My Q problem.

                                                                                

 Dear you,

I'd like to believe the exquisite angel pictured above exists.  I quasi-believe she does, just without the wings.  Why do I indulge in such fantasies?  Why do I believe what I believe? Why do we believe what we believe?

Zoom out and consider a group of "true believers". The latest Trump rally reminded us that the QAnon gang is still around, unconvinced their god lost the 2020 election and more convinced than ever that the Dems, the liberals, the educated, the whatever that is not them, are their Deep State enemies who must be destroyed.  This really ugly belief system is not going anywhere.  Like that strange stain on an old 1970's shower insert, it can't be scrubbed totally away.  During that rally, the Q brigade honored Donald with their one finger up salute. Photos show the Orange One wearing a Q lapel pin. His support is now literal. Accessories don't lie.  

Why be concerned? Because we know who these people are. Recall the height of the pandemic a year or so back.  Remember the Q pediatrician from Houston, Stella Immanuel, who claimed hydroxychloroquine would cure Covid?  This, according to Vox.com, is the same whacky physician who "declared, among other things, that ovarian cysts are caused by sex with demons, that scientists are experimenting with alien DNA, and that reptilian humanoids are running the government." 

What made a supposedly educated woman, and so many others, believe this nonsense?  Why don't I or you or you or you buy this line of bullshit? How do we differ, empirically?  Researchers claim some are more susceptible to conspiracy theories because their brains are prone to "illusory pattern perception". They make connections where none exist and the cause could be their higher than average levels of dopamine.  Oh, like people suffering from schizophrenia.

I guess I should examine my own beliefs, especially the ones that seem so airy.  Recently, I have been playing with positivity theories, yes, even things like the Law of Attraction, creating energy powerful enough to design/redesign what appears to be reality.  The texts discussing this approach to positive power are benign, in as much as they don't advocate violence or the elimination of the "other"; they simply emphasize a rise-above-create-your-own-story way of being. However, I must admit it feels like magical thinking. Case in point, as I search realtor.com or Zillow for homes for sale in Tallahassee, my ability to think what I want into existence proves to be pretty limited. There are no real estate angels. But why not give it a try, strengthen my unwavering-faith-muscles?  The art of the possible is more fun than the art of the probable. Fun, hope, the sunny side of the street make sense to me. But, according to an eye-opening piece in psychologytoday.com (by Dr. Neil Farber in 2016), some of my sunny beliefs are absolute bullshit. And kinda dangerous. His key points:

The Law of Attraction (LOA) is metaphysical pseudoscience based on erroneous assumptions.

This LOA assumes one is alone and completely responsible for any unachieved goal.

LOA philosophy leads to "apophenia" - the "misguided belief that there is meaning behind random data."

Yikes. I am just a fluffy version of a QAnon believer.  Maybe I am buying into something equally insidious.  That Farber article also cited Rhonda Byrne in The Secret: "If you see people who are overweight, do not observe them . . . if you think or talk about diseases you will become sick.  What you think or surround yourself with, good or bad, is what you will bring upon yourself."  Which leads to this even more repulsive advice from Wallace Wattles, an LOA founder: "Do not talk about poverty; do not investigate it, or concern yourself with it.  Do not spend your time in charitable work, or charity movements, all charity only tends to perpetuate the wretchedness it aims to eradicate".  "Give your attention wholly to riches; ignore poverty."

Oh. My. God.  That is deplorable.  I have semi-bought into a deplorable line of thinking.  Just go ahead and hand me my Q lapel pin. (Hand one to John Gibbs of Michigan too, a Trump backed candidate for Congress.  He argued back in college against women's suffrage claiming the USA has suffered as a result of femmes voting. These people just keep coming out of the woodwork like roaches.)

Man oh man.  America needs a serious belief-system checkup. Our minds are buying into and manufacturing beliefs that are seriously questionable. Just remember what David Foster Wallace said, someone sadly familiar with mental demons:

"The mind is an excellent servant, but a terrible master."

Amen.

There are no angels hovering around me.  There are no laws of attraction manifesting my perfect home, much less world peace.  There are no sexy demons looking for love at the local bar.  And there are no lizards running the government.  (Other than Ted Cruz and Mitch McConnell who both have a suspiciously reptilian look.)

End.

