America is a ticking time bomb

Anger and guns — deadly combination

300 percent increase in gun sales in March

People are angry. They’re angry about the Covid lockdowns. They’re angry because they are losing their jobs and can’t pay the rent and feed their families. They’re angry because the stores are all out of the food and supplies they need to survive.

They are angry because they get beaten up by the cops if they don’t keep a certain distance from each other in public. They’re angry at the politicians who pretend to be helping but in truth are making things worse with partisan, self-serving bullshit. And African-Americans are angry because they find themselves — yet again — in the crosshairs of deadly racism.

In short, Americans are as mad as hell.

Peter Finch as Howard Beale in the 1976 movie ‘Network’

Howard Beale, the Mad Prophet of the Airwaves, yelled this mantra 44 years ago, but it’s more relevant in the Age of Covid than it was then — with one third of the country out of work and 2,000 people dying of the virus every day, with no end in sight.


  • Police fire at protesters where Indianapolis cops killed three people in 24 hours
  • Armed Black Panthers protest unarmed black man being gunned down two white men
  • Sheriff’s deputy and armed whites terrorize black family by barging into their home
  • Single Mother Arrested and Cuffed in New York for Protesting the Lockdown
  • Florida woman arrested for being on a closed beach with a ‘We are free sign’ 
  • Homeless tents in San Francisco up by 300 percent leaving streets impassable
  • Native American tribes given 48 hours to remove checkpoints barring non-essential visitors from entering
America ready to explode
Americans line up to buy guns


America ready to explode
They teach them young

The empty room

Their marriage was made neither in heaven nor hell more like in limbo and tumultuous it was and tested by tragedy but it survived all that and thirty years flew by like wildflowers and he relied on her and needed her and she too he believed though she never said so needed him soulmates they were and when she fell ill and years of care lay ahead he was her caregiver and she held his hand to get around and he held her up in the shower and he drove to the drugstore a hundred times a dozen different pills for her and Xanax for him and gin and tonics and botched meals he overcooked and broken plates and takeout meals and doctors visits his new purpose in life and reason for living and when the thunderbolt hit and struck her down his reason for living was taken away and reduced to ashes currently contained in a bronze urn in a glassed-in shelf of the bookcase in the living room now the dead room where night after night he sits across from her empty armchair amidst the unreal absence not even a ghost sitting there.

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