(The haha implications of the “white flag” being the flag of surrender. And further, thoughts of a military character who refuses to honor an enemy’s attempt to surrender because the flag being offered as a gesture of ceasefire, the only thing not blood-stained red and murky brown, is an undershirt that’s not been properly bleached or tossed in a bin– the commander refuses to accept the yellow garment as white. Now imagining a UFO sighting explanation as a mental health issue when scientists discover the notion of UFOs was an idea planted into our DNA by our future masters and gods when they visited the planet in antiquity. They scrambled out noggins, programmed a lack of focus and the very idea of UFOs and sightings, whether mass hallucinations or what into our culture and reptilian forebrain. Let our evolution of thought slowly embrace the reality of UFOs until the tipping point of doubt is reached and the reality of not being alone in the universe is common knowledge OR, is it something we did to ourselves because in the future we cannot live with the idea that we ARE alone and there never was any outside force or entity to begin with. Which is somewhat true and better told to us by us. How can we be lonely when we surround ourselves. The truth that we are the universe and all of  its laws and loneliness come from …)

Give up.

No past tense. Gave up.

About here is when I admit defeat. I hereby totally give up on a lifetime of hope and dreams of being a writer. Despite early success, despite a career of some accomplishment and reward. I am unwilling to invest any more time in writing anything or trying to write anything unless I write some bullshit for the hell of it. I’ve got to face fact. I’ve got millions of words down. I’ve got a book with 300,000 words still orbiting the main idea. I give up. Fuck it all. The next month I’ve got to live on a half bag of coffee and maybe some horrible bread. Throw it all into a fire and walk away without thought.

I’m done with reading the news, thinking about the future, worrying about what I eat, how poor I am. I don’t care at all about outer space and have no desire at all to explore space any more than looking up at the night sky once in a while and hoping to see some anomaly. Some bright flash of colored lights I can’t explain. I’m tired of watching TV hoping to see something entertaining. Tired of searching the stupid Internet. Life. Hope. Could go either way, really.

Closest star system is two stars circling each other and a red dwarf screwing around nearby like a mental patient in the free room. In his own world obviously but won’t exactly be straying too far.

Prank calls to Gore Vidal in Esperanto.

Still, there must be something worth saving? You do not, as the woman who kept seashells tucked into her purse in the same spirit as the guy who went skiing last season keeps the lift ticket stuck to the zipper of his parka, you do not want to “take it for granite.”

Granted, “granite” is a stone of some value, I believe. You don’t want to take granite for granted, either. People actually talk this way and it fascinates and similarly repulses me. Sort of like when an ex gets married and has a baby and then begins to assume her new shape as a mother, no longer so concerned with having a perfect ass but in having her ass covered in event of a medical emergency. Finance and reality of baby raising trump glamour and  pursuit of having that great, tight little round ass.