Dusk had broken over the JFK campus and a bling sapphire blue sky was carpeted with sterling silver gun-smoke clouds, through which, a multitude of precious 24-carat stars twinkled.

I sauntered outside — because that’s how real men glide — chased by Principal Goring’s insincere ‘goodbye,’ by which she meant ‘good riddance’ to me and all radical thought.

I paused at the main gate to let the last few bars of Nuestro Himno smother me as they drifted north on a cooling breeze that was buff enough to blow fast food wrappers up the road like tumbleweeds, but too weak to stir the bare, knuckled, branches of the old oak tree to my left.

It was 6.54 AM on a still, chilly, battle-grey, overcast with light, getting heavier, rain, Thursday, April 18, 2019 when Kunt’s good morning, hair-on-fire first tweet of the day, preempting and pre-butting the anticipated publication of the Mueller report, sent the day spinning, as he had spun the 9-months and 3 seasons since Monica’s assassination.

First a harsh, agitated long hot greenhouse effected SUMMER, defined by haunting images of distressed undocumented, mostly Latino, immigrant kids interned behind razor wire fences as a consequence of then-Attorney General Jeff Sessions April 6, 2018 memo announcing a new ‘zero tolerance’ policy of prosecuting all immigrants who illegally cross the border, which ‘Mr. Magoo’ had admitted at the time would result in families being separated:

"If you're smuggling a child we're going to prosecute you, and that child will be separated from you, probably, as required by law. If you don't want your child to be separated, then don't bring them across the border illegally.”

Then the dizzying dissolve from the rich browns of the separated kids’ faces and the dog-eat-dog-days of summer to the bare branches and tumbling leaves of a grimy, unsettled, FALL during which a Buncha-Kunt’s-cunts were indicted, including:

Michael Cohn, Kunt’s attorney and Joy’s former boss, on 8-counts, ranging from campaign finance violations related to hush-money payments made on behalf of Kunt to fuck-buddies like Stormy and tax and bank fraud related to his finances and taxi business. To lessen the penalty for lying to Congress about plans to build a Kunt Tower in Moscow, the cunt made a plea deal with Mueller and settled for sentence of three years.

Paul Manafort, Trump’s former campaign chair on 25 different counts related mainly to his past work for Ukrainian politicians and his out-of-control finances. He had two trials scheduled, but when the first ended badly the cunt struck a plea deal with Mueller to avert the second and settled for sentence of seven and a half years.[iv]

A jump cut to a long, cold, unnecessarily brutal, oppressive WINTER during which Kunt shut down the government for a record 35-days in a VAIN attempt to secure funding for his “big beautiful wall“ along the Mexican border, having apparently given up on his original idea that Mexicans would pay for it.

Kunt’s crusade, which, in true Bashar al-Assad style, was paid for through the forced sacrifice and suffering of his own people, ended with whