The Overpass

What an awful week I just had. Seems like they're all like that lately, compoundingly so, as every glimmer I see turns to naught, leaves me in a worse off situation, but always managing to fuel some degree of hope beforehand, albeit the fact that any optimism is pretty much being entirely sucked out of me as I morph into full pessimistic cynicism. Slowly. But surely? 

I've that "part 4" and another post on the Iran-Israel situation that should have been posted by now, but I've been having a difficult go at doing anything this week, having had a fever for the past few days due to an imposing abscess—I'm badly in need of oral surgery that I can't afford, this aspect providing one more challenge in terms of interviews and impressions as, along with teeth issues, last December, I fell, and, freakish luck, as plagues me, all my front bottom teeth broke in half, giving me a pretty awful, yokel look. Not something I'd mentioned—ego and all—but just one more thing that's made life increasingly unbearable.

 The infection swelled half my face and made even a light tap on that side some of the worst torture I can imagine, and, of course, my whole condition isn't aided by my bad—and worsening—diet, eating what I can, not what I want or need...

If wondering, that meat didn't do wonders on my gut. That was more meat in one week than I normally eat in two months. 

My "bonus" month is over, and I'm still in the same situation, which means that, by this weekend's end, I'm on the street and officially homeless again...

I'm so fed up. I know I've said it quite a bit recently, but all I do is keep on sinking, no matter what I do or try... 

Here's another Bill Frisell Trio concert that's definitely worth the listen, making every second spent on a re-listen priceless moments.

SInce hearing it for the first time yesterday—an event I can best describe if using the word "orgasm"—life is mostly priceless...

With two more years playing with bassist Thomas Morgan and drummer Rudy Royston since the 2021 Jazzaldia Frisell concert I had shared, and with a Fender rather than the Gibson, Frisell is delivering from a place of absolute comfort in this showing. And the world is better for it.

The energy bristles and snaps, peaks to its loudest through soft sentences and filled silences; it's infectious, coursing through listeners who are complicit, drawn into the exchange, hearing, reacting, electrified vigour having laken over when the distortion mounts and the reverb amps up... and where's the madman with 5 arms and 7 drum sticks? That dude looks way too chill...

The sound sculpting by Frisell on this one establishes why so many try so hard to emulate him, only managing to achieve it in an ephemeral manner that offers but a surface glimpse of the artist.

At the start of a concert I was at, John Scofield—a guitar great in his own right—had mentioned Frisell and the show he gave within the same festival, then went on to praise Frisell, saying, though I'm paraphrasing: "I also play with tone, and I can do loops, and I know how to use the same effects as Frisell, so, I figured I'd be able to do his stuff no problem, maybe even better... but, it turns out, Frisell does all three at the same time, and he adds emotion and passion on top... that, I can't do."

Rudy Royston... jeez, man! Like, holy crap! Some of the time changes he manages, inserting odd-beat oddities that fit right in, filling more space than one realised was there as he's continually accentuating, never simply setting time.

He's just at the edge of overstated and over-the-top at times but he never crosses that line, never going into "look at me," Steve Vai-styled gimmickry that easily wows publics but offers as much substance as a Big Mac.

Thomas Morgan, however, you kinda forget he's there at all, frankly, which, practically, makes his performance a "perfect" one if seen with the symbolic significance of a baseball pitcher throwing a perfect game.        

This version of "What The World Needs Now Is Love" is far superior than the Jazzaldia one, but, for one of the best, have a listen to the one in this 2017 Montreux Festival live show he did with his previous Tony Sherr, Kenny Wollesen trio.         

"You Only Live Twice" appears to now fill a spot in Frisell's changing repertoire of standards. While the Jazzaldia version had "wowed" me, this one solidified my "awe"; the three just make it groove, but do so by focusing on the melodic brilliance of the chart, not on its groovability potential.

On the other hand, 'Shenandoah" is one he seemed to have let go of for a bit, bringing it back for this live concert. 

Frisell recorded a version of the Americana trad-tune "Shenandoah" with Ry Cooder for his 1999 Good Dog, Happy Man album, and, although hearing two guitar masters with a love of Americana come together to cover it should provide the go-to reference for those wanting to hear Frisell's interpretation of this classic, it's the one I'm least likely to think of and to go to, the takes that managed to truly move me all coming out of his live trio performances. This version also now sits before his 'official' 1999, Cooder-collaborated cut.  

Bob Dylan's "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall" is another that delivered an intimate, powerfully profound and moving Frisell reimagining that's no longer making a regular showing in his setlist. Eager to see this trio tackle it.

I'm actually glad he keeps altering as he also keeps on writing new charts, too, which is why he hasn't had anything I'd qualify as a stale period, nor the typical breakout-turned-stale career; always Friselling, he is! 

.

Setlist

I'd been contacted by a firm in Bahrain on 4-Apr, and finally decided to contact them back on Friday, 12-Apr. I won't offer more pertinent details at this point, for whether there's something worth telling at all now depends on them.

But I will offer some bits about the reflection that analysing, deciding, and acting on have led me to have.  

One aspect that surprised me: I seem to be willing to accord better intentions to individuals if said individuals are foreigners from certain countries and from certain types of institutions then equal "ranking" non-foreigners from similar, North-American-based or Western institutions. I see one as them offering me potential and opportunity and the other as seeing only a potential opportunity for them in me.  

The last is mostly true if a US firm within any financial/banking sphere. Anything "Wall Street" makes me cringe and recoil. Maybe lash out, too.

But there's no hard-and-fast rule that I'm aware of; instincts and non-tangibles based on personal experience appear to largely account for any variance, which may offer the reverse given a different reason altogether to consider 'which would be the best option'.  

Then there are those I'd never trust or wish to be associated with in any form whatsoever... The Nigerian Princes are among them, but only because they always seem so desperate to leave Nigeria, so, leaning on any "Nigerian" part like they do makes me think they're not serious as Princes; I like my royalty to be dedicated to their kingdom, thank you.

I was also contacted by UAE tech firm about entirely different matters, which I definitely should reply to; I hadn't as I'm always expecting the DMS&UY site to be forced down due to a lack of funds, yet, months later, I'm still here whilst having established that contact and adding my name to their "vendors list" may have helped in rectifying that.

I truly am an odd one. Perhaps far too caught up on correct principles and on good morals, always acting in concordance with my strict personal ethics and within my own moral framework?

If only I'd given more thought to my ethics and morals before becoming so attached to my framework, I'd surely have a more world-friendly and economically-functional take on "killing babies" and about what to do with those dreaded "others"?

As long as it's 'other' people's babies and kids, where's the problem, right?

And if I really were serious about earning my rightful place in the world, I'd scrap fluff-words like "people" and learn how to use "animals" properly instead whenever I'm dealing with such within a pertinent context.

Damn my parents! I blame them for those word choices I invariably seem to make.

Any hoot, related matters provided another instance that reminded me just how impossible it is for me to ever do things the "proper" and "expected" way, for which a "How To" or set template is almost always available. So many times, a voice in my head tells me I shouldn't... just follow the by-the-numbers cookie-cutter approach... But if I did that, then, I'm not being genuine, making "honesty" a secondary feature less desired than "expectations"? That definitely ain't right, leading to false presentation and unwanted representation on my side, and, possibly—and more than likely—on theirs as well.

Here's a post scriptum to my email, a formal business one sent to a person located in Bahrain; I added it because I felt a need to address one aspect, but felt that doing so brought me to a place that just isn't me, which gave me license for absurdity rather than simply avoiding any mention unless/until absolutely necessary: 

P.S. Times being what they are and cause for condemnation quickly found when so desired, I specify the following to avoid potential headaches only, doing so given your location: I’m willing to focus my efforts, but I’m not interested in betraying the West in any manner whatsoever for money; I’m just as equally uninterested in betraying any nation, or any religious, political, or cultural group for money. Except, maybe, that country with weird toenails and pubic-like curls to their hair… what‘s the name of that place?

If it’s on the tip of anyone’s tongue, that may not be a good sign. At all.

Honesty. True impartiality. A genuine attempt to understand. Hatred-free. Better steps leading to a true, lasting peace. These are things I will never betray, unless the amount to do so is so big I can then buy the world and set things right. Maybe get rid of those people who don’t like my music or cooking, while at it. Cursed be those people!

That was the email; the "formal" doc I'd attached offered similar moments...

All these formalities, they're always a firm slap in my face, for they act as a reminder that I seem to operate on a different plane of reality, one that's detached from the set formulisms put in place to gauge one's worth within said formulisms that operate per a set hierarchy, itself defined and dependent on set formulisms. If without them, then how is anyone to judge what's good or bad, right or wrong?

Thinking on that brought me back to my nine-year-old self and a second-grade art project I'd been chosen to create first, so the class would then have a model to go off of; I was almost always selected for such roles when artistic goals and imagination were the focus. One day, I wasn't... I had a mini identity crisis, age 10. 

We'd moved to Toronto from Montreal and, at that point in my story, I couldn't say with any degree of confidence that I spoke English, but neither could I longer claim total ignorance; I "got" the gist, not the details, but this facet doesn't explain my boneheadness, which is the appropriate label, in this case, I feel.

The project: Use your initials to create a colourful patterned overlay on a holder-box for notes that we first had to create.

Here's the thing: I somehow never caught the "your initials" part; I selected my letters based purely on a letter's aesthetics, per the font used to create the stencils from which we were to create our masters. O, Q, and R. The letters had zero meaning to me.

My initials being PL, or PDL for those who know me well, and PDGAJL for those who know me too well... I didn't even manage to hit one! When the teacher, Mr Cody, then used my model to show the rest of the class what to do, none of the kids understood why, then, did I use those letters. It took a few minutes for what people were saying to sink in and what had been meant by "initials", which sounds a lot like the French "initiales", though not so much like "yorreenētials" to a young Québécois with no English.

When it finally sunk in, I felt kinda foolish... pretended those letters had a meaning. Maybe I was making a gift for my mum; how do they know I'm not... so there. Also, in my defense, the teacher had placed much emphasis on "example", and I recall that having an impact on my choice.

For the rest of the year, students had a personalized holder-box that identified them. The one that identified no one was mine...

That reminds me of a speech I did for the annual competition we had, winners going on to the regional and then national competition. I'd discussed video games, mentioning a "pool" game in the speech, but referring to it as "billiards". Except, I didn't know how to pronounce that in English, and used the French pronunciation—it being a French word, after all—which sounds like "B Arr" in French, and nothing like the English "bill yards".

When I was done, a student raised his hand and asked me what "B-R" was. 

"Bee-har", I asked back, "where?" I hadn't a clue what he was referring to, getting caught on B and R without being able to link it to the French "billiard" that sounds like "B Arr".

"Yes, I wondered that, too," said another student. "You mention B-R a lot, and I hadn't a clue what you were saying."

The whole class wondered about that, too...

I finally clued in weeks later, upon hearing someone pronounce "billiards" the proper English way and reacting with "Oh, I thought it was pronounced Bee-harr."   

One thing I'm seriously tired of reading/hearing from idiotic ideologues—they act the part; I merely apply the label they fit—is the pseudo psycho-analytical description of the type of people who support Russian President Vladimir Putin and the why—never mind what they define as "support"—or the tendency for these to lump all such opinions as those of rightwing individuals, usually of the "far" variety, and to qualify anything voiced about Putin that isn't negative as being a part of a "love affair with a dictator", reduced to infantile terms like "Tankie".

On such things, TYT has definitely been that; anything foreign affairs related turns them into mindless, pro-Pentagon propagandists, all whilst claiming to want to put an end to imperialism. Methinks they open their mouths way before having given some topics any serious thoughts, perhaps?

Absolutely asinine behaviour. Totally immature and superbly ignorant. Entirely tribalistic, but on a larger scale, is all.

Such comments betray how easily brainwashed and made to act in a certain manner that segments of the West can be. These people gobble up whatever Western leaders want them to, their messages pushed through the mainstream media that Western indies claim replacing. That loop into stupid still boggles my mind, hence why I often point to it. It makes no friggin' sense. "Who da foe?" is the only real question asked from this group, it seems.

