I read the blogs of women who love their men, want their men, crave their touch, lust for their bodies.

Your love for your men is hope for the World.

More than anything I want to be valued.

Strong Erotic Content. Adult Language and Situation. NSFW 18+

I remember the smell of her cunt. After all the years. Of tobacco, it was. As if that magnificent snatch was the Cassandra for the cancer that would kill her.

She wanted to forget me at the end. Who could blame her? And I wish, on these hot and sweaty days like there were when we first fell into fucking and then in love, that I could forget her, too.

And on such days as this, when the sweat flowed freely, I first thrust fingers, then a hardened prick, into her opened anus, the only maidenhead remaining in our satyr’s world.

The freight traffic is heavy this morning. I have been sitting for half an hour and three freight trains, two Northbound, one Southbound have passed by. One of those Northbound passes now, hauling nothing but empty coal cars.

I feel better emotionally than I have the past few days. C, #2 son, is coming for lunch at our new favorite Indian restaurant, Anohka. I told him to bring his swimsuit, so we can hang out later at the community pool.

I take advantage of this technologically sophisticated world at every opportunity. But could I walk away? I would like to see if I could live “unplugged” and without a motor vehicle in exactly the place I live right now. I could lose much. For example driving to Daily Mass at the Abbey seven miles away is important to my routine. I could walk to the Nine AM Mass at St Mary’s Church. It is on the way to the Y. Then I could swim after Mass

I could get a fancy adult size tricycle bike. The large basket would be perfect for grocery shopping. The grocery store is less than a mile away. The nice produce market is about four miles.

What’s the saying? “We don’t own our things. Our things own us.” Unfortunately true.

That’s all I can think now. I’m watching a John Betjeman documentary on English branch line railways. This is not a documentary movie, per se, but a cinematic poem about trains and a vanishing England. Businesses have to operate at a profit. The profitability had vanished long ago, but the world remained a while longer, filled with charm.

Living in the present time, I understand that the power hungry think the world is theirs to replace. These monsters will destroy what they don’t understand. They will literally hard wire peoples’ brains the better to control them.

The weak will forget their gods and select these plutocrats in their place. They will boast to their wretched techno serfs of their goodness and these once human shadows who have lost their souls will worship them. Tell the slaves that you offer endless pleasure in exchange for their own private thoughts. They will make the exchange. Who wouldn’t?

Who wouldn’t trade drudgery for a vacation?

Who wouldn’t exchange the uncertainty of love for guaranteed ecstasy?

Where will freedom live?

Does anyone know?

What will we lose to find this freedom? Or will it be a loss at all?

This was a great trip. Not too long. It was a marvelous interlude. We drove West on I-64, got off, drove a few miles South, then ☝ up the mountain. We loved the view and the peaches.

We drove through Charlottesville, had lunch at their First Watch restaurant. We like the food at First Watch. I had a vegetable frittata and a salad. Charlottesville has a sprawling University within its sprawling and blurred city/county boundaries. There are plenty of cars and stores and earnest souls who want sustainability, probably for somebody else besides themselves.

We drove home on the most boring stretch of highway I have ever driven or ridden on. I just want the trip to be over every time.

And I’m tired again.

I read the obituaries mostly because my Mum read the obits and I’m carrying on the tradition. The other day I read where a friend just lost her granddaughter to Ewing’s Sarcoma. When we saw her at lunch today, we could express our grief and condolences.

Today, I saw in the paper an obituary for an AA friend with 39 years sobriety. The obit read “went out his own way”. Oddly phrased, unless the deceased committed suicide, which he did. My buddy H, a mutual friend, had lunch with this guy, DC, the day before he died. No indication of a problem was perceptible.

I’d known DC since I came into the rooms. We weren’t that close. Still when I can count on seeing somebody at meetings for twenty five years and he consistently comes across as one of the “adults in the room”, it’s a shock.

Makes me want to engage in chocolate therapy.

If something is getting to you, get help. Don’t stop till you feel better. Please, you matter to people, no matter how worthless you think you are.

My Social Security check was automatically deposited in my checking account about an hour ago. I moved some money around to adjust for money I used as a safety net in case a debit hit my account.

I woke up around 2:00 AM, made some decaf, watched the Ukrainian metal detecting guys.

They found a Roman denarius coin, some Soviet coins, a coin from Tsar Nicholas I, and the metal casing of a fragmentation hand grenade from the World War II. All in one field.

I went to bed earlier last night, slept a little better. J was watching sit coms from the Sixties since I was with her. Some of the were good, particularly Green Acres. I love that shiw.

After the Ukrainian metal detecting guys Crazy Seeker, on You Tube I watched some “conspiracy” shows. They are what they are. There a lot of powerful and rich people who seek to influence public opinion. There are citizen journalists who look into the background of a lot of news stories. They raise good points. Leave it at that.

I quickly saw that a lot of them took the ignored problem of human trafficking and attributed too much of this activity to Jeffrey Epstein. We just don’t know, at this point, all of what Epstein was up to. We probably won’t until the government presents its case at trial.

Then I packed J’s lunch. I’m watching a freight train move through Ashland, with shipping containers stacked 3 high on a flat car. Pretty amazing.

I’m getting sleepy again. All part of the night’s routine for me,

I have some pork marinating in Goya Mojo Criollo, that I will slow cook for dinner. Maybe C (#2 son) can come over. He likes this dish, Cuban Roast Pork.

Later folks.