Listen to them — children of the night.


What music they make.

I mean, don't you just  ❤️ Washington?

That picture says it all, one of those moments in time that truly encapsulates the dynamic of power in Washington. 👇🏼

What is he thinking, one wonders...

"Who is that woman?"

He looks mildly amused. And more than a little patronizing.

"Progressive Democrats! They are so cute, at that age."

Aren't they, though?

It's like a meeting between the CEO of some big corporation and an inexperienced delegate from some fledgling union. She went in there with some demands, presented in a very deferential, some would say obsequiously submissive way, and came out with nothing. And worse, reneged apologetically, some would say abjectly, on her demands. And, even worse, renounced and disavowed the people who had placed their trust in her to represent them. I mean, WOW! 😮 Spineless much?

Or was it just political Kabuki?

Who knows?

People like Rep. Pramila Jayapal, chair of the Congressional Progressive Caucus (above), or Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and her like, are wet behind the ears, and shaking in their boots in the presence of the ageless vampires of Washington DC. Some of them mean well (in spite of their impotency and lack of know-how to change anything), most know better and are well aware that they owe their position to the good will of the undeads and will keep that position only so long as they remain in the good graces of those vampires who will eat them alive if they cross them.

Former Rep. Tulsi Gabbard was one of them, young and lacking experience in Washington political jungle, except that she was brave enough to stand her ground. Not everyone has that kind of courage — or reckless audacity.

One knows what it got her.

And who knows what became of supposedly more experienced politicians, like former Rep. Dennis John Kucinich?

Or, reputedly savvy politicians, the like of the senator from Vermont, Bernie Sanders?



Merciful Heaven!

... O, but man, proud man!
Drest in a little brief authorithy...

His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.
—William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, Act. 2, Scene 2

...O, but man—proud man—with a little, brief power in his hands...
He mimics the essence of God like an angry ape, playing such awful tricks that the angels weep. If they had mortal bodies like us, they'd laugh themselves to death.

Meanwhile in the jungle:

I wonder why?



It's so hard to say goodby to yesterdays


The House speaker could become first high-level US official to visit Mars.

I kid the House speaker. 😌

According to Erikson's stages of psychosocial development, there is a series of eight stages that a developing individual passes through from infancy to late adulthood.

The last stage is retrospection: people look back on their lives and accomplishments. They develop feelings of contentment and integrity if they believe that they have led a happy and productive life. If they look back on a life of disappointments and unachieved goals, they may instead develop a sense of despair.

I wonder... 😐



People ask the strangest questions


Can Siri and Google talk to each other?

Of course they can!

Who wants to know?



Yeah, sure...

This is not creepy at all...

And neither was this:

Because, you know, nothing says rules-based international orderTM and speaks for the "open character of international institutions based on universal values and transparency," like an €8 million bunker for "secret talks."

But what do I know?

If you ask me, the whole thing seems like an exercise in futility.

I mean, everyone knows that should anyone have any desire to find out what is being said during those "secrets talks," all one needs to do is ask the Danes. Or the Poles.

— 🌿 —



Pinocchio wanted to become a real world leader...

But the naive and trusting Pinocchio falls into the clutches of the wicked Honest John.



White Man's Burden?


The gathering oddly reminds me of that scene in Hergé's 1935 masterpiece, Tintin and the Blue Lotus (aka Tintin in China):

The scene is referred thusly in London Review of Books:

And here is the whole scene (pages 6 through 7):

I know, right?

Where is Mark Twain when we need him?