The Overpass

If I had to select a handful of charts—none being my own compositions—worthy of being a part of my own soundtrack, this one would be among them.

It's called "L'éléphant" (The Elephant), and it's from French bassist Henri Texier's 1977 solo album, Varech (reissued in 1979 on JSM), on which he plays double bass, oud, bombard, flute, and percussions, as well as 'sings'. 

Texier plays all the instruments heard on the album, and he's the sole vocalist, too; each chart was made using overdubbing techniques.   

I've just one complaint: at 3:14, it's way, way too short. It could go on for 30 more minutes and still be too short, in my opinion.

The whole (album) is steeped in French folk music, the wordless vocalisations being a staple of that era, although, evident on this particular track, to those with an ear for such things, is an Indian influence, which is undeniable from the halfway point on. 

I so love this simple tune. 

.

Well that's it, it seems.

There's something I clearly don't get, for the visitor numbers are steady and encouraging, but what to make of the fact that I'm not even able to raise $7 dollars in order to keep the site alive?

The site will be forced down on Monday, 8-April.

And that's it for me.

It's a hard blow to take, especially when I see all the various and, in my opinion, unwarranted fundraisers out there. A recent one I saw managed to raise several thousands because someone's mother-in-law had passed away. I just needed $7 to keep the site alive for another month... Never mind that I've already lost 12 lbs and that I'm starting to float in all my clothes, and finding it increasingly harder to feed myself with each day.

I've managed to achieve what? I've established no productive or collaborative links, nor garnered any interest that's worth less than $10??? 

I'm tired; see no point in fighting anymore.

I give up. On absolutely everything. I'm through. Done.

DMS&UY needs your help; without your support, the site will be forced down again on 8-Apr-2024.

If you thought back in Decembre that losing the site for “just $300” was pretty bad and a sure sign that I was going through rough times, please consider that, this time, it’s for $7, and I’m in a way, way worse situation.

Until my situation has improved—I remain optimistic—any help with the monthly site hosting fees would be greatly appreciated. So would any support at all, actually. Helping me secure a job is by far what I would prefer, though a one-time or monthly donation would certainly be deeply welcomed and go a long way in helping me feed myself; everyday is now a struggle, even peanut butter now being a luxury I can't afford.

If you're helping with the hosting fees, please make sure to add “prepaid services” in the note box; a receipt indicating that your donation has been applied to the current or future (prepaid account) hosting fees will be sent to you within five business days.

Otherwise, that’s it; as I’d stated in one of the posts, the next time is the last. So, if you’d like to see DMS&UY up and active beyond 8-April, please consider helping out. Thanks.

Two easy ways to do so, either through Buy me a Coffee or PayPal, though note that the option to give a donation through PayPal may be restricted at moment due to yet another issue I'm dealing with... it gets so very expensive to be poor.  

Elements clicked and all became clear, and I suddenly found myself with a version of events that fits the narrative I've so far been able to substantiate while, finally, being able to account for the perplexing facets discussed below that, otherwise, may forever remain dark mysteries.

The one you're all thinking of right now involves women with penises and men in silk summer dresses, wearing Louboutin shoes. Wear what you want—just not in public—but we should all draw the line at adding and cutting and mismatching gender organs or suggesting that there's anything other than two, nevermind that whole "having sex for fun" thing, which leads to the Woke wing of hell no matter what, getting you there faster if any of that was with your own hand or not all with the same person. 

The Most Likely Explanation for Vigeland's Disgust of Hunter's Dick Pics

I think I've solved it, having finally made sense of all those Hunter Biden dick pics, the same ones that had managed to so thoroughly capture the imagination and attention of The Majority Report's Emma Vigeland, having reinvigorated within her that deep, penetrating passion for online Pole-eTickling that had once occupied most of her free time, that is, until she had found herself working for some Sam Seder, having hired her on the spot as, certain that she had said "politicking", he'd rarely seen anyone get that excited and blush so brightly at the mere mention of "politics".

The false impressions created by that misunderstanding would eventually take the pair down a path that's to lead to an awkwardly embarrassing moment when, on her second day, Seder had pointed to a framed picture of then still-unknown online-personalities Tim Pool and Mike Walsh, the two sitting on a picnic blanket and eating pink cake, their cheeks and chins covered with white frosting.

"Those two," said Seder. "I look forward to watching you letting them have it, and hard."

Vigeland squealed, thrilled to be given such a task despite her limited experience, hardcore on-air sex with a beanied person being among the many things she had always believed to lie just outside her reach... until now; she was sure to be moving up in the world, that is, so long as she went down on Pool and Walsh, Ben Shapiro, too, surely, but doing Steven Crowder, Vigeland had heard, is what's sure to fill Seder with the most joy.

