I have no joke, I just like saying Tonka bean.
(This was “courtesy” redmaenad who is not a very nice lady.)
It feels lately like the Reagan administration never ended. Nuclear fear, nebulous wars on ideas, scary rumbles of fascism from Washington, military chic, legwarmers, doublethink. Oh, and uncharismatic doomed wimpy opposition, that too.
It’s a great time to be a music fan, a great time to buy a good fast cheap car, a great time to be into computers, and a dreadful time to be a human being. Maybe if I turn up the stereo in my car or stay up coding all night I can forget that I’m a human being? Sounds like a plan.
I dreamed that I had been assigned to reprint a classic novel by the Great Author, who was in his declining years. The great man had unfortunately become a gin-soaked parody of himself, raging and disoriented, and a thoroughgoing racist. He filled the room with cheap alcohol stench and foul language. Meanwhile, I reprinted the novel. This was done by feeding a long strip of paper about 5” wide into a kind of hopper or feed that pulled in the paper as a vending machine pulls in a dollar bill. The machine jerked and clanked and tore the paper, or refused it. After tremendous frustration I got the feed going and fed all the novel through, and it came out the other end as nice manuscript pages to be sent to the printer. Unfortunately the author had managed to mechanically or psychically pervert the printing machine so that the clean manuscript pages appeared instead with his revisions scrawled on them in smudged black pen, and the revisions were all his drunken hate-filled blather about niggers and kikes and fucking slants. I had no choice but to send this dreadful thing off to the printers while he yelled abuse at me.