As I Sit Nervously Watching the Clock, as this Day of Days March 4th Fades From the Now To the Past, I Have Complex, Multifaceted Fears For My Country and Trump’s Promise Being Ungrasped, and Also Keep Noticing I Exist, Which is New

Having been a member of a crowd chanting hateful vicious things about some mysterious other that is always, forever out to get me, always working to outsmart me, this, today, is a new feeling for me. I feel kind of pensive, alone, and deeply terrified, foreign to myself and my own being. My body aches in a strange way. I feel a trembling in my limbs. Is this what it is to be becoming infected with communism and leftist terrorism, in my own home? Here, behind these walls? I feel a desperate need to be in a crowd, yelling, screaming, something incoherent, reaching a fever pitch. It’s this silence. It’s unbearable.

The clock on the wall is ticking away. And so goes March 4th, the day of days. The day when our Lord and Savior, the only one who has stood up to wokeness and the mob, was to return to the throne and gather us all under his robes to live happily forever, lions and lambs, together. What happened? What is happening? I feel hungry, but also anxious. Should I do something? There are too many things I could do. I will just sit here, hoping someone saves me.

The poets would call this a moment of intense negative capability, but I have never read the poets. Tucker Carlson is doing his best to keep me angry and energized. I go through the feeds of much more obscure, insane, out there far right views. Nothing is hitting today. I look at the knives in the block on the counter. For some reason, I think of cutting my skin. I wonder what it might feel like. To have that sincerity of intensity and.. pain.

The clock seems to be slowing. I turned off the radio. All the news must be in on the conspiracy now. Someone is trying to make me ‘woke’. I curl in a ball, and try to hide from everything. As I bury my face in the blanket, I think of God. And curse.