Banksy and creative care . . .

Dear you,

Let us be careful, not careless. Full of care as in mindfulness, yes, full of the spirit of WOKE.

I hope to get better at that and be awake always, responsive to amazing grace. See the art of Banksy above in Ukraine.  Amazing grace.

Oh, the beautiful things we can make and do when we care.  And oh, the damage done when we are careless. We push and pull against the likes of Elon Musk playing with people's careers and a major social media site; care be damned. Is it worth it, Elon? Is it worth it, Putin? Is it worth it, Federalist Society? Is it worth it, censors of art and literature? Why do you need to break beautiful things?

As for art/literature, see Florida (once again), Indian River County, momsforliberty.org. Their intention is to do more than limit student access to literature; their intention is to keep "those books" OUT OF THE STATE.  The state itself.  What does that mean?  A bunch of morality police with nothing better to do intend to control libraries, bookstores, online book sales?  Well, consider the source:

Storm trooper boots. Tight denim. Big smiles! Enjoy the purge! They pose as caring, so grateful for "your" support: "Thank you for fighting with us for our children! We invite all who know that parental rights are always the MOST important. Whether it’s medical freedom, curriculums, overreach of public servants (school board/superintendent), or whatever else stands between us and the best education for our children, we will be stronger together!"  Woo.  "Parental rights are always the MOST important"?  Of course, because sassy-hand-on-hip-gal looks really qualified to assess the merits of anything academic.  And the "80's wants their skirt back" mom will most definitely be a contender to monitor History of Fashion course materials.  I could go on, but won't.  

 Pure carelessness, this.  Carelessness posing as protection. Words from one famous challenged text come to mind. The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald:  "They were careless people . . . they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made."

Let's be careful.  And make beauty out of their mess.

To close, on a lighter note, I share this hilarious  #Thanksgiving2022 greeting from James Clow in NYC.  This would really piss off the liberty moms:

😄 Joyce

Sweet Dreams!

 Dear you,

November 8, big election day.  Quite an understatement.  MSNBC analyzes and experts predict while I attempt to clear my head by chatting in e-space.  Today's topic, inner space, my dreamscape.  A couple of nights ago I had a very vivid and obviously symbolic (if you believe that sort of thing or adore Freud) dream.  It wasn't blurred or erased when I woke, as I said, vivid. Spin this:  I dreamt about doing laundry.

Use your Google tool and search "dreams about washing clothes"; the interpretations are easy to guess:  you are seeking a spiritual cleansing, you are overwhelmed with tasks, you are tending to the banal instead of the critical, if the laundry is filthy, you are a hot mess. But here's the thing, my dream laundry was pristine and the rinse water pure.  I knew this because the washer had broken and I had to go inside the machine and fix it.  This is where it gets dreamy.  The washer was also a copy machine, like an old Xerox from the office-cubicle days.  When I opened the paper jam drawer, there was a lovely bright yellow and white striped towel hanging neatly over a rod.  I moved the towel from the copier rod into the washer bin and the machine started working again.  So what does this mean?  The clean, lovely laundry did not appear to need washing.  And instead of being frustrated and obstructed during the breakdown, I fixed what was broken.  I like that spin! 

Okay.  That was the inanimate object part of the dream.  There was also a human player on the scene, a young dude who looked like Kid Rock.  (Now we are veering into nightmare territory.)  We were conversant because he had something I needed, quarters, for the dryer I suppose.  After the transaction, I opened my hand and discovered only a few quarters and lots of pennies and a marble.  So what does this mean?  Am I feeling short-changed or ripped off?  Probably not, in the dream, I recall being calm but also calling him a "fucking idiot".  Kid Rock's feelings seemed hurt.  And then I woke up.

The one thing about this dream that made literal sense is the Kid Rock character. At the time, a group from Indiana was staying in the Airbnb across the landing from me.  One of the young men was a dead ringer for Kid R.  He even had that unwashed-probably-smelly thing going on. So I guess he seeped into my subconscious mind. Anyway, our only contact during their stay was when I passed him as he returned from the beach. I was headed to the garbage dumpster . . .  carrying his group's garbage.  They had left this gargantuan bag of crap by their door and I just wanted to make it go away.  So, as I passed Kid R., I lifted the bag and said "I love doing this."  He just smiled.  He either thought I meant it or he didn't give a damn. The Kid Rock in my dream was a lot nicer, even if he was a fucking idiot.  He gave me a marble.

And that is my dream journal for your contemplation on this massively important day.  Spin away and interpret as you will.

As for this night, I will probably pass out with the television on, tuned to MSNBC of course. Then I'll dream about Steve Kornacki!  He will be announcing an unexpected BLUE WAVE, a reprieve from creeping authoritarianism.  A disco ball will drop above the commentators' desk and a band of shirtless young people wearing Kornacki style pants (and no tops) will dash in from the wings and dance with wild abandon.  Random celebrities will appear on set to join the party. One  of the celebs will be Kid Rock. Rachel Maddow will interview the weeping Kid, saddened by the defeat of his red friends. Then I will appear on set as well.  I will give Kid Rock a pristine yellow and white striped towel, a few quarters, pennies, a marble, and a bag of garbage as a consolation prize.  And then I'll wake up.

I hope that dreams comes true.

Good luck, everyone. #persist 

Joyce