Despite the well-established and imperial tendency to vilify once respected friends and allies should said snap-of-the-finger Satan-worshiping, brutal dictators—and Commies, to boot—get in the way of USD-creating energy, there's a segment that always seems to fall for that plot each and every time, and again, as they're promoting themselves the real friends of Liberty and her now slutty, desperate-to-please friend, Democracy as she slips a US-industry-saving missile deep inside the invisible-cloak-wearing pole-dancing junkie, Integrity, but don't worry, no need to "cancel" anyone, taxpayers are footing the bill and she's no friend of Rachel Maddow, anyhow. They don't even know each other.

Did I say "friends" of Liberty? I meant "heroes", so don't forget to click "Subscribe" and "Join" if you can, and don't forget to "Like" and you can also...

And we're back, discussing the all-black side of what should be an all-white world. In every sense. 

For close to eight years, the West thought that Putin was a real swell and respectable, tell-it-like-it-is, black-of-the-eye-honest-soul type of man until he voiced a desire to see a multi-polar world, not quite trusting the uni-dimensional Rules-Based one promoted by ORBAH (Order of Rules-Based A-Holes). Can he be blamed for that. [No, it wasn't a question, thus the period.]

Is Putin to blame for the why de-dollarization is occuring, and at a far healthier pace than the inner-me had hoped in spite of the harm? [that question mark isn't in regard to the "blame" part, but, maybe, about my inner desire to see some types of "harm"? That'd be bad. Let's hope it's not that(?)]

That said, perhaps I should never have power over some things, I concur... 

I noticed that India started praising the need to maintain a Rules-Based Order (RBO) after having recently intervened (last week) in a spat between the Philippines and China. I don't have a full view, but the Philippines is increasingly turned into a US proxy; there shouldn't be any doubt there, even if I do believe it to be mainly unwillingly so, most probably threatened through one potentially economics-destroying or personally-enriching promise or other.

The clear and BRICS-contradicting emphasis on a need to maintain the RBO from India is sure to involve the US somehow, either in the Indian MEA S. Jaishankar's optics, and, by default, those of the BJP, or in the hopes of scoring brownie points with the West? [That one is because I haven't a clue.]

And, yes, BRICS is a money-and-trade-focused loose alliance of deplorable and evil nations, per Western textbooks, I'm sure, but such a view fails to grasp the philosophy that drives it; sits at its core. And a fair, equally-applied International Law-Based Order (ILBO) is a desire that defines the justifications to let go of the current ORBAH-led and synthetic-war-loving, disturbingly-pro-West world we currently live in. Well, um... until recently.

It's subtle, but did you catch the diff between ORBAH and ILBO? ORBAH isn't global, but it's globally applied. Per Western whims and needs. Not per set laws.

All that NATO Liberty-loving BS is just a way to enforce the US' war-dependent imperialism; NATO is a colonialist tool, plain and simple, and the war in Ukraine isn't amped up to ridiculously-grand-but-imagined threats and maintained by the West and sold as a Wall Street commodity to the USA by leading warmongers and ex-British PM David Cameron just for the spin; it's what allowing the US to bolster its economy and remain afloat, giving it a glimmer of hope it may regain full control over the globe. So, maybe that inner desire of mine wasn't so evil after all?

Instead of the Petrodollar it's now the Bombuck.

Of course, things aren't that drastic, but the economic windfall on the US for having manufactured the global threat warranting a rapid re-arming of the earth—for all purchases, allies through the front door; evil autocrats use the back one, please—is huge. And only Ukrainian deaths are involved, which makes it, per Blackstone-approved economists: "a great investment". 

These days, the American Made plan is centred on explosives and other tools of death, and those of domination if taking into account Washington's motivation for its huge sums in chip manufacturing that have yet to produce a chip.  

And, yet all those wars that are named to demonize Putin and Russia, doing so relies on a high level of ignorance. Several key factors need to be missing to adopt such a position while those that fall under "arrogance" are surely there aplenty. ORBAH seeking to satisfy its implied "global" part has far more to do with that than Russian "savagery".