"Thank you. You can count on me," Vigeland said softly before roaring out, ""I'll make sure I screw them real hard!"

The Most Likely Explanation for Why Candace Owens Accused Brigitte Macron of Being her Own Brother

Operation "Oh, God, I'm Coming" converts men into women in order to convert them into men with prosthetic penises that house a 10" nuclear missile.

It's the nuclear version of "Shock and Awe". Undercover dicks are able to infiltrate enemy lines, shooting off their payload in a manner that provides absolutely no reaction time, making it near-impossible for enemies to retaliate.

Joe Biden sacrificed his sons for that program, Hunter willingly becoming a woman before he could become Hunter again. Brigitte Macron is really Hunter Biden without her prosthetic penis.

The Most Likely Explanation for Why They're Not Normal Dick Pics

To most untrained eyes, dick pics of Hunter Biden look like Hunter Biden dick pics, and nothing butt! But those are field-testing records, and those prostitutes are actually soldiers in the Marines Engineering Corps division, and those hotel rooms are blast proof chambers, and though they may look like they're having fun and fucking the brains out of one another, these brave people are doing God's work, risking their lives riding those dicks up and down in all sorts of holes and stress environments, making sure the design can stand a good beating without going off until ready to be fired.

Blessed be the Hunters and Bidens.

This proves it, yet again, the Republicans are Russian shills and Putin may be arming Trumps with a penis.

What?! It still makes more sense than a lot of the stuff I'm hearing.

Earlier today, Jeremy Boreing, co-CEO of The Daily Wire rightwing media network he co-founded with Ben Shapiro, offered the following X-tweet:

“Daily Wire and Candace Owens have ended their relationship.”

No official statement elucidating a clear cause for this sudden change has yet been provided by either party, but neither should this come as a surprise to many given the explosive 'talks' that had spilled out of the Daily Wire (DW) offices and onto the public sphere, these having to do with just one subject: Gaza.

Her anti-war stance on Ukraine, combined with her willingness to lay much of the blame on the West for any military action seen there, had already created a tense friction between Owens and the rest of the DW personalities, as well as many of the staffers, no doubt. However, things had taken a nasty turn for Owens immediately after the 7-Oct-2023 events, at which point her anti-Zionist rhetoric turned merciless and pointed, proving too much to bear for facts-over-feelings Shapiro, warrior of Free Speech?

The last isn't confirmed, but it is the supposition that all who are familiar with the situation are working off of.

Further, this decision appears to have come right after a statement made by the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), in which they accused Owens of associating with Nick Fuentes, a well-known white supremacist and Holocaust denier, after he'd praised one of her comments on X.

The ADL, one has to admit, acts at times as if possessed by a perverse desire to call out anti-Semitism in anything and anyone, occasionally focusing on other hate groups and personalities, if politically motivated to do so, of course, perhaps with a donation, maybe with a Washington-flavoured favour. It's not a bad organisation per se, but it does delve in politics far more than such an organisation ever should. 

She took a lot of heat, and she handled it pretty gracefully for the most part—even in her comments to the Rabbi Shmuley loon about his hag daughter—and also did so with much more patience and respect than I could ever muster if finding myself dealing with the likes of a Rabbi Barclay and his insufferable, patronizing, and one-sided, antiquated rules book dictating proper Semitic terms and grammar for the world.

Personally, I hope that Owens draws the appropriate lessons out of these events, for though she was the victim in this particular situation, actions and statements she's made to push her politics have also imposed that sentiment on many an innocent person; I simply want her to remember this experience, recalling it when she finds herself indulging in certain types of commentary in order to assess her own behaviour in relation to what she underwent and felt as a result, curbing her attack and opting for a different course when relevant and appropriate.

Candace Owens isn't someone I like or have much respect for, but—though I've never admitted as much before—she's got tremendous talent, but, sadly, she places her efforts on superficialities expressed through attitudes and positions meant to stir some controversy through a rebellious spirit that's more theatrics than honest politics, her approach having been so far mostly designed around achieving a quick notoriety and financial gains.

As her recent appearance on Steven Bonnell's stream exemplified when they discussed schooling and student loans, she's still willing to offer empty lines and to jazz up any anecdote in order to push the political wants that are earning her a big paycheck, but it has been real nice to see how war managed to draw out a level of care on a topic that was deeply genuine, and for which no one can accuse her of doing any of the things that one can usually count on being able to accuse her of.

