Unbreakable

"I'm the radical atheist humanist your parents told you to stay away from." Professor McGuire, circa 1985, terminated, arms outstretched, palms splayed upward, curiously reminiscent, Catholic posture

Oh yes, dance. Go to ATT and make pouty faces and work out some kind of integration lower bill deal. Dance. The service reps at the counter, customer reps on the phone, get too fusty and they'll boot you undoubtedly, old ma, always wagging fingers at dissenters. Something changed once again on my twitter account this afternoon, but luckily, I am a bit too numb to care about who was the latest to have their cosmopolitan manners recoil. Can't lose myself that way; can't care. But my heart is torn asunder, even if I may not always be in the mood for Simenon, the Dune France 2 production of Maigret is a work of art, but public television needs to follow the herd, team with a distribution service, bye bye free down time.

The commercial and public airwaves are stripped, barren, a damn football game here or there. I don't want to stream all the time, but decided I am interested in Jonathan Rhys-Meyers Man In The High Castle and will stream at least some of the first season. It sounds as if it has Phillip K Dick influences.

The Harrouff case contains as many puzzles as it answers, but this gruesome narrative hearkens back to Enlightenment era beliefs about the berserk, superhuman strength, and, perhaps Krauthammers' damnation of the culture is a playback, of the way modern derangement looks. Since the original 68 film, which I predate, and to Harrouff, is stone age camera work, zombie literature has permeated the horror genre substrata. Perhaps Austin got too into Walking Dead. The series might not have caused the psychotic break which led to these events, but those of you who are Austin's age know how blurred camp and realism have become. I may vanish by summer.

I have relented and spoken to Marie briefly. I told her Joseph should go to a home, like my father's wife. And Marie said "You belong in a home," the shadow over me my entire life, but it is wrong, not letting go. Joe Marinelli and I don't like each other. We bark back and forth, the greaseball, his spastic niece, but if he is going blind, Marie is wrong. He is dying, she is dying, and we all have to accept that, myself included; I'm just not letting Presby burrow me under, nor anyone else. I'll kill myself first. Billy won't answer my emails, but okay. Happy New Year.