365 Days Of UNF: February 24th
Your atoms were forged in the belly of a dying star.
The iron in your blood is ancient.
The calcium in your bones was made in a supernova.
You are literally made of reincarnated stars.
And you’re worried about being “too much”?
Okay, But Why Are The Exterior Walls So Thick?
3am Musings
I’ve felt it. You’ve felt it. Things feel off. Things don’t work the way we’ve come to accept as normal and expected. Whether that’s our institutions, our devices, or—dare I say—our bodies (TBH, the latter may be colored by my own experiences over the past year). The simplest tasks are glitching. Trying to get anything accomplished through customer service anywhere is a lesson in frustration. Nothing is working the way it should.
I have a theory.
Judging from the prevalence of YouTube videos on the subject, as is the case with many older people I find myself waking up almost every night like clockwork around 3 am. Sometimes I can fall right back asleep; other times—like this morning—not so much. My mind starts wandering.
I know I’m not the only one—again, because I spend too much time on YouTube—that everything just feels off. In fact, I will go so far as reality itself has felt off since I watched those planes slam into the Twin Towers on the morning news that fateful day in 2001 as I was getting ready for work—although nowhere near as much as it has over the past five or six years.
“High strangeness” is the only way I can describe it. Yes, life eventually returned to normal—and for a few brief months our country was united in a way I now doubt we’ll ever see again. But then Republicans got a war hard-on and Bush invaded Iraq (even though it had nothing to do with the attacks) and things started unraveling.
This morning, while laying awake listening to Ben breathe beside me, I envisioned reality as a meticulously maintained Jenga tower; a tower representing our shared reality.
Bear with me here. This is kind of in the weeds and I’m not sure I can adequately convey it in words.
This tower of our shared reality is composed of blocks made of 8+ billion smaller towers representing our individual lives. When we die the small gaps left in the structure from our individual towers disappearing are replaced by new towers of those who follow after us. The big, life-altering events we each experience individually can be represented by blocks being knocked out of our personal towers. It’s never enough to bring down the entire fabric of reality, but these events definitely affect our personal realities, forcing us to change. (see: cancer, etc.)
But something happened in 2001. Something came along and knocked out several rows wholesale making everything unbalanced. The tower started listing.
When it descended that golden escalator in 2015, more critical rows were knocked out. The tower started leaning dangerously and it’s only gotten worse over the past decade. That’s this feeling of everything being off. Because it is.
COVID, 2020. Another block pushed—although not immeidately out of the tower. Somehow this managed to give our collective reality an opportunity to reset. But then, BAM! It was knocked out as well and it was back to business as usual. The tower was beginning to look like a certain monument in Pisa, Italy.
I fear all it’s going to take is one more event, one more loss of a row of blocks and…

I don’t know about y’all, but I keep feeling like this is just around the corner.
It’s Exhausting Keeping Up With His Psychosis
Released 47 Years Ago Today
Carrie Lucas: Dance With You (1979)
Released 43 Years Ago Today
Sade: Diamond Life (1983)
A Certain Aesthetic
365 Days Of UNF: February 23rd
You are a conscious universe folded into a temporary body for approximately 80-90 years—4,000 weeks—and you’ve spent some of them worrying that your email was too long.
That your voice was too much.
That your ideas weren’t ready.
My love, you’re a MIRACLE that physics cannot fully explain.
Vintage Audio Pr0n
And Revox, no less!
There Will Always Be A Britain
When will we do this?!”
Always Remember…
You’re Next, Asshole!
Donald Trump, You’re Next
You are not untouchable, and you cannot keep hiding behind the presidency. Your crimes cannot be ignored any longer, and the world will not look away. You were a part of Jeffrey Epstein’s circle, walking alongside a predator, and in doing so you revealed the predator you have been all your life. You protected each other for so long and you now continue to shield countless powerful people who know the truth. The world knows it. The victims know it. You are a perverted, disgusting, vile, and corrupt asshole, a moral disgrace who has embarrassed the entire world, betrayed every standard of decency, and left a trail of destruction and humiliation that touches everyone unlucky enough to have crossed your path.
Decades of sexual abuse trail you, and a jury has already found you liable. Your own words and actions leave no doubt: you are not misunderstood, you are dangerous, and you have no regard for anyone you harm. You survive by lying, deflecting, and weaponizing every accusation, turning every consequence into fuel for your rallies while ignoring the suffering of every victim.
