political philosophy
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It was the color of a thing that’d forgotten it was ever cream. A pallor, the white of old milk or a blind eye, gone gray and thin as a shroud. The checkered border, once red or blue, faded to a color somewhere between bruise and shadow. It’d been boiled too many times in water…
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10 January 1995 Broadcast from the White House, Washington, District of Columbia, via whatever means remain My fellow Americans. I am speaking to you tonight from the White House. The signal is being carried by whatever transmitters are still standing, by ham radio operators who have kept their equipment dry, by the military frequencies that…
