The Unconstitutional Triangulation of DaVille

We are in the throes of Christmas.  It seems Christmas Eve always falls on a Thursday night, and I don't like it.  I have done minimal decorating for Christmas, but I do feel this Christmas season.  With the passing of both parents, and one last year near Christmas, it is known that this holiday season leading up to Christmas can be hard.  All of your people have died, and you find yourself alone.  We have all of those special memories which are part of our soul and our core.  They brought great happiness (for some), but now their reanimation causes pain.  How does one progress?  It is a laborious and time consuming process, but I have done well.  All of our Christmas decorations, those extremely personal, intimate, and full of love items that suggest Christianity and Santa Claus, are packed neatly in cardboard boxes and are sitting on those same shelves.  The shelves have been cleaned and painted.  There are new garage doors and a shiny new floor.  The garage never has looked better, and with this face lift many of the guilty memories that could cause distress have been removed.  When you look at the photographs, that is when it hurts.  To remember that space in all of its glory, nurturing creativity and providing a place to find happiness in the midst of turmoil, is difficult.  We must move on, and that means changing things.  Our family's Christmas decorations sit neatly in their  boxes and are comfortable on the same shelves.  They will not be unpacked, but rather will stay where they are to be remembered.  I can't discard them.  It would seem like blasphemy.  I have my mother's Christmon tree, a miniature, artificial, two foot tall tree that is covered in handmade, beaded, religious ornaments.  I put lights on this tree at my mother's behest.  It has not been disassembled nor stored in a box.  It is a tribute to my mother, since she died on November 11th, 2024.  It is my Christmas tree and sits in the living room window atop an antique table.  There are two candles.  It is enough to celebrate the anniversary of the birth of Jesus.  Santa Claus is not around.  There are no children.  The idea of Santa Claus, altruistic giving and unconditional love, is a part of me that ebbs and flows.  It is distant since the loss of my mother, because one becomes hardened to survive.  There are gaudy Santa Clauses, elves. and reindeer in yards in our neighborhood.  Families have children, and this is important to them, not to me.  What is important is remembering the baby Jesus was born in abject poverty in a manger in a barn, God's offering to mankind.  He transformed the world and attempted to instill peace and love, something we are missing today.  In America's celebration of Christmas, we are preparing for war with a foreign country.  Fayetteville, DaVille (or Da Ville)  becomes triangulated in the military machine, and there are no remnants of Christianity.  There is little holiday spirit, only a paranoid sense that America may be attacked at our weakness, celebrating Christmas.  The weeks after Thanksgiving, instead of becoming infused with good will, warm feeling, and generosity are pelted with shallow commercialism.  Our economy no longer provides for the people, and the once thriving commerce of the Christmas season lays dormant on the cold ground trampled by our own President.  Who could ever foresee the most powerful man in the world does not care about our economy?  He cares not for the people, and he can not understand what the American economy is or has been.  It has become an oligarchy with enslaved laborers, and the free market we once knew with upward mobility is dead.  Only is it huge sums of money embezzled from the federal government in the form of contracts.  Small businesses, stores, restaurants, and grass roots efforts which serve the middle and lower classes no longer are important.  They would rather house us in dormitories, pay us a steady pittance, buy us Vodka, and demand loyalty to the party and its leader, Donald Trump.  It is all there in George Orwell's novel, 1984.  There is a huge disconnect with Trump's billionaire administration.  If you look closely at the Vanity Fair portraits, they  resemble Neo-Nazis.  That makes some Americans happy, the Communists, the same people Hollywood has been fighting for decades.  Today with our nation's newfound ignorance, we refuse to believe our own government would betray us, until we see the new Affordable Care Act premiums.  Fayetteville's new and continuing holiday spirit is being the sewer of the military industrial complex.  When we prepare for war DaVille is triangulated by freight rail, STRACNET, the Strategic Rail Corridor.  Fort Junction becomes Auschwitz, and the fully loaded rail cars never stop.  They are loaded on Fort Bragg at the Honeycutt Marshaling Yard by the Cape Fear Railways, and CSX comes and pulls them out to Fort Junction, several long sidings parallel to the Murchison Road extension around the post.  Here CSX ES44ACH locomotives idle for days at a time triangulating Fayetteville in diesel prime mover hell.  We have River Terminal on Old Wilmington Road with Aberdeen and Rockfish Geeps tooling away daily.  We have the Milan Yard of CSX with Cargill at its end.  We have a NEW railroad that was created when RJ Corman bought the Norfolk and Southern tracks going to Fuquay Varina and then Raleigh.  As CSX pulls these lengthy are trains out of Fort Junction, they have to be backed down the middle of Russell Street and diverted onto the mainline by an interchange.  It was suggested many times to build a connector track to prevent this maneuver, but it never was built.  Even as the oldest bridge in North Carolina across the CSX tracks in downtown Fayetteville was demolished and rebuilt, and it would have been easy to build this connector track, it was not done.  After this maneuver is completed by several locomotive "consists," the extremely long military train moves southward to Pembroke, where it performs a similar maneuver.  There is no North/South East/West interchange here either, so the train must pull onto the East/West CSX line, which takes it toward Military Ocean Terminal Sunny Point.  It is traveling to Wilmington.  There is a huge sorting yard in Leland, and locomotives from MOTSP travel up, pick up the trains, and take them to the deep water ocean cargo terminal.  Because often live ammunition travels through logistically from rail to ship via containers, the sorting tracks at Sunny Point have earthen buffers between them.  They cars are sorted and pulled onto the dock to be loaded via crane onto massive cargo ships headed to Germany.  As we try to prepare for Christmas and internalize Christian sentiment, Fayettenam is subject to continual freight trains, exponential rail activity.  It is torture, and it leads one to believe that Christmas, a Christian tradition honoring the birth of the world's savior, is not relevant nor worthy of remembrance.  It is because we have become both atheist and agnostic, and sadistic and fascist.  Cloaked ICE agents are nothing more than misplaced, deranged, Nazi officers taking pot shots at grandmothers in concentration camps.  This is not the way to reform immigration in America, but our Congress has lost the intellectual ability to solve the simplest problems.  That inability is the acceptance of lobby money.  They are bought and paid for.  It is surprising that Donald Trump remains.  You must be richer than God to adhere to this political ideology, and this growing group of oligarchs should be in the sights of the struggling American people.  When someone is trying to kill you, do you cower, or do you stand up and fight?  America's history answers that question.