Is a Turkey Buzzard soaring in circles, wings outstretched in a regal display of over-arching masquerade ready to pick the American people’s bones clean when the body finally, from exhaustion ceases movement?
I went dark years ago. Going dark means a couple of different things. Some denote a lack of presence; others denote a sense of depression. In my case I simply decided to not get involved with a bunch of hackneyed and clichéd, moronic promises from politicians expecting us to believe every bit of manure they shovel in our direction doesn’t stink and we have to appreciate the fact they’ll produce roses where cactus thrives.