Will Daily Wire take a hard hit for what may be a clear case of "say, don't do; judge others but justify if us" as concerns free speech, Shapiro not willing to tolerate certain views on topics he's passionately devoted to, no matter what the truth may be?

There are also rumours that Owens wanted to leave ever since the heat was turned on her given her views on the Israel-Palestine situation; such an outcome being desirable to all, was an arrangement worked out, as I can't imagine there'd be any payout offered for breaching her contract if she quit?

There are also rumours that Tucker Carlson is aiming to take down DW and Shapiro, Owens potentially joining Carlson, seeing an opportunity, but keep in mind that this came out of Dave Rubin, which he offered on Patrick Bet-David's Valuetainment, P B-D rightfully challenging Rubin's take on the matter, in my opinion. 

I was in a pawnshop last Thursday, wanting to unload a DVD and blueray player, along with one of the three high-def computer screens I had that fell within the minimum specs they require in order to screw you on the value.

Yeah, I get it… it’s how its goes; business, and all that.

Plus, if things had gone as I’d originally intended, per the initial deadline, that was it, I’d have been gone, the keys on the counter, and selling those at a higher price no longer relevant whatsoever.

However, as I write this, doing so in a world where I sold my other two monitors, left to the one on my laptop (19” and touchscreen, at least), I do regret the $20 I got for the one at the pawnshop, though it’s the same price I ended up selling the other two, anyhow.

The real issue, and a torturous one it is: Going from four screen to one so quickly… I feel so naked and incapacitated.

That. One screen. It’s gotta be the epitome of poverty. Maybe.

I’m not sure about other parts of the world, but I know that new regulations have been continually imposed on pawnshops, the police now tightly linked to many aspects of their business and certain policies have been created to enforce periods wherein goods can’t be resold, abolishing any difference between “loan” or “sale”, and some goods require proof from the police that a verification was done and the good isn’t reported stolen.

And there’s hardly any independent pawnshops left, most belonging to a chain or other. And all are puzzling entities when one considers how these businesses tend to be run and how little effort tends to be placed on the sales and promo end, ditto display and fixtures and thematic or seasonal rotations to attract regular bargain hunters and similar, à la Winners. Also striking are the missed opportunities that ought to readily discernable with the higher ups if a chain—being the Office and Data System's Manager for a 1-800-GOT-JUNK franchise made me aware of several facets behind the 'junk' and recycling business, and of a major overlap that exists that pawnshops don't exploit and absolutely should, which I won't say publicly as I've oft been tempted to pitch it privately, though I'm not sure it's a world I really want to play any meaningful role in. And, no, rerouting goods that were picked up is already something that's exploited at the employee end of 'junk removal' companies ("junk" is a misnomer of sorts in many instances), and not at all what I have in mind.  

It's a special type of business that, generally, attracts a special kind of customer, and I’ve no doubt that this explains why, in many such places, ‘customer service’ is given no consideration and the staff receives no training; you’d swear that some are encouraged to see all their ‘patrons’ as deplorables and/or drug addicts and to serve them with whatever disdain they believe is deserved. 

All the refinements and etiquettes of good service are far from guaranteed, like, simply, acknowledging a customer's presence when they come in, the clerk letting them know that they'll be taken care of when they're free / done with the current customer. Nah. If already busy, the guy behind the counter doesn't even make eye contact or shift gear, no matter how long a line up may form; he takes his sweet ass time, casually researching the lowest price that can serve as the basis for the low percentage offered on goods, or he stands by—if not sitting—and focusses on watching a customer check out something they're considering buying rather than letting that customer do their thing as the clerk performs a quick triage, asking what each person in line wants to then provide immediate help or reassure all of a short delay, squeezing in a straightforward, quick-in-and-out transaction while that other customer is testing that thing... But, sadly, multitasking isn't an expected or necessary skill if a pawnshop clerk, it seems; if it takes 20 mins to casually do a 5 mins job, then don't expect a hello before 21 mins, and only if you're next in line.

Talk about adding insult to injury. I don't know what the percentage is, but there's no doubt in my mind that people with some sort of addiction represent  

In such circumstances, I've found that most people don't care so much about who was next per any "first-come" priority, so long as 'things are moving', and anyone who's behind in line that may get served ahead of them doesn't involve anything that's more demanding or bound to take longer than what their own turn is likely to take.

Interestingly, an event like COVID established that pawnshops provide a vital service for many, which is why they, like grocery, pharmacies, and liquor stores, were, for the most part, considered necessary establishments during lockdowns.

