There is a crack in the universe where the pain comes in and keeps my mind in a Krampüs-enraged Mental Holocaust. (Lord have mercy…turn this down before you click the play button on song 2 and more at their bandcamp page…)
Can I get a witness? Do ya feel me? The duplicitous quotidian matter before us numerous times per hour (not even by DAY anymore!) feels like wading though the river Styx en route to a stop off in Neverland to pick up the young ones to swallow them whole because they just might make a great face cream to keep you looking young again. “It’s Palmolive: you’re soaking in it.”
The great American Dream has become UNHINGED and is reeling off the charts of negativism. Anger has enveloped the entire world to the point of too-often suicide bombers who bring death and destruction in horrific small doses while 45 sells billions in armaments to Saudi Arabia. What? Peddling massive weapons one day, touching a holy wall the next, meeting with the Pope the next mumbling, “I won’t forget what you said.” (ostensibly about peace)
While 45 takes “heed” to the thought of his tiny hand in making peace, a ReTHUGlicon candidate running for Congress from Montana, Greg Gianforte, commits physical abuse in response to a question by a Guardian Reporter.
We are plunging…
Gustave Doré, 1861
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