Anger, for me, is quiet. Rage, almost silent. Not much help. But we are living in a time of rage, and it requires as many voices as it can gather and scream bloody murder into the night and day and life and love and death together.
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Painting by Rivka Kori |
Fuck that. MY humans are hurting. MY humans are dying. MY humans are being systematically slaughtered. And their destruction rips me to pieces. I am hurt by their pain. And as I feel this rage, I suspect it is my final reserves of hope, fighting tooth and nail against an apathy that would be the end.
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