An American Retrograde

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“The fall of peoples and mankind will invite me to my rise.”- Max Stirner, The Ego and His Own

Perhaps the fates had finally turned against humanity. What other explanation existed for a mercury retrograde coming right after the most batshit election the American people had ever suffered?

Everything was an abysmal mix of high comedy and cosmic terror. Trump’s cabinet picks were something out of guide on how to be a comic book villain: Goldman Sach’s running the treasury, Exxon mobile running the State department, the person in charge of Gitmo’s torture policies heading the Department of Homeland Security, a fast-food CEO running the Department of Labor, and one of the most bitter enemies of the EPA set to be in charge of protecting the environment.

The Democrats, rather than blame themselves, saw free speech as the enemy, the term “fake news” replacing the tired old CIA-made “conspiracy theory” as the new term de jure. People once calling for “the will of the people” were now cheering for the Electoral College, the literal embodiment of everything they stood against, and agreeing that any news that wasn’t on television could not be trusted. None of them had apparently heard of Gary Webb.

The militant Left, while still having some glimmer of hope, had fallen into it’s usual role of insipid echo chamber capable of doing nothing. Brutal self-reflection on how the working class had been lost had given way to masturbatory critiques on how America just “didn’t get” the vapid idealism so important to the University crowd, as if it was the world’s fault for not being fluent in the ever-shifting and empty nest of special words and phrases they equated to actual revolution.

I drink pretty heavily to begin with, but I switched to 90 proof liquor after I watched a call for the creation of a Leftist fitness group to prepare for real combat dismissed as “body-shaming.”

I’d had enough of the struggle, enough of the people involved, and decided that the wholesale destruction of the species couldn’t come fast enough. If the people could be this dumb and this so far against their own interests who was I to free them? If the Left wanted to perish in glorious martydom they could prepare the funeral pyre themselves.

In my mind there was nothing left to fight for; let the cards fall where they may. My wife and I began looking for land to buy in the hopes that ourselves and a few comrades might have a safe place to live while we watched the world collapse into sweet, sweet oblivion.

Ah. To look back now. I can see my furrowed brow, the nights spent awake, the weird stares out windows and the ever familiar “are you okay?”

The Spirits however had other plans.
And I’d have a man who committed suicide to thank.

How did this all happen? How had everything gotten…well, here?
I suppose it all began when I developed “The Itch.”

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Dr. Bones

Dr. Bones is a conjurer, card-reader and egoist-communist who believes “true individuality can only flourish when the means of existence are shared by all." A Florida native and Hoodoo practitioner, he summons pure vitriol, straight narrative, and sorcerous wisdom into a potent blend of poltergasmic politics and gonzo journalism. He lives with his loving wife, a herd of cats, and a house full of spirits.

His writing can be found at Gods & RadicalsDisinfo, and Greed Media. He can be reached at The Conjure House and through Facebook.

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