Get Your Head Correct 

I’ve got the blues: rhythm & write, political fuckery & objectionable calcification of the non-ossifiable and the non-frangible—that, in turns is un-mistakable in the homeostatic running of a life. No. No strife, nothing classifiable as such in any event—permutational. It’s the truth, it’s factual, everything is fractionated as long as the sirens doppler their way out of my life. No longer the subject of my consciousness, this infection non-fictional as it is. I’ll gas and bloat, as I need inflection points to function correctly. Let me ease into dysfunction disaffection and dislocation by dissociation — tra la la. 

This is just between the two of us, rooster boy. You rotter. You were special to me from the very beginning. There’s a sort of acid-feel that plunges through your esophagus, pumped up out of your stomach like magma burbling to the back of your throat. In my opinion this is first class propaganda — the sort of invective that spews from true believers or the seriously unbalanced. Akin to a grenade going off in your head. Do you realize your maladies now? We’re talking about your stomach and your head. You are unwell, man. Next time? There will not be a next time. Don’t be a fool, man. Get your head correct.

Leave this planet.

What I’m Reading:

No one can say when the unwinding began— when the coil that held Americans together in its secure and sometimes stifling grip first gave way. Like any great change, the unwinding began at countless times, in countless ways—and at some moment the country, always the same country, crossed a line of history and became irretrievably different.

If you were born around 1960 or afterward, you have spent your adult life in the vertigo of that unwinding. You watched structures that had been in place before your birth collapse like pillars of salt across the vast visible landscape . . . 

— George Packer / The Unwinding: An Inner History of the New America