Imagine that we elect President Trump and his first month of policy is so fascist as to incite an anti-capitalist revolution among the proletariat of the country– the 99% finally find a cause to unite against and we prop up Bernie Sanders as the head of the coup and, eventually, the country itself. The progressive movement takes a giant, unforeseen leap in the span of half a year, utopia within grasp.

Imagine that we elect President Clinton and, in her first month, ISIS-coordinated dirty-bomb detonations in three metropolitan areas kill 100,000+ people. In return, Hillary leads us into our third Vietnam war of the past 50 years, killing even greater numbers in the Middle East and further afield, buoyed by the fervor & fury of the American people themselves and bringing us all that much closer to the nuclear end-of-days desired by evangelicals of all stripes.

Imagine that we elect President Johnson and he learns what an Aleppo is (Italian for “leper,” natch).

We cannot know what our votes will lead to. We know for sure that, even if none of us, (Presidents included) really hold any bearing in this madcap awe-inspiring colossally-grinding-onward world, the best and most important thing we will feel is interpersonal love; even its flitting sparks bouncing between us in frenemyship.

This is not some naive humanist plea to befriend your local bigot. By all means, drive out the demons and force them into their own stewing communal pockets where they might burn out in due time, like sparklers left on the gravel as we giddy children find ourselves staring skyward at the fireworks. But oh heavens anyone you chance upon that might offer you the slightest smile, that little recognition that there is something enjoyable in the eyes across from you: allow your gaze to hold hands with theirs! by the wrist as freeclimbers on a windswept mountain, safety ropes fraying, like every single movie or tv show or book or song in which we hold on for dear life

From the moment we split that atom named Trinity, the end of the world has been at hand. Classified as the Manhattan Project, yet the outcome is only the opposite: empty fizzling desert. Loss of mingling feelings, the erasure of consciousness, vaporized story. The global guillotine, suspended above us for 70 years, remaining for who-knows-how-many-to-come. Vote left, vote right, vote correctly or not. 99.9% of us aren’t trying to hurt anyone else, it just happens. It is the spiritual tumorous growth of existence; Saṃsāra.

In the event that hellfire rains on us all, stripping our skin like Mother Gaia playing she-loves-me-not… I don’t want to be alone.

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