Your presidency will not keep protecting you. Justice will reach you. Evidence does not bend to fear, and no amount of power or influence can shield you from accountability. Power can delay justice, but it cannot stop it. You will face it, and you will answer for everything.
Original image by @visuals.by.rob please tag and credit when sharing. ©2026
Just Like Old Times
I Wish I’d Thought Of This When I Was Getting Daily Scam Calls At Work
Today’s “Microsoft” Call of the Day…
I had a lovely phone conversation today with a very polite young chap who said he was calling from Microsoft.
“Hello, sir, how are you doing today?”
“I’m very well, thank you for asking. And how are you? More importantly… WHO are you?”
“Sir, my name is Gupta, and I’m calling from Microsoft.”
“Microsoft, eh? Is that a city in India somewhere? How’s the weather today — hot, or is it monsoon season? I’ve seen those National Geographic documentaries… that’s some serious rain!”
“No, sir, the weather is very good. I am calling from MICROSOFT — the computer company — Mr. Bill Gates’ company. We have found a serious problem with your computer…”
“REALLY? My computer? Well, that’s very worrying…”
“Yes, sir, it could become catastrophic for your files, your passwords, even your internet banking! But don’t worry — I can fix it for you…”
“No,” I interrupted, “it’s worrying because… I don’t actually HAVE a computer.”
Silence.
“You don’t, sir?”
“I don’t, Gupta. No computer.”
“Ahhh… then it must be your laptop.”
“Gupta.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I don’t have one.”
“An iPad?”
“Nope.”
“A tablet?”
“Nope. None of those.”
Pause.
“As a matter of fact, Gupta… I don’t even have a telephone.”
A few seconds of tense silence. Then he says, “Ah, sir… now you are lying to me!”
I replied, “Well… you started it!”
And I hung up.
[source]
Triptych
Since Y’All Seemed To Enjoy These…
365 Days Of UNF: February 22nd
The voice in your head that’s reading these words right now—that’s not you.
You’re the one listening to it.
I Could Live There
In 2020, Clive Wilkinson Architects was commissioned by a film director and his philanthropist wife to renovate and modernize the iconic Wolff House in West Hollywood, designed in 1961 by the visionary architect, John Lautner, for concert pianist and interior decorator Marco Wolff.
The house was enlarged, also by Lautner, in 1970 with a guest house wing. The oversailing wide copper roof was extended to embrace the guest house addition. The home was designated a Historic Cultural Monument in 2006.
The organic features of the surrounding hillside contrast with Lautner’s carefully integrated and forward-thinking uses of natural materials like stone, glass, and copper. The elegant, asymmetric geometry of the house is seamlessly integrated into this natural environment, creating an organic flow between the interior and exterior with contemporary design.
Over the years, the house changed hands several times, and changes were made – the kitchen was renovated with stainless steel cabinetry; the staircase was moved from the center to the back of the main house.
Our goal in restoration was to completely restore and revive Lautner’s design vision, without any stylistic imprint of contemporary design.
In the main house, skylights were restored to their original size and place. The powder room was renovated, a sheet of green marble enlivening the space. What had been a large, unfinished storage room, became a sleek wine cellar. The circular stairway was updated to make it less precarious and to visually integrate it in a more seamless way.
The primary bath restored the main features of the original layout, removing a deep sunken tub and replacing it with a glass-enclosed shower. Perhaps most notably, a floor to ceiling window was added to the primary bedroom, bringing in much needed light and expanding the views of trees and the city below.
In the guesthouse, a gym and extra bedroom were created, where before there had been a steam room and storage area. All the renovations were guided by the idea of bringing back the original Lautner character and erasing later modifications.
A Girl Can Dream
Good Humans Are Out There
The MAGA Nightmare Is Almost Over, America
This will all be over soon, America.
The sundowning of the MAGA movement is upon us.
The signs are everywhere.
As much as History can be an albatross in moments like these, alerting us to the terrifying ways in which we are repeating the past pathologies of inhumanity, she can also be a source of comfort; a reminder of the inevitability of the endings of all evil things.
If we consult her with a clear head, she’ll remind us that all brutal empires fall,
that all hateful movements dissolve, that every seemingly bulletproof regime reaches its extinction, and that all malevolent momentary victors eventually find themselves defeated and driven out.
Every time the pendulum has swung wildly toward barbarism in a society, it has invariably come back with even greater opposite force to bend the arc of the moral universe back toward justice again.
And History tells us that, despite the story in our heads or the one that comes through the partisan propaganda that we’re continually saturated by, our brutal national nightmare is likely in its final hours.
