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A gallimophry of random observations, May 19th, 2021.

Inspired by the spirit of our times, I have decided to throw together a gallimophry of random observations.

A salugundi of insights, as it were, or an eaten mass of ironic inversions.

A mullage of right-wing virtue signaling, a potpourri of punditry, and see how you like it.

This is the sort of moment that calls for the stir-fry approach.

I think of Larry Norman's readers' digest, or Dylan's subterranean homesick blues, with apologies to both gentlemen, I'm sure.

Alice is a drag queen, but we're somewhere in between. Other bands are looking mean. Me, I'm trying to stay clean.

Larry Norman, readers' digest.

You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows. Bob Dylan, subterranean homesick blues.

In some of Robert Heinland's fiction, he postulated a time between the Second World War and the first man on the moon that he designated the crazy years.

As an uninspired prophet, his timing was a tad off, but otherwise I think we can give him an A- for calling the mere fact of the crazy years.

For low, here we are. The times dictate that every white person needs to recognize something important, especially those who are in deep denial about the insidious rod of their white supremacy.

Work with me here. Every white person must come to grips with the fact that whiteness is at least supreme within them, if nowhere else.

Is this not undeniable? If whiteness were not supreme in you, you wouldn't even be white.

It stands to reason. And what is it that makes you white? Is it not the supremacy of whiteness in you? And is that not white supremacy?

So what happens when you add all these white individuals up, stacking them up into a society? What do you get? You get white supremacy? That's what?

Either that or the fallacy of composition, not sure. If every piece of the coffee table is wood, then that makes the whole coffee table wood.

But if every part of the coffee table is under five pounds, then that doesn't make the coffee table under five pounds.

That would be the fallacy of composition. But fortunately, we live in a time when you can choose whichever option works best for you.

The brains who are running all of this have determined that we need to draw a firm line when it comes to misogyny and all related subjects.

For far too long, junior high girls have been subjected to the colonialism of what has come to be called the male gaze.

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