FEELINGZ: A Compact Editorial on the Inauguration of a Predator

I work Monday through Thursday and stay home with my young daughter on Fridays. I held her on my lap while we watched the inauguration programming, and wished I had some professional excuse to miss it. However, I believe you ignore this shit at your own peril.

When Pence was called up to be sworn in as our new vice president I stepped out of the room to change a filled diaper that happened to become malodorous at just that moment. Earlier, I struggled to watch Hillary’s aggrieved face as she waited in the hall for her call to descend the steps of the capitol building. I struggled to watch the footage of the loosely assembled crowd who, at one of the most universally dreaded presidential swearings-in of our modern age, were able to spread out and take up more space than they needed in true “American” fashion. With each eerie grin I thought to myself, “this is what a racist looks like. This is what a racist looks like.”

Next I was sick in the bathroom for just a moment (related?), and walked back into the living room in time to see the transfer of power. Dear friends, do not let this transfer be peaceful. We are not upholding the tenants of democracy by willingly giving over control of our state to a violent predator — even especially one without anything like a mandate.

Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

— Dylan Thomas