blank page after blank page - what a perfect metaphor of existence · i guess my existential luck is holding out though the rubes in my nation of birth seem to feel somehow the George Orwell’s boot on the face of man has been magically lifted because the ruling class changed its hobnail boots for gucci loafers, whaddya’ gonna do; take a powder from battling oppression and ignorance just because the last episode of “Murder and Mayhem for Profit” Season 45 episode 48 has gone into reruns while the dream machine refines the next Season’s opener; “How to Bomb Yemen & Make It Look Like It Was Famine’s Fault”. I've sold the first 13 episodes on spec to the recently registered _rumpf Network; subscriptions available at StephenMiller/BannonClone@Hateis.urs a subsidiary of Apple_fb_googol_ms.deptofdefenseforwhat nobodyisquitesureofanymore: make your cheques and taxfree contributions payable “The Ruling Class Off Shore Accounts”; C/o “none of your fucking business” - late payments carry a 1.5% carrying charge, accruable minutely.
Too funny, too late in the game - what i read myself writing is not peace, but the rind left from sucking every last rivulet of “how i love thee, let me count the ways” from the tears i scrape from the inside of my eyelids as a i wake from dreamless sleep. It wasn’t always like this for me. I’ve had a bountiful existence full of adventure, mostly provoked by fits of delusion about loving or being loved - always the best source of fictions, while fury and hatred remain thoroughly tedious entertainment, like raking the rotting pits from a decorative peach tree that dropped its inedible bounty into the too tall Korean Grass outside your bedroom window too late in the summer months to quench the stench with rain and too early to hope for mercy from a baking sunlight.
I’d prefer to be irrevocably cheerful like my heroes the 3 Lamas: Dali, Thich and Pema whose combined wisdom has diminished greater suffering in my own heart by showing me how, rather than just telling me to "suck it up"; however wise, these recommendations still fall short of impeding the misery i continue to inflect on haters worldwide. Ironically each time i raise my weapon of words in the name of justice against oppressors of every stripe and walk of life, i find myself face-to-face with both barrels of my own enmity. In an honest effort to transfigure my rage into creativity, i have submitted scripts on spec for weekly weakly sardonic morality plays modeled on early TV Dramas i.e. “How to Bomb Yemen & Make It Look Like It Was Famine’s Fault” (HTBY&MILLIWFF) · all i get in reply from the boy wonders in Hollywood is a form letter asking who the fuck is “Famine”?
I think it could be from the confusion of opening a new network so close to arraignments and other irregularities from sacking a nation and getting caught with your dick in the Ballot Box. If Herr _rumpf was as smart as he declares himself to be, ________what then¿ how much different is he than you are or i? It pains me to get this far, or close to my own demise and find little or no compassion for a person seemingly devoid of feelings for others. Yet how much different than he am i? If i find delight in his downfall - a fall as pathetic as the skinned knees of any child who knows the embarrassment of having fallen face first in front of not just those from whom one seeks comfort, but an entire planet poised with spittle dripping from their fangs to rejoice in your ______failure - who's the unfeeling beast, _rumpf or i?
Man, like i am not, or have not been him at some point in my own tragi-comedy of breath on earth. I don’t know what the answer is; i know as certain as i sit here drawing my next breath that dj _rump could live a 1,000 generations and never comprehend what i am trying to discover about my own self in this paragraph, yet that conviction does not absolve me from trying, while conversely empowers me more than any victory i may have ever known by battling and prevailing over the darkness with which his oh-so-sad vision of existence has blinded him, and seemingly so much of the world. Editorial ASIDE: I am searching for a younger, svelte woman with a loving tongue who cares very little about any approval i may bestow, yet values more than my family of birth what small contribution my relentless but seemingly intact loving heart might yet render tender service to her that she alone seems to see within the darkness that i am becoming. ¿Are we having fun yet?
jts 08/11/2020
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