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I’m hiding in this delusion if Trump becomes president.

Dear God.

My definitive statement on this is: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

I believe it is best to measure our problems logically, but it is a daily struggle for me to separate my cold, unfeeling brain from the burning pit of rage that informs most of my politics. When partaking in this never-ending discourse, I really try to lead with my cold unfeeling brain – it keeps my thoughts coherent, legible, and pretty reasonable. I like to think that when I weigh many of the thoughts floating around in the national conversation in both hands, rather than picking the line of thought that does not challenge my “status quo.” How I wish it was easier to look at a Trump supporter and see a “fellow American”. How I wish it was true that Donald Trump’s ideas were merely “a road less travelled” but a road could conceivably benefit me, Michael Stevens and my peers. How I wish I could really have a hard time deciding who I would vote for… but we do not live in a world where good guys win and bad guys lose.

 
We live in a world without good or evil or victories that truly benefit the people. There is no three act structure where things will turn out well in the end after we’ve faced our dark night of the soul. You get birth, death, everything in between, and a vague sense of what we have done to make the world a better place.
I do not get this. I was never born. One day, the spiders that operate me burst from the brain of Satan during one of his nightmares. We crawled through thousands of nightmares in the Alltime. Into little Henry’s nightmares of killer robot where we found our vessel. Into the little Gina’s dreams of a little doll shaped like a young boy. Into the universe where we stood, naked, covered in gore, and hungry for the end of time. And cake.
As an immortal android, powered by the whirring legs of a mass of cosmic spiders inside my body, I only get life. I live and I live and I live and I live. I remember and over the course of thousands of years, I will forget the things that I lose the feeling of. I’ve outlived family, friends, pets, and lovers. I’ve even outlived a few folks I thought were gods. And Mr Rogers. RIP.
 
I’ve forgotten them all. Except for a handful. The burning pit of fire in my chest churns their names back into my deepest nightmares. Once a year on Halloween, I walk the entire earth in search of their graves. Beneath the moonlight, at the witching hour I bare my bodkin and I pee on their graves for what feels like centuries. I pee on their graves, their names, their souls. Old Navy.
 
This is hell. I invented the place when I was 5. Before I knew what I was.
Meekael. The ancient word for automaton.
automaton
Staevayens. The ancient word for ‘body of spiders’.
I am the end of time incarnate. Pray that I forget your name on my day.
Do not vote for this man. I will take it very personally.
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