"We Are Living In The Mad Hatter's Tea Party."
April 5th, 2016
(This is a more typical delivery time
for one of Bill's letters.)
Some mornings I wake up with insufficient hatred for the United States, so I turn on NPR. The other day they were talking about how "educated" upper-middle-class blacks--as an example they provided some bubble-lipped she-boon who marveled at the number of syllables in some relatively inane word--are pulling their kids out of school because of "racism."
"Dere be so much tings dey don't be teaching us," the she-boon burbled. "'Bout our history and shit." Okay, that last may not be a literal quote, but you get the idea. This inspired me to decompose the following poem:
Okay, William Wordsworth I ain't.
The United States really has become a perverse parody of a human society. America needs to burn to ash; it is a living horror show whose existence on earth is an abomination against God and man. God will punish us for allowing this evil world to continue to exist.
The mail room here is refusing to deliver my mail. Filing a complaint here is not easy, as the only person allowed to accept them almost never shows up to work, but I will do so anyway. Even my newspaper is no longer coming. Some asshole in the Bureau is probably stealing it and reading it in his cubicle as he slurps his morning Starbucks. I think they may be turning up the heat in order to disrupt the habeas pleading that I at least tried to file last week. I never know if my legal mail is actually reaching the postal system; much of it seems to disappear and since even under optimal conditions it would be weeks or months before I heard anything, it's hard to tell. If I don't hear anything for three or four months I assume the FBI just threw my legal documents into the wastebasket and re-file. If I keep on re-filing and re-filing eventually the papers will make it out of here and get to the clerk's office and on the docket.
Complicating this is the fact that I have essentially lost my support system. No surprise there. When push comes to shove, and it came time to file, everyone threw the ball on the ground, threw their hands in the air, started screaming and acting irrationally or just disappeared.
Bias of Priene (sp?) said that "Most men are bad," and he was right. I always plan now for people to lie to me, steal from me, fail to act in my interest as they promised to do, or else simply go insane and start gibbering. I am an ideal victim, completely helpless and like Blanche Dubois I am dependent on the kindness of strangers. As such I am the target for every kind of predation, as indeed are all prisoners who are dependent on those outside to keep their word and do WTF they say they will do. But it is damned annoying that in everything I plan, I have to factor in human treachery and predation as an inevitable component. Obama's America is a rotting mass of loathsome putrescence similar to Edgar Allen Poe's M. Valdemar. I understand how nihilists like the Islamic State come into being.
Sometime in the future a harmonic convergence of copy cards, copiers, and typists may come together so I can send you what I have. Illinois is now allowing homos to change gender on their birth certificates, so in a country this bizarre no court ruling can be anticipated. It's a bit like being in a Bacchic orgy--everywhere are knife-wielding clowns, while no one finds this insane.
I wish everybody could spend a couple of days in this place, just so they would realize that we are ruled by men and women who are not just bad people, but who are literally out of their minds. No kidding, these people running America are almost all suffering from at least some degree of mental and emotional illness. The Americans do horrible, horrible things not just out of greed or malice but out of delusional madness, and sometimes people end up dead and then the law comes along and cleans up the dictators' servants' mess. We are living in the Mad Hatter's Tea Party, and you'd damned well better believe six impossible things before breakfast, or you will die on some concrete floor in The Place Where There Is No Darkness. (Sorry, that was Orwell, not Lewis Carroll.)
Thanks for all you do, Harold.