Appetite for Distraction – Another Day.

He wakes up. He has sex. He has a shower. He is in work. He learns that America may remove all troops from Afghanistan. This news is hidden under other less important news. There are monsters everywhere. The largest surveillance state that history has ever known it’s unblinking eye gazing out lidless like Sauron over it’s fragile world is afraid. It lashes out at hobbit threats. Hobbits are audacious and stubborn and will not be so easily lashed. The eternal collapse continues but it looks so pretty as it crumbles. Then he has a coffee then he realises that he left his wallet at home. Then he borrows some money off a friend and then he gives some of it to a homeless person but not very much but it makes him feel a little better and the homeless person pretends to be grateful but is probably irritated, with justification, that all he has been given is 38 cents. There is nothing that anyone can buy with 38 cents that will help when one doesn’t have a place to live. Then he reads some more of Don Quixote and loves it as he reads it. The he cooks some supper and realises that he is at home and must have got here from work somehow and the day must have been some kind of success and he is still alive at least as he makes his rice  and  his  broccoli and he tries to ignore the George Zimmerman trial and does a pretty good job and it’s all too terrible and it seems that the legitimate problems with race in this country and oppression and hate and anger and redress have been hung on the back of a trial that will not turn out the way that those who are looking for America to be a fairer less racist more equal more beautiful place want. Then racists and bigots will smile and rub their hands in glee and they will continue to oppress and crush and limit and destroy because they are afraid and they are afraid and they are afraid. Then he plays Left 4 Dead 2 and  killing zombies in clouds of pixel blood does nothing for him and even this death this fictional death this fake death is not something that is pleasant as it once was. Then he goes to sleep wondering if the hunger strikers in the California prisons are doing okay and the hunger strikers in Guantanamo Bay are okay and if Yasim Bey is okay and that all of these people had mothers and all of them were children once with hopes and dreams and laughter and moments of joy.

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The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

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