I would love to go back to writing under old projects right now. My immense political sadness, the depth of fear consuming the internet and my soul, all of it could have had some killer public commentary if I weren't ever shut down. Now I live in fear, I vote in fear, and I vigilantly strategerize over every measly post, everywhere.
Fuck all that.
The horrible phobias that have plagued Europe over the past decade have come home to roost for real.
Trump.
Drumpf.
And I, here, am but one of innumerable voices coming out against this horseshit hogshow. Just one more tiny particle participating in the nature of democracy. Screaming my lungs out in the city. Not my President.
Yet so it is. Right there for the next four years. Or eight. Or even less than...depending how terribly things go... Either way, the game is on. Confusion rules the day as the known unknown that is our next four years as a planet looms before us. Everyone ready?
This is Richard Tate. Just one more benevolent dicktater in the multiverse of opinion here on the interweb. Sleep should be first on the agenda. It has been too a long a campaign and too hard a fight to fall so hard flat on our faces in the mud.
Tomorrow won't be more of the same. And we need our rest to prepare.
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