Emotivism for a Fledgling Buddhist

Missiles. Missiles. The launch of missiles.

United States missiles. Missiles. Sixty missiles in sixty seconds missiles. Missiles. Yay missiles boo missiles—missiles. Missiles trump missiles. Missiles. Syria struck missiles Assad missiles, can you believe it US of A missiles.

Missiles. Democratic missiles. Imperial missiles. Missiles for Christ’s sake god damn it missiles.

This is the day that no lord has made.

Ah, but have you forgotten?  Life contains itself in you. And fleshbag that you are, insignificant and full of shit, you are the maker.  You are the lord and this is your day. So from the ribs of your own body, what will you breathe into life? In the face of chaos, what will you make?

Smile at the grocery attendant and ask the UPS deliverer how is your day going, sir? There are enough missiles. You needn’t be another.

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