There’s only one truly invincible Dr. Doom, and his name is Inner Monologue Jones.
Listen... He's murmuring again:
Canvassing is pointless.
Grassroots organizing is an emotional support animal in a war zone.
Big Money beats Best Messaging every time.
I don't have the energy to do the work, anymore. It's over.
Things are so bad, the inmates are no longer running the asylum. They sold it to Paramount, who rebranded the asylum "Sociopath+."
I'm fat and repellent, except to mosquitoes. Those fuckers can't get enough of me.
It's unrelenting. Incessant.
So how do we proceed? How do we get our kishkas out the fryer and get back to un-fuckifying 'murica?
Baby steps, bruh. Baby steps.
I’m not talking about taking action: signing up for one small thing online, and then another.
I mean ACTUAL. BABY. STEPS.
Fall to the floor like a drunken toddler. Wallow in it for a minute, then struggle to your feet like you’ve never been there before.
Imagine the newness of your legs and life, and the scary potential that’s prodding you to move. It's called motivation, holmes. Time to move.
Do it. Wobble forward. Now steady yourself, babe. You’re moving! You took a baby step.
Congrats and Mazel Tov.
Now hike up those Huggies and sign up with the Knock Stars. It’s time to fight fascism like the big kids do. LFG.
Oh, and please read my Substack. Blueish is a cursed monkey paw filled with tales from my past and present. I hope you like it. 💙