real estate training for dictator. i love letting serendipity plan my day. i have bread baking (hour and a half left on that), and i boiled a batch of eggs. ate 3. one cup of coffee, and a rather large splosh of apple cider vinegar in my water bottle. i felt it. another cold shower today, too. and, last night’s fifth beer, that i got out but never opened, staring me in the face all morning made me decide not to drink in that room any more. how’s that for taking your own advice, eh? maybe when this case is gone. watch, i’ll just move into the bathroom, with a better wifi signal. rooms should have solar pre-heated exhaust fans to recycle air. all of mine will. multi-purpose.
i paged through the real estate advertising handbook. it kinda made me throw up in my mouth a little. yeah. law school flashbacks, but dumber. skeevy. fully scripted. fully imbibed with psychological manipulation of the commercial variety. can we not speak to one another as humans yet? will you read before you judge, and continue judging, honestly, during? i expect re-activation of your powers of discrimination. honest appraisal of that which is before your senses. take writing as writing. take sound as sound. take expression of feeling as expressions of feelings. look, i’m not even asking you to trust people. if you don’t, be honest about it, and demand, in writing, as much information as will earn your trust. get over the past. how else do you ask humans, who constantly claim “love” for one another, while acting in ways that prove otherwise, to stop instinctively lunging at one another’s throats to terrify others into submission? are you claiming to be the best enslaver of men and acreage that has been? what are your credentials? if you have ever controlled property, how much food did it produce? how many people did you feed? how many people did you house on the property? how many people did you allow on the property? invite? once they were there, were they invited to express themselves fully without judgment or condemnation? or mocking or claimed identification? or one-uppmanship, or constant suggestions of inappropriate acts? ah yes, but who may determine what is appropriate? we may. we may set our household. we may keep certain people at arms’ length, and we may allow others to sleep under our roof. if the house itself, speaking as a house, does not provide an honest answer for why it was rejected, it is no better than the church, burning witches or excommunicating accused heretics or others they did not understand.
4:20 pm. dictator says we should get back to real estate. mom slowed waaay down to wave slowly as she passed. i told her not to stop, with my eyes. what is there to say? i left you a note that explains where i am and when i will return. I’ve clearly never had a healthy communicative relationship with anyone before [editor’s note: not true, liar] yah, yah, whatever. not a lasting one. not one that said you will not starve if you stay with me. mostly, my interactions said the opposite. by the end, they did. i want different things, and i’m upfront about them, as inappropriate as most of you prudish finger waggers think they are.
what a dreary day. are we back on daily themes pace. i think so. my writing from college is obnoxious. far less educated and even more childishly know-it-all, if that’s possible. heh. wait’ll i get started.
you know all the empty real estate is where they grow all the “illegal” weed, right? they put instructions on the cable! people who say they’re in real estate, are really in drug production/smuggling. way to keep shuffling everyone into “attractive areas” to parking lot all the forests and drain-field all the wetlands. the death, suffering, and fuel wasted by your short-sighted, utterly-shallow-and-manipulated opulence. congrats on the hummer, closer. fascist development is the lowest common denominator. dominator. the book i’m trying to get through now is called “real estate data: your market and your firm.” and i’m sure it’s the kind of used-to-only-get-from-the-frat/society/club/guild/union/lord at one point in history. nothing actually changes. thoughts get discontinued, we all get dumbed down and compartmentalized until the only other humans we can actually communicate anything to (in a contorted series of abbreviations and numbers) are those who share our industry credentials. nobody else gets it. those who do? omfg, let’s have a seminar.
4:37 pm. 55 min. left on the bread.
the library closes at five on fridays. how did it get to be friday already? fuck it. posting, sir!