Nightmares and a tough American birthday
Woke up from a very violent police state nightmare. True murderous intent. I've had a tough week—we all have. This is truly hell in the US right now—and I grimace with shame when I consider the pain and anxiety we're causing to families around the globe.
I hope my nightmare is not an omen. We've been armed against ourselves for far too long. Never mind the weapons that comprise the majority of our budget that are aimed at your homes right now. I wish I could say otherwise but violence is who we are now, starting right from the mob in power. They want blood and money.
My own life is increasingly disrupted by the slovenly thinking and rude belligerence that defines us. I'd like to think it is not our genetic code, we white Americans.
If we're not killed by our own neighbors or government—or simply by some run of the mill psycho with an American flag tattooed on his chest—I hope to be kind and build spaces that offer sustainable safety for whoever I can.
But I'm beaten down too. My abusive marriage is still haunting me—and the abject and complete failure of my entire community—led by my ex-wife—to lift a finger exposes me to the truth that we don't care who we hurt.
This week my ex is celebrating a birthday with our friends, our money, in our town. I am the only part of my life with her that's missing. We built that together. I'm ashamed I knew any of the people who have endorsed my ex who has nothing ever to give back. What do you see in her, except the false assumption that you're somehow better than me because you're not aware that you're on her shit list like the rest of us who she's damaged. She is our nightmare, out here in the boonies, far from my home.
I apologize. I'm the one who got her into this country. She truly is an American now, in all the vile ways we treat each other day in and day out.
I hope my nightmare is not an omen. We've been armed against ourselves for far too long. Never mind the weapons that comprise the majority of our budget that are aimed at your homes right now. I wish I could say otherwise but violence is who we are now, starting right from the mob in power. They want blood and money.
My own life is increasingly disrupted by the slovenly thinking and rude belligerence that defines us. I'd like to think it is not our genetic code, we white Americans.
If we're not killed by our own neighbors or government—or simply by some run of the mill psycho with an American flag tattooed on his chest—I hope to be kind and build spaces that offer sustainable safety for whoever I can.
But I'm beaten down too. My abusive marriage is still haunting me—and the abject and complete failure of my entire community—led by my ex-wife—to lift a finger exposes me to the truth that we don't care who we hurt.
This week my ex is celebrating a birthday with our friends, our money, in our town. I am the only part of my life with her that's missing. We built that together. I'm ashamed I knew any of the people who have endorsed my ex who has nothing ever to give back. What do you see in her, except the false assumption that you're somehow better than me because you're not aware that you're on her shit list like the rest of us who she's damaged. She is our nightmare, out here in the boonies, far from my home.
I apologize. I'm the one who got her into this country. She truly is an American now, in all the vile ways we treat each other day in and day out.
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