The end

Volume 19, Issue 20; 13 Nov 2016

Everything dies.

Extinction is an endless crime, quietly slaughtering all the lives that would have been.

James Morrow

This is the last post on this weblog. Like so much else, it died this week. (It’s of no consequence, and let’s be honest, it’s been on life support for a couple of years; no tears are expected or required.)

I am not committing infocide. None of these pages will begin to return 410 in the near future. I did consider it, but decided not to. However, I can’t write here anymore. It has too many connections to a world that’s been lost. It’s just too painful.

I have plans for more weblog posts, but they will appear in a new space. (A new space of my own construction, not someone else’s.)

If you were born the year I wrote the first post that appears on this weblog, you may have been eligible to vote for the first time in this election. I hope you did, if you were eligible. And I’m sorry about how that turned out. Always vote. In every election. Always.

I have been mentally framing and reframing a series of observations about the election that I planned to write here. But I’ve lost the will to bother. There’s no reason to care about my opinions on matters of politics anyway. There are far smarter, and far more eloquent, sources for that.

Without several paragraphs of angst and rage, I’ll close by paraphrasing a tweet that I saw a few days ago. “Not all Trump supporters believe that they are racist, but all of them decided that racism wasn’t a deal-breaker. End of story.”

End. Of. Story.