Steely Dan has some interesting lyrics.

Like, “Hollywood — I know your middle name” — I thought that was a particularly interesting one.

It’s from the song “Glamour Profession” — just so proper credit is given.

What is Hollywood’s middle name?

I found this song and the lyric to be quite telling.

I have never been to Los Angeles, at least, I think I haven’t been there.

Regardless of whether I’ve been there or not, I can imagine what it’s like.

That imagination is like a big version of Denver. Or maybe a bigger version of Boulder. Who knows.

I do know something about Hollywood — having consumed their movies for many years now.

Elliott Smith wrote about LA, too.

I don’t know what Smith nor what the band members of Steely Dan thought of LA. I just have my own perception of it.

Lots of fame there, I’d imagine.

One time I took a metaphysics class in another language.

The language was Spanish; the setting was Buenos Aires, Argentina.

The professor didn’t mess around.

This day I walked into class I was inundated with a plethora of metaphysical topics I hadn’t even thought to consider before.

One metaphysical topic I’d like to write about is how language atomizes knowledge in one’s mind.

I learned metaphysics in Spanish. Thus, the language caused the knowledge to be stored in my mind in a different place than if I had learned these topics in English.

This is my hypothesis.

I think it is so because when I go to talk about the experiences I had in Argentina learning metaphysics in a foreign language, I often cannot recall them in English. I have to translate things in my mind.

Then I will sufficiently be able to explain them, but it takes a little work.

I am wondering what “opposition” means. I am thinking of the situation in Bolivia. People declare that they disapprove of what has occurred, but many will not act on their sentiments, nor will they be able to act appropriately even if they do feel negatively about the events.

Many commentators on this issue are not Bolivian. I am not criticizing those who oppose the situation from somewhere other than Bolivia because I approach the issue with the same distance. Nor am I saying that everyone who comments on a political debacle needs to be from a particular place in which events transpire, nor even that they should be of a particular nationality. The natural response to a crisis is to either oppose it or condone it, though I am more interested in what people’s opposition means.

Senator Bernie Sanders has commented on Bolivia. Surely, people should be permitted to state their views on this, but I wonder what action they can realistically take.

It seems to me like armchair politicians probably should not make blanket statements about Bolivia because doing so would make them hypocrites. It must be said that I am an armchair politician, though I am not trying to generalize; and I hope I am not being hypocritical or contradictory.

Senator Sanders is not an armchair politician. It is worth stating that maybe I am misreading what he says. I believe his general idea is that the “coup” should not have taken place or perhaps that the new government should not have allowed the violence to occur. His position is a logical one, in that it condemns state violence against Bolivians.

Senator Sanders suggests some measures that seem unattainable. I believe he will not win the Democratic nomination, but his ideas may permeate into the mainstream political establishment.

I think, in the U.S., we need to work on how we think of intervention in other countries. The hands-off approach endorsed by President Trump is not working. Evidence for this is that parts of the world are erupting into violence and protests against those in power.

If Barack Obama were still president, I wonder how he might react to the political situation. Obama is politically moderate, even now. But, we don’t need a far-left or a far-right politician in the White House beginning in 2021. We need someone who is willing to change the country, but who also can keep checks and balances in order. Many people thought (including me) that Obama would stay in the political sphere after he left office. However, he has distanced himself from the political spotlight (perhaps wisely).

The Trump administration needs to condemn these worldwide antidemocratic regimes sharply. These governments are inflicting harm on their people.

If you read a newspaper here, you’re liable to realize that there is an economic crisis going on. There are various ways of viewing this.

Meanwhile, I sit in my apartment listening to music with glassy vocals that sound like a wall. I say that because there’s a wall of sound–I believe it’s made of platinum–and it’s shiny. Can sound be shiny?

Apparently so. I also have come to appreciate how listening to music on high volume can assist. It can assist the soul to feel how one ought to feel.

I also realized that my postulations at various times reflected exactly how I was feeling at that moment in time.

Nothing I write is intended to provoke. I’ve realized that, too.

Never to provoke, never to incite, never to rumor. I guess that’s what art is, right?

It’s funny how what we call art has changed.

We call art anything that determines its own meaning. But who knows? Maybe art is something else. Or maybe it will be something else.

I quickly got bored of the reports I used to write here.

They were too formulaic.

The shiny reports I used to write were a reflection of times past.

I am now a more complicated man.

I listen to music with synthesizers in it. I am more complex.

I once promised I would write a blog every day.

Hopefully the day I start doing that, I will not have anything interesting left to say.

Or rather, that might be true. Interesting things are only proportional to the frequency of time you use to separate events.

To be continued.

