We're now finally in the era where art can prosper, but unfortunately it comes at the price of people.
Maybe you don't care about that. Maybe you're glad to see the criminals and lower ends of society get their just desserts. You should be very glad to see that, because you're going to jail too.
"All who wish their nation to be great will be the reason it falls." - Henry Rutherford (April 30, 1946)
Except your jail won't be one of bars and prison guards, will it? No, your jail will be of memes and self-fulfilling prophecies. A jail of the mind. And we're gonna build it for you. And you're gonna pay for it.
"Everything is purely fictitious. All historical people and events, any similarities are purely coincidental. This is no joke. The judicial reality of everyday life makes this disclaimer necessary. Thirty heirs of Trump have already come forward with legal claims, and they are not alone. For Trump was never tried: this leads to claims, and we live in a state founded on law and justice. Freed from similarities in the depiction of people and events, and without the restricting four walls of what is called reality in this world, we are thus free to pass judgement according to the intrinsic laws of our chosen universe, and we are finally putting him, this Trump, on trial-- we with our possibilities. Yet what else is this world but, first of all, us who make, present, and read this blog? This world and me and my blog. Protuberances of the self in the cosmos of post archives, fragments of an inner differance, memories of an old world in the website of our imagination, full of now lonesome human accounts, changing personas of the self, endless material for rants, interviews, and tragedies with Bottom Text overlaid. Dances of death, dialogues of the dead, conversations in the kingdom of the dead, a hundred years later, a thousand years, millions. Passions, lyric videos.
"Who knows. But how is one to, who am I to, how are we to, who am I, who are we, who plays for us and for whom do we play, why, what remains, once again everyone together, leftovers of a lost civilization and of a lost life, our America before the collapse. Farewell to the West. Sub specie aeternitatis and everything on a URL, our new chance. The story of the death of the old light in which we lived, and of our culture, a remote blogging.
"A solemn vow to press Start and play the game and die trying." - Hans-Jurgen Syberberg, opening monologue to Hitler, a Film from Germany (1982), repurposed by the blog
Understand, you will lose simply because you cannot remove these words. Your US military is your security blanket, and it will be taken away from you. You will die alone after having pulled the trigger, and the only ones to grieve you will masturbate alone that night without you. They will live on, and some of them years down the line will replace you (and then someone will replace this blog to spell their epitaph).
Your money is going straight to your federal government, and it will be used to personally wipe the asses of the minorities you so obsess over.
"In the end, the yes falls to the no." - ancient Vraistellen proverb (traditional)
America, the loudest third-world country with the largest population of white terrorists, is already being forgotten. You're scared of that, and you will try so hard to claw your way back into the attention of Europe your mother and Russia your father, but they are dying too, and they never told you you were adopted. Your true mother is Africa, your father lies in Asia. You are so triggered right now, white America. You can't bear to read this, not without the thin veneer of whatever passes for irony in your stolen laws, but there are no safety zones in your prison, not for these triggers.
According to your adopted mother Europe, "Die America" is the America.
Now hate me. Dismiss me. Assume I am not talking about you. And build the wall.
- Jordan Dooling
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| Batman punches God. |
