Kristen Soltis Anderson nails it. She knows what to ask. There is a sting. It’s just over the next horizon. Her outrage over the sex crimes – crimes the deviant denies and denies and denies and denies – is the same outrage that most people have. Obviously, these were crimes against All Living Things. Code for it’s gonna be ugly. All the usual feedback loops of grievance and betrayal. He didn’t do it. He didn’t do it. He didn’t do it. Are we supposed to believe this chicken coop. The polished halls of secrets. A little on the young side. A little? Let us put these accusations (like rape) comfortably aside somewhere in the back of the walk-in freezer. Ms Anderson seems to think it will pass over quickly. Quick enough to charge Virginia Woolf with littering. What now. What now. What now. Remorse.

Never. Recalculate. Never. Revenge always. Spins his kingdom for the ride alone. We are only on it. Virginia Woolf is a traitor who must be executed. Her books banned. The lighthouse is a long way away. The line between suicide and homicide grows very thin. Ms Anderson used the word: controversy. As a cultural ploy. The word execute has taken shape. It has a face now. We get to watch it spit. In his deranged dementia, we are all trying to take him down. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. He’s going to hold his breath until he turns blue. Maybe tonight he will get to sit at the Big People Table. Maybe not. Let’s step back and watch the Deviant Hissy Show about to erupt. – tim barrus