The Burden of Empathy : Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Before you begin reading please be warned that I have a terrible habit of going off on weird and off topic tangents, and I smoke pot nonstop.  That’s basically all this story is.  Also, for reasons I cannot explain, you must never know my name.

It happened in Humboldt County, California.  In the first week of August, 2008.

Ah, 2008.  The year when Britney Spears was sodomized by every tabloid without consent but by years end was back and stronger than ever.  The year when preps were Abercrombie’s bitch proudly and Gossip Girl addicts cling to Perez Hilton blogs. When pink cheeked teenage girls jerk off to The Jonas Brothers and Twilight, while their former molesters got off to Miley Cyrus now that the girl who plays Herminie is of legal age. 

 The year before the last of the 2000’s, a blank decade of apathy and laziness.  We were promised flying cars and self cleaning houses by 2000, and the fact we had failed so miserably made most of the decade feel like a premature ejaculation.  We jumped the gun too soon on the future, and now there’s nothing left to do but sit on the couch and bitch about the black guy in the white house.

This was the year we would make history with the democratic primaries alone, let alone make history with the second coming of Lincoln as a democrat.   Yet he would get elected by having some mush mouth blue dog fascist at his side.  Sad that this is what it takes to get a man elected and not just the fact he’s the greatest orator of our generation and the first president to actually utilize the youth vote since McGovern, except this time we would actually come through for our candidate.  Too bad he didn’t come through for us, just like all the others.

2008, the year were alt- indie vintage chic was the trend with sub culture liberals and poser hipsters who flocked to thrift stores, mixed with your loyalist rich kid preps at Abercrombie, gangstas with South Pole, and emos with their Nazi storm trooper uniforms available at Hot Topic.  Every shallow label of all cliché high school clicks has their own seal now thanks to the shopping mall consumption complex of all modern teenagers.  Zumies, Pac sun, or thrift store chic. 

This is a generation mixed with the spawn of teen parents from Ronald Reagan’s ghettos, aging rural hippie baby boomers, and still blind American dream loyalists who still pull the curtains when they sodomize their wife, even though it will still end up all over Youtube.

2008, the year where Jan 20, 2008 would be the beginning of the end of the eight year fuck up.  The fuck up which left our government in the hands of the autocratic evildoers.  They were all criminals and they deserve to rot in the deepest pits of hell, with all the gays they wouldn’t let get married, and the innocents of Katrina whom they raped, and the souls who perished on the day of attack they let happen, and those who perished afterwards at their hands across the seas.  All of which could have been avoided if he just had just read the FUCKING MEMO!!!  The fact he went the full eight years is sickening.  From the beginning of the apocalypse of 2000 to the anti Christ’s second coming four years after, I’d been trying to get peoples attention about this, did they listen?  Hell no!  Not until 2006 when the country finally realized “Hey this guys a fuck up.”  No one took pity upon me, they called me a traitor and threw me in the brig.   No one apologized when they knew Id been damn right about that human piece of shit all along!

Crap, sorry. I’m ranting in political rage and self pity again.  I apologize, but years of being on the bottom of the social spectrum at school has sort of filled me with a form of angst, it’s natural I suppose.  Or maybe I’m just crazy.  I’m shy but get me talking and I’m a little long winded and I start rambling.  So since your stuck reading this shitty book, you might as well just listen.

So now! The stage is set. Humboldt, of the summer of 2008, yet my journey begins in the state’s capital, my personal hell hole full of tormenting rednecks, preps, posers, and Governor Schwarzenegger’s, called Sacramento.  

Published by James J Jackson

I'm a poet from California.

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