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I should be happier right now. The Republican Party is imploding rapidly, and Fox News is preceding them down the sewer drain.

But they continue on with their extremely bad badness caused by creepy, crazy corruption. We are running out of time to save the planet. They undermine attempts to convert to renewable energy. Alaska gets opened up to additional oil fields on public lands where they have long been forbidden to preserve the environment. And they continue to legislate in their States with gerrymandered super majorities to hurt trans kids for being trans, making gender-confirming medical care illegal, and forbidding them (all one or two of them) from being in sports with others of their chosen gender. And they pass laws against any kind of school talk about sex education or gender discussions or science class… And then History class. No more black history, or talking about the Antebellum period before the Civil War, or what the “War Between the States” was even about. The works of James Baldwin and Langston Hughes and biographies of Rosa Parks, Roberto Clemente, and Jackie Robinson have been banned or altered.

No one should be allowed to force you by laws to think and feel the same as everybody who is in charge… even if you strongly disagree with their beliefs.

But all Republicans are not like their grotesquely hateful and controlling leaders. The vast armies of the MAGA Minions are made up of people who are seriously misled by the conspiracies of Q-anon and the relentless propaganda of FOX News. Many of them follow the MAGA leaders because they want to believe the lies they are fed and don’t want to hear anything, even factual proof, that contradicts what they want to believe. But most of them, separate from their strongly clutched-to beliefs are wonderful, good people. If they met the two trans kids I encountered in 31 years of teaching, (especially the girl who didn’t commit suicide because her parents supported her chosen gender-identity) would love them. They were real people who acted like the real people they were. The gender issues they had were biological facts that have a basis in the science of genetics. XX and XY are not the only possible gender chromosomes. There are also XXY and XXX and many variations in strength of those genomic effects. They might even have liked the boy (whom, it was discovered, actually had a uterus and fallopian tubes on the inside) had his parents allowed him to be the girl he really was and loved him enough to keep him alive.

And if you talk to them about ice loss at the North Pole, the looming extinction of polar bears, and the death of the Great Barrier Reef, they do care about climate change, and will agree with you about oil companies being the bad guys.

But the hardest one is convincing them they shouldn’t hate the people they fear. They fear Muslims, Blacks, Hispanics, Antifa (who don’t exist in the form they fear,) and, apparently Black History. That comes about mainly because they have never had a chance to interact in a positive way with members of the groups they fear.

But what I am saying is that we must continue trying to separate good people from what the MAGA group has become. They are worth saving. And that’s the only way we can keep from ultimately losing everything to them.

There are times when it is difficult to write.

I am having trouble with my eyes. Glaucoma. So I really want everything to be BIGGER.

And I try to avoid what I can’t really see.

My hands hurt too much to draw as much as my heart wants. So, I reuse a lot of old pictures that I love because I used to be pretty good at drawing.

Because I am old now, I can only seem to think about and fixate on a thing I can no longer do. And not just because Raquel Welch is now dead. The little soldier can no longer even stand up and salute a beautiful woman. And carrying out his essential duty is out of the question. I even make metaphors like a dirty old man now.

Dang it!

And I do not have a shortage of ideas to use. I had intended to write a biographical story about Walt Whitman being not only a poet, but the nudist kind of naturist according to his poetry. But diabetes assaults my thinking machine and putting together complicated themes and ideas becomes too hard to manage in the time I have available.

Of course, I am retired and have nothing but time available. But with all the other issues, I forget to use it before it is too late.

So, I wrote this… some of it large enough to actually see it.

I have to admit it because I am into all this “naked truth” thing… I am getting lazy in my old, old age.

Yes, I have valid excuses. My eyes are failing with glaucoma and the beginnings of cataracts (not the waterfall kind.) My fingers are slowed and interfered with by arthritis. And my computer with the good word-processor is all glitchy (Who knew that eating potato chips while typing is bad for your keyboard? Oh, that’s right. My know-it-all daughter, the Princess, lectured me about that before all the glitches.)

But I have one novel finished and not published for want of editing.

And I keep starting new projects instead of finishing the one I am currently working on.

Poppy’s story is almost finished in the complete draft, but stalled over a plot point.

Golden Wing is only one-third done. It’s stuck on the hospital scene, just because I have to go back and reread the whole thing to get back into working on it.

This one is started, but off to the slowest start of anything I have done so far.

I am cheating on this one, making it out of old blog posts and writing a new one about once a week.

And this is the one most likely to get finished before I die. I am posting it on Tuesdays. As you can see, I haven’t created an actual cover for it yet. Lazy me.

I have been reading about the high school boy who rang the wrong doorbell when he was supposed to pick up his younger brothers from a friend’s house and got shot in the head because he was black. And shot a second time when he was on the ground. He lived. But only because his guardian angel was helping.

The shooter, an old white guy, was taken into custody only to be released within 24 hours.

And then I couldn’t help but remember Emmit Till. From before I was born. And I cried for half an hour.

If I were to pick the five kids I loved the most in the 31 years I was a teacher, two of them were black. Only one was a white kid.

