I’m disgusted by the Americans who continue to support treason. Law applies to all or none. If you think you’re safe as houses while this continues, you’re setting yourself up for a horrible surprise. I’m looking forward to seeing Beyoncè perform live next month. After that, I’ll keep looking forward to seeing Fleetwood Mac a few months later. Assuming we’re not all dead or dying from a nuclear tantrum, that is.
I completed NBC (nuclear, biological, and chemical warfare) training while serving in the Army. I know enough to be alarmed by the recent chemical attacks in the UK. I know exactly how to react to such tactics based on this knowledge. Do you? Russia denies everything, per usual, while gleefully celebrating yet another victory against the daft Americans who surrendered their free will to Fox News.
But, hey. At least 45 is white, huh? And he’s a Christian because Fox News said so. A white, allegedly Christian man with lots of money (do you truly know how he got it?) can commit treason, and you’re okay with it because he promised to overturn Roe vs. Wade? And he encourages you to hate loudly and boldly, and you love that shit, don’t you? Just as much as you hate me when I notice and point it out, eh?
There are a thousand clichè’s to describe how history repeats itself. What comes around, goes around, etc. Lay in the bed you made. That one seems fitting on many levels. Much of writing for others to read entails creating a story that uses symbolism to relate wisdom. I mean the underlying tale that’s rearranged, recast and reworded over and over by author after author.
The unspoken motivation for writing in the first place is what I’m referring to here: To cause the reader to feel, think, and experience your creation. To draw on that to which we can relate, then share a perspective. As a voracious reader, I treasure this bond. I love seeing the world through the eyes of another. As a writer, I’m finding myself reluctant to share. I recognize now it involves a slight level of trust.
The state of America affects me in ways I never considered before. I’m saddened by how quickly I’m becoming anti-theist. Presently, the word Christian is meaningless. A transparent shield of lies. I’m embarrassed by how naive I was. And disgusted. Wolves in sheep’s clothing don’t seem to understand why I respond like they’re a wolf. Maybe I should copy. If I pretend to believe hard enough, perhaps I can be a tree. We’ll see.