Having grown up in the 1960s and 70s, with the long Vietnam War playing nightly on every TV set and the occasional domestic explosion of a random big-city building, FBI office or DoD facility serving as counterpoint, various riots and protests a constant undercurrent, I thought I was immune to surprise at the politically-based imbecility of my fellow Americans.
I was wrong.
The wrongness haunts me, with a sense of floating unreality that dogs my days and confounds my nights. I struggle to find engrossing reading, ideas worth writing, anything, anything at all other than look at the news or the crazier blogs.
And it's all enmeshed in this damned pandemic, which we still have not got shut of. Maybe in late Fall or early Winter? Maybe? --Barring yet another mutation, maybe. Barring further craziness that helps to spread it. Barring the too-early, self-defeating return of hope. And maybe that last pitfall is the most maddening part.
BUILDING A 1:1 BALUN
1 year ago