room, in my room
In this world I lock out all my worries and my fears
In my room, in my room

I’ve always needed my own space. My own room. Close the door. Read. Put my feet up. Watch. Listen. Doze. Think. Write. Surrounded by the things that make me the most comfortable. My books and CDs. An irish walking stick (my shillelagh). Tablets crammed with lyrics. My favorite green lamp and an engraved clock carved into anthracite coal. A Pittsburgh Steelers terrible towel. A Moravian College towel. An old golfing trophy. Family photos. Large frame portraits of a stunning Irish abbey, and one of Abraham Lincoln, surrounded by various posters from past musical and theatrical pursuits. A world atlas. A map of Ireland. Our family crest. A copy of Martin Luther King Jr’s “I’ve been to the mountaintop” speech. My guitars. a Who coffee mug. A Quadrophenia poster. A Bob Marley tapestry. A new 4 track recorder that I never learned how to use. A map of the coal seams under Scranton. A beat up couch. A portable space heater. Two small desks back to back. Drawers are filled with trinkets and cards given to me by my kids over the years. The purple heart of the now deceased husband of a childhood neighbor sits alone on a shelf. A brown swivel chair. An Amazon echo that my daughter just passed down to me sits on the right corner of the desk, ready for instructions that I don’t yet know how to give. The room is gleefully messy, but my wife isn’t ashamed when I welcome the rare visitor in, which tells me it’s not that bad.

There’s no window, and that’s the way I like it. I don’t want to look out. I don’t want anybody else able to look in.

I can hear the movement above my head. Feet on the floor. So the world goes on without me. One less thing to worry about.

As a kid I never had my own space. As a twin me and my brother shared a room smaller than the one I’m describing, and made do with bunk-beds. Hell, my father was a newspaperman and frequently wrote at home, and he didn’t have a space to retreat to. He’d sit at the dining room table at his Underwood typewriter and bash away as us 6 kids created chaos around him. Or he’d sit on the couch with a legal pad, TV blaring, and tear through page after page in his indecipherable scrawl (even he couldn’t read if after the fact). The only thing more chaotic than our house was the Scranton Times newsroom in those olden days, so not having 4 walls to cover himself with didn’t bother him at all. He could block it all out. But for whatever reason, I could not. I needed the barriers.

So I’d build my own. With blankets and small tables and piles of pillows, or with panels of wood from the garage that I could lean against each other to create some sort of makeshift room. I’d use the end tables saved for drinks when my parent’s had company over….and that would be my makeshift writing desk, and I’d sit and dream and write of whatever I was sure I would never share with anybody else ever.

There was another mass shooting today. Six more dead in Milwaukee. The story barely made a ripple with fears of a global pandemic on the rise. Our nation is woefully unprepared for the latter, and has shown a repeated, callous disregard to deal with the former. So that Beach Boys song really hit a nerve today.

But eventually we need to tear down the walls and come together. None of the dreams I can conjure up in here are gonna be worth much if we can’t agree on some sort of shared human decency when we’re inhabiting the same spaces. What Warren Zevon called “splendid isolation” may be part of the reason we’re where we are right now. Our days are like a war. Our instincts give us two options. Retreat. Or attack.

What’s missing is what folks used to do. They used to talk.

In a bit.

–tf