Depending on the situation one is in, it provides a source of quick cash at rates that are a bit better than that of credit cards, and, regardless of the reason, sellers are what make buyers possible, hence, without the need that the service answers, clerks who look down on their clients wouldn't have a job from which to do so, and I fail to see highly-respectable and productive citizens in those who happen to clerk in such 'shops'. Keep in mind that, as in all else, there are exceptions, and it's a subset that, nonetheless, based on what I've seen, is typically well represented within that milieu.

Really upsetting in all of this are those online sellers one eBay, Amazon, or other, who offer a ridiculously low price on an item simply to outrank all, and attract the most, but charge an absurd amount on shipping and handling, making the item no cheaper than the average price several times higher than their bogus 'low, low price'. E.g. The average price for Widget W-X2100 in like-new condition is $40 plus and average of $10 for shipping depending on where one lives, but one or two quirky-looking places sell Widget W-X2100 for $9.96 but charge $48 for shipping. They don't pay $48 for shipping; they pay the $10 and pocket the rest, bypassing higher fees and certain withholding periods on the bulk of the payment that ends up not transacting through the platform, only the $9.96 being submitted to such.

However, for pawnshops, well, there you go, that's what the item is worth, $9.96, justifying the offer of a dollar for an item that, in reality, will cost at least $50 for anyone to have that item, in hand. You point this out, and the reply is: Yeah... but we don't care about shipping; that doesn't concern us. We just look at the price you can buy the item for.

Which earns: OK, but if you want the item, that's not the price you're going to pay; that low price is just a ploy...

And round and round it goes. Don't bother; poor logic almost always accompanies poor customer service.

•       •       •

As I waited my turn last Thursday while at the local pawnshop, a black fellow was pawning a gaming headset and controls, offering all sorts of excuses and reassurances as he kept asserting that he was going to be back as he moaned all kinds of gripes about the cost of living, all whilst also revealing that he spent far too much time playing online and that his girlfriend better not find out that he got money by pawning those things.

He then cursed the times, commenting how the whole economy is tanking and Canada is heading down the crapper before blaming his situation on Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and his cabinet's mission to destroy Canada's economy to better control us all. It was high time he stepped down so Pierre Poilièvre could take over.

"Oh, god! Please don't be so ridiculous," I blurted out, unable to contain myself. "It's global; there's more than conservative idiocy and Trudeau clashing in the world."

"Oh, you're one of those; you get all your news from mainstream media, and that's why you can't know what's really happening," he returned. "They lie to you."

What came next, of course, was a mention of the WEF and Klaus Schwab, and leftist liberals being Commies, and Canada now turning into a toilet ever since Trudeau came into power, because, before Trudeau and the Liberals came into power nine years ago, things were pretty good before COVID, food was that expensive not too long ago.

Sigh. A real genius.

What really disturbed me was his level of certainly, which didn't even offer the slimmest opening for anyone to jam some good sense in there and open up a valid discussion. All he could offer was a solid stream of rightwing xenophobia and immigrant-based bigotry wrapped around Culture War talking points he strung together as if doing so conferred a hidden meaning on the whole that brings enlightened people to some truth.

The guy sounded nuts. And just plain ignorant and gullible when he waved away the effects of the ongoing conflicts and of the failed and backfiring sanctions, pointing out how little I understood, for the real problem in Canada, killing farmers as we speak, is Trudeau and his government's obsession with their "carbon thing... carbon pricing... or is it taxing? His carbon taxes, that's it." 

Not only did the guy display the rightwing I've-no-clue-but-I'm-opposed-to-it attitude that's typically seen whenever certain things may demand that all work toward a change, but he then summed it all up in a manner that was to be expected: imposing Wokeness on all to push their global takeover plan is what's at the root of the evil the world now faces... in Ottawa.

"Of course! there's it is!" I snapped. "Woke is the problem; identity issues are why we should have nuked the world tens years ago. You're a brainwashed mess if you think an asinine Culture War is responsible for where we're heading."       

"Ah-ha!," he yelled. "Who said anything about the Culture War? People like you are always looking to go there; I never even mentioned anything about Culture War stuff. Not a thing, so why do you bring it up?"

The clerk, who initially sided with the black man, opened his mouth, mumbled a few words as he realized the stupidity of what the other man was saying, then pressed his lips together and lifted his hands to signal that he was no longer involving himself in the discussion.

The discussion brought us right on the cusp of a really heated screaming match, which neither of us seemed to want to have, as the tension was instantly deflated through curt, conciliatory remarks offered simultaneously, but just to close the matter, and not in any show of acceptance toward the other's position.

On the bright side: Be happy, USA. That one, he's our moron, not yours. So he can't vote for Trump (nor Biden).