Moscow is loyal to its ethnic-Russian non-citizen "citizens" is what Russia can really be blamed for, doing so in parts of the world that are in its own backyard, and never as the instigator. The same can't be said for the West.

Badly bizarre is the instant acceptance regarding anything said about "poison", fools now believing themselves experts in "Putin's modus operandi" rather than easily manipulated idiots, not even willing to consider just how obsessively-destructive certain Capitalism-all-embracing entities have become, and the perturbing power-lust and need to control the world that still drive those who are allowed to gain any real power in Western Establishment-friendly governments or extra-governmental bodies.

The oligarchic situation in Russia is one that was entirely created by the West immediately after 1991, and those who were punished for profiteering from the privatisation fraud pushed for by the West in order to create a situation Western elites could profit from and leaders indirectly apply control over, these, the West props up as exiled or jailed martyrs while painting those still operating in Russia as Lucifer's mob uncle. Where's the logic in that. [Here, the absence of a question mark denotes an absence of logic.]

The difference between Putin and Western leaders? The latter's oligarchs have been allowed to take full control of the state; Putin removed "his" oligarchs out of the Kremlin, and forced them to comply with the state's direction, not vice versa.       

I'll admit, it takes a certain type of forcefully-applied authority to achieve that, but, as a whole, the nation and the people are better off for it, a handful of oligarchs and the West are not. Like it or not, Putin brought back his country from a hell-hole of a situation, and did so in a remarkably short time, while still qualifying as a Capitalist, so be proud! Losing his position threatened the quick destruction—for a Western gain—of all that the nation managed to achieve, sinking them back into the horrible post-1991 period that had been far more devastating on all USSR countries than in the decades preceding it.

Sometimes, switching one evil for a lesser evil—lying boobs all—every X-number of years isn't necessarily what's best or truly desired. Today's Russia is nothing like it was frozen in Western minds to be. And there's a progression that must be allowed to take place, as well as a leeway—a compromise between 'different ways' from vastly different cultures—that is based on understanding.

And the war in Ukraine was never about invading Ukraine or imperialist dreams; get your goddamn head of your ass!

One of the absolute worst is Radio Times. Absolute old-school, Cold War-worthy propaganda that proves to be even more ignorant than any of the ideological ignorance embraced at the height of the Cold War.

I honestly thought the world was past that type of dangerous, destructive, and totally empty rhetoric. 

There's absolutely no peace to be found there, except through oppression, violence, and needless bloodshed.

With that: I deeply respect Vladimir Putin, but I can't say I "love" him. I'd need to spend a weekend with him first. [wink]

After a return to biting cold weather followed up by last week's heart-attack causing snow storm—what a slap in the face that was to wake up to—Spring is finally here!(?)

Need to have that question mark. This is Quebec, after all, so, one never knows. Though it's nothing like living in the Rockies, where I enjoyed all four seasons in one day on a few occasions. I remember going to work in the morning in short sleeves one day and making a snowman during lunch; that was in July.

If wondering: As I had eventually learned, quickly adopting the practice myself, the surest way to tell the difference between tourists and locals in a town like Jasper or Banff is by whether or not one has a backpack. Locals always carry warmer clothes with them on a warm day and vice versa on cooler days (except in the dead of winter).

By the way: I wish; everyday lately. I sincerely hope I suddenly and painlessly drop dead from a heart attack. It would resolve so much; make 'life' easy...

My dad had two mild ones and died from a third, but, unlike him, I don't drink (alcohol) and spent a good portion of my life running or on a bike; I easily put over 100,000 KMs on my Cannondale in the last decade and a bit alone, and I used to spend way, way more time on my bike in my twenties. So, heart-attack... I wish. But not with my luck.

Not something I wanna go into depth in in this post, but, despite being hundreds of KMs away, I knew it when he died; I felt it. When the call came, there was zero surprise. I still have a hard time accepting certain facets of his death, but... maybe another time.

