Yesterday, I listened to PocketsOfTheFuture talk about Charlize Theron.  Apparently, he thought, that telling the press; obstensbly so that future suitors could hear her; that they need to grow a pair because they're lacking, isn't the best way to ensure sexual selection success.   I mean, if she's castrating him before they have even met... who knows what Kardashian Kastration might be next for the poor man.

As the White Witch, there is something to Charlize.  She is emasculating her son, which is a step further than her South African copatriots.  But I know plenty of people who believe this.  A boy wants to be a girl. so he s one.  Well, this, my friends, is a spell.  People's feelings just aren't that important.

Feelings are great and all, but if I believe I can fly, I better have some kind of system other than what I was born with before I jump off that cliff.

I'm following the Michael Jackson spell, too.  And I distinctly remember being amazed at the realization one day; probably half way through his transformation, to realize that he had had plastic surgery.  Here he was, white, not as far gone as he would be, but well on his way, and it was a revelation to me even though I had watched it.  At least he didn't kill his Dad, like Miss Theron.

If I was Charlize's friend, I would probably not ask her if she was the one, or if she did t with her Mom. or if only her Mom did it.  If I knew Lana Turner, I wouldn't ask her about the death of her man, either.  Yet, as a gilded stranger, it's so easy to pass judgement, isn't it?  If your boy wants to wear a skirt, you need to chop his self too?  We go a bit to farr with our decisions, and not far enough with others.

Yesterday I took a nap; a wonderful pleasure at some times in my life, but nothing I have wanted for quite awhile.  And I dreamt that I wanted something to eat.  And I didn't think there was anything in the house.  It was in Grandma's house, and  was alone, but other people lived there, and I went to the freezer to see if there was ice cream, pretty sure there wasn't.  Among other things, I found vanilla, and took it out.  I wanted to find a bowl; those particular sqarish ones, in avocado and golden rod- was there an eggplant once?  But couldn't find one.  Settled for a mug, which was for Everglades University.  I couldn't imagine any connection between that place and where  was- a scratched mug, dark blue, with metallic witing rubbed off?  Why there?  My uncle?  Makes no sense.  A connection to me?  What?  And found some whipped cream, put lots of that in the mug.  Then found a bottle of cherries and some butterschotch sauce, all of this in the same freezer- wonder why the mug wasn't there.. 

The cabinets were fewer, and newer and hgher than the ones in real life.

And I thnk about the mystery of what we know.

People would swear something happened, that other people wll swear it didn't.

And "just the facts, ma'am" isn't as comforting as it once was.


Mom''s living in the present; belle of the ball.

I am learning to speak fast, as Henry Ford.



And the real estate here and belongings here continue to weigh on me.