Misanthrope

I feel that I hate people. People in general.

To be more precise, I feel that I no longer have any empathy or sense of obligation to care about the people I am surrounded by in the city where I live—Los Angeles. I’m referring to the people who continue to line up for booster shots, wear their masks like obedient little sheep, bid farewell to others with the words, “Stay safe.” These people still display no curiosity to explore an answer to the question, “What the hell happened to our society these past three years?” They know the answer: Donald Trump. They dutifully layer their social media profiles with a Ukranian flag, a rainbow flag, a BLM flag…any flag but the American flag. They still have their “Biden For President” lawn sign stuck into the ground in their front yard (They’ll be all ready to go in 2024.), right next to “Hate Has No Home Here,” right next to their plug-in Tesla. They’re getting sick in unprecedented numbers, developing rare cancers, suffering strokes and heart attacks. Many are simply dropping over dead.