https://read.amazon.com/?asin=B00KVPOQK4&ref_=kwl_kr_iv_rec_12

This is about Fitzgerald’s Omar Khayyam and Lucretius.

I would like to do a book about Sartre, Heidegger, and Ayn Rand — but I am currently paralyzed by the need to prevent my landlord from killing me by throwing me out in the snow in January 2026.

I lived in London for awhile, and I have known actual Lords. My landlord is more like a crocodile than like an actual Lord, or like The Lord.

Crocodiles are like smaller versions and descendants of Allosaurus a dinosaur that fed on other dinosaurs and was a very vicious killer that tore its prey open by leaping and twisting as Nile crocodiles do to this day.

Persons of reason could learn from my misfortune, and take great and intense care in accepting a landlord —– which is like standing on a small rug and giving somebody the edge so they can pull that rug put from under you and send you flying on your head.

Do not wander into a landlord situation that may end up killing you.

When you are weak, distracted, tired, old, sick, or grieving.

My Mayor, Governor, and President are 100% Potemkin (fake). I wrote to them pleading for help, and got none — not one letter back even. Power is what they have for their benefit. I will see if Pam Bondi or the Secretary of the VA could do anything. I am 80. A decorated vet. With service overseas. Which means zip, nowadays.