So as madness is spreading even to places we weren't sure were there or knew how to spell (San Bernardino?) you have to reconnect with the smartest spiritual teachings, live in the moment and try to be exactly where you are, if you can focus on where that is. Traveling between my eyebrows, I try to find Amsterdam, where I wish I was right now, though it is probably even wetter and colder than it is, surprisingly, here, though doubtless still friendlier, the unexpected bonanza that comes from having an open heart and an empty seat next to you on an airplane.
On my desk I have several books I have long intended to read, Infinite Jest, one of the great recommendations of Ever, and The March by Ed Doctorow, a really smart and kind man who did not seem to take seriously the fact that he was held in higher esteem than almost anybody else. I have tried several times to read Infinite Jest but have found it laborious, as with all the languages I can speak, especially after some wine, I found it tough going and not really worth the effort. And that was only close to the beginning, knowing he had committed suicide, something I'm sorry about even though I never knew David Foster Wallace, an impressive name, although I was sorry for him that when they made the movie which I believe failed with an impressive rapidity, he was played by one who couldn't score outside of a sitcom.
I am sad for a world that can be dominated by a manipulative jerk like Donald Trump, endorsed by Putin, which should tell us more about Trump than even he wants to know, though smart as he thinks he is, he isn't smart enough to feel uneasy with that endorsement.