And things are good. A cabrón keeps prank-calling me. I’m not sure I should answer this cabrón. They keep leaving messages, additionally. I don’t know what the messages say. I don’t know how they got my phone number, señor.

Anyway, life is good. Calling me on a Sunday, though? That’s ridiculous. It’s my day of leisure—I mean, come on.

It’s my day of rest. I listen to a good song at the moment. It’s good stuff.

My day, of rest, in order to do the things I planned on all week, etcétera.

I toiled all week for this, now some cabrón is calling me on a Sunday for no reason whatsoever.

It’s unjust.

Now, for the kicker. I have nothing else to do today.

Oh, and I’m listening to a record, actually. It’s a new fad, these days. These hipster kids actually listen to records, these days, you know?

I keep feeling like my phone is vibrating, again, though it’s not, in reality.

I have a loose cannon of a mouth, these days. It’s okay. Nobody will sue me over it.

Journals are good to post to the public, correct? I don’t know, actually. I wish I would stop being autocrítico.

That’s the truth.

Hey, and I wonder, why didn’t the person calling me leave a message? I guess they could have, in a perfectly normal world. But they did not. And so they lost my trust.

I suppose they could have left a message, but they’re just some spammer trying to make ends meet, right? I don’t know.

But they didn’t have to call me.

Nobody has to do anything.

Autocrítico, if you haven’t learned already, is bad.

Because if I’m autocrítico, I don’t publish anything. And that’s bad.

And anti-publishing is anti-me. And that’s not a good policy.

Because these policy wonks are just trying to make things go their way. But they aren’t accomplishing a thing. That’s the truth.

These policy guys, with their degrees and all, don’t get anything done but make their clocks tick.

And is making your clock tick a moral reason to do what you do?

And after all, I don’t know if the cabrón who keeps calling me is actually prank-calling or not. Maybe he or she is not actually a cabrón. (If you haven’t discerned already, the term is not a nice one).

But people who call me on Sundays don’t need my attention, I’m sure. It is my day of rest, after all.

I don’t actually answer many calls these days. Close to zero calls have I answered the past few days. I just can’t spend the time. You know? Because I have a job and all. Not really, however.

Listening to this brass band is good, though.

I like the music, largely because it’s good music.

If you have any grammatical tips for me, I would like not to hear them.

I keep listening to the same record on repeat. Yeah, that part I said about the hipsters was true. It was actually true.

A breeze comes along, blows some trees about, the air, changing pressure, or whatever is alluded to in science textbooks. People smoke a bunch outside of doors, though nobody ever enforces the rules. It’s okay with me, however. I find enforcing these rules myself to be rather much like what they call, “vigilante justice,” even though I’ve never experienced something like this. I just don’t think people care that much. The cord on my headphones is ridiculously long, as if I were a studio musician who needed the cord length in order to span the distance from the control room to the actual recording room. I look like a vigilante myself.

I am rather sick of the playlist that Spotify has prepared for me about the songs I loved for the year. Last year, that is. It would make sense why I’m sick of it. And so I switch it to the Smiths, an artist I guess I didn’t listen to enough last year to get ruined by the Spotify songs of the year playlist that was designed for me individually. Lucky me. I do like the Smiths. And so I guess these songs will be relegated to next year’s songs of the year playlist. And in due time, I suppose I’ll be sick of the Smiths, too. But that can never happen, I can hear you protesting. I guess you’re probably correct. I wrote some fiction here today, thus, completing a segment of novel material. Novel material. Yes, that’s worth repeating.

I used to have a passion for straight razors, I will tell you. I suppose I thought I was Sweeny Todd or something. No, that’s incorrect, I didn’t think I was him, as that would be screwed up. But I did think I was a renaissance man of sorts. And so I used straight razors for about a year for those motives. I stopped after some time, just because it was not a comfortable shave, we’ll leave it at that. I prefer Gillette Mach 3 (yes, I’ll give credit where it’s due, relax). Why do I like the Smiths so much, you ask? Because they’re good. Listen to them. I think they’re irreverent, too, and so that’s a good thing for my taste. Irreverence earns points in my corner of the fighting ring, I suppose. But the material I write isn’t irreverent, is it? I think some of my fiction may be, but I never share that with anyone. That’s because I’m convinced it’s garbage. I know it probably is not. But I don’t need convincing, obviously. I’m just too egregiously self-centered to release it to the public.

Oh, and I guess I should give credit where it’s due to the Smiths, too. Though I’m not making a works cited or anything for this piece. You’ll have to take my word for it. I give them credit. I can’t really tell them, either. So it’s an implicit works cited, I suppose. Just don’t repeat that in your papers for academia, because the teacher won’t like that (it’s certain).