U.S.A.! U.S.A.! vol. 312 / Negation Aspiration vol. 245: Trump at 1460 (Year of the Contrarian)

 

Trump at 365 (Year of the Horde)

Trump at 730 (Year of the Titan)

Trump at 1095 (Year of the Scold)

He was a conservative all right, but invariably he gave the impression that he was a conservative because he was surrounded by liberals; that he had been a revolutionist if that had been required in order to be socially disruptive.

― William F. Buckley, God and Man at Yale: The Superstitions of 'Academic Freedom'

as this mailed-in greasefire of a year continues to trudge through a mailed-in greasefire of an election, i suppose for know i'll continue this series with yet another tiradious minimus. 

the following is an expert from the novel i am currently working on: BLUE YOLK. i'm not at liberty to divulge the "plot" or modus operandi behind it quite yet, so this section will have to be taken a bit out of context.... further so. 

puritan backdoor. Aghori Sadhu instructional videos. knuckles slashed on pelvic mesh. feeling as if i've been reliving middle school for the last four years. looking on simmering alienation as longtime friends and members of your own family almost gleefully renew their most egregious and capricious impulses from those thoughtlessly vicious schoolyard days. impotent hubris. premature curmudgeons. zany smart-ass pranksters. bottom feeding contrarian maggots. a wearying deference to vindictive personal attacks. needlessly snarky and terminally incredulous. overwhelmed by greed, entitlement, cynicism, and bile. vulgar, chaotic appeals to the most deplorable of the low. pretending to care about others, but only as generalized abstractions. 

the right and left... the alt and the hard... their modus operandi are in exact alignment; frustrate the exploited proletariat to the point of deeply pessimistic spiritual exhaustion, then scavenge the carrion fields for anyone willing to smother what remains of their pulverized identity for the sake of the most vaguely defined of "greater goods". rather than constructive approaches of even mournful reflection, they opt instead to take superior delight in their cut-throat nihilistic sadism being validated by the bowel-eroding awfulness of the world's events. 

among the multitude of reasons that led us to this seemingly insurmountable impasse were asshole fake idiots who say things like "ThEy'Re AlL eQuALLy bAd!"; incoherent maladapted role-playing social rejects... either menstruating platitudes about children they'll never see being drone-striked in countries they can't name or hocking ream upon ream of splentic hyperbole about their theoretical darlings being snatched off the pristine anytown streets by parademonic globalist predators, who will pimp them out to obscenely wealthy shadow-pedophiles who perform sacrificial rites of devotion to an animal-faced false god while clad in baby blood splattered lizard-skin clown robes.

and checking social media? checking social media is like having unwillingly wandered into a town square lynch mob gauntlet and getting doused to the back of your eyeholes with a work week accumulation of blood/piss/shit/puke cocktails... the discourses overwhelmed by unbearably miserable full-body skin tags who can't stand to go a full thirteen hours without dropping some "hot takes"... you do know of "hot takes", correct? those intellect-negative rectum sheddings of maliciously terse insta-observation that serve no purpose beyond making others feel like they should've have been swallowed because they have the temerity to allow themselves the privileged luxury of actually liking something?

i know there will always be people like this; callous ambulance chasers, shameless tabloid ghouls, and sneering failed comedians... whose own cavernous lack of imaginative speculation will cause them to lean into self-nullifying codependency on impulsively negative commentary and resentfully jealous deconstructive critiques of those who can create and/or appreciate content that speaks to places within us that are just a scant few feet deeper than just narcissistically harp on a misguided feedback loop of rawboned grievances. 

so i brumate... coiling sharp and tight into my private worlds... renewing my most egregious and capricious impulses from a youth spent marinating the lash in a steady flow of creamery venom.... bottling it up until i succumb to sepsis from a rupturing ulcer.