FEAR and civil war residue

At some point, activism cross-bread with cancel-culture and now we’ve got a nation infected with FEAR twats.  The commentary is choking with half-thought ideas and a high dose of particularly stinky pride.  Pride used to be a good word.  Now it represents the mass unwillingness to change.  

The media is full of turds and lies, somehow the turds have prevailed as more pleasant.  The data is shifted, maybe it has always been shifted, in pursuit of the all-mighty ad-revenue.  It’s no longer click-bait, it’s a click-tipped harpoon where the flag is always the color of your sworn enemy.

I guess FEAR works.  From parents, from priests, from the flexed mouths of fist-puppet politicians — it’s effective.  When the people have had their fill of bread and circus, all that’s left is a glass of wine, a slap on the ass, and a head nod at the desired enemy.  Let pride and personal frustration do the rest.

At least the drunks and the deranged stick to the alleyways.  The protest runs down Main Street at rush hour.  It keeps the rodents in their burrows, but a skunk infestation is worse than the rats ever were.  

Keep signing the petitions.  Donate all of your money to the heavy overhead of your favorite “non-profit.”  Buy the shirt and support the cause from the comfort of your own home.  The other side is dead wrong, so curate your followers and reinforce your feeding tubes.  

The American Dream isn’t dead.  It’s flourishing.  We’re surrounded by luxury.  So little danger that we’ve developed a tenacious appetite for live target practice.  I’ve got a theory — a country born from civil war never really forgives themselves for being both enemy and ally.