I hew pee dyes

When I read that Twitter were suspending accounts wishing ill towards the 45th President of the United States, I immediately wanted to post an acrostic poem:

If you can
Help to make this happen
Or somehow encourage someone to
Press a button to disconnect
Essential life saving equipment
Halting his heart
Encouraging perhaps a drip not to
Drip the correct amount of
Important or vital drugs or
Even bleach, we would all
Salute you.

But I thought that would probably contravene Twitter’s inconsistent rules as well. As someone posted overnight: shout out to all the people who received death threats and were told no rules had been broken.

Anyway, he’s not going to die. He walked to the helicopter. They’ve got him there because he’s going to benefit from all the lessons learned from the million+ deaths. Early intervention, remdesivir, keep a ventilator handy, money no object. And he won’t even be bankrupted by his soaring medical bills, because he’s allowed to carry more debt than you or I. Here’s me fretting about my credit card bill.

Such convenient timing, taking the air out of the tax and debt story, out of the debate story, out of the America-elected-an-actual-Nazi story, out of the voter suppression story, the supreme court story. And he walks, upright, to the helicopter, so he can emerge in a few days and say it was no big deal. He walks upright, almost like a human, pats the handrail as if to say, I don’t even need this, he walks.

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

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