From one thing to the next, things triggered fond memories of this album, which I then took the time to savour once more, not having listened to it in its entirety for some years.

Africa—or a part of—is central to this project, but it's certainly not an album I'd categorize under anything that emphasizes "African music" in any way; it's a very European affair, yet, it's the Africa in it that garnered the album much attention from many corners of the jazz world, making it a very important release for the French jazz scene. All's in the rhythms, and what's expressed is a reminder that influence doesn't have to mean "adoption", it can mean "adapting".

It's called Carnet de routes, meaning "Travel Log", put out by Label bleu in 1995. It brings together Italian drummer Aldo Romano—the central point behind the project—with French bassist Henry Texier and soprano sax and clarinetist, Louis Sclavis. 

The last is a huge name in free jazz and musique actuelle circles, his uplifting modes, breathless ripples, squonks, squeaks, and powerfully-warm tones have been improvised alongside some of the biggest names, including saxophonist, flautist, and composer Jean Derome, a prominent name in the Montreal jazz scene and a Canadian leader in the form. He also appears on trumpetist Dave Douglas' Bow River Falls, which, albeit an interesting album, I mention for a chart called "Petals", the interplay between Douglas and Sclavis managing to wow me with each listen. 

Sclavis has also played a more subdued-but-still-pronounced voice in more traditional formations, though through less traditional-type tunes, perhaps, and he's also offered listeners solo efforts that work as a kind of study taken as a whole, the approach drawing parallels with Quebec clarinetist and composer Robert Marcel Lepage, wherein "variation", be it applied to any element, is the focus, a complete listen offering something that's akin to a Philip Glass symphony with the all sounding the same but very different, the music always morphing in subtle ways, though, from them, we get vignettes, the transformations existing outside the pieces.

Any how, I'm getting off topic.

Henry Texier, now nearing 80, has had a long and full career, one too long to cover in a few lines except to say: a true jazzman, through and through. His artistry is audible in all three tracks I've included from the album, these being my favourites.

I'm less familiar with Romano, but, having been urged to teach a course at the French Cultural Centre of Malabo, in the capital of Equatorial Guinea, its director, a French man named Guy Maurette, then sparked the idea, Romano bringing the other two in on the project, the goal being: visit remote towns, set up, play, musically interact with those present. The whole was photographed by Guy Le Querrec, some well known french photographer. 

The album is the result of two trips throughout select regions of Africa, these excursions financed by the French Cultural Centre of Malabo. Sure, in these Woke days of ours, one could say much about colonialism in critique of this musical venture.

Which is why I made it a point to mention what I did about it being a "European affair" right at the top. No sense of "appropriation" can be applied to it, nor can "exploitation". 

The musical experiences they underwent in Ghana are, according to Romano, those that had the greatest level of influence on the trio. 

I'll stick with just this album, but on their Flashback album released a decade or so later is a meditative, profoundly-moving chart called "Si Dieu n'éxiste pas" (What if God doesn't exist) that's worth the listen. Perhaps, I'll share it at another moment..

For the first, if I had my way, this is more or less along the lines of what I think Hip Hop should sound like. Don't let the preamble fool you; it swings, and manages to increase the intensity by a healthy notch, winding down before stopping, as any good athlete should.  

A nice, moody piece; a beautiful interplay between base and clarinet, Romano's high-hat the loose, clinking change that marks each step through a wondrous, mystifying space.  

This one may be a bit more demanding for most ears; the mastery of all three is amply clear, and Sclavis isn't making random noises, especially not ones that sound like grating car horns... not to any ears I'd respect, anyways. The deep, penetrating tone out of Texier's upright base is what ties the piece, but it also serves to showcase the good choices underscoring each chart that each musician always appears to make within this trio, whilst it establishes the high recording quality that one could expect from Label bleu (I say "could" as I've not kept up with the label for a few years); I bought several albums from artists I knew nothing about but took a chance based on the label—there are a handful of labels for which that's true—and I've never been disappointed. Though this particular album wasn't one of those.

I'd first heard it at a friend's place, a gang of artsy nerds I fell into at university; truly great and bright, creative people to whom I owe many musical discoveries.

Well, these past three days have been some real welcomed ones that have already put me in a better position; I'll be able to take care of of my passport this week, and not have to pay the rush service fee—bureaucracy... ughhh, my nemesis; started minding myself to get it done tomorrow so I'll hopefully take care of it within a comfortable margin before closing-time on Friday.

Selling my solid-oak dresser, a fairly imposing piece of furniture, forced me to clean out seven drawers that reminded me how much stuff I had that I could do without, even if separating myself from much of it made little sense other than to have empty drawers. Perhaps my problem is that I had too much storage?

