Daily writing prompt

What’s a song lyric that has stuck with you forever?

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It’s not the only phrase I know, but the first piece of lyric to come to mind is from Pink Floyd, off of Dark Side of the Moon: ”The sun is the same in a relative way but you’re older, shorter of breath and one day closer to death.” Yikes. The first time I heard that, I thought it was clever, and accurate, but was also wondering what kind of head space Gilmour and the rest were in.

There are so many bits and pieces of lyrics. Billy Joel’s And So It Goes is filled with one poignant, personal, heartfelt phrase after another. The Beatles sign off with “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make…“

And who can forget CCR’s “…there’s a bathroom on the right.” 🙂

I know. But that’s what I was hearing for the longest time.

He has no appreciation for what he’s messing with. He doesn’t care if it all falls down. I feel like this should infuriate us more than just about anything else to come out of Donald Trump’s 11 years in the political arena—the complete disregard for history, for the thought and the blood, sweat, and tears that went into forging this grand experiment.

He’s so focused on himself that he barely notices or mostly ignores the dissent, other than to post an empty-headed threat or sign an Executive Order that blames someone for something or takes away funding for important research—anything that basically reveals his immaturity and cold-heartedness, and the whims and wishes of those who support Project 2025.

He loves setting people off. Why else would he don a Trump 2028 hat at the joke of a WHCD?

I had a weird dream overnight. My wife and I were in Ukraine, of all places, I guess on… vacation? This particular scene took place on a street where there were a couple of Russian troops causing quite a panic. I remember a group of Ukrainian students running for cover, I remember catching a glimpse, from a distance, of these invading troops, and fretting over if we’d get out of there alive.

I remember thinking, in the dream, that even in the midst of war, people were trying to carry on as if it was a normal day. Then I woke up and got to thinking that if there were only a couple of Russian troops, how could they wreak so much havoc? You’d think they would be mincemeat, sitting ducks.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to take from this, but I do think about what life must be like for residents of Kyiv and other places that are under constant threat of Russian bombardment. What an awful way to live—with the daily specter of violence fomented by a detached, anachronistic billionaire hundreds of miles away who, for some reason, feels empowered to make life miserable for people who just want to live their lives without interference and with a certain self-determination.

And here I am, sipping cold brew in my pjs on a quiet Saturday morning, listening to birds sing, ready to start breakfast. The contrast is striking, to say the least. Though, I suppose with Trump in office and mid-term elections around the corner, our day of reckoning is never that far away.

Daily writing prompt

What’s a promise you made to yourself that you’ve actually kept?

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I honestly can’t think of one. There are mundane things, like following through on a plan to mow the lawn or do laundry or tend to something that needs fixing.

Maybe the closest I come is maintaining this morning routine that’s been happening for nine years now– getting up early and writing. It started on a whim, as something to try, but now has become a habit, a routine, something I value.

I still consider it my time, still make the effort, but it seems I don’t need it as much as I used to when I was active as a pastor and my day was a bit more structured. Even the anticipation of that first sip of coffee is becoming less of a motivator as time goes on– I’ve been hitting the snooze button more than I used to, not getting up quite as early.

He’s not even a rebel without a cause. He’s just a bully who can’t take a hint. Imagine being so consumed by vengeance and winning that you’ll gladly take a whole country down with you as you act on these impulses.

He’s fed everyone a line for most of his life. Many labels and diagnoses have been offered regarding what ails him. Some still worship him as a successful businessman and great politician, even a gift from God, but most of us know better and have been skeptical from the beginning, even if at first we might have held out for a diamond in the rough.

Our skepticism, while borne out, has also morphed into our own descent toward irrational hatred, because we view him as repugnant and have always found it difficult to believe there would be enough takers to twice hand him the presidency. But all this distaste and disgust mean nothing if we can’t follow through and vote the bastards out in November.

He won’t go right away, since the cleansing process must begin with his underlings. But eventually it’ll come down to him, and he won’t go willingly. It’s clear he doesn’t want to leave, and the poison he has stirred will sustain his base for a time.

Things could get ugly, but I have to believe there are way more of us than there are of them, and it is now our turn to do our part in bending the moral arc of the universe toward justice.

Time to pile on and add my thoughts on Donald Trump’s behavior at the World Cup final, as Spain was ready to hoist the trophy and celebrate a true team effort.

Donald wouldn’t get off the stage.

Of course he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He may have been confused, but it’s more likely that he felt that this grand occasion needed his presence, though not quite as much as he needed to stand there and share the spotlight.

What a sad, pathetic man.

Thanks, DJT. You never stop providing fodder.