Minneapolis and America 2020. Photo by Julio Cortez/AP
An unfond farewell to this relentless, exhausting, heartbreaking, God-awful year of grief and loss and fury, a year of helplessness and hopelessness mercifully strewn with rare moments of faith and promise. We will be rid of the monster and his mob of cretins, but Adam Schiff was appallingly prescient when, pleading with the Senate a year ago to impeach the motherfucker, he asked, "How much damage can Donald Trump do between now and the next election?" and answered, "A lot. A lot of damage." After a year of "the Trump era on steroids," even a Fox News poll ranked our impeached, delusional, criminal loser an unprecedentedly bad president who's done little in four years but abuse, destroy, steal, play $150 million worth of golf, tell 25,000 lies - now 50 a day - and knowingly kill over 346,000 of us because he's a sociopath who took a job he can't do to get back at the black guy who dissed him. As to his heinous henchmen, British-Indian novelist Hari Kunzru bids persuasive adieus: To Bill Barr "you vast pompous pus-filled bladder of casuistry," Don Jr. "you scabrous single-nostriled unloved elephant-murdering human wreckage," Jared Kushner, "you vacuous dainty preening overpromoted nub of mediocrity, squeezed like an entitled smear of toothpaste into a silk suit bought with tear-stained dollars wrung out of (your) suffering tenants," Stephen Miller, "you weeping pustule upon the social body, you dreg, you homunculus, you noxious slime felched from the gaping cavity of Jim Crow,“ and staffers "so eager to crunch your way in your shiny new work shoes over the bodies of the poor and powerless, I smite you and cast you out one by one."
"Our knowledge such as it is
and our hopes such as they are
invisible before us
untouched and still possible."
W.S. Merwin, "To the New Year"
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