Thank god these two have not reproduced. Train wreck is putting it mildly.
I must be, because I can’t be arsed to GAF about almost any charity that comes my way, especially that which benefits foreigners at the expense of my own people.
Les Mills has some big UNICEF thing going on. Bring water to African villages…they haven’t figured out fucking wells and pumps and that’s my problem? Fuck it.
Some days you can see and move forward; others, you’re slow, steady, trying not to stumble.
These latter types, no fun. Brush teeth, groom the babies, chores on autopilot.
Chemical lobotomy is over but the effects linger. When will I get my feelings back?
that’s the penalty for suicide.
seems like that’s the penalty of life, too.
I cant do it, though. No one needs me but I can’t let anyone else take care of the kids. It’d probably f*ck them up, too, and they deserve better than that.
VD has helped clarify and distill many of the ideas I have but was not able to articulate or reconcile. He is a human and imperfect. This Anglin stuff, gab, whatever. I pay it no mind because it’s just not relevant to most of my life. If it becomes truly divisive to Alt Right, well then, perhaps sides will have to be chosen. Until then, performers are all about drama, so, carry on…
I’m GenX, right in the middle, born in the very last week of ’75. I attended Catholic school until my junior year of high school. I remember a mostly peaceful childhood, certain elements of personal family strife notwithstanding. My Mom’s extended family was from Newark, NJ. Grandpa was savvy (some would say racist) enough to get his wife and kids out before integration ruined them. He moved them to the middle of nowhere with all the other blue-collar White flighters and so my mom grew up with people who looked like her, worshipped like her, lived like her.
My great grandmother and most of my uncles, aunts, and cousins, stayed in Newark. Great grandma was mugged by a black guy for the spare change she had in her purse as she walked home from her job one afternoon. Her jaw had to be wired shut, her wrist was broken. None of us have ever been asleep. Woke since birth, because working class Whites (Poles!) know the deal and don’t take your sh!t.
Growing up in the 80s felt a bit fatal. I remember the ever-present threat of nuclear war, and sometimes lying awake all night worrying that the USSR would nuke us all. There were tv shows about it, songs, news stories. Oh, and the coming ice age, too.
I remember the story of Noah and the flood. My mom said God promised He would never again flood the world. The next time, He will destroy us with fire. So nuclear war was a heavy thing in my brain. Then Reagan comes along with SALT and we have Gorbachev and glasnost, the Berlin Wall comes down, and for a while it all seems fine. Why not open the borders, let us all feast at the cornucopia and finally be at peace? The Field of the Cloth of Gold…only it’s Rumplestiltskins gold cloth. Doesn’t exist.
Then you get woke-woke, about the JQ, I mean the deep deep stuff and realize how everything is an opportunity to mind control you, and that with all this money going around we still have issues, and you wonder why, who…whom. But this time, when you name Rumplestiltskin, he doesn’t tear himself in two. It’s you whom he flays, for daring to mention it.
On my mind. Fleshing out a perspective.