This is my second blog.

My first blog chronicled my experiences over three years caring for my dad as he lived through and finally died from Alzheimer's. That is the book that is for sale.

This second blog kind of chronicles of life, what it is like to start your life over in your late 50's. After caretaking, you are damaged, file bankruptcy, and the world doesn't care what you did. After 8 months of unemployment, you wake each day knowing the world doesn't want you. Finally you do find a job, 5 weeks before homelessness, but doing what you did 30 years ago and getting paid what you did 30 years ago. So this is starting over.

The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.

Saturday, March 26, 2016


Long time ago, in a far away land, the first Matrix movie came out and everyone was just raving about the movie.  So, when it came out on video, I watched it.

It wasn't as bad as the made for TV movie Landgoliers, which is just about the closest thing I could think of saying complimentary about The Matrix.

And now I've spent over 15 years listening to people quote the movie like Star Wars; 'take the blue pill or take the red pill' like there was some deep meaning.

First of all, here is what bothered me with the concept from the beginning.  IF such a thing existed, as the matrix, don't you think the designers would have come up with something to handle those who think they are escaping?  In other words, take the blue pill and you go back to oblivion and if you take the red pill you are still in oblivion, only you are just now dreaming you are some sort of anarchist fighting the system but really nothing more than a dream.

In other words, wait for the green or white pill.

I don't know what got into me, but decided to rent all three of them, thought maybe I'd give it another chance or maybe seeing the entire trilogy I would find some deeper meaning.

So, I watched the first one and came away realizing I'd been unfair in my evaluation all those years ago, it really was as bad as The Landgoliers.

The second one I was thinking I need a girlfriend or should have worked overtime or maybe gotten that colonoscopy.

I actually liked the third one, a little.  Then I realized one of the main issues, I really dislike Keanu Reeves as an actor.  I haven't seen him in much, but nothing he ever did I liked, oh shut up, Point Break was okay, but the ending totally sucked.  Should of put Swazye in handcuffs at the end and then it might have been a good movie, letting him go was just a stupid Hollywood ending that made me hate myself for getting suckered into the movie for 90 minutes.

So my review of the Matrix is this:  Watch The Landgoliers and when it's over and you think that really sucked and you just wasted 4 hours of your life, be happy you didn't watch The Matrix Trilogy and lose over 7 hours of your life.

A THUNDER-STORM of the olden days! 
The red sun' sinks in a sleepy haze; 
The sultry twilight, close and still, 
Muffles the cricket's drowsy trill. 
Then a round-topped cloud rolls up the west, 
Black to its smouldering, ashy crest, 
And the chariot of the storm you hear, 
With its jarring axle rumbling near; 
Till the blue is hid, and here and there 
The sudden, blinding lightnings glare. 
Scattering now the big drops fall, 
Till the rushing rain in a silver wall 
Blurs the line of the bending elms, 
Then blots them out and the landscape whelms. 
A flash—a clap, and a rumbling peal: 
The broken clouds the blue reveal; 
The last bright drops fall far away, 
And the wind, that had slept for heat all day, 
With a long-drawn sigh awakes again 
And drinks the cool of the blessed rain. 

November! night, and a sleety storm: 
Close are the ruddy curtains, warm 
And rich in the glow of the roaring grate. 
It may howl outside like a baffled fate, 
And rage on the roof, and lash the pane 
With its fierce and impotent wrath in vain. 
Sitting within at our royal ease 
We sing to the chime of the ivory keys, 
And feast our hearts from script and score 
With the wealth of the mellow hearts of yore. 

A winter's night on a world of snow! 
Not a sound above, not a stir below: 
The moon hangs white in the icy air, 
And the shadows are motionless everywhere. 
Is this the planet that we know— 
This silent floor of the ghostly snow? 
Or is this the moon, so still and dead, 
And yonder orb far overhead, 
With its silver map of plain and sea, 
Is that the earth where we used to be? 
Shall we float away in the frosty blue 
To that living, summer world we knew, 
With its full, hot heart-beats as of old, 
Or be frozen phantoms of the cold? 

A river of ice, all blue and glare, 
Under a star-shine dim and rare. 
The sheeny sheet in the sparkling light 
Is ribbed with slender wisps of white— 
Crinkles of snow, that the flying steel 
Lightly crunches with ringing heel. 
Swinging swift as the swallows skim, 
You round the shadowy river's rim: 
Falling somewhere out of the sky 
Hollow and weird is the owlet's cry; 
The gloaming woods seem phantom hosts, 
And the bushes cower in the snow like ghosts. 

Till the tinkling feet that with you glide 
Skate closer and closer to your side, 
And something steals from a furry muff, 
And you clasp it and cannot wonder enough 
That a little palm so soft and fair 
Could keep so warm in the frosty air. 

'T is thus we dream in our tranquil clime, 
Rooted still in the olden time; 
Longing for all those glooms and gleams 
Of passionate Nature's mad extremes. 
Or was it only our hearts, that swelled 
With the youth and life and love they held? 
Edward Rowland Sill