Today, and Elaine calling me this morning telling me of her adventures in the Health Clinic, trying to scourge free condoms under the unconvincing guise of inquiring about meningitus shots. She was only able to swipe three, thus counting her mission as a failure. Elaine, you see, needs considerably more than that.

The library, she organizing shelves while I lolled back and forth in a black chair listening to her tales, head dipping back, forward, smiling. Her troubles with Carlos, and our plans to visit a sex shop on South Beach to get a present for Froggy's birthday. Coffee at Starbuck's (delightfully lukewarm and swimming with whipped cream) lying back rather awkwardly yet sublimely on a long chair staring through the glass window and through the glass window again at the library front watching people swim to and fro through the gate, Elaine confessing she had not finished Freakonomics and me telling her what she missed.

Lunch with Froggy, then, in Sbarro's, where I told him of Carrie's woes and joined somewhat sadly by Mars, who stared with his small eyes but was surprisingly palatable. Discussion of birthdays - what to get for his, what he should get for mine, and his absolute adoration for his cats that I had been hitherto unaware of. Froggy's kind eyes, but more taciturn than usual. Then to the bookstore to show me the photography books he wanted (which now I cannot remember) because he is rediculously picky, it seems, as to the gifts he wants. He laughed over a picture book of cats called, laughably, 'Pussycats' that perhaps I should also get as a gag.

Home afterwards, to Danielle who had only just risen at the tender hour of two o'clock in the afternoon. Errands (Michael's, laundry) then letters of Mayakovsky, sweet almost to the point of loathing but only just.

'Linochka my kitten, my little sun, my star...your puppy....' and 'the slanting cheekbones of the sea'.

When there is injustice, correct it - corruption, pierce through it - unfairness.......

That is what one says, but in actuality, under the stiff conformity of reality, it becomes increasingly harder to act, until one finds themselves paralyzed under this repulsive inaction...

Maddening, the clouds; maddening, even, the clack of the keyboard under the stroke of my own fingers. Disturbed is a generous word, yet something akin to loathing could better describe it, no that is untrue, that too is untrue.

What is truth? Am I ever honest, honest, even, to myself? Am I honest in what I write? Can someone ever be? Truth becomes blurred through the action of thinking, then pondering, then scripting, then recording, then writing or speaking. What is heard or read is already a lie.

Why anyone would want to be a Republican I do not know. I suppose from a capitalist sense one could hope to benefit from a fiscally conservative government, but then only at the expense of social programs.
I am frustrated by people I know that are Republican - I can agree that the initial platform of the party was not inherently bad, but has become so corrupted by Christian dogma and pandering to the wealthy with little regard to the economic effect upon the majority of the nation that it is now irretrievable. I can't even touch upon the atrocities perpetuated by the current administration.
I suppose it's fair to mention that I have communistic tendencies (is not the unequal distribution of wealth apparent enough yet?) and believe that the state is, from an ethical standpoint, never justified, which I suppose also makes me a bit of an anarchist.
From an intrinsic rights standpoint I support a minimalist state, from a humanitarian a large, socialized government, and for simplicity's sake I hope that we could eventually survive without the unpleasant necessity of a nation.
Yet for now, the state should merely be a servant to the individual. Despite what politicians would like to tell us, I have yet to see that recognised.