Dear Reader: Tikkun olam has failed. The gates of hell are open wide and all the demons freed. They now roam freely among us all, with all privileges. There is no one who can kennel them back in their place.
So what use is my philosophy of using acumen, analysis, research, wit, and writing to try and make this a better world for everyone?
Not only do the demons roam free, but they breath honeyed words into the ears of all, whether they lack all conviction or speak with passionate intensity? The words all come from the agents of Satan.
In other words, no one cares. I am all alone in my convictions. I feel vulnerable. There is nothing to spend my excess energy upon. One day, Satan's agents will come for me and it will all be over. My life will have been wasted. Nothing I value will have been accomplished, let alone acknowledged.
I wrote this shortly before I left Coney Island Hospital. Another place where Satan's minyans roamed freely.
I would tell you I'm insane
But for the smile on my lips and the beam in your eyes
What do you care if this be truth or a parcel of lies?
And for your purposes: what matters the state of my mind?
I'm trying to return to my own private shire.
A refugee--the Jew doctor who'd been invited to Gondor
Privileged to see their madman, hear his screams, smell
his burning flesh, taste his ashes.
Ultimately. Unbelievably. To
Feel his rejection.
And I tell you--the horselords never came. It was all a pretty story
Isolated. Ridiculed. Deprecated. In pain
I grew increasingly weary of hoping for rescue
Of knotting my fragile silken ropes
There came no comfort from the hollow ones whom Gondor hallowed.
To save myself, I imagine a life I might have led
Had I not been born Sharon Kahn, but Rosie Cotton.