Joyce

Grace Under Pressure

 Dear You,

Goodbye, Queen Elizabeth II.  A model of stability and leadership, a model of grace under pressure.  Today, a random music encounter made me think of her. As I strolled with earbuds in, an oldie station played "Under Pressure" performed by David Bowie and Freddie Mercury. I listened to it through the filter of breaking news, the loss of this queen, the events of the past few days.  On the lighter side, over the weekend we witnessed some joyous versions of grace under pressure:

We watched Tiafoe v. Alcaraz and then Ruud v. Alcaraz in the U.S. Open.  

We watched The University of Texas almost (almost) take down that Roll Tide school.

We watched the Pittsburgh Steelers pull out a victory in O.T. over the Cincinnati Bengals.

We watched Tom Brady come out of his faux retirement and win again. At 45.

The powerful play goes on.

We also witnessed something more notable:

We watched as Ukraine began to make extraordinary gains against Putin.  As I type, reports speak of Russians dropping their weapons and running. The Ukrainians are taking back their country, currently liberating parts of the Kharkiv region. 

The fight for freedom goes on.

Facing pressure, we bend or break.  Sometimes we need inspiration. I saw a woman on the beach this weekend who bore witness to an inspired dance with pressure. Her body told a story. Below her right shoulder blade, was a tattoo from the bible, II Corinthians 12:9.  I took a mental picture of the woman and the body art. She sat, head bowed, on a low beach chair, feet in the surf. She might have been praying or just meditating. She did not seem distressed, but she gave off a vibe of gravitas. When I returned to the condo, I looked up the verse her artful ink recommended:

"But he said to me 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." Glorification of weakness by Paul, Saul of Tarsus, a notable recruit for the post-crucifixion revolution, the creation of a new faith. I am no fan of Paul and this particular verse suggesting his lord revels in our pain annoys me. But my Paul problem aside, this person, this woman on the beach, thinks otherwise. This verse inspires her to handle pressure.  I appreciate that.

But back to the Bowie/Mercury song, with the Queen, Ukraine, stellar athletes, and the woman on the beach in mind, today I seemed to hear these lyrics for the first time:

". . . love dares you to care for/The people on the edge of the night/And love dares you to change our way of/Caring about ourselves/This is our last dance/This is our last dance/This is ourselves/Under pressure . . . 

We are all on the edge of night, under pressure.

It helps to have inspiration during this (hopefully not) last dance.  So, thank you Queen Elizabeth II, freedom fighters, powerful players and tattooed messengers everywhere. You all know the cliche is true: Pressure makes diamonds.

XO

Joyce

Surprise! Redistricting and the Dollar Tree.

 Dear you,

The Florida Primary Election was pure confusion. (Can confusion be pure?)  The redistricting throughout the state came as a surprise to many voters who showed up to vote on 8/23, the official election day, only to discover they were in the wrong polling place.  Surprise!  You've been redistricted.  This happened throughout the state, north, south, east and west.  It happened to me.  Story:

I voted in-person early, the week before 8/23.  Early voting can be done anywhere in your county of residence.  I went to the place I always go for early voting, the Walton County Courthouse Annex near the beach on Hwy 331.  When I got the ballot for Democrats, I saw what I expected.  I selected Charlie Crist for Governor, Val Demings for US Senator, and Daniel Uhlfelder for Florida Attorney General.  What I didn't see was a Democrat choice to oppose Matt Gaetz, the current un-fabulous congressman representing District One.  District One was my district.  Where were the Dem challengers?  (Schiller and Jones.  In the end, Jones won and will oppose Matty.)  I asked the polling workers what was up.  Perhaps Schiller was running unopposed since Jones had previously been pulled from the ballot for some technical reason related to party membership tenure.  Was this the case?  I don't see Schiller because she is unopposed and therefore "in"?  The workers were as confused as I was and suggested that was the case.

But it wasn't.  I had no anti-Gaetz Dem choice because I AM NO LONGER IN DISTRICT ONE!  The beaches of South Walton where I live are now absorbed into District Two, ruled by Congressman Neal Dunn.  This is the district that also absorbed the massive blue-voters of Tallahassee/Leon County's District Five, represented by Democrat Al Lawson. That district had, before DeSantis's shifty decree, included the majority black areas between Tallahassee and Jacksonville as well.  It is now submerged in the pasty mass of District Two, which DeSantis made even larger and whiter by shifting citizens from District One to District Two.  Clever. The majority of coastal voters here in South Walton are, as expected, red Republicans.  Their numbers will help dilute any resistance by formerly blue Tally coalitions. Do the math. Alfred Lawson (D) will now oppose Dunn (R) in November in this "new" blobby, white District Two. Uphill battle indeed. 

