Write 1 trillion times: I hate Bush, I hate Bush...

Mitchissmo, 1973, preparing early for angry anti-Bush letter writing campaign, hoping to save the world from its end

When I was two, I had a vision: some day, a short village idiot with family privilege and too much testosterone would come to power by utterly corrupt means and wreak immeasurable havoc,
bringing the world to its end by-- among many things-- appointing conservative hawk maniacs, and particularly a man who possessed his same monkey look to a position of world oversight. Needless to say, I scrambled out of my crib, rolled up my jumper sleeves and got cracking.

Some thirty years later, I'm three feet taller and yet feel even smaller. Today, popping your head out of your own small life and reading the paper is debilitating. With votes like 49-51 against irreversible damage for temporary gains, I, like many, feel shot with a stun gun. On this day, there's little to do but mourn and play the numb voyeur. I wish I were two again. It makes (and perhaps even justifies) my eyes turning inwards in self babbling myopia.

In the meantime, i will continue taking pictures of myself to make sure I'm still here. Let me know when it's over, because I may go blind by 2008.