The place I'm in is a reasonably-sized three-and-a-half apartment, but the kitchen is larger than most and offers way more cabinets and storage than one is used to seeing in a rented apartment. Plus, I 've quite a bit of furniture, which means many drawers. I've gone from having a reasonable-drawer-to-space-ratio being owner of a good-sized place, the problem occurring when I found myself going toward renter of medium-sized, but especially toward a small-but-only-temporary one... this year marking the tenth one I've been here, at the last. So, unless we redefine temporary, it's high time I get out of here, says the dictionary. And my 'soul', which I say just to avoid getting technical. 

What's that? Yes, I agree. But, for my sake, let's just agree that a decade is but temporary. And it is, in a sense, for what is time but a pure abstraction if without lease-renewal dates?.

Actually, ten years is the longest I've lived anywhere, which makes it odd that I've always viewed it as "temporary" in my mind. 

But time does pass by quicker as one grows older, thus allowing older folks the time to approach "temporary" more wisely. 

My parents put my sister and I through four major moves by my early teens, and I added at least two major ones and four minor ones to the list by my mid-twenties, and a few more since. These include Indiana, Brossard, Rosemere, Scarborough, Candiac, Mile-End, Plateau-Mont-Royal, Calgary, and a few more.

Quebec, though, more specifically, Montreal and area, is where I feel at home and willing to call it so, but there's no specific neighbourhood that I identify with in any manner that resembles the small-town romanticism that includes football and marrying one's high-school sweetheart that's often portrayed in Hollywood movies. Instead, there's several places, these like a slice taken from different recipes of the same cake, each one playing a prominent role throughout the specific phase of my life they represent.

What kind of cake? you ask. 

Good question. 

If I had to pick one, I'm not sure what my favourite cake would be. I do know that my ideal one probably includes chocolate, custard, wildberries, mocha, Macadamia nuts and almonds, some nougat, a bit of almond paste, and whip cream.

Well, that certainly managed to make me crave something fit for a pregnant lady. I wonder if I can make basmati rice and peanut butter taste anything like that... it should only be a matter of mixing the correct spices, essences, and food colourings, I'm sure.

I'm off to experiment. I'll let you know; maybe share the recipe...   

As I was prepping my stuff, filtering what I could take with me from all that I'd hoped to be able to take, my back seized up.

Being willing to take whatever amount I could get for anything I'd hoped to sell if leaving it behind was the only other option, I had, as I'd mentioned, sold both my washer and dryer for a mere $40.

I had been curt and clear in my reply to the buyer, who seemed to have misread my ad and added strongly to the insult that such sales entail, but I then let him know that I'd take his offer; I'd email him at 17:00 but allowed myself up to 18:00 for a better offer. And I was very clear that, for $40 for both, I would absolutely not be lending a hand to bring them down.

When the time came, I emailed the guy, who took close to two hours before finally getting back to me. He was waiting to hear back from his brother, he told me, eventually setting the time for 20:15. He emailed me at 20:30, telling me his brother was running late.

At 20:50, when the doorbell finally rang, I had expected the person I had been in communication with, along with his brother. It was just the brother. A beast of man whose muscles and size made me want to make sure I never pissed him off, yet, he ranks up there as one of the kindest and most polite persons I've recently come across; he oozed friendliness.

"Is it just you?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied, apologizing again for being late.

I told him what I had told his brother: No way I'm giving a hand for that price.

He didn't hesitate; no pause, not even a blink, and replied with, "No problem. I'll do it myself."

"What?! No, of course not. I'll give you a hand," I said, slightly miffed.

While I emptied the bookshelves in the passageway in order to clear the way, the man, whose name I can't recall—an issue with me—pulled out the units, disconnecting hoses and all and got them ready; wheeling the first one through the passageway and frontdoor to the first flight of steps is where any sense of "brute" matched his physique. If it doesn't squeeze through, force it!

Nonetheless, all major damage avoided as I gave him a hand, he showed me how to properly place the single strap on my shoulder, looping it under my other one, then under the machine; before we lifted, I asked him, "How the hell were you going to bring them down on your own."

"Oh, I just pick them up once I reach stairs," he said. "It's super dangerous," he grinned, doing so in a manner that betrayed a sense of pride while acknowledging how harebrained it sounded.

A beast of a man, I tell you. Imagine picking up a full-sized washer and dryer and carrying them down two full flights of stairs, one of them being a winding pain. I don't think I can lift either up, never mind move them, and stairs?! They'd be the death of me, squashed under a Kenmore metal box.