Wow. Talk about a rigged election.

I have never been confused about my literal place on the election map until now. I don't know why I didn't inform myself about the scope of this redistricting and the fact that it included ME. Perhaps I was too focused on what was happening to Tally itself.  Perhaps I was everywhere but "here" in terms of "yes, it could happen here".  Anyway, I finally caught on a few days after 8/23 when a new Voter Information Card arrived in my mailbox.  There it was, clear as day.  US Congress, District 2.

Thanks a lot, Walton County.  Sending that card out after the primaries was really, really helpful.

Meanwhile, in the mundane daily world of the Panhandle, there are other changes. Surprise!  The Dollar Tree at Pier Park shopping center now offers products for $1.25.  They have not changed their signage yet to indicate they are now The Dollar Twenty-Five Tree. The poor employees now have to deal with irate cheapo customers who had no idea this was happening. They, the employees, were probably the last to know. Surprise! Just like redistricting.

Well, the good news on both fronts is this:  Matt Gaetz is no longer my vile congressperson and the $1.25 items are actually better than the $1 versions; the generic Q-tips are cottony and strong; the matches actually fire up when struck; and the candles don't smell like body odor!

And that is the news from here in the land of the redistricted and confused.

Happy end of August.  

Joyce

Losing my religion . . .

 Dear you,

Primary day in Florida and New York.  We, especially in Florida, seek to select candidates who have the best shots at defeating the far-right wave of fascism, fascism in the name of somebody's "savior".  In the news:

Florida Grace Christian School emailed parents recently informing them "LGBTQ-identifying students will be asked to leave the school immediately."  USA Today quoted the top administrator, Barry McKeen:  "We believe that any form of homosexuality, lesbianism, bisexuality, transgender identity/lifestyle, self-identification, bestiality, incest, fornication, adultery, and pornography are sinful in the sight of God and the church."

Ah yes, all of those things belong together.  Bestiality and bisexuality.  Incest and self-identification. Oh, these people. And what is their problem with self-identification? What does that even mean?  Shouldn't we all self-identify, know who we are essentially?

True, this targeted purge at Grace Christian is not new.  They have always enforced the fundamentalist rules. Even the straight quarterback will be expelled if administrators find out he bopped the head cheerleader (who might be anything). But something else about the current purge makes me queasy.  This:  school policy relies on Genesis 1:26-28 to justify their condemnation of "elective sex reassignment, transvestite, transgender, or non-binary gender fluid acts of conduct."

[Of note there, verse 27:  "So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them."  Oh dear, the grammar.  Why does this sound like Yoda from Star Wars?] Now, about my queasiness, think about this condemnation of gender fluid acts of conduct.

That could mean anything. That could be anyone. That could be you, right-wing golfer dude in the PINK Ralph Lauren shirt.  That could be you, big-ass woman with a cigarette dangling from her mouth while she checks her overheated car engine.  (I thought only a man could be that dumb.)  That could be you, young man with gorgeous Goldilocks locks.  That could be you, lady at the pool who is actually swimming with the kids instead of passively watching from the deck, modestly wrapped in a Bible Verse beach towel. That could be me, insisting on a solo, childless life and a room of my own.  It is me.  It is you.  It is everyone with a mind of their own.

We've been here before and we've fought this fight.  Gloria Steinem, in her book My Life on the Road, looks back to 1977 and the first National Women's Conference.  Reflecting on the obstacles women faced as they fought to add an amendment (the ERA) to the constitution guaranteeing their personhood, she recalled resistance from so many Christian fundamentalists.  Among them, of course, were way too many women.  She writes, "I began to see that for some, religion was just a form of politics you couldn't criticize."

We do tiptoe around these McKeens and company when it comes to faith, don't we?  Too often, we take a high road, trying to tolerate their intolerance.  This makes no sense.  Their god, their stories, their twisted "textually" supported arguments are fucking everything up. It's not faith. I'll say it again; it's #ChristoFascism.

Enough. I'll close in a very gender fluid way, no feminine XOs or "Love, Joyce".  Just this: END.

#VoteBlueNoMatterWho

So Not the Summer of Love.

Dear you,

Meet Mark Lombardo (above), candidate for congress, Florida District 1.  I am feeling some love for this man. Nice smile. No Gaetzy creepy vibes.  Hmmm.  Yes, I am definitely feeling some love and I could use some since my love-stash is  running low. But more about Mark later.  First:

Breaking news, New York Times, "The suspected gunman who tried to breach the FBI's Cincinnati field office on Thursday morning is now in a cornfield and surrounded, officials said."

