That is what a New York Times review could have been for my books, couldn’t it. Maybe ten years ago, or 8, or 6, or 5, when I just decided to do the e-books, or maybe during the Trump years, but then probably Bernie would have won the election. I guess it all worked out fine and I should not interpret the continuing silence as not being somehow in my favor. I voted for Jo Jorgensen. Is that it? Because my life did not revolve around Trump? Because I had to stop volunteering places in case the FBI helping with the torture case saw the immigrants I was giving food to? I always search for the reasons behind my kaleidoscope of humiliation and rejection experiences. To what do I owe the honor of being the emotional abuse connoisseur that I am? By now it could be a lot of things. The smell on my clothes from my apartment that’s a mix of bug spray, rotten groceries, and dirty socks, or maybe hitting myself on zoom meetings when the liberals change the filter to make me look worse because of privilege, or possibly the thing I keep living for, which is to stay alive when I don’t want to. The irony of it I guess just ends up beating people at their own brand of comedy, which consists of calling me names while I walk down the street in my neighborhood, or newspaper articles from rich northerners calling evangelicals bullies. A gleeful crowd who made politics their religion can’t wait to see Jesus Christ vengefully turn people like Michael Moore and Bill Maher into saints on Judgement Day in my face and everyone’s face that has already been ground into the layer of dirt and dog crap all over our ruined country. Maybe people suspect me of being a cop because I care about child abuse, and they are trying to defund me before I get away with sharing any poems that tell teenagers not to rape people. I am sure everyone meant well and will not feel the same feelings of insult that makes me think of choosing a different heaven when I die, far from this society, abandoning many people who did support me and watched in horror as my absence was celebrated instead of some very funny Christian poetry that could have helped all the kids who had to face a pandemic without basic fundamentals about heaven, hell, and their future as slaves being trafficked overseas to Isis.
