I have decided to watch Fritz Lang’s silent classic Metropolis. I have the 2008 restored version. It seems more timely than ever, an early dystopian classic. The themes are humans dehumanized and brutalized by technology, and a vicious system of class stratification and oppression.

This predates the work of Huxley and Orwell. It is a stunning declaration for human freedom and dignity. Its challenges to the merits of science and technology remain to this day.

I fell asleep the first time while J started a video on an Indian restaurant in France. I couldn’t watch it because I had to contort my body into an uncomfortable position in order to do so. I listened and fell asleep. After a couple of hours I was awake, went downstairs, then came back up, put in a Seinfeld DVD from Season 6 that starts with The Jimmy. I remember that episode and the one that followed, The Doodle. I was up again around 0200 Hrs. I couldn’t get back to sleep, mind just working away on stuff, so I dressed, went downstairs to brew some decaf and watch YouTube videos.There is an interesting sound film of Kyoto Japan from 1929 playing. Girls are singing before a statue of The Buddha.

At this point I have yet to drink any coffee. I am fraught with guilt for “wasting food”. You are never too old to let parental messages of guidance from your childhood, kill off a good time, as if wasting maybe fifty cents worth of ground coffee will disrupt the economic equilibrium of the household.

OK time for the coffee. Had the coffee and a quesadilla. Now I am getting really sleepy. I think I am close to going back to bed.

I got up around 0300 hrs. I was awake while J got ready for work. I stayed awake for awhile then went back to bed around 0800 hrs, slept soundly. Then I got up, showered, and put on clean clothes, my 501 jeans and my Cienfuegos Elefantes tee shirt from Ebbetts Field Flannels. It’s a Cuban League baseball team.

I have a psychiatric appointment this afternoon. Maybe it’s time to look at my depression meds to see if they’re doing the job.

All in all, life is good.

I started a puff piece in Finance about Twitter founder Jack Dorsey, who according to the title could “save or break Western Democracy”. Really? You mean like Lincoln or Churchill saved their countries at their darkest hours? By doing what, shadow banning? Hiring more Marxist slugs to monitor people they don’t like? Jack Dorsey is forty-fucking-two. He lives a life of absolute privilege and he’s gonna save Western Democracy? Oh please.

“Nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American People.”- H.L. Mencken

As in awake. Got up. I’m drinking the early morning Sleepy Time tea iced. Actually it is as good iced as it is hot.

Had a dream about selling, wherein I am completely unprepared to go on a sales call. It was a perfect metaphor for what I did for much of my working career.

J is home from work. She is tired. Who wouldn’t be, if they got up at 3:30 AM?

Now I’m watching a stoppage in play in the West Indies vs India ODI from Guyana, of all places.

Life is good.

I have been up about two hours after getting 2 hours sleep. I made a pot of Celestial Seasonings Sleepy Time Herb Tea. I thought I would go a day without caffeine and see what happens.

There is still high drama performing in my head. I see being beaten or spanked as cathartic. There would this sadomasochistic psychodrama played out and I would be “normal” afterwards. “Purged” may be a more suitable word. We all go through life, I think, with these private dramas, our little stories. To an outsider, they mean nothing. To the person who is the star of that internal drama, they mean everything.

Maybe I should find a woman who likes perfume and makeup, who keeps a clean house. But that is most likely delusional thinking on my part. That’s the sleep deprivation speaking.

I fixed J’s lunch last night. She went to work this morning. I will see her later.

Right now, as I watch the street and tracks in Ashland, I notice how the street lights make the green leaves stand out, as joggers and walkers start their days. There is light on the pavement that reminds me of that Edward Hopper painting Nighthawks. But I don’t want to be reminded of Hopper, but rather of Raphael or Rembrandt, Rubens or van Eyck. Even Breughel would be better in line with my mood right now. I think of the Bible stories that meant the world to the medievals, like The Annunciation, the Baptism Of Our Lord, the Miracle At Cana. Jesus turns water to wine. We look at people eating in the middle of the night. No wonder we’re crazy. Go reread September 1, 1939 by W. H. Auden. Think of Nighthawks when you do.

Train #98, Northbound Silver Meteor just passed through. Today it is only a half hour late. That is almost on time.

I made hibiscus flower tea. If I could be some place else, it would be Jamaica or Cuba. The Cayman Islands, maybe, Little Cayman though.

Bedtime, yet again. I fantasize two lesbians take me to their bed, because maybe I am the one male they can and want to connect with. Vanity on my part? Of course. I hold no illusion that any thought I have is grounded in reality.

Remember.. Very rich people want us to accept the world they constructed. And the messes they made. Our consolations are gasoline and war stories, as if the bravery and suffering validate it all.