Gee. I wonder who motivated this "patriot" attack?  Trump. Furious over the legal and warranted search of his Florida palace, Donald is once again inciting his minions to violence.  That poor guy in the cornfield.  He is done.  Was it worth it?  I'm thinking the red-right is going to pretend it never happened.  Minutes ago, one dude on Twitter called the event a HOAX, staged to make the MAGAs look bad. That didn't take long.

Our situation, dicey at best, is much more precarious today than yesterday.  It will be more precarious tomorrow.  Are there any Republicans, excluding Cheney and a few others who have already been purged, who aren't afraid of the former POTUS?  Is there anybody in that party who can deprogram millions of Americans willing to lie and die for him?  Who in the GOP actually gives a shit about Cornfield Man?  Someone must. I am looking for them. I am looking for a few sane, honorable Republicans.  Maybe, just maybe,  I found one. Once again, meet Mark Lombardo. Consider this from floridapolitics.com, a few days ago:

"Mark Lombardo is ramping up his assault on incumbent U.S. Rep. Matt Gaetz as the Marine Corps veteran and former FedEx executive attempts to unseat the controversial incumbent in Florida’s 1st Congressional District.

“Matt Gaetz is a liar who doesn’t respect women, generates falsehoods, promotes conspiracy theories, uses gimmicks to get TV airtime, and baits voters with racist and anti-gay siren calls,” Lombardo said in a prepared statement.

“Matt Gaetz is a hypocrite and nothing but a me-first, professional politician who entangled himself in a child sex-trafficking investigation and then sought a pardon for ‘any and all’ crimes to keep himself out of jail. It’s not surprising he used his campaign donors’ money to pay pedophile Jeffery Epstein’s attorney.”

Well, well. Matt has a challenger here in Florida, District 1. And a Republican at that. The Dem challenger will be Margaret Schiller. However, if Lombardo wins the upcoming FL Republican primary and ousts #RapeyMcForhead, I might vote for Mark.  It's gotten that bad.  Lombardo is no friend to progressive agendas, but he's better than Gaetz. Besides, Schiller has no shot. Lombardo does. But . . . wait. Damn. After a quick check of Lombardo's website, I discover he wants to drill baby drill everywhere, reopen pipelines, give border crossing immigrants no shot at citizenship, and (drum roll please) he is on Governor DeSantis' Anti-Woke train.  Well, at least I was amused by some of his Gaetz shade.  He called Matt a "drama queen". Ugly stuff, these primaries.  Conservatives are calling each other drama queens. Knives are drawn; fangs bared. Indeed, this is so not the summer of love.  And I thought last summer was bad.

I looked back at some summer 2021's journal entries to refresh my memory.  Yep, pretty bad.  I raged about the fall of Kabul and the death of the last White Rhino on Earth.  I was locked in Covid caution mode and bitched about vaccine resistors who screamed "my body, my choice".  I worried about the abortion bans in Texas signaling the end of Roe V. Wade.  Fast forward to now, this August, 2022, all that sorrow remains. Just add the possible end of American Democracy, threats of civil war, the actual end of reproductive rights in big chunks of our nation, and, of course,  #Ukraine.  Astonishing.

Here's something else from that 2021 journal that caught my attention:

After Summer -

Autumn/Winter

Comes again -

The Earth still

Tilts-

This way and that, causing

what we call seasons -

For a brief time -

This version of

The expected -

Carries on . . . 

(I have no shame when it comes to journal poetics.  Yes, I brazenly try to copy Emily Dickinson's mechanics and form.)  Today, I revise the above with 2022 in mind:

During Summer -

We wonder if

Autumn/Winter

Comes Again - 

The Earth, I hear,

Is spinning 

Faster -

Faster than ever, causing

what we call baseline anxiety -

Our former versions of

The expected - 

Slip away . . .

Carrying on morphs to slipping away.  Considering then and now, I guess things can only get better. It is still early August.  Plenty of time to turn things around.

We hope.

Buena suerte, everyone.

Joyce

The Safety Myth . . .

 Dear you,

July was blurry for me, speeding by with shocks and bumps and plenty of screams.  Like me, I am sure you too were frequently on high-alert (mouth agape, eyes wide open, palms up in surrender or resistance).  Yeah, I get it.

