What gives me “direction” in life?

What gives you direction in life?

This promt is infuriating. I don’t think it is a valid question. Perhaps there was a time when it was one, but that would be before my time.

Read this article and watch the video interview to get an idea of where I stand and why the above question is so repulsive to me.

Now that you have seen and read some really interesting, screwy, looney, out there, absolutely psychotic stuff, tell me that “direction” on an individual level means anything at fucking all.

People live their lives the best that they can, according to beliefs, morality and knowledge gained from hard experience, or they don’t. And many times, those who don’t are just fucking crazy.

The guy in the video is fucking crazy and I should have put an upper case “c” on that word. He asserts that John F. Kennedy Jr. is still alive and will soon emerge from hiding to be Trump’s next vice president.

He contradicts himself by agreeing that Joe Biden is a “hologram” and then says he’s actor James Woods in a rubber mask.

He says that when Biden was still vice president, he was executed.

He asserts that an FBI informer is a good man despite damaging testimony against Trump. What this man says about January 6th is so far out there I’m not even able to comment on it. Watch the video in the link, you’ll see.

This walking meatball is entombed in a world of conspiracy theories and lies and pure fantasy that I’d wager he likely also believes that Harry Potter is real and an imminent threat to Christianity. If you had a sail boat and set sail on the Chesapeake Bay, and your rudder fell off, then a squall moved in, you’d get this fucker.

As for the rape trial, Trump said he cut short a golf trip to Ireland to face his accuser, who isn’t his “type”. Of course she’s not his type. She’s not his daughter. But long before 2016, I’d read stories about how he forced women into sex. Trump is or was a rapist, I know it. I know it in my heart. I stuck the “was” in there because I doubt that with his KFC-clogged arteries, he can have an erection now. But without any personal experience in such matters, I can say with confidence that rape is pretty difficult to commit with a limp, shriveled up dick.

His fans have some scary, fucked-up, and downright sick ideas about him. I don’t usually engage in criticism of physical appearance, but some of the goddamnedest looking women in tight T-shirts hugging the most saggy, misshapen breasts I’ve ever seen the outlines of have become sex billboards. The shirts proclaim love and sexual desire and say things like “You can grab my pussy anytime” which I guess might preclude any fair, impartial judgement of their appearance in my mind.

I’m not perfect. It’s funny that if I see someone with a kind soul and some semblance of rationality, I think they’re beautiful. If I don’t see that, I’m just gonna see fucking ugly.

Trump’s people. They love him and worship him.

In return, he lies to them, insults them, and uses them to death. He hates every goddamn one of them. Hates them, and in their bubbles of delusion, they can’t believe it. You can’t even talk to them. Spending more than 120 seconds with one can cause permanent damage. Because you ain’t never gonna be the same.

What gives me direction in life? Well, when I’m not outraged and cussing, it’s my willingness to admit I don’t know anything. That I am nobody. That my honor was stripped from me and I seek it because to die without it is a horrible thing. I want to love. And I want others to know it when I do.

We are seldom with “direction” in life. We have to wing it, do our best not to cause harm, keep faith with our higher power, and fight the fights that are worthy.

In these batshit crazy times, it’s a tall order to have. But we must accept it.

The alternative is believing James Woods is living in the White House.