I wish I had different news to write about.
I wish that wild fires were consuming Trump’s toupee instead of California and its people our people in Puerto Rico, Texas, Nevada, California some dead Most crawling, crying, calling, colliding with what’s left. Like the children’s song, Ashes Ashes and we all fall down. Most of us have all fallen down in the United States. People our people wandering in misfortune mazes designed by the fortune 500. The villains always lose in the movies, except for tales of horror. This week, healthcare was slashed by the butcher’s (Trump) blade. Harvey Weinsten, strangled women and their rights with a manila rope. Those that won’t be named, the richest people in the world, placing the rest of us in torture chambers, pulling our limbs shattering bones for a few more million dollars. Mother Nature ablaze in horror. Are we in a horror film? No, we are in a four-year scene of a grotesque film, like World War II. Hitler killed himself, not out of remorse, but because he knew the Americans were coming. He was a chicken. People our people, we will come and we will rebuild, repair, resolve, revive. People our people are prevailing phoenixes. We rise from the ashes.
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