Oh, insomnia. Oh, drunken. Oh, tramadol.

I'm trying to learn to speak freely again.

Just wrapped up "Non-Violent Communication: a Language of Compassion" or whatever it's called.

The author is always on about "needs." He even tells a story about how a woman went to one of his workshops, and was saved shortly afterwards by his wise hippie teachings:

"The more I was able to focus my attention on his feelings and needs, the more I saw him as a person full of despair whose needs weren't being met . . . after he'd received the empathy he needed, he got off me, put the knife away . . .."

Do we live in a vacuum? Is the world a more "peaceful" place if a woman gently nurtures a dude on top of her with a knife to her throat?

It's so hard to enjoy books now. Oh, NON-fiction books, unlike the preceding example.

Even Vine Deloria's "We Talk, You Listen" smacks hard of the patriarchy. It's a damn shame. A 1970 analysis of power movements and group versus individual identity, and their intersection in radical theory. Indians as the invisible minority. What he really means is Indian men.

I'll probably never come back to this, but I'm finished. I don't even have a GED. I have no business dabbling in TEH INTARWEBZ anymore; my middle class age group now has advanced degrees.