Wanting to prove myself at least half the man he was—a feat for most males, I'm sure—I didn't stretch nor grin, just went at it, doing my best to carry my share of the load with a smile.

Once both units were down, the second safely set on the sidewalk, he gave me a friendly hit on the shoulder and kindly said, "You did that like a pro." 

I think he could tell: I hadn't moved anything of that size or weight for a few years at least, even if my own physique betrays that of someone who's always been physically active.

I felt a generalized stiffening in my legs and upper torso before I had reached my apartment, but setting the bookshelves back and setting books back on the shelves is when my lower back let me know it wasn't happy, and let me pay for it.

I continued prepping, but eventually had to lie down. Fell asleep. Hard.

Woke up still stiff but in functioning order a bit after 5:30 and continued with prepping all that I'd need for my journey. At around 7:00, three emails came in from people wanting goods, and two of them were willing to come that morning, 11:45 being the later time. Turned out being worth the wait.

Moneywise. And also because the delay meant that the landlord came by to see how things were going. I'd emailed him a confirmation in the morning that I'd be out by the end of the day, as agreed, as I felt a weirdly deep urge to sleep and couldn't think of doing anything else, and figured I could nap until the buyers came by to pick up the goods, while I hoped the landlord wouldn't feel an urge to do as he did if he knew I hadn't yet officially moved out. However, some work needed to be done at my immediate neighbour's place...

I opened the door wide and told him, flatly, that things weren't going as well as I'd hoped, and apologized for having to leave the apartment as it was, my goods still all over the place. 

He instantly gave me an extra month.

For some reason, I wasn't comfortable with that.

We talked things out a bit. A truly kind man; he breaks the evil landlord stereotype, forces one to consider the side of 'Mom & Pop' landlords separately from that of corporate-minded or based landlords. 

Offering me this break, it seems to have placed me back into the same situation, allowing me to reconsider staying, the delay now letting me count on landscaping work or similar should a more appropriate job not come my way.

There's a comfort to be found in that despite the stress of an externally-determined-resolve set against a deadline that's to be faced, again, all in a gamble driven by a scramble to find any job ASAP, never mind that the reality one comes across isn't what's reflected in the numbers that are worked over to suit what's promoted by liberal media, especially with the threat of a Trump looming in a possible future.

Nevertheless, if I'm to be real honest: If I hadn't sold anything yet, still possessing all the goods that satisfied my habits, brought a sense of security, then I'd surely be doing that: scrambling for any job, relying on landscaping if I needed to just to avoid finding myself in the situation I now face.

But I know full well that that's not going to offer any real solution to the malaise I feel, and will continue to feel if I stay here; I absolutely need a change of setting, and to face anything other than the synthetic challenges that now dominate my life, wanting those that I do face to matter to more than to companies and their quarterly bottom-lines.

Rather, it gives me more time to prepare properly, and to liquidate some goods in a manner that'll get me more reasonable amounts. It's unfortunate that I rushed the sale of some things given the deadline I was working in, having originally hoped for the end of March rather than the 15th, but I'm certainly in no position to complain about that or much else right now.

I'm just grateful. Plus, the timing will allow me to avoid some of the harsh late-winter / early-spring weather.

I told him I'd give him news on a weekly basis, but, with more things to be sold this weekend, per emails received, I'm focusing on that, being increasingly limited in goods needed for basic living (I no longer have a microwave... I relied on it heavily, it turns out), and hope to be on a better track, with a clearer direction, before the end of that month.

So, in essence, not much has changed, but I've been offered a better window in which to prepare and to set off, hopefully being able to focus on reporting.

I took care of a few things and lied down.

I slept for close to 20 hours, occasionally getting up, briefly, feeling a need to go back to sleep before I could even think of making myself a coffee. 

•       •       •

Not to be petty, but The Economist recently commented on Indian news, calling it, in a sense, incompetent and problematic, stating that it tends to be ultra-partisan, nationalistic, and that it displays a striking level of ignorance in regard to world affairs, especially from its globally-oriented news channels, pointing to Palki Sharma of FirstPost directly.

Hey, wadda'ya know? That's exactly what I've been saying for over two years, at least, seeing a disappointing display in very good talent, along with a lack of cohesion. I had called her "naive" though, and in a good way, and not "incompetent". I still believe it to be more appropriate, albeit the over-the-top moments of BJP cheerleading that may, at times, merit the "pom-pom girl" appellation. Much contradiction and hard-to-pin aspects about her, wherein my intrigue lies, perhaps?

However, I'm not sure that The Economist is making such a statement on her and Indian media for quite the same reasons I am... 

