The open letter hereafter, titled “Love letter to a crumbling world” comes to us from the writer of “Goodnight already”, a blog within which leftist cry babies abuse their children and overreact while suppressing opinions to the contrary. Let’s read their take on the election, which, according to the letter, has caused the very world to crumble.
Last Saturday, the day after inauguration, I woke before dawn and remembered who was president. The thought felt like an injection of lead through my veins and I lay awake wondering if the world might be ending. It was quiet outside and dark. There was no sign of anything wrong, but still I wondered if bombs could be going off in nearby states and cities and I might never know. I decided that, if this were the case, if we were suddenly at war, then at least I was in the right spot. My younger son, who had turned four the day before, had cried for me in the night, and now he slept next to me, his matted hair against the pillow. [This is from the same writer who explained on their about page “We believe in allowing our children to witness all of our failures, quirks, and shortcomings so that they can grow up to be imperfect just like us.” The words “child abuser” come to mind. Is daddy a heavy drinker, womanizer, or a little foul mouthed, well, in that case, you better expose your children to those same failures and shortcomings (grade A parenting here). If your four year old is crying himself to sleep because your political party lost, you’re messing up your child. Be an adult, teach your children, don’t parade your worst flaws in their face in the hopes that your kids will grow up to be so dysfunctional as you yourself are. The poor child probably took a hint from their parent and thought bombs really were going off in some part of the nation.]
The bedroom door was open, and so I could hear my older son snoring gently. I thought about the fields outside my house, and the swamps where hundreds of geese land and lift off every day. Somehow it felt like all of this might cushion me for a moment if the world were turning to ash.
As morning came and as my mind moved from dream-world to real-world I knew that I needed to march. I had spent the week hemming and hawing about whether I’d make it to the women’s rally. I told myself that I had valid reasons to stay home: My brother was visiting from out of town. I had a memorial service to attend at noon. I had been to a student walkout the day before and had told myself: one protest is enough. But, deep down, that felt like bullshit. “I’m marching,” I told Kellie as I passed her in the kitchen. “I’m marching for both of us and you’re watching the kids.”
Minutes later I stood over the kitchen counter with a Sharpie and a piece of cardboard. “What should my sign say?” I asked.
“Love Trumps Hate?” Kellie suggested.
“I can’t write that one,” I said. My brother and his girlfriend had now emerged from the guest room and were pouring their morning coffee.
“Why not?” Kellie asked. “Is it because you don’t want to use his name?”
But it wasn’t that, I explained. I just don’t take for granted that love wins.
My brother’s girlfriend nodded like she understood. “It definitely feels like evil is winning right now.”
A year ago, if you asked me how I felt about the word evil, I might have told you that I didn’t really believe in it. I might have explained that I thought that people were complicated, that their motives were often misguided. But now it’s 2017 and I seem to have changed my position on that. I believe in evil as a powerful force. I can already feel it tugging at the edges of my world.
We joked about a sign that would say Evil is Winning, but in the end I settled on Facts Matter. I scrawled it out in fat letters, dressed for the rain, and drove downtown.
I had no idea that the day would be so bright, that marching would feel not like an obligation but like the very medicine I needed: faces of friends and people I knew, faces of people I barely knew, faces of people I’d never ever seen. We moved, amoeba-like, one organism, from our capital lawn to the heart of downtown. Nothing changed because we marched. The president is still the president. Everything changed because we marched. We were one cell connected to other cells all over the world, and for those moments we were a united body, vital and thriving, filled with light and not dread. Light and not dread.
Through all of this—the first day of his presidency, the brutal week that has followed—it does feel to me like our world is turning to ash. Every time I check the news, our country has taken another step towards fear. I am filled with dread, and so, there is one face in particular I try to remember. It’s the face of my son on his birthday—it was also inauguration day. I’d been fighting gloom all day, but just before his bedtime we stuck a candle in a cupcake and gathered in the kitchen: me and Kellie, my two boys, my brother and his girlfriend. We sang to him, all of us standing, the birthday boy seated at the counter, and at the sound of our voices he glowed. I mean, he radiated light [Until their “loving” parent somehow managed to make them cry over politics]. His whole body was purpose, and that purpose was receiving our love. He knew how to take it in. He knew how to drink it. I keep trying to remember this because I know that I will need it. I will need to borrow his brightness; I will need to give it back [They ARE the purpose, they’re purposed for receiving love, how selfish can such an idea get. Just imagine the sort of terror a little boy taught to believe these things is going to be in their teens and twenties].
I can’t promise anyone that this will be the thing that saves us. I can’t promise we will win or that we will be saved. But I do know this: Beauty persists. Joy persists. Love persists. They are all nestled there next to my anger, like ribs holding a heart in its place.
[My reply read]: Honestly, this read as a parody. The one organism, love wins, the bombs going off because your political party didn’t have their way, causing your son to cry himself to sleep! Just the entire conversation around the kitchen with people who lack any kind of nuanced or opposing views, perhaps the one-celled organism has already expelled anyone who would dare disagree from that house. And now, now evil exists, and it’s Trump, an elderly man with funny mannerisms (honestly though?) Because I’d hate to be wholly in disagreement, as that’s not my intention, the original writer was correct when they described this kind of thing as “medicine”, as in, they seen people who agreed with their own views, they had people validate what’s already on their mind, in that, there’s no need to consider what they’re saying, there’s no need to sit down and do the hard work of understanding “the other”, the evil other, instead, they’re just “amoeba-like.”
I wish everybody reading the best, and love does indeed win, beauty persists, it’s just a shame this article is so ugly and unloving.
Despite appearing to not publish my views for general consumption (not yet anyway), the writer behind goodnight made an awfully limp effort to converse with me privately, as they insisted I hadn’t read their post, due to alluding to things they never wrote, after asking that they might clarify where exactly they felt I misrepresented their viewpoint, they cut our communication off (are you feeling the love too?)
“The country’s divided! The country’s divided!” Yeah, that’s 100% true, and that’s largely because leftist are such poor sports, such bad apples, so much so that when they’re on the end of a bloody nose, politically speaking, they reject the legitimacy of the other side’s vote. They’re just sore losers.
There’s no divided nation when you closet fascists win elections, no bombs dropping, and there’s certainly no other side of the vote who wanted someone other than your candidate, instead the nation is described by your media puppeteers as united. Now, I’m not meaning to write that’s a nonissue on the right, in fact, I’m pretty sure people made talk of Texas bucking the united in United States when Obama became president. Nonetheless, it’s been a persistent theme on the left (especially so with regards to Trump and Brexit) to construct a divisive atmosphere in not just the world of politics, but in every sort of public and private space, done so to further their absurd ends.
These people are simply utopians. They don’t care about whether or not the nations are divided or united, just so long as their views are being progressed. Whether that be by peace or bloody revolution is irrelevant. With which I’m of the mind to ask, will the utopia which you so doggedly strive for be populated by people like the above, by which I mean to write boorish, adult babies, the sort of a person who would degrade and later expunge from the public space anybody who doesn’t already fit into their narrowly defined friendship circle. Are they the good little utopians who’re on the ropes thanks to the recent voter turnouts?
Notice such people can’t glibly volleyball my objections back in my direction, they can’t ask “Will heaven be full of you?!” because, thank God, it won’t, Heaven is about God making humanity right, which means my every fault isn’t meant to be left as a cursed inheritance, but rather: “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.” That’s a paradise I can believe in, meanwhile, for my political friends who believe in a godless wonderland in the sky, where Karl Marx gives sermons and Chairman Mao tickles the ivories, enjoy jumping at phantom bombs that never fall, and bogeymen with funny hair.*
― T. C. M