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Why Being Angry In The Age of Trump Is Deadly
I need to save myself, fast!
Yes, it’s about Donald Trump, and the trappings that come with managing a hostile climate that breeds ill-will towards assigned enemies, representing the utter devastation of Black lives.
And of course it didn’t take a maniacal president with a penchant for radicalizing White terrorists for anyone of us to be fully aware of the real and present danger that police brutality exacts, or to comprehend the traitorous levy of a woefully biased judicial system.
But when your existence is an alarm clock that goes off every hour on the hour without any reprieve, due to the mechanisms of high-priced platforms that were built for this season of chaos, on the scale that enables the validation of evilness from the highest office in the land — there’s the threat of slowly but surely lose your shit.
Aside from the growing and unreasonable habit of tracking Twitter accounts belonging to enemies of the state with roaring clap backs that weirdly lighten the burden of discontent, there’s also the overall feeling of emotional and physical fatigue.
Getting older is a blessing but it’s also the brutal lesson in how some things will never change. You can only control so much. And even when you give all you’ve got, the outcome won’t match…
