What If?

I'm not surprised Jeffrey Epstein died while in custody.  I didn't think he would make it this far.  But I have to ask: what if Epstein's death wasn't suicide?  What if it was assassination made to look like a poorly executed suicide?

Was there any way someone on Putin's payroll could have taken him out?  Putin worked too hard to plant his mole, his WH puppet, in our government to risk losing him over what Epstein knows -knew-about Donald's salacious activities.

I'm certain there are a great many in DC who are giving thanks right now, and breathing deep sighs of relief, that Epstein is out of the picture.

Standing Under the Sun, Only Darkness Do I See

I have mentioned here before the blog of an artist, Gary Myers, whose work I admire.  (Corrected link under Gary's name.)  Gary is self-taught, his work is collected throughout the world and has hung in US embassies.  His iconic Red Tree stands (to my thinking) for the lone man/woman, an idea I am drawn to over and over again.  No doubt because that is how I see myself.  But there is more to my following his blog than that.

Gary writes about more than just his art that sometimes sounds like the thoughts which rattle around in my brain.  He speaks my thoughts, only in a more considered, coherent manner than I usually can (especially in the last five years).  The link on his name above leads to an example of what I mean, what I would say had my spirit not died five years ago when service-related PTSD took up residence in my head.

I learned about the El Paso massacre while out for dinner with my grandson last night.  I didn't know about Dayton until this morning when I read Gary's post.  I thought I was beyond being stunned by anything that happens in the country anymore, especially under the reign of the Enfant Terrible, but I am wrong.  After enduring so many last-straw events since the White House was invaded and continues being held hostage, the progress I make dealing with PTSD slips backwards, sliding toward the darkness that ruled most of the first 14 months in therapy.

This morning, I am stunned.  I am shocked and dismayed.  I am sickened and numb; and feel helpless and confused.  I know from past experience with this sort of response that I will move beyond these initial feelings and get back on the right track, will move forward again.   

But what about the families and friends in these two communities who lost loved ones?  How long will they have to live in the darkness that follows this tragedy (Christ, what an inadequate word!), this insanity?  How long will the Great Instigator go unscathed in the aftermath of what he has wrought?

I feel a great wave of sobs coming on, probably the only reasonable response right now.  The tears are not for me, because this travesty isn't about me.  The tears and sadness are for the communities of El Paso and Dayton this morning.

There likely will more to come, for other communities before the madness is stopped.

The Man Sings!

 

Wasting time, waiting for the weather to change to something less hot, I went tripping on UToob and found some funny stuff on Maestro Ziikos' channel.

Had no idea Trump could sing, but he does...in a manner of speaking.  Thriller, Billie Jean. Wrecking Ball, Senorita accompanied by Putin on the piano.
 
And more!

Ah, here comes the rain, at last.