Few cults survive the passing of their leaders, and MAGA will not outlive the departure of Donald Trump from the White House or from this earth, whichever comes first.
His physical attrition and mental degradation can no longer be hidden or distracted from. His body is rapidly breaking down, laboring with simple tasks, hemorrhaging energy, and riddled with the unmistakable tells of a man whose systems are failing.
His already hate-addled mind is becoming more and more clouded in an ever-thickening haze of deterioration, drugs, and almost certain dementia. His outbursts have grown more impulsive, his decisions have become more desperate, and the once indestructible facade of strength is steadily crumbling.
The strongman is withering. He is a lame duck president whose once fierce death grip on political power is giving way to neutered impotence and growing irrelevance.
The rapacious brutality of his regime is being exposed and condemned.
The groundswell of public opposition is growing louder and more organized.
The defections from his party are accelerating, their unwavering allegiance weakening.
His cockroach accomplices are scattering in the raking light of coming accountability.
His supposed social media army of support is proving to be made largely of foreign bot factories. And there is no scenario in which is political power or cultic influence increases from here. It will all be an exercise in diminishing returns. He has peaked as a galvanizing presence, and there’s no GOP spin doctoring that can change that.
Whether is is taken by nature or by the Constitution, the gap left will be too expansive to fill, because although Trump didn’t create the unapologetic bigotry, or give birth to the unrepentant cruelty, or author the intellectual ignorance of teh MAGA movement, he alone was the catalyst for it.
His bizarre carnival barker charisma, his curated mythology of financial success, his lowest-common-demonimator soundbite sermonizing, and his lack of any moral requirements made him the singular human being to expose the worst of humanity.
He gave people permission to revel in the worst of their instincts, to give loud voice to their hidden hatreds, to discard their religious convictions, and to fully abandon empathy and decency. And once he is gone, MAGA will be gone too.
No, the tens of millions of Americans whose minds have been steadily poisoned by him, his willing political partners, comprised clergy, dudebro podcasters, opportunist internet vultures, and Fox New fakery will not sudden awaken from their cultic stupor and join the rest of us in benevolent and interdependent humanity.
But they will never again have someone who embodies the zeitgeist of grotesque impulses the way Trump has. His sycophants, disciples, and cheerleaders will all be scattered in his absence, no longer able to rally around a singular presence.
This doesn’t mean the coming days will be easy or painless; likely just the opposite. Like a wounded and dying animal, he and his cadre of ghouls will become more violent, more desperate, and more committed to destruction. But they know, as well as we do, that their time is short and that the clock on their stranglehold of this nation is ticking.
That should strengthen our resolve, lift our spirits and sturdy our steps. Take heart, good people. Time, gravity, and term limits are undefeated, and one way or another, the end of MAGA is near. And the dawn of the promise of America will break once again.
I Love Spanish Colonia Revival
Located in Hollywood’s Outpost Estate’s neighborhood, Bob Barker’s home was previously owned by the polo playing wildcatter Russell Havenstrite (1896-1958) and his wife, Edith. Born in Oklahoma, Havenstrite would arrive in Signal Hill during the 1920s to strike oil before heading to Alaska in 1932 and returning to Southern California to drill in Newhall.
Together with his wife, Edith, Havenstrite owned the Fine Arts Building in downtown Los Angeles, an Italian Renaissance Revival style building located at 811 West 7th Street designed by Walker & Eisen. The building’s penthouse served as their downtown social space, and Havenstrite, an accomplished polo player, would found the Beverly Hills Polo Club.
Designed by architect Rollin F. Pierson, the home’s floor plan is classic Spanish Colonial Revival. The home’s large living and dining rooms open onto a large terrace with direct access to the private bedrooms upstairs. The home includes both a library and breakfast room, revealing that this was no mere speculative commission, but a true custom home.
Another unique flourish can be found upstairs, where a private interior balcony links the primary suite with the second largest bedroom across the two story entry hall.
Located at 1851 Outpost Drive, the home has recently been renovated and is currently on the market for $7,395,000.
Project: Residence of Mr. and Mrs. Russell Havenstrite, 1929
Architect: Rollin F. Pierson
Location: Los Angeles, California
Source: Architectural Digest



























































































