How could we not have learned from that picture of Emmit in his open casket? Thank God it is in black and white.

Forgive me. I can’t write more. I have to cry some more….

Life goes up and down, round and round, inside, outside, happy, to sad, and down to the bottom of the sea, and finally up to the highest height of the mountain peaks. And I am navigating it all in an airship with holes in its wings that also has to serve at times as a submarine with leaks in its hull.

How’s that for a tortured metaphor?

I know I don’t have many more years to be alive. I am in poor health and it is getting worse. We’re facing tornado times with global warming. The house I live in is falling apart. I am trying to live one day at a time and savor every moment I have left. But there’s a large amount of pain. I have an awful lot of frustration built up over how hard it is getting to do any real writing during the average day. It’s hard to make all of that funny and laugh it off.

Still, I have not given up. This blog post is evidence of that. I pecked this one out with arthritic fingers and a lot of bulldog persistence.

Here are the things I intend to force through to publication;

The Haunted Toy Store

I feel like I have been drowning at the very bottom of the sea. But I am struggling back to the surface for another breath of fresh air.

I have always believed as Carl Sagan taught me in the 1970s, “Extraordinary claims like the existence of aliens requires extraordinary proof.”

Well, we are seeing extraordinary proofs from eye witnesses, military videos, and accounts from whistleblowers.

The main reason I can say I am now 95% certain that we are being visited by intelligent entities from other worlds or other realities is because the American government has finally admitted on the record that there are things buzzing our aircraft-carrier fleets that we have video recordings of that we don’t know how they fly and do the other impossible things that we have them on record as doing. The gentleman pictured above, Luis Elizondo, was formerly the leader of an intelligence project for studying these Unidentified Arial Phenomena (UAPs for short.) The government has identified him as the person he says he is, a person who left his job in order to make all of this public and to get the government, especially congress, to take it all seriously. He has evidence that the visitors are a definite national security threat and safety concern for our airborne military and civilian air travel.

Extraordinary proof. Of course, I believed before based on the work of Stanton Freedman, Richard Dolan, George Knapp, and numerous other competent and believable investigators (but NOT the Ancient Aliens guys.)

And I am not the only one who has had his long-held beliefs vindicated. This gentleman, Bob Lazar, has been a much-maligned and persecuted whistleblower since the 1980s. He had his identity erased by the government. His former bosses at the Los Alamos Research Facility disavowed that he ever worked there. His college records were expunged. They even deleted his birth certificate. All of this because he worked at a secret base in Area 51 called S4. He was tasked with reverse engineering the craft pictured above. And, during the time that he was working on that, he took friends and credible witnesses out to a secure area to witness test flights of the aircraft he was supposed to be working on. And, of course, he got caught. He turned to TV journalist George Knapp to broadcast the information he was blowing the whistle on, not to make money, but to spread the truth and make himself too visible for the government to simply kill him and make him disappear.

More people believe Bob Lazar now than ever did before. He is somewhat vindicated as a real whistleblower. It has been proven that the rare element, 115, is real, though it was an unknown element when he broke the story forty years ago. There is now also undeniable video of similar crafts provided by the US government.

It will probably never be 100 % certain. The people profiting off the technology gained from the 1947 Roswell Incident will not compromise their cash cows… or their money-making anti-gravity drives either. And our government has been lying and covering up things since before Washington’s Presidency. But I believe we now know… we are not alone in the universe.

I am increasingly frustrated with an inability to get any writing done on my primary, secondary, and emergency writing projects. My writing time, it seems, is constantly interfered with by problems seeing the computer screen, or achy fingers from arthritis to type with, or just a lack of willpower to get off Instagram where I listen to kids play instruments or sing like an angel the way little Aiko Bett does or post their artwork.

I fear I may be at the end of my creative endeavors. I have more novels in my head, but getting them down on word documents is becoming impossible. If I only had a brain…

I am not willing to lose my ability to write. I am not ready to spend the rest of my days mindlessly watching Netflix or scrolling through Instagram and Twitter. So, I lose the battle again today, but I will fight to make it happen again tomorrow.

Yes, these people are all real people, although they only looked like this in their imaginations. These are the game characters of Juan, Daniel, and Alice. (Not their real names.) They became the Wizard Onyx, Gryph the Eagleman, and Sunnyjias, the Cymryllian Sorceress. (Also not their real names.)

Chiron the Centaur and his class of Greek heroes, Achilles, Theseus, Jason, and Heracles.

Characters from Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Ariel the sprite, Caliban the monster, Prospero (as played by the Stratfordian Bill,) Ferdinand, and Miranda.

David, Son of Jesse, plays his harp and sings for King Saul along with various other members of the court in Jerusalem.

On the Planet Dionysus in 5438 A.D. Jaak the Dion boy, Michael, son of the Imperial Planetologist, Franklin riding the raptor, and Hrroush the giant pink velociraptor.

Members of the Norwall Pirates, Dorin Dobbs, Francois Martin (in the clown paint,) Davalon the Telleron, and Tim Kellogg.