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Disabled
Facebook informed me that my profile was “disabled” (love that jargon) when I went to log in. It is a scene out of 1984. No information is being given to me, no reasons are supplied. I simply have been deleted. Several e-mails later still no success. it is beyond farce — here is so-called social media acting without due process, to say the least, and totally bereft of social skills. McCarthyesque, in that I cannot face my accusers. Given that I had not been actively contributing to the site for several weeks, that I am not a purveyor of pornography nor…
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The Return Of The Repressed: At 69
I am 69 now, and how have I reached this age? I was aware all the time. Interiorly I could be 20, 40, even 50, but time has brought me to this point ineluctably. Fascinating, for the exterior self has weathered, grown not a little creaky and grayer and less efficient, yet the edifice stands. That is only part of it. The shock of 69 is still with me. I have lived perhaps too long. Inside I feel not so old, perhaps more mature, perhaps. Inside I have not been weathered. I have been stressed and tested. I have endured great…
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At 69
Yesterday was my birthday. I am so clotted with feelings about the age I am I will leave it be for a moment. Jane treated me for the day on the Strip. Vegas is in a valley surrounded by mountains. The mountains, from the distance, strike me as “false,” in that they seem or appear to be artist paintings or fake. Probably an atmospheric quirk but I feel as if they are stage sets. My point is that there are still stretches of unused desert land here and when we drove to the bus terminal it appeared as if lost…
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Who Is Alice?
Dear Alice, how do you know about the Miller Analogy Test I took in 1966? Please identify yourself. And please do not write in French. English is my mother tongue. Other than Moliere perhaps, no one equals Shakespeare, a gift from friendly aliens. I promise not to respond in early Mayan.