There’s something poetic about how the last few days of the 2020 presidential election played out.
As batches of counted ballots were released, I envisioned the President, alone in the White House, at the mercy of math. This muttering mad king, a slave to his television, forced to listen to the American press he so fervently hates, report on the facts, which he refuses to accept.
The harsh and austere undeniability of math.
The steadfast and steady march of the count.
To a person whose been married to the denial of facts for his entire life, it must have felt like death by a thousand cuts.
Hopefully, the people of this country can put down their blue and red tribal flags and start the hard work of talking with one another, instead of at one another.
bendingtheneedle 