Any hoot, today was a gorgeous day, the peak hitting 20°C (68°F). Even nicer than yesterday, and, yes, I did have a chance to enjoy the total eclipse, which lasted roughly 1 min 25 secs for the Montreal area. 

I went for a long walk, bringing a bag with me in case I should come across some empty bottles. It's a habit I had picked up some years ago, as, without looking for them, I'd continually come across a whack of them simply walking to and from wherever I was going; despite not needing the money back then, I averaged a bit over $100 per year simply picking these up and returning them for a refund on the deposit.

During a period when I was making real good money, I'd still pick them up, but I'd them leave then in a bag on the sidewalk in front of my place rather than returning them, so someone who did need the money and made a job of hunting down empties, rifling through people's recycling bins for them, would get a prepared 'bonus' whenever I had a few dollars worth.

I haven't taken on such a 'job' yet, still not finding myself living off of the deposit economy that bottles have created.

A few years ago, when the littering problem caused by water bottles had become an issue that most N.A. cities felt needed to be addressed, I was shocked to see how ignorant most people were regarding this aspect.

Folks living comfortably were entirely convinced that the problem showcased the deep hypocrisy that granola types (in today's parlance: Wokes with an environmental focus) operated under since only water bottles littered the landscape. They couldn't figure out that the lack of deposit gave them no value, hence, no one was picking up those bottles only. Pop and beer drinkers littered just as much if not more so. These days, you'd think only consumers of energy drinks are those who litter. 

Having had a good walk, I made my way back home but, for some reason, was propelled to take an odd route through streets I rarely ever set foot on, having no reason to go there. 

As I turned the corner and decided to cut across a small park nestled between two residential buildings, I spotted a reusable Walmart bag that was sitting on a picnic table in the middle of that small park. The closer I got, the more intrigued and set on discovering its contents I became. 

The firm, rectangular shape that  the bag's content imposed on the flimsy, tissue-like fabric bag, a case of beer or some such case filled with empty bottles is what I had expected to find, but... yet... that didn't seem right.

Nope. Not bottles. Inside was pure gold.

If hungry, that is.

A full loaf of sliced bread—a pricey brand—sat atop close to $40 worth of meat.

My initial thought when I saw that bread was a negative one; I was sure that it had gone bad, sitting out in the open like that, and probably for a few days, ditto for whatever else was underneath it... nope. All of it was still frozen, removed from someone's freezer and placed there no more than 30 minutes to an hour ago.

I looked around; the park was completely empty, so were the sidewalks on either side of the park. I scanned the area and pretended to care whether it had been forgotten there by error, making a show of 'waiting' for someone to show up, but within 30 seconds, and in a pantomime sort of way, I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, snatched the bag, and bolted out of the park.

Instead of my "usual" Basmati rice or flour-and-water pancakes, I had the two Toulousain sausages for dinner (supper for those not raised as snobs) and, so far, I'm still alive. 

Other than breakfast links, which I hate, Toulouse sausages are among my least favourite, real Merguez (lamb) being my faves, though no one would have believed that if watching me chew and swallow that meal. That fat, dripping from the sausages... sooo good.

•       •       •

Last year, though not quite in the same situation I'm in now but tight on cash, I'd gone for a walk and, when I got back to my place, found a ripped shopping bag with a brick of cheese, crabmeat, and some other goodies (don't recall what else).

Two weeks ago, real hungry and having only $3.85, I'd made my way to a store that sold its cans of beans cheaper than all other stores in the area, as what I had allowed me to get two cans, which, I figured, would give me food for two days, having to last three until a bit of money came my way (based on selling my NAD and Rotel amp and pre-amp, if the buyer did come).

On the way back home, crossing a pile of furniture left on the curbside, I noticed a can of Lipton Chicken Noodle soup sitting proudly on top of the pile. I hadn't seen it on the way there, having taken a good look at the pile. It was brand new, and with plenty of rice added to stretch it, provided that third day's meal...

In December, when things officially had taken a turn for the worse for me, I made my way to the same store hoping to get a loaf of bread and some milk, as I still had half a large tin of coffee, which I do love having with a bit of milk and sugar. There was no price on the bread, but I took a gamble, finding myself 15 cents short at the register.

