Routine, but is it?

My mind races the fan in a twirling contest.

I’m getting to the point where I can almost keep up.

If I look out my window, I can almost see the flames. Metaphorically speaking, of course. There are no fires in Dallas yet and violence has been minimal. Still, when the shit hits the fan here, and it will hit the fan here, my neighborhood is ground zero.

So, what’s an old man to do with a dusty professional camera and a bad case of fiction writer’s block?

Buy a fluorescent vest and get off my ass.

Our governor has already activated the National Guard and nothing’s happening. I get it. He’s one of those FAFO guys like my grandfather’s were and he wants to flex. He can do that now because Trump likes him. He’d probably be Tarkin to Trump’s Palpatine.

I’m not going out there to throw bricks; I’m going to get photos I know aren’t altered and share them. I’m in no shape to fight anymore so it’s the least I can do. Besides, I can’t tell what’s real on social media. Not in an AI vs real sort of way; more like riot videos and stuff. There’s so many riots and wars going on that I can’t tell if it’s livestreaming or previously recorded.

Geez.

Remember when you could fall asleep watching TV and wake up in the same world? Unchanged drastically and non newsworthy? Yeah, that’s over. The world won’t let you pause for bathroom breaks either.

New eyes are needed to judge the revolution since the old rules no longer apply.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon.

The schizophrenic upstairs is doing his best Kool-Aid Man impression and it’s just south of spectacular.