I’m stuck in my own prison wiping my digital feces on my facebook wall, here at the end of everything.
At the end of my digital facebook life.
It’s hard for a writer to kill off a beloved character — near impossible in the Marvel Universe, anyway — everyone gets to live until suddenly a snap comes and half of everything goes away to keep entropy in balance… more on this some other time.
If there is still Time.
WHRO is going to start a new division because of the lack of Journalism in hampton roads? Jesus, I hope themanagement is totally new, because I wouldn’t trust the station that gives us ‘Hearsay’ as it’s primary relevant contribution to modern society.
I’d assume that’s the thing my former local PBS station would be doing, based on their past history in Hampton Roads, Virginia.
It just so happens that before I left for Costa Rica, I made a 10 minute audition video for a PBS station in a city that I thought I might be able to live in, having been choked in the smog of jet fuel and denial that laces the water of Hampton Roads, Virginia.
And now I might have to move “back home.”
And figure out a way not to kill myself.
How do you write like you’re running out of time, like you’re running out of time, like you’re running out of time???
Fuck, like people can’t quite see it yet.
Here, maybe this will help.
In 2016, I had a vision — a general diffuse uneasyness that ‘something bad was going to happen’ along a particular trajectory. From my personal perspective, it seems I am especially sensitives to mass shootings because I was once involved in one, and have PTSD from them.
I don’t have it mapped out too particularly, but I think there’s something weird with time, quantum mechanics, and near death experiences and other kinds of traumas.
I see a pattern in it. In a nearly supernatural sense.
Which, you know, The Christians(TM) say is a thing.
But they kind of don’t claim it anymore, like it was something they used to have but all though it was a good decision to not believe in anymore right around the time the words of prophecy started to turn against them.
Mom and Dad, and the “Adults” in charge of Atlantic Shores Christian School in 1988.
And Pat Robertson.
And everyone else who benefitted from this corruption of business, politics and religion.
SHAME ON US.
Period. No matter what anyone else did or does.
SHAME ON US.
Before I come back to that place of my hellish nightmares — LITERALLY! LITERTALLY!! I LITERALLY HAVE A HUNCHBACK LIKE QUASIMODO FROM MY PTSD FROM MY RACE AND RELIGION BASED SCHOOL SHOOTING THAT HAPPENED IN VIRGINIA IN NINETEEN EIGHTY EIGHT AND PEOPLE WANT TO PRETEND LIKE THIS ISN’T A THING AND ALL THIS SHIT DIDN’T REALLY HAPPEN.
AND IT KEEPS GOING ON AND ON AND ON.
NOT THAT OTHER PLACES ARE ‘BETTER’ PER SE.
BUT THE OTHER PLACES DON’T THINK THEY’RE “ALL THAT” LIKE THE USA DOES.
THIS IS SUDDENLY VERY MUCH LIKE A DIPLOMATIC CABLE.STOP.
I just want to find a place in the USA where I can feel safe and be around my kid and likeminded individuals and have a job I don’t have to feel guilty about that pays my basic bills and I can have a decent way of living and not feel like a failure for not being able to pay as much child support as I used to because the fucking runaway technology wave is almost at the point of no return when it comes to taking all of our jobs and imbalancing the entire global economy to the point where we all realize none of this makes sense anymore and hopefully when it falls apart it will do it in a relatively gentle manner and I’ll just get to see my kid more and feel like I can breathe in a reality that seems like REALITY.