Where Things Stand ...

 U.S. Special Operations Forces killed a boat filled with fishermen somewhere off the coast of Trinidad. SpecOps is killing scores of fishermen in the Caribbean. Trinidad is in the Caribbean Ocean/Sea. I don't think the Caribbean is large enough to qualify as an ocean but what the hell, open ocean is open ocean and IF there's pirates and/or drug traffickers operating in those waters well, U.S. Special Operations Forces will hunt you down and after the butch killer guys are done, there won't be enough human flesh left to feed the fishes. First off, the Caribbean is correctly considered as part of the Atlantic Ocean BUT, the Caribbean is also considered the largest "sea" in our worlds bodies of waters. Digression over. Back to a quasi-plot line which is necessary when opining about murder or piracy or insane assholes at the controls of armies, navies, air forces, and/or 'specops forces'. You see Sec/War Hoggrease is ordering U.S. military to track down and kill anyone that happens to be afloat in a boat traversing the Caribbean and have so far murdered about 120 plus or minus given the lack of an accurate body count, souls doing their best to disguise drug trafficking as fishing. We only have the trumpf regime's word on what exactly those now dead guys were up to. First off, for a nation's government to make the use of deadly force as reason for murder is a damn shaky rational for slaughter. There has yet to be any credible evidence that the fishermen killed were doing anything but plying their trade. As fishermen. Second off ... orders for murder come directly from the top and that would be trumpf ordering Sec/War Hoggrease to murder hapless fishermen. Sec/War Hoggrease is an obedient little warmonger and relishes his assignment to kill as being a badge of honor. Obedience most certainly won't stand up as a defense in any Nuremberg style military tribunal ... should one happen. Which very well should. And soon. Next up there's orange adolf trumpf declaring that the air space above and surrounding Venezuela as "closed to any and all air traffic" with consequences to follow any violation of Venezuelan closed air space ... trumpf figures he's cojones enough to crank up a war on Venezuela simply because trumpf gets a hard on considering regime change for Venezuela. Orange adolf trumpf is out of his depth with his warmongering bullshit and is likely to get called out by any number of nations in support of Venezuela and foremost in those nations friendly to Venezuela would be Russia and Russia's Vlad the Putin. Yep problematic situations are just over the horizon. With all the chaotic and borderline illegal crap-o-la being instigated by the trumpf regime, a war of naked aggression on Venezuela would fit right in with all the other unconstitutional and illegal pathologies being worked by the trumpf regime. Where's Congress with all this bullshit being wrought on a daily basis? Out to lunch. Closed? On drugs being trafficked by Venezuela? Shit ... we may have found us a winner. Also, trumpf plans to pardon a convicted and for real drug trafficking former president of Honduras but ... the insane fucker, trumpf, is fixing to keep on obliterating simple fishermen in the Caribbean simply because those simple fishermen give trumpf the nervous fidgets. Yep ... it is plain as white on rice that Amerikan government is wholly out of control and lawless as our day is long. Given it is for all intents and purposes winter, the day is not actually all that long. Pathological no doubt. Now for Sunday machine art.

frau d -

artist -

roses -

rocky -

fickle -

slender -

dalli -

rollins -

the lunatic prick that poses as amerika's president for now, is without rationale for the cold case of antics he pulls just about every day. 😐

 

So It Ends

 One day left and November is finito. Seemed almost like we were having so much fun. Or some silly dang illusion like that there. Okay and so in conclusion, here's Saturday machine art.

memory -

weight -

alive -

muses -

sculpt -

cosmic -

dances -

bonfire -

trumpf's plan for Venezuela seems to have hit a Putin size bump. Vlad the Putin is sending military advisors and equipment, it's fair to conclude that would be military equipment, to "assist Venezuela's Maduro" in the stand off with the U.S.. this could prove interesting sooner rather than later. 😏

Over And Ate It All

 Thanksgiving 2025 came and was devoured. We ate the whole thing. Not even much in the way of scrapes for our dog. She got some whipped cream and apple pie crust ... she's good. So Xmas is less than one month away and the 'crush' will be on and that's a guarantee. Didn't watch any footbowl, didn't watch any basketball, however we did watch the dog show and that was where the real entertainment was for Thanksgiving 2025. The long weekend is on its way. Now for Friday machine art.

