Happy Independence Day, freedom-loving reader.  Goddamn right, Independence Day.  Though I’m increasingly disappointed in “my fellow Americans,” I’m still proudly celebrating the freedoms enjoyed by those of us who can read The Constitution.
The good news this year is that The Pendulum has begun its retributive return trip.  Impact is imminent.

N.P.: “The Star Spangled Banner/4th of July Reprise” – Boston

Far too hot to write today.  And yet, I wrote.  And it was good.  Still too fucking hot.

N.P.: “Come to Poppa” – Bob Seger

This country is so broken.  I’ve known the gun laws in California, New York, and other states requiring concealed carry permits have been wildly unconstitutional since I started voting.  Stevie Wonder could see these gun laws are wildly unconstitutional.  So finally, today, the Supreme Court had to explain that the 2nd Amendment exists and that it actually means what it says, which is rather outrageous.  I mean it’s one fucking sentence!  To wit: “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”  People seem to get lost in the weeds about the first half of the sentence, and I’ve talked about it here before…what’s most important here is the last half.  Today’s SCOTUS ruling simply pointed out that it says, “to keep and bear Arms.”  In California, you’ve needed a concealed carry permit, which was notoriously difficult to get.  You don’t need a permit.  “Keep AND bear.”  I don’t see any particular need for weapons to be concealed.  Doesn’t say shit about that in the Constitution.  These states have been blatantly and egregious infringing the hell out of that which shall not be infringed.
Then the President comes out and talks about how he’s disappointed in the decision and proceeds to babble gibberish clearly demonstrating that he has no idea how the Supreme Court works.  Then the Vice President comes out and said that today’s ruling “defies” the Constitution.
At which point I started to drink.

N.P.: “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” – Mark Lanegan

The first day of summer.  The longest day of the year.  Two days I despise and resent, and they always seem to fall on the same day.  Every year!  It’s an outrage.
We kid, of course.  What else can you do under such circumstances?  It’s a hundred and fuck outside, swamp ass has set in, and evidently no one thought to stock this place with seasonally appropriate booze.  But I survived   Thank the maker for air conditioning.   And alcohol delivery.

N.P.: “Golgotha Tenement Blues” – Machines of Loving Grace

I was sitting in a meeting this morning, watching a presentation, when the word “revenue” appeared in a PowerPoint slide, and my first thought was that the word “revenue” and the word “revenge” are only one letter off.  I then spent the entire rest of the meeting pondering the likelihood that I was the only person in the meeting whose take-away from the meeting is that “revenue” and “revenge” are strikingly similar.  In retrospect, I suspect I thought it said “revenge” and so for a fleeting moment my interest was aroused.  I honestly couldn’t tell you what the presentation was supposed to be about.

N.P.: “Liberty Bell” – The Gathering

Greetings, dear reader, from The Safehouse™.  I’d say details will be forthcoming, but since everything here is dedicated to secrecy and coolness, any sort of reality-based details are highly unlikely.  It feels like home, though, so I think I’ll be here for a while.

N.P.: “Saladin” – Hybrid

An abbreviated post today, dear reader…11 full days until the first day of summer and already the highs are up near 105°F.  This fetid suburban desert is actually rather enjoyable in the “winter” months.  But from June through September, woe betide any mammal who didn’t have the sense to get out and head north months ago.  Obviously, I am one such mammal.  And this mammal cannot commit literature when it’s over 100fn°.  Let us hope for a cooler tomorrow.

N.P.: “Punk Rock Loser” – Viagra Boys

Salutations, dear reader, from the last sigma in California.  This state sucks.  I wanna get down to TJ, but that’s not happening until someone with some sack can unfuck the border.  Which will be quite a thing, because the border is, at present. well and proper fucked.    I can’t go anyway…the gas alone for that trip would cost somewhere around $5K, leaving barely enough in the Mexico budget to get through even one floor at Adelita’s Four Floors of Whores™.
No…the smart money is staying home and laying low this summer.  Too many smart people saying too many dire things about the near future to be able to relax anywhere right now, anyway.

N.P.: “Fuck That Guy” – Mike Campbell and the Dirty Knobs

Decided that maybe I should grow a beard this morning.  Then,  10 minutes later, I decided that was a stupid idea and shaved as usual.  Fuck beards.
Decided to go to the grocery store this afternoon.  Hated everybody I saw there.  Bought liquor and came home.
Decided to drink liquor and NyQuil and take a nap.  Had vivid dreams about strangling someone.  Woke to realize it was just a dream and was soul-crushingly disappointed.  Couldn’t get back to sleep now knowing that this person still needed strangling.  Said, “fuck!” out loud.  Woke people up.
Decided that maybe I should cut back on the drinking and NyQuil this evening.  Then, 10 minutes later, I decided that was a stupid idea, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum, ad nauseum, ad absurdum.
And but so anyway, the books are going simply swimmingly, thanksferaskin’.

N.P.: “Tainted Love” – Broken Peach

Wrote rather a lot today.  I rather liked it.  Made it rather difficult to sleep last night.  The gears started turning around midnight.  It was not really a night I wanted to spend fascinatedly watching mental gears turn rather than sleeping, so I tranqed myself around 01:00, which was entirely pleasant, but then woke up at exactly 07:00, took a quick shower, poured a daunting glass of diabetically over-sweetened iced tea, sat at the desk and started to type.  And I typed.  And I kept typing , stopping only every 90 minutes or so, when my watch would not-so-subtly suggest that I stand up and move about briefly so as to avoid pulmonary embolism.  Which I did.
It was a good day.

N.P.: “Bomba” – Kontrust