Oh, you are so cultured. I have to finish that book by Kelley on how welfare programs backfire, and then it's on to "The Seven Deadly Sins of Wall Street." Summer is time for politicians to vacation and lowly reporters to fill their column inches with book reviews.

I am, however, trying to make myself useful by setting up to practice piano or do some visual art for about an hour a night, now that I'm getting off around 10 or 11. Hey, it's almost time to scoot! Then, I hope to direct my creative time toward something that can help my fellow man. Then, I hope to become a wooden puppet, from there I will work toward becoming real. (Oh, don't be one of those people who tell me I look like Joan Baez with a big nose.)

Here's what I've resolved, Doc. I'm turning my stalker over to the Almighty. I cannot fight; fighting is evil. I cannot reason; said person is on meds and does not accept logic as I understand it. I cannot try friendship; he begs more physical contact than I will give him. If God can win battles with clay pots and trumpets, he can do what needs doing with this situation. I am so completely done with thinking I can train people. I must train myself, starting tomorrow of course, after I have my last binge of Reece's Peanut Butter Cups. Why are Reece's the eighth deadly sin? Is it because they make my liver fatty or is it the way they control me?

3. I have no savings, otherwise I would. By November, I want to leave this place so badly, but right now, the trees are calling me near.

2. I love Justin. He's a beautiful and kindly person, and his music gets me where Taverner's is getting me now. I never had the guts to pray if he was "the one," let alone the never to go around saying he was by divine decree. I refer to him as "Justin" and not "Sexy." I have never had the gall to propose that he play Adam and Eve with me. Yeah, I've given him flowers on occasion, and so have a lot of mentally-stable and well-grounded fans. I stare, but come on. Am I supposed to take time off work, pay a sub, spend a ton on gas, buy an expensive ticket, and sit around psycholanayzing fans? That's not my thing. I like to look at beautiful people, but never in an obscene (Italian) kind of way. I never wanted to be caught with my nose on a security camera snooping around his house. I don't want to go anywhere that I can't walk through the front door with an invitation - public restrooms excepted. I've only waited in hotel lobbies twice I think. Both times, I was with fans in good standing, but I was very uncomfortable - but I was the only one to spring out of my seat and try to run down Justin, both times and to no avail. I respect the institution of marriage and respect that Justin is a big boy and competent to choose who he loves. I have read all his disparaging comments about fans and people who aren't musicians. I've waited by the buses for another chance to see Justin after shows, even when no other fans were around. For all this, I don't feel creepy. If I am wrong, I by all means invite divine intervention.

1. I don't think I am supposed to eat caffeine-like stimulants or sugar. Many good people do, but the choco-stuff makes my brain fuzzy. Did I tell you about the time I got lost in NYC? I get lost there all the time, but this time, I was stoked on Coke or Pepsi. I prayed for direction as I have many times in the past, and I got back the answer, "You've shown me what you think of my advice." I should have suffered mega-diabetes by now if desserts were just. Salt, as in fast food for breakfast every morning, makes me mean as do wicked powermongers.

Not to worry. I will continue to medicate with sacred music from the Renaissance (or late Medieval, as I like the stuff written for the acoustics of big, stone cathedrals). If, as some have indicated, Taverner was the zenith, then I shall have to learn how to write stuff like this myself. It is so much more up my alley than pop music. Speaking of crazy, a couple nights ago, I was hearing the same kinds of things. It was in my head, but like tapping into infinite extensions of Taverner. Of course, my little brain was incapable of scoring it all. I read elsewhere about a guy who had had a similar experience after rehearsing Handel's Messiah. I used to dream of symphonies. Maybe it's coming back. Do I ever want to be able to write like this.

But first! Those eekie hospital forms. I'm a knave dreaming of being the court musician and an alchemist, when I shall probably never be more than an air guitarist, and a bad one at that.

I'm great at saving negative money. Do it all the time.

Yesterday I awoke with a start. I'd been dreaming about the flood of child immigrants and the bank crisis. On my mind when the alarm went off was, "What makes intelligent people make stupid decisions?" The answer in the dream was an emotion that screamed "catastrophic crisis." You know, you could solve a lot of this, luna, if you would just invent the virtual home that tricks the body's thermostat, immune system, etc. into thinking it is warm and dry in spite of the weather. You could sell it as an app, and people would spend $25 a year (for the service plan including free upgrades) in lieu of getting into one of those high-risk mortgages. That would free up more dollars, so a family of four might be able to buy two boxes of cereal, rather than one, for their weekly groceries.

It might be easier to find and mash the magic reset button for the global economy. Marketing your app would be a regulating nightmare against the lobbying powers of Fannie and Freddie.

No?

I think if everybody were to be clear about what they perceived and what they inferred; and if everybody would be perfectly honest in the sense of telling everything in their mind with precision (which I admit is not part of the game here), the concept of reality would be more concrete. I continue to be dumbfounded by the number of people apparently blatantly living in fantasy. I'd rather be a loner than surround myself with people trapped by my lies.

While we're using sentences that require me to gear-down, I'm reading a very credible book by Bob Ivry, "The Seven Sins of Wall Street." He's giving JPMorgan Chase execs a hard time for giving a pass to the London Whale's recommendation to, among other things, "Go long risk on some belly tranches especially where default may realize."