Even the fall season is not mending my heart this year. Apple picking, foliage horse rides, the stocking up of pellet stove pellets, the Halloween Pumpkin Festival. None of this leads toward my continued existance and even my “staff” of Armageddon Apocalyptic horses knows it.
The pool deck is down. The pain of a four year old asking his Grampy why he destroyed his magical summer oasis will live in my Boy Scout American ass for all eternity. I can’t bring myself to tell him we have to leave this place because of money and Nazified town officials prompted by globalist adgendas or that if he does not get with the program and start learning how to best exploit others his life might be more miserable. I need a remote suvivalist compound not only for myself but my kids, my aging parents, my mother-in-law and a very few select best friends who are now going through their own Amerian empire declination episodes. We don’t want “change” but instead that ability to work meaningfully in some capacity as to contribute to the greater good without fucking over major proportions of the world population.
For imminent survial I am supposed to market my house which means removing the kid crap in the yard to make it more presentable. So part of me wishes for the misery this human cockroach of the universe society so deserves gets it.