Rather than giving it to me, I was forced to remove one of the two items—some shop owners are like that... what can you do—which didn't really bother me as I knew I could get cheaper bread at the larger grocery store nearby, and 50% cheaper at that if expiring on that day.

However, an Indian fellow who'd come in after me, eyeing me oddly as he zipped to the wine section and quickly picked up a bottle and made his way to cash, told the woman—who owns the shop with her husband (they're Chinese)—that he'd get it. 

"Oh, thank you so much," I said.

The woman seemed confused about how to proceed, waited for the man to give her the 15 cents.

"No, no. Take it all. Take back your $5," he told me, then told the woman to charge him for both my milk and the bread.

"What? Really?" I couldn't help it; I broke out in tears, thanked him profusely. The woman seemed lost; couldn't understand what had happened.

I never quite got why the man did that, though. For all he knew, I was 15 cents short, and that's it. I was wearing an expensive Columbia jacket, had good boots on, leather gloves, a cashmere scarf, clean chinos, etc. I didn't look like someone so badly in need of those 15 cents.

He sure made a difference for me that day. I swelled with emotions, overwhelmed, happy. Tears froze on my cheeks the whole way home.

It takes so little sometimes.

I'm not sure that anyone truly cares, for I've the weirdest bunch of readers, bar none, none of these having the balls to make themselves known or to show direct support despite being steady visitors on the Street?

I so don't get it.

That kind of behaviour... it's simply making me hate everyone. Ever wonder how 'super villains' are born? Well... 

Nonetheless, today, I was lucky enough to sell a folding table I had, which, with some creativity—my bank account, PayPal, and credit cards all being in the red right now—allowed me to 'splurge' on some real basic necessities and to cover the monthly hosting fee, too, though I very much would have preferred spending that money on some food... no one can accuse me of not being dedicated to DMS&UY, this being so no matter how stupid that makes me.

Sigh. 

If I had to select a handful of charts—none being my own compositions—worthy of being a part of my own soundtrack, this one would be among them.

It's called "L'éléphant" (The Elephant), and it's from French bassist Henri Texier's 1977 solo album, Varech (reissued in 1979 on JSM), on which he plays double bass, oud, bombard, flute, and percussions, as well as 'sings'. 

Texier plays all the instruments heard on the album, and he's the sole vocalist, too; each chart was made using overdubbing techniques.   

I've just one complaint: at 3:14, it's way, way too short. It could go on for 30 more minutes and still be too short, in my opinion.

The whole (album) is steeped in French folk music, the wordless vocalisations being a staple of that era, although, evident on this particular track, to those with an ear for such things, is an Indian influence, which is undeniable from the halfway point on. 

I so love this simple tune. 

.

Well that's it, it seems.

There's something I clearly don't get, for the visitor numbers are steady and encouraging, but what to make of the fact that I'm not even able to raise $7 dollars in order to keep the site alive?

The site will be forced down on Monday, 8-April.

And that's it for me.

It's a hard blow to take, especially when I see all the various and, in my opinion, unwarranted fundraisers out there. A recent one I saw managed to raise several thousands because someone's mother-in-law had passed away. I just needed $7 to keep the site alive for another month... Never mind that I've already lost 12 lbs and that I'm starting to float in all my clothes, and finding it increasingly harder to feed myself with each day.

I've managed to achieve what? I've established no productive or collaborative links, nor garnered any interest that's worth less than $10??? 

I'm tired; see no point in fighting anymore.

I give up. On absolutely everything. I'm through. Done.

DMS&UY needs your help; without your support, the site will be forced down again on 8-Apr-2024.

If you thought back in Decembre that losing the site for “just $300” was pretty bad and a sure sign that I was going through rough times, please consider that, this time, it’s for $7, and I’m in a way, way worse situation.

Until my situation has improved—I remain optimistic—any help with the monthly site hosting fees would be greatly appreciated. So would any support at all, actually. Helping me secure a job is by far what I would prefer, though a one-time or monthly donation would certainly be deeply welcomed and go a long way in helping me feed myself; everyday is now a struggle, even peanut butter now being a luxury I can't afford.

