Hail the Hinderland

"She was tied to a tree and shot in the head."-- a forensic entomologist whose expertise is fascinating in a repulsive, macabre gawk

If I simply iterate racial slurs with repetitive vehemence like a raptor species, say a bald eagle, lacking capacity to embrace veterinary rehabilitation of its injuries, then I am just a shade closer to the finality of derangement which takes all our strength, debating plagiarizing myself, but that is double the effort in my end game of extraordinary duress, as if the curation team under Ev Williams will allow the grim reverberations of despair. Galahad doesn't realize the depth of my rage, my sheer relief at visualizing weaponizing this punishing machine, the worst fucking chair I ever had, against that stupid old bitch bellowing like a calving whale. Trying in vain to preserve what hearing I still have, the force of her screams set off my tinnitus, and I can't keep fighting my now crystallized hatred forever. I don't glorify in it, that this uncouth old woman contributes nothing to the world, and if someone likes me uses machine power to break her fucking legs, she deserves it; she isn't worth it, but any progressive who dares to tell me minorities who engage in such aberrant behaviors on a daily basis is my equal hasn't the slightest idea of what they are talking about. Common courtesy? She did not stop to think that many people here are ill, and don't need such volume in building front vocalizations. Vivian, another long term dead resident, told me I spoke too loudly with a great deal of frequency. That was just in terms of outside portico conversation. I no longer doubt that primal fictions like The Purge

have already seeded a reality we're starting to face, and it's the price of progressive totalitarianism. I'd sell my soul to see governmental contractors, led by the nose by the avarice driven Presbyterians, annihilated, all because I made lust driven, obstinate choices. If I run, even the idea of running, it is just too late, and I live in the greatest republic on earth. And yet, it's true, I wept for Morrison, more courageously sordid than I ever could be. She certainly would have been deplatformed for her "black bitch" of her first novel, driven insane by an incestuous rape.