But you know what? There is no reason for me to "fear" anything. It's not like I'm running from a wild boar in the woods or dodging incoming fire in Ukraine.  Nevertheless, sometimes I really do feel alarmed, very alarmed. This happens when I regress, lapse back into a Safety Myth state of mind. Crazy tendency. Nothing about this existence is safe. Danger is normal. Danger is my friend. She starts and ends my days. Her messenger, that little Limbic System zing, is my constant companion too. When I am steady, I simply embrace them as part of my morning routine. Coffee, cigarettes, pushups and zing. This morning's zings:

1.  My Phone shrieks an Amber Alert.  A child from Escambia County has been kidnapped.

2.  CBS News informs me "Brain-eating parasite found in Iowa lake, 1 Dead."  The amoeba, if he gets into your head, is 97% fatal.  I also hear the state of Missouri is checking its public drinking water.  Just in case. 

3. I learn monkeypox cases in my state of Florida are on the rise; we have around 300 cases reported in 17 counties.  CNN says that the World Health Organization's chief has advised "men who have sex with men to reduce partners to limit exposure to monkeypox."  Another pandemic.  Another ugly opportunity for ultra-conservatives to target the gay population.

4. My Google news-feed slaps we with unwanted lawsuit updates. Apparently Skittles are deadly. They contain titanium dioxide, also found in sunscreen, plastics, and paint. Heads up; candy kills.

5. A flyer in my mailbox delivers a "vote for me" message from a guy running for Walton County Commissioner.  According to the flyer, David Buchanan will "fight" for "preserving our Christian values".  ("Our" values, David?) He will also "fight" any "effort to teach Critical Race Theory or sexual indoctrination in our public schools."  David apparently loves to "fight".  Total idiot.

6. I discover that my upper arms and lower back are slightly itchy. I am guessing my beloved fresh-scent Gain Detergent may be the culprit.  Laundry is now another subject for cautionary choice.

Zing, zing, zing, zing, zing, zing!  All this before noon.  And the day is still young.  How to stay steady?Repeat, repeat, repeat to self:  "Danger is normal. Danger is my friend."  Besides, it's unlikely I'd ever stop drinking tap water, interacting with people, eating candy or washing my clothes anyway. I'm not that scared.  But, on the other hand, there's candidate David . . . 

Repeat, repeat, repeat to self:  "Danger is normal.  Danger is my friend."

Carry on.

End of July, Joyce

Distance and #Ohio, oh my oh . . .

Dear you,

Intending to visit the state capitol in Tally during my escape from 4th of July beach wackiness, I drove around downtown and could not find a parking spot.  Tally has these intense hills in town, almost like vertical climbs, challenging my little car who is accustomed to flat terrain.  Stopping at the peak of one of these hills at a red light, I felt like the vehicle brake was not going to hold.  Back-sliding felt imminent.  I was losing a grip on the ground beneath my feet, off-center and tilting, distanced from my usual sense of placement on planet Earth. After this, I decided to just pull into a "reserved" space for a few seconds, just long enough to jump out and take a photo or two of the capitol.  See above photo. That was as close as I could get and still keep an eye on my illegally parked car.  Again, I experienced distance from that sense of placement.  Literally outside the seat of power and metaphorically too.  What goes down in the Florida capitol seems/is so out of my control.  I have lost whatever I thought my grip was there too.

Tilting.  Back-sliding imminent. Reversals of power from us to "them".  

One of them, someone who surely feels empowered when she looks at the Tally capitol building, was parked outside a store I visited after my return.  A sticker on her rear window featured a picture of a handgun; the message under the visual read "we don't call 911".  So proud of that, this taking the law into one's hands.  No expertise.  No restraint.  Just force without measure.  Well, I suppose it could be worse.  It could be OHIO.

Ohio.  Last week, the report about the ten year old girl (a rape victim) who was denied access to abortion in that state shocked almost all of us.  Abuse by the rapist and further abuse by the "state".  She was taken to Indiana for the procedure.

Ohio again.  This week I hear about a state Republican representative who put forth a bill requiring educators to teach "both sides" of the Holocaust.  Both sides of what?  I wonder what the other side would openly claim.  No expertise.  No restraint.  Just force without measure.

So ends my 4th of July week.  It ends with a massive space between me, them, and whatever our dream of independence was.

But still, I will/we will persist in our pursuit to be autonomous, to be in control of what goes down in all our state capitols. And our lives.

Dismantle the distancing project.

Carry on.

Joyce