Angry White Man

There was a time when I cared. It was so long ago I can barely remember. I have tread through this onslaught of what we call life for so long now I can only recall being hopeful. Sad, yes; morbid, no. Similarly, I am not truly angry in the sense that I thrive upon its negative energy, but that I am angry in a disappointed sense. I expected more from my life and as a consequence of that I had expected more from the people I knew. I truly don't know if I have anything left to give except my anger. I hope my anger doesn't frighten you.

I do not fear the future because it terrifies me to an end I have no conception of, nor want to believe. We are not the people we think we are. Our world spins and we laugh and love, cry and smile, eat and play and work. For what? A hope and a prayer we will be left alone? The corruption of our being is nearly complete and all we can do is HOPE we will be left alone. Truly, this is not life. This is not about hate or fear or greed. It is about you and me.

I can no longer rely upon truth to win out over the volume of cacophonous hate spewed upon and around my space. The Nazis were but a focus group for the insanity to come. There are no contingencies of hope for this kind of malevolent planning, nor are there heroes for the darkness they will wrought. I am angry because I saw it and did nothing.