Saturday, July 1, 2017


A bomb startled the voice into silence and as I opened my eyes in my bedroom I realized that thunder had woken me from a dream.

I could not hear the rain hitting my window. All I could see was light flashing outside, with booms coming closer. Flash! Boom! Flash! Boom! FLASH! BOOM!!

Please tell me this is just a rainstorm. I can't hear the rain.

Just tell me this is a rainstorm. It's too early and I can't quite seen the clock. I don't want to sit up and focus to learn what time it is.

Does it matter what time the bomb is dropped?

Will it drop in the morning?

North Korea doesn't have enough airplanes that could get a bomb over here. Probably not even enough...I do know that a missile is sent in a bomb that is shipped over here and it is THAT that North Korea doesn't have, though North Korea does seem to have Nukes now, and I don't know how many people in North America are happy about that. I'm not too happy about it, but I take some comfort in that fact when I realize that it is four in the morning and the flashes and booms have neither stopped nor quieted.

I get up. I hope it's raining. I don't know why I can't hear rain drops against my window, but I can't. I've heard dry thunder, but it's not common in New England. Yes, New York City IS New England. While it does not resemble any of the stereotypes of New Englanders, New *York* State is certainly part of *New* England according to geography. And Dry Thunder is a Midwestern thing. Flashes of light without sounds are...No, flashes of light without sounds can't be bombs because the bomb would make a sound, too. If it were a nuclear bomb it would make a sound. If it were a nuclear bomb dropping nearby it would kill me quickly and I wouldn't have time to worry about it.

That's an odd sort of comfort, isn't it?

I don't want to return to thinking about my father knowing he was dying slowly than he wanted to last January. I don't want to think about that anymore. But you can't unknow something. That's the problem with learning the truth; you're stuck with it after that, unless somebody else tells you a lie that you choose to believe instead. But wouldn't you know you were lying to yourself?

Do we know that The Ego in the White House is terrified? Or am I just projecting? If I *AM* projecting, is it a projection of the fear that I am not comfortable learning to live with on to the Ego? Or is it an awareness that if I were in his place I'd be shitting in my pants just like (I suspect) he is. Is that last sentence a question (I am not sure if my fear is just my fear projected on to him?) or is it a statement of fact (I'm sure he's terrified and has no idea what to do). Because I am certain that the Ego in the White House is terrified and thought it would be much easier to just walk into the White House, look at people and say "Fix this!" and they would do it. Because he is the President and we have to do what he tell us to.

Ha, motherfucker! Looks a lot easier from a distance, doesn't it. A lot of things are like that.

The worst possible place to be during the nuclear holocaust would be on any underground transit during rush hour. The power would stop. The trains would be crowded. We would have no idea what was going on.

If somebody announced that the reason the Q train had stopped just inches from the Canal Street stop is because the bomb had dropped and we've lost all power, I wouldn't believe them. I'd assume that was a random crazy person. If the conductor announced it....I don't think the conductor would. I'm pretty sure that somewhere in MTA training, they do not recommend encouraging people to panic on trains, particularly during rush hour, so we would just stay on a crowded, stinky train, waiting for something, while the radiation started to leak into the subway. What exactly would the conductor tell us, anyway?

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