Coronavirus, March 19th

A long time ago, there were places to visit, energy and speed from focus and concentration.

Now.

Thug gangsters with backpack full of rap music drugs and relentless drug users, leaving trash and sewage on Pacific Northwest land.

No more ice cream trucks.

No more free speech.

No more goals and dreams.

Only climate change, behavior restrictions, gesture enhancements, paper grocery bags, hoarding essential objects, glitz and glamour and people and their pet animals strangling the final air from lungs, leaving a tiny bit for a stimulus. The weather takeover. Alien and UFO hunting, social-psychological kings and queens and neutral folks’, digging for blood with stares and searching for racist, horrible white supremicists. Yelling Black Lives Matter and the far right ANTIFA winners need more vegan coaches and participants.

No accomplishments.

No jobs and housing.

No other options, but one choice.

Starve and die with dignity.

Or feel their force and purpose.

I am unsure what direction is up and how to get buried in the ground with honor. Unsure why people are so willing to assault and bully and so prepared for police to assist their cause and needs, with medics and firefighters cheering them on in their dominance. Mostly, I don’t see light anymore and don’t feel the coolness from the rain. But smell the pungent perfumes and hear the groundbreaking discussion all around a city, not willing to let me live here, anymore, and not brave enough to show mercy and give the gift of compassion.

A lot of people around here, now, who have answers and medicine for every concern and desire imaginable on a cellular or internet connection.

Delivery and websites.

Coffee and rainbow flags.

Equality, strict laws and socialist government.

 

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