Women and weak men in leadership want me to feel:
I am unworthy, unfit, unstable, unwelcome, uninvited. My absence is like an answer to prayer. Too crass, too curious. Little and a nuisance.
What men and strong women in leadership expect me to understand:
I'm going to be proud of my country.
I'm getting my brain back.
I know better than Bill Clinton, am bolder than my oldest brother, braver than Donald Trump, and stronger than Vladimir Putin.
Hitler didn't care about Jews or Muzzies. He hated women.
Particularly a secretary who declined his advances and lifestyle, presumably.
Anyway I might be crazy.
I might be appointed president of mgtow and space.
Maybe they make targets for the shooting range out of my archival works. Maybe they'll print my ass onto postage stamps.
Maybe the next wonder of the world will be an actual monument mooning Israel.
For the pilgrimage revenue, for the sake of levity... for pretend?
Hey.
They call me just a minute.
I don't know. There isn't a publish button.
Except when I don't put a title.
So anyway. From childhood I've noticed we are being studied but couldn't resolve why that was. Just knew it was wrong and attempted to challenge whoever the statisticians might be, through hubris, rhetoric, and so on.
Just keep parking it and finding a stump to burn or whatever.
Find God, raise kids. Wait, watch, write.
It's been strange. Is this freedom?
Can we talk yet
Or are we going to spend the rest of my life working on quietly trying to figure each other out?
What a place.
June will mark ten years from when I was driven to homelessness. Haven't managed to make it particularly far.
Not particularly far at all.
Still waiting
I love America.
I love the continent of the United States.
Tell me.
What manner of dissident Canadiafricana Moscads anticipated clearance to deploy psychological warfare in fruitless attempts to convince a citizen of this great nation that, in ordering a Frosty from Wendy's, they're summoning some torturous foreign assassination of a Jew or Asian kid simply because they drew a backwards swazzy on their face and sent it to a moron feigning white supremacy or that they run the world due to having flashed the Internet a decade ago?
How awkward.
Anyway so this child is talking about school right, and she goes, "My classmates think they're cool to use slurs, it's so stupid they sound stupid, it's not cool."
So I'm all, "..Which slurs?"
And she's like, "It's [location redacted], what slurs do you think it was?"
And I smile.
"Gook? Kike? Beaner? Honky? Slant-eyes? Wetback? Towelhead? Redneck? Faggot? Dyke? Tranny? Hooker? Gutterslut?--"
"MOM!!! It was NIGGER OKAY!"
"Oh my God I can't believe...
It's a ninety minute appointment for a comprehensive exam and treatment plan so that maybe within a year you can smile without feeling like you appear to be in need of dental care right.
So it's important to make it to the place which is an hour away because it's the only care provider that takes state insurance, which you have because your state capitulated to white collar criminals years ago and thereby disabled you, poor thing.
Anyway you haven't had any social companionship for several years since everyone and their mother is into a creepy narrative power surge designed to neutralize and discredit your validity due to being authentic and recognizing some stuff they prefer to be in willful ignorance about from the decade before.
So you're pretty sure some of your peers are cracked out on social mediac maniacal strawman biases that essentially drive them to vote on and potentially plot toward your demise.
Which is, obviously, blatant wack shit.
The dental assistant calls you a fighter and tells you you're cute and ...
My mother's family bought the house I grew up in when she got married. It was an acreage that my dad and brothers studiously kept up with. She had a flower garden. We got to help stack the woodpile for winter and help with gardening for bringing in extra money at farmer's market etc
My dad worked at a factory and we had a big trampoline.
We couldn't afford maintenance on the house. When I was little one of my cousins helped renovate the bathroom, I suppose something had gone wrong with the pipes or something. I remember we had to use the outhouse for like a week or two while it was getting done. Then there was a shower door installed which I thought was crazy. A sliding frosted glass door thing like, wow.
Plus a little partition by the tub that made a pantry shelf thing for towels.
Pretty snazzy.
Anyway we grew up while it fell apart, but there was always running water, even though I was told to only shower once a week thanks to the bills, but there was always food. My dad used to ask me to make homemade French ...