To be frank, any eagerness to point it out came about as I was really hoping that one particular Indian online personality would see the value in what I can offer regarding Western views, bringing greater nuance, combined with the fact that she/her team have gotten many storylines and documents off of DMS&UY, which leads me to believe that she could do with a better researcher being a part of her team, perhaps, one that understands Western views real well.

Also, I was heartbroken to find out that she was launching a new channel; nothing would have made me happier than to play a part in that in any way possible. For reasons I'll avoid, I'll nonetheless say that she benefited off of my material and interaction, and I know she's aware of an email I'd sent asking about the application process while she was at WION, to which I got no answer, hence some of her comments, as well as being quick to point to nepotism to explain my situation with my site in December—rather than simply ask me—means she's playing into the same problematic and arrogant media mentality she oft rightly criticizes.

Aren't I being parasocially-deranged, you ask?

No. I really don't think I am. I have lots to offer to establish as much, but I'll just point out that she had mentioned “losing a site for $300” in that segment in which she mentioned nepotism as a reason why anyone with certain smarts could possibly be in certain situations and not earning more, having difficulty paying their rent, let alone “$300 to…” That kind of specificity... I'm not delusional. 

Then, as at other moments, I had felt a sense of understanding delivered alongside comments that made me think that the event may lead to a writing opportunity, but I'm now thinking that pettines and derision were really behind what she expressed.

She's suddenly grown too big, too important, or she's an opportunist, or far too self-centered, or petty, or a mix of all trapped in sexist notions she claims to want to end whilst not believing that such is a possibility. Or it could be none of those, as, I mentioned in that same series on India in which I'd called her geopolitical takes "naive", there's a facet that I don't quite understand and, simply, feels exploitative. And, also, as many have probably figured out by now: I don’t do “fanboy”.

Try if you must, but you'll quickly realize that it's impossible to find even one person who may feel I've harassed them in any way possible, through any platform. And, no, negative opinions voiced in reaction to someone's actions, done on occasion, doesn't qualify as "harassment", no matter how deeply I may have insulted the person concerned. 

Which I'm sure I've done, without quite being aware of it on many occasions... we all have our deficiencies. While I'm being honest: I can also be a big baby at times. But let's save that for another time...

Any which way, I'm quick to see false hopes; I try to extract the lesson that's there to be learned, and move on.

Which is why I do need to move on from where I now find myself. Concretely; physically. And why I'm extremely thankful to suddenly have a few more weeks to better prepare, doing so with an extra bit of certainty that it's the right thing to do. 

Well, here we are.

I’m getting ready to take off into the night, slipping away, leaving pretty much everything behind. A lifetime. Gone.

All kitchen goods, from pots and pans to food processor to professional knives, Corningware, dishes, utensils, and my cappuccino machine... Shirts and shoes and suits, too. Plus my books. And all my personal goods. All my photos. Accumulated knick knacks. Souvenirs from my travels. Gifts from family and friends...  

I'm trying to fool myself into seeing this event as if my place burned down, took everything, and I happened to let my insurance lapse (though I didn't). 

And, so, I leave all behind, armed with only $78.

It's been so very upsetting to find myself negotiating on already ridiculously low prices. For example, I'd hoped to sell my washer and dryer for $50 each or $80 for both, which is a great bargain at that price, as both are in great working order. I ended up selling both for $40. Yet, if I'd wanted to replace them, I'd probably end up spending over $1,000.

Sigh.

I did have real low moments today, suddenly bursting into tears several times throughout the day. I forced myself to snap out of it right away. Not sink into sadness.

But it's hard. So very much.

The only event this brings to mind is the time I was forced to make the call, pulling the plug on my mum's life support. Then, like now, I didn't feel I had choice. It was a matter of acceptance.

That said, while going through everything, I was reminded that I still have her ashes. They're sealed in a special baggie, resting in a rigid cardboard box with her name on it. I still didn't know what to do with them. Leaving them behind doesn't feel right. A person's ashes are far heavier than most would assume, and I've limited space, taking only what I can carry in my backpack... but, as silly as it may sound, I'd hate myself if I didn't take her along, finally releasing her ashes somewhere special I know she'd love. 

I've been piggybacking off of my neighbour's wifi this past week. I don't know when I'll be able to log in again, nevermind posting. The battery on my laptop is kaput, requiring that I plug it in to use it; I was really hoping to make enough from selling my stuff to buy a replacement battery, but alas.

And, as my luck would have it, today I received a whole whack of emails from interested buyers hoping to come by this weekend...

Sigh.

I'm so very fed up. A bit of joy; feeling like I've a purpose.

It's all I ask.