The Trump re-election campaign thus acknowledges that it is actually a death cult. Furthermore, it is counting on the inherent stupidity and blind loyalty of its fundamentally white supremacist base to offer their lives and safety so that a fat fascist moron will feel good about himself and not have to cower in some dark corner afraid that divine retribution or Vladimir Putin might call him out.
I remember a day back in High School when the regular teacher was absent and the substitute used the hour to read a Poe classic to the normally boisterous class.
First, the substitute was a graying, middle-aged gent who might be mistaken for the wrestling coach; however, he was a French teacher and spoke with a willowy lisp. He was precious, in a Percy Dovetonsils way. But he was also a great story-teller and that day he held the class in thrall with Poe’s The Masque of the Red Death.
In this time of Covid-19 we all have plenty of time and hopefully that means lots more reading: books, books, books.
After the death of William Wirt Winchester, his wife Sarah inherited vast amounts of money including a sizable interest in her deceased husband’s firearms company. She also received a spiritualist warning that as long as the construction on the family palace in San Jose continued, she would escape death, possibly from the ghosts of those killed by Winchester repeating riles.
I first heard of the Winchester House in grade school when a student shared the story about stairways to the ceiling and doors in the walls with no rooms on the other side. Several years later on a family trip to San Francisco we drove past the house but didn’t take the tour. Years after that I saw the house again, standing in the midst of typical suburban sprawl: strip malls, multi-cinemas, car dealerships.