If you're helping with the hosting fees, please make sure to add “prepaid services” in the note box; a receipt indicating that your donation has been applied to the current or future (prepaid account) hosting fees will be sent to you within five business days.

Otherwise, that’s it; as I’d stated in one of the posts, the next time is the last. So, if you’d like to see DMS&UY up and active beyond 8-April, please consider helping out. Thanks.

Two easy ways to do so, either through Buy me a Coffee or PayPal, though note that the option to give a donation through PayPal may be restricted at moment due to yet another issue I'm dealing with... it gets so very expensive to be poor.  

Elements clicked and all became clear, and I suddenly found myself with a version of events that fits the narrative I've so far been able to substantiate while, finally, being able to account for the perplexing facets discussed below that, otherwise, may forever remain dark mysteries.

The one you're all thinking of right now involves women with penises and men in silk summer dresses, wearing Louboutin shoes. Wear what you want—just not in public—but we should all draw the line at adding and cutting and mismatching gender organs or suggesting that there's anything other than two, nevermind that whole "having sex for fun" thing, which leads to the Woke wing of hell no matter what, getting you there faster if any of that was with your own hand or not all with the same person. 

The Most Likely Explanation for Vigeland's Disgust of Hunter's Dick Pics

I think I've solved it, having finally made sense of all those Hunter Biden dick pics, the same ones that had managed to so thoroughly capture the imagination and attention of The Majority Report's Emma Vigeland, having reinvigorated within her that deep, penetrating passion for online Pole-eTickling that had once occupied most of her free time, that is, until she had found herself working for some Sam Seder, having hired her on the spot as, certain that she had said "politicking", he'd rarely seen anyone get that excited and blush so brightly at the mere mention of "politics".

The false impressions created by that misunderstanding would eventually take the pair down a path that's to lead to an awkwardly embarrassing moment when, on her second day, Seder had pointed to a framed picture of then still-unknown online-personalities Tim Pool and Mike Walsh, the two sitting on a picnic blanket and eating pink cake, their cheeks and chins covered with white frosting.

"Those two," said Seder. "I look forward to watching you letting them have it, and hard."

Vigeland squealed, thrilled to be given such a task despite her limited experience, hardcore on-air sex with a beanied person being among the many things she had always believed to lie just outside her reach... until now; she was sure to be moving up in the world, that is, so long as she went down on Pool and Walsh, Ben Shapiro, too, surely, but doing Steven Crowder, Vigeland had heard, is what's sure to fill Seder with the most joy.

"Thank you. You can count on me," Vigeland said softly before roaring out, ""I'll make sure I screw them real hard!"

The Most Likely Explanation for Why Candace Owens Accused Brigitte Macron of Being her Own Brother

Operation "Oh, God, I'm Coming" converts men into women in order to convert them into men with prosthetic penises that house a 10" nuclear missile.

It's the nuclear version of "Shock and Awe". Undercover dicks are able to infiltrate enemy lines, shooting off their payload in a manner that provides absolutely no reaction time, making it near-impossible for enemies to retaliate.

Joe Biden sacrificed his sons for that program, Hunter willingly becoming a woman before he could become Hunter again. Brigitte Macron is really Hunter Biden without her prosthetic penis.

The Most Likely Explanation for Why They're Not Normal Dick Pics

To most untrained eyes, dick pics of Hunter Biden look like Hunter Biden dick pics, and nothing butt! But those are field-testing records, and those prostitutes are actually soldiers in the Marines Engineering Corps division, and those hotel rooms are blast proof chambers, and though they may look like they're having fun and fucking the brains out of one another, these brave people are doing God's work, risking their lives riding those dicks up and down in all sorts of holes and stress environments, making sure the design can stand a good beating without going off until ready to be fired.

Blessed be the Hunters and Bidens.

This proves it, yet again, the Republicans are Russian shills and Putin may be arming Trumps with a penis.

What?! It still makes more sense than a lot of the stuff I'm hearing.