I feel myself slithering up from the depths of only grief looking slightly like Golum from the inside out.
A demonic sinister look in my eye promising to eviscerate your soul.
Tank Girl
I am angry. Ball busting violently angry. I want to claw, gnash, tear out, slash and burn. I want to beat and main and thrash and break and cut and filet your soul from the inside out. I want to rip your heart from the middle of your body, hang you upside down and watch you drown on your own blood.
I am looking at you from inside myself seeing the hands that are not mine try to destroy you to the core.
I am writhing in a body that feels foreign and slimy and disturbed and vile.
I AM ANGRY AT AMERICA
I am angry at you for creating a world I am disgusted to be a part of. Angry that I am embarrassed to raise my children in this hell.
Angry that you have brought to the surface the darkness of a nation that I was just beginning to feel safe in.
You have destroyed all the faith I had in the road I was traveling. It is vile, disturbed, depraved, disgusting. It is horror and madness.
PATRIARCHY EXEMPLIFIED MATRIARCHY OBLITERATED
Gross, gagging bile of filfth running through my maimed and broken fingers. Dripping like green snot onto a burned out mother earth.
As the South African mothers mothers used to say:
NOW YOU HAVE TOUCHED THE WOMEN YOU HAVE STRUCK A ROCK; YOU HAVE DISLODGED A BOULDER; YOU WILL BE CRUSHED.
I am coming for you in all my vile depravity America.
Consider this your only warning.
“In 2033, justice rides a tank and wears lip gloss.” Tank Girl
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