Day 7 of 1456

Day 7 of 1456 in trump's America.

Greetings.

This is the first post of a blog I'm starting, for several reasons we'll get to later. I don't expect anyone to be reading these now, since I haven't told anyone about them. But I figure by the time YOU might be reading them – hello – I've probably told a few people, once I have a bit of an archive to offer. Which means people are reading this now. Hopefully.

Anyway.

As an initial reason, let's just go with the date. This blog will be updated, with whatever my thoughts might be at the time, every Tuesday. "What time?" Tuesday is an insane question. This isn't about you. I just want a regimented schedule to make sure I keep myself accountable.

I intend to use it to help me count. It's a reminder couched inside a countdown. From November 8^th, 2016, until the next presidential election day – November 3^rd, 2020 – it is 1456 days. Today is the first Tuesday after Black Tuesday when trump won the electoral college to become the next president elect. We will be counting up.

This is to keep the despair from that night fresh in my mind. This is a forced soma cure. Everyone needs one. We'll be selling Ludovico Technique Eyelid Wrenches & Tape to keep you focused and open, sponsored by RayBan. Watch the numbers go up. Watch us get closer to the end, but knowing that everyday that passes we're not actually going higher, we're getting deeper.

Even in this opening week, I've heard people wonder if trump is just a fool, a moroon, a charlatan. Someone to give a chance and see what he does. That misses the point. Even if he flipped back on every promise he made to put him in phone call's distance to The Final Chapter for Everyone, the problem is what he unleashed to get there. Pandora may have made a great nun, and saved a bus load of Greek children from being swallowed by Charybdis. It doesn't matter. She still opened the box. Even if trump doesn't know what he's doing, he's leading the way for several dozens of people who do know what they're doing. And will do it. He's a Trojan Horse filled with tumors.

And the people he loosed from his no doubt shriveled and mangled loins, the monsters that think they have carte blanche to spread the most hate-filled human nature every decent person's been fighting since we invented words & farming, they are who we will be dealing with now. They are maniacal cerberuses, and they will not stop until they are spanked electorally, violently, and told to shut up, and disabused of the notion that certain members of our race are inferior than others, much less the idea that someone could be rewarded politically for that kind of heinous drivel that would make Satan weep.

But one of them was. And he is here. Which of course raises all sorts of interesting questions about the Rule of Law vs. Right & Wrong, but I don't have time, patience, or frankly the excitement for hack philosophy I admit I used to jerk off to in my 20's. He Is Here. We have allowed him among us. And he will pass. America has been through the same, and worse. But you must understand. Not only will "he pass". He will also BE passed. There will be blood, there will be violation. You'll think it's just a regular situation. You've had bad deals before, but you came out fine when they came out the other end. This will not be like that. You'll feel the contractions, but nothing is coming. You'll worry the turd is climbing back upwards. You can feel it pressing against your bladder, possibly the bottom ridge of your stomach. You don't know. It's feels like forever. But that's happened sometimes. Just be patient. And eventually you feel downward movement. Now you think gravity will kick in, and the human digestive biology will do what it has done since time immemorial. It will eliminate waste. But as you look down to get a glimpse at this fecal behemoth you now have some weird respect for due to the pure challenge of a worthy adversary, you realize you're looking at a pair of eyes staring back at you, below hair that looks like hay from an irradiated haystack! This creature is pulling up for freedom, and wrenching at your skin, waist, gonads, and face! How could this be, you think! There's no way! The laws of the universe don't let post-digestion fecal matter grow follicles, sentience, and make a thing with an ungodly otherworldly scream like that thing coming out from inside you? Food does not do that! Food does not become that!

But there he is. In the bowl. Writhing for you, and your life, and your friends' lives. And you will stab him in the heart with a plunger, and jam his existence into the porcelain. And tomorrow you will have to do it again. 1,456 times in a row. And shriveled, and beaten, like you have left your blood and muscles on the tile, because he tried to rip your innards out through the prolapsed rectum that was formerly his ungodly uterine home, where he gathered his power, to strike you at your weakest and most vulnerable. He is The Great Movement.

That is what is happening. That is what's at stake. It will not happen forever. But it might happen for 2,912 days. Those are your options. You have no choice.

This is where we are. Fight it, or it will kill your entire neighborhood.