I am, as most sane people would be, in my estimation, terrified by Donald Trump, and even worse, by the number of those who seem to view him seriously. (If you want to be as trivial as he seems, note his hands, as he flaps them around-- they are very small, and anyone from the era when sexuality counted knows what that means.) The only Republican who seems borderline alright has very tight lips, and sexually, from the days when I wrote such things, that signified lack of generosity in the sack. Oh, I would be sorry to even note that, but as there will still be those who would like to have genuine love affairs, instead of all this quickie shit that gets celebrated on that terrible show, in my opinion, with that awful chubby, ill-turned out youngish woman who writes it, not very cleverly. If it seems I can't remember names or labels, that's right, that's what's been happening, but I am not afraid to admit my short/latecomings-- she is so horribly ill-clad when she is clad at all, which she really should be all the time with that body, because it is television. It seems to be only the news that is entertaining, albeit sad when the only thing that makes sense is the exit of the Bush that grew on the side of the road.
I have actually started, for the sake of finding out what's going on everywhere besides what's of interest to the New York Times to subscribe to the Wall Street Journal. I used to write travel for the Europe edition, very alive and observant they had to admit, at least my editor who wasn't there too long because he was too tuned in for that paper, and went to work for Bloomberg, where he cared too much about what was really happening in the world, not just the money part. Probably the best thing about being in Southern California is that one has no sense of Reality, the only bodies being in the headlines instead of the bedroom, at least for right now.
Even the movies one tries to escape to are less than escape routes, the clever and caring man who makes them on occasion having come up with another good documentary about European countries where you can still live reasonably. But it is hard to look at him as he has become even fatter and sloppier and in my opinion superficial still counts in movies, and he should have made some effort. He was supposed to be on Bill Maher the other night but was in the hospital, and though Bill Maher might not be the nicest person in the world, he is smart, and having given him the courtesy of a spot should have been shown up for. I mean, none of us gets sick voluntarily, but there are ways one could try and stay healthier, and one of them, I know from an earlier existence, is not overeating.
My soul, if I still really have one, is starting to resuscitate itself as I have found a drugstore in walking distance so I might actually be able to live a bit longer with what I have to apply to the skin that has been here for such a good while. I cannot help but be a little horrified at what is happening with religion, though I know it has always been a source of trouble, unkindness, and from time to time, not that infrequently, mass murder. But screwballs, one of the least glorious words in our language, now appear to be very much on the loose in greatly organized numbers. And though I have had the joy and unexpected privilege of having gone everywhere in the world I wanted to go, except Barcelona, officially, for the Wall Street Journal Europe, so everyone was expecting a Republican Gentile, I am sad at the plane's being downed on the desert that likely had no one on board who expected trouble, and now will never be able to expect anything.
I had actually thought about and considered starting a new novel, but I have published enough of them, and the publishers I knew who really liked me are gone in the truest sense. Besides, one doesn't have to write fiction anymore as to make things seem unlikely. I mean, consider Donald. It is not simply his name-- my long-ago very darling husband was a Donald, and still managed to be generous of spirit and genuinely funny. But this one seems to me potentially lethal, as well as stupid, though in a smart way. He has raised self-aggrandizement to an art form, and I wouldn't like to hang any of the paintings it might produce, except perhaps by the throat.
But one mustn't go on giving him too much space, though the psychics, or perhaps it is the serious newsmen,-- one can't be too sure what anyone really is anymore-- say the candidates will be Hillary and Rubio. I don't know-- doesn't anyone care that he repeated the same thing over and over the day he repeated everything over and over? Oh well, that just gives all of this credence and import, when the country continued through the worst of our history, and we're still here. For a while, anyway.