walks a dog -

twitch -

of war -

harvest -

sponge -

nugget -

diverge -

large -

way back in the day my family would refer to me as "twitchy", I didn't know that was an insult. so now I find out I'm neurodivergent. wow ... go figure. 😏

Dark Matter Comes To Light

 Fully 27% of our known universe is made of 'dark matter'. Or spoiled cream cheese. Or you know ... something else. An Astrophysicist Prof Tomonori Totani, working at the University of Tokyo, has revealed that dark matter might not be so hard to find IF it weren't so dark. Yep. Of course there is more work needed to rule out less exotic explanations. Spoiled cream cheese is considered by astrophysicists world wide to be "exotic." Totani's research indicates that a "crucial breakthrough in unraveling the nature of dark matter" may be at hand. Or research telescope. Whichever. Furthermore, "gamma rays emanating from the centre of the Milky Way appear to bear the signature of the dark matter substance." As soon as the signature analysis gets returned to the University of Tokyo ... they'll know more. For all us plain and everyday just folks need not worry about dark matter OR spoiled cream cheese unless that cream cheese is set to be served at Thanksgiving dinner. And there you go. Happy turkey day everybody. Eat, drink, and then nap before the start of NFL footbowl. Now for Thursday machine art.

known -

rhinodillo -

girl -

odo -

piped -

town -

cha -

boat -

so we have us those known knowns and then we have us those unknown unknowns but, we still don't know what we don't know ... Rumsfeld back in the day ... 😏

The Cotillion's Shadows

The music didn't arrive on strings or brass. It seeped up through the floorboards a rhythm made of settling dust, the memory of old waltzes trapped in the parquet, and the collective rebellious hum of a thousand things that usually have to remain quiet.

 This was the hour when the physics of the daytime world grew lazy.

Under the painted banner reading L'OMBRE COTILLION, the guests arrived not by carriage but by detaching themselves. They peeled away from the sleeping forms of bankers, debutantes, and tired scullery maids upstairs, slipping under door cracks like spilled ink.

Tonight they were not secondary. Tonight, they had mass.

The ballroom was hazy, rendered in thick oily strokes of a dream that's difficult to remember the next morning. Candlelight didn't illuminate the dancers so much as it defined their absence. They were silhouettes cut from vantablack velvet, swirling in gowns that seemed made of thunderclouds and smoke.

The vibe was undeniably sassy. You could see it in the way a towering figure in a top hat, the daytime shadow of a very meek accountant, bowed with exaggerated impossible depth. You could almost feel it in the sharply dismissive flick of a fan made entirely of gloom held by a figure whose feathered headdress brushed the chandeliers.

They didn't speak, shadows have no lungs for air but the room was filled with a crowded, rustling whisper.

"Did you see her today?" a smudge of charcoal seemed to convey to a blur of indigo. "She tripped three times. I had to elongate myself just to make it look graceful. I am exhausted."

A couple in the center of the floor executed a pivot so sharp, so impossibly fast, that their forms momentarily merged into a single chaotic brushstroke before snapping back into two distinct and smug figures. It was a move that a would snap a human ankle performed with the casual arrogance of being that which cannot break.

They danced with the energy of stolen time. They were the anxieties, the hidden vanities, and the secret desires of the house finally allowed to put on their finery and spin.

However, the cotillion had a strict curfew.

As the first gray hint of dawn threatened the high windows, the heavy brushstrokes of the room began to thin, the music faded back into the floorboards. With a final collective rustle of silk that wasn't there, the dancers dissolved. They rushed toward the ceiling, sliding back under doors, racing to reattach themselves to the heels of their sleeping owners before the sun rose and forced them back into obedient two dimensional servitude.

Upstairs a young woman awoke, stretching. Her ankles felt strangely sore, as if she'd been dancing all night in shoes she didn't own.

Chapter Two

The morning light in the ballroom was aggressive. It was a sterile, interrogating brightness that scrubbed the walls clean of mystery and demanded the room confess its emptiness.

Elara stood in the doorway, her satin slippers making no sound. Upstairs, the house was alive with the practical noises of the day, copper pots banging in the kitchen, the rhythmic thud of rugs being beaten outside. But here, the silence was heavy and guilty.

She had come down because the ache in her ankles wouldn't subside, a phantom pain from a marathon she hadn't run. She expected to find scuff marks on the parquet, perhaps a dropped handkerchief.

Instead she found a violation of physics.

In the dead center of the room where the moonlight had been thickest hours before, something remained. It wasn't an object, but rather a concentration of pure rebellious energy that had refused to dissipate when the sun rose.

It was a vortex of vantablack brushstrokes, a violent swirl of charcoal smeared onto the reality of the wooden floor. It looked like a drain in the universe, or perhaps the impossibly fast pirouette of a dancer who had spun so hard they drilled a hole through the fabric of the morning.

It was terrifying. It was also, Elara thought with a strange jolt of pride, incredibly stylish.

She took a step toward it. The anomaly didn't sit still; it hummed with a low, visual vibration. It was the leftover adrenaline of the cotillion, the collective "sassy" defiance of a hundred shadows condensed into one spot.

Her own shadow, currently obediently pale and thin against the wall behind her, seemed to twitch in recognition.

Elara reached out a hesitant hand. Her fingertip brushed the very edge of the black swirl. It felt ice cold and furiously fast, like touching a spinning bicycle wheel made of smoke.

The contact broke the spell. With a sound like a sharply exhaled breath of disapproval, the vortex collapsed inward. The thick black paint dissolved into gray mist, which spiraled upward toward the high windows and evaporated into the blinding white light leaving not so much as a smudge on the floor.

Elara stood alone in the empty bright room. The ache in her ankles was gone.

She turned to leave, a small secret smile touching her lips. She knew with absolute certainty that tonight, her shadow would demand better shoes. finis

Holy Crap On A Cracker

 According to the 'International Journal of Modern Physics', our universe is filled with tiny black holes that comprise much of what is considered 'dark matter' AND those tiny black holes will rain down from the skies and suck you up thereby giving credence to those rascally evangenitals and their 'rapture' bullshit. According to a Vanderbilt University physicist, name withheld due to the tricky nature of his revelation and the tendency of those evangenitals to go batshit crazy at the slightest mention of ... well you know ... that rapture bullshit. So and anyway, the physicist guy insists that shortly after the "big bang" (proof of which is still waiting for ... proof) the universe was filled with all manner of exotic dealies, thingies, weird shit-to-dingies, and of course those ever so elusive tiny black holes. You see when those tiny black holes commence to free falling from the heavens, should one target and hit your angst ridden ass, well, that's all over. According to the physicist's conjecture, tiny black holes WILL find you and punch right through your physical presence and you will simply implode and vanish from our know universe. Shit and it isn't like we've not got about enough crap to worry about as things stand at present. Tiny black holes raining down from the skies and well ... if'n the rain is gonna bring tiny black holes down on all our heads ... let's get on with it. I mean, how straight up fucking bad can a phenomenon such as raining tiny black holes be worse than having to put up with all the continuing dysfunctional pucky spewing forth from the trumpf regime ... I mean ... really. Besides should it commence to raining tiny black holes down from the skies that would sure as shit bring an end to the Ukraine war of naked aggression done by the Rooskies. The Palestinian genocide/holocaust would grind to a screaming halt and with any luck at all, Netanyahu would get punched before anyone else. That could surely rank as karma. So we've got us one more thing to give meaning to early twenty first century angst and that's the way it goes. Now for Tuesday machine art. Hopefully we'll get to that before them dang tiny black holes start to rain down all over everywhere.

surge -

labyrinth -

hope -

doors -

piggy -

pizmo -

despair -

incest -

so with the uptick in interest over those Epstein Files, people are now wondering IF incest is really all that bad. we have fox nooze and Megyn Kelly to thank for that ... stupid cow anyway ... Kelly AND fox nooze ... 😏

Nothing But Nothing

 Same old grinds on as same old grinds on. Trumpf's insane, Congress is a waste of EVERYONE'S time and complaint. So here we are and upcoming Thursday is Thanksgiving. The "holidays begin" and look out if you happen to wander into a Walmart anywhere. Retailers will greet you at the doors of their particular establishment with welcoming hands outstretched and hoping you'll pony up and put money in their tills. Ah yes you can almost feel the holiday spirit along with the burning scent of credit cards. Aren't you glad you don't live in Gaza, Beirut, and/or Ukraine. Nothing says 'Christmas spirit' like genocidal warfare and the gentle pitter patter of drones exploding all over a damn place. Now for Monday machine art.

hugs -

savage -

traffic -

portal -

tesla -

nuevas -

valent -

natgeo -

the image back up the post aways titled 'traffic' should be self-explanatory HOWEVER ... think epstein files and run with the theme from there. 😐