Here is a Twitter thread documenting instances of election fraud or suspected fraud, captured in photos, videos, etc. Some concerns have been debunked, maybe? Like I’m confused about the Sharpies in Arizona and some other states. If it’s technically legal now, but wasn’t formerly legal, and anyone working with the ballots could potentially be confused about that…howabout just don’t provide Sharpies at voting locations, amiright? Other concerns…sigh. It’s difficult for me to believe that all these problems and confusion are the result of honest mistakes.
And it’s also difficult for me to even put myself in the shoes of the other side, here. Let’s say I’m anti-Trump (because we all know there’s no such thing as pro-Biden), and I’m seeing this catastrophe, and I’m saying to myself: yeah! We did it! We’ve done permanent damage to the voting process and the public’s faith in it! No one will ever trust anything again! We’ve hijacked the most basic tenet of our democracy, the one thing on which we can all agree — a fair vote — and guess what, our guy still isn’t even doing that well, even after we got hundreds of people in hundreds of places to abandon their integrity in service to our abortion of a cause!
It’s just extra amazing, too, that they were like “Russian election interference!” the whole time, with the sham impeachment and all, and now this absolute dumpster fire of a fraudulent election is regarded as totally fine. Trump’s just making “baseless claims” — that’s their new phrase, baseless claims. Meanwhile Russia is over there in the global lunchroom like “why does this USA weirdo keep staring at me”. I don’t know what all Russia is up to in terms of their intelligence community, but I know their culture is thriving while ours is foundering on the rocks of Cardi B. Russia is producing the world’s best performers and choreographers, art to melt your soul, and their populace of young people are earnest, brilliant, beautiful, intelligent, and the appropriate weight. Find some high art on YouTube, and it’s probably made by Russians. Here is Alexander Malofeev headlining Rachmaninoff’s 2nd piano concerto. You’re welcome. At the same age where we put signs in toddler’s hands that say “fuck the pigs”, the Russian toddlers are memorizing and perfectly executing complicated and lovely ballet routines.
Anyway: I’m not worried about the Russians. What am I worried about? I don’t know, maybe it feels like it’s become too big for me now. I think that, no matter your politics, if you’re stupid enough to believe that Biden got more popular support than Obama, or that any of us really “win” if one side’s candidate prevails through, as it turns out, mindblowingly widespread and definitely illegal corruption, then…those aren’t politics. Lol. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not politics. That’s the craziest part of all. I feel like even the people who’s been convinced that Donald Trump is the root and source of all evil would, at some point, at some point!, say: wait. Hang on a second. I can’t shake this niggling feeling this might bite us in the ass later. Not the puppet masters, of course, but the average, Prius-driving OMB (orange man bad).
Oh well. This shit’s above my pay grade. Michael Jaco thinks Biden will win, illegally, which is what it looks like is getting cooked up here, and then the results will be overturned in court, because we still have laws and stuff, and then the rioting will start, which seems as feasible an outcome as any, imo. And frankly the rioting element in our country — which I suppose I should refer to now as Rioter-Americans, if I’m being PC — feels like this element we’re all horribly taking for granted, now, unavoidably. We’re here, we’re queer for violence, get used to it. Of course they’re not as grassroots as they’d like us to believe, and I think we’re all getting to a point where, horribly, we accept that too, at least in our peripheral vision. This whole dance with the Left, this year, has been like an initially-charming relationship with a boyfriend who turns out to be a pathological narcissist, and before we know it, we’re lying to our coworkers about how we got that black eye. “He’s just upset that the police killed another armed black man that was trying to kill them first.” Sure. Now that we’ve opened this pandora’s box of Rioter-Americans, or allowed it to open, we’ve become inured to their presence. That is the wrong slippery slope for us to go down. Already, it’s not so much a question of rioting versus not rioting — it’s a question of where it’s happening, and relief that it’s not our city, or mentally shuffling through the people who know who live there and might be affected. Sounds benign enough, but just realize: that’s what people in chaotic, war torn countries do. Oh, an entire self-declared army is sweeping through Tripoli, in the power vacuum created by Gaddafi’s execution in a military operation sponsored by, surprise, Hillary, and the citizens of Tripoli are left to literally their own devices in the face of this threat? Next mental maneuver: okay, who do I know that lives in Tripoli. Wrong, wrong, wrong slippery slope.
Do I suspect that I could be biased, and that this election is experiencing only normal hiccups, having to do with confusion around the large number of mail in ballots due to COVID etc, and I’m only projecting all this conspiracy stuff onto it because my preferred candidate isn’t winning? No, I do not suspect that. I feel like I could paper mache a better accountability process than this. I feel like the elected leaders of a junior high school student body in a map dot town could run a tighter ship than this. I feel like my dog Buffy is more willing to do the right thing, even when I’m telling her to come here because I can see she has something mysterious in her mouth. Even she understands that obeying a mommy who just needs to check what the fuck that thing is, is in her best interests.
A psychic named Louise Jones predicted, last year, that Trump would lose the presidency, and then get it back. I guess that’s one way to flush out who’s on the cuckery payroll, and who’s signing the checks.
So yeah, it seems to me that the average OMB is prevented from truly grasping the severity of what’s happening, here, because the OMB mantra acts as an opiate, a sedative, a meditation bell but in the reverse. Not waking them up but putting them back to sleep, over and over. A nation of narcolepts — it’s easy to take their country from them. The spiritual sickness of this is profound. What I mean is, let’s say you have a boss, and this boss is a terrible human being. Says, does inappropriate, abrasive things — all that. There are bosses of this sort, sure. Okay, now imagine: it doesn’t even occur to you to pray for him. It doesn’t even occur to you to experiment with evoking differently from him. It doesn’t even occur to you to ask yourself if he’s doing a good job for the company, for the employees, for you, whether or not anyone likes him. And in fact it turns out he is doing a good job for the company, the employees, for you. He gets you a raise, actually, for the first time in years, and you go into his office and set this money on fire and then piss on it, to show him how much you disapprove of him. Imagine being that spiritually sick, where you get so hopped up on your own rage and disapproval that it becomes all consuming, and you can’t absorb any context, you can’t track any reality, you’re enslaved and addicted by your enraged sense of aversion. Wherever he goes, you won’t go. He goes to the break room to make coffee, you decide never to drink coffee again. He goes to the men’s room; you decide never to shit again. He gets in his car and drives home at 5pm; you decide to live at the office and have the custodian just sweep up around you. Imagine being that crazy, that obsessed. It stopped being about that guy a long time ago, right? Yeah.
Imagine that happening to an entire nation of people, and them not realizing it. Imagine their nation being taken from them, while they masturbate themselves raw to the never-ending stimulation of how bad the orange man is. He’s so bad!!!! Gah. I’m sorry but it is orgyistic. It is unhinged. It is tinged with a sense of iconography, ritualistic symbolism, sleeper agents coming online and helplessly acting in ways they don’t even understand.
Do I suspect I’m biased, and that the average OMB is actually balanced, fair, measured, able to experience nuanced perspectives, and I simply demonize them because I’m the one who’s batshit crazy? No. I don’t. I can’t entirely rule it out, I suppose, but I fucking doubt it. I’ve disliked people in the past and I didn’t, like, lose my mind. I dislike some people right now, in fact, and I try to bless them, when I think of them, despite or even because they’re not allowed in my life. I’m careful not to become that which I seek to destroy, let’s just say. I mess up too, but I know that if my personal repulsions and aversions reach some kind of fever pitch — ummmm, that may indicate it’s more about me than “them”, y’knawmean?
Alright. Not to be a dick, but I’ve written this blog in the most perfect place on the most perfect day, because this is my life now. My god, I have like CONUS survivor’s guilt. Flagstaff is gonna be six degrees on Monday night. Six.
I’ll just close with the oddity of this dream I had last night: I was in a vehicle with my friend Ben — and interestingly, we’ve fallen out this past year because he’s really committed to OMB — but anyway, he was driving, and I think I was his driving instructor. We were approaching an intersection with the intention of heading straight through, but our lane became a left-only turn lane, and so if we headed straight through, we’d be in an oncoming traffic lane. You get my point.
Anyway, I noticed this, pointed to it, and just said, “Oncoming traffic” because I knew it would be obvious to him, too. I just wanted to help point it out in time. He didn’t change lanes. I looked at him in surprise — he was concentrating on the road, apparently, so I said a little more forcefully, “Oncoming traffic.” To my shock, he just continued on through the intersection without responding, in what was now the wrong lane. There weren’t any cars in that lane — I think it was late at night — but this was super fucking not okay. So I looked right at him, pointing at the road, and said, “Oncoming traffic. On-fucking-coming fucking traffic.” Lol I even curse in my dreams.
He finally moved one lane to the right, without acknowledging my anxiety. We cruised along in silence for a minute, because I literally didn’t know what to say. I mean, everything was fine now, but: what the hell was that.
So I asked. “Why didn’t you answer me, or acknowledge what I said?”
Totally himself again now, and Ben is charming, he glanced at me and said, “I’m sorry, what? I was concentrating, and I didn’t hear you.”
My eyes widened and I said, “I told you four times, ‘oncoming traffic’. As soon as we hit the intersection, we were in their lane. It’s only because no one was on the road we didn’t hit them, and it would have been our fault.”
He said, “You didn’t tell me four times. You said it, like, once.”
Here we go. First he didn’t hear me and now he’s arguing about how many times I said it. “Once before the intersection. Once in the intersection. Twice immediately after the intersection. I know you fucking heard me.”
“Yeah I heard you! You’re being kind of a bitch.”
“I’m in this truck with you! You’re not allowed to just drive around and put me in danger, let alone the other people on the road! You get that, right?”
He cycled through a variety of rhetorical stances, never acknowledging that it’s simply a personal responsibility to stay in a legal and safe lane. The dream ended, or I don’t remember any more of it. But there you go.
Woke up to a dark, fresh, beautiful house, and watched the ocean lighten as I wrote this.
Patriots and Trump supporters: do not riot. Do not break the law. Do not hurt anyone. Keep your shit together. Stay in your lane.