October 18, 2019:

Old Man of the Mountain, except, not that one, and you don't feel old although your doctor says you are.

At the door the hearth is guarded by plush Cheetah and guitars, a dining room where ordinary families would have meals but you've stacked bookcases, the only contiguous wall space where they'll fit.

Romany lifestyle, peripatetic, where all these rooms of books and guitars have to be packed and moved.

Why? What goal? Where success is measured how?

October 17, 2019:

I like her but she's loud, and I need to be invisible in public.

She has affection for me but her attention is scattered. She wants to see herself through me, so that, when she doesn't, she loses interest.

In theory her exhibitionism should mate well with my voyeurism. But she wants to include me in her exhibitionism and I'm too private.

She's insensitive to my feelings, as I've frequently been toward hers. I think, some of her insensitivity is consciously intended as response.

October 16, 2019:

The People attack unarmed and are shot down. They use their numbers: rush the dam, accept the casualties, reminding me of the uprising against Somoza. The franchise is cynical: meet the new boss, same as the old boss. Yet it succeeds in saying things it perhaps never intended.

I watch 'cos in the era of Trump I need to witness victims fighting back. Where their left-hand Boyscout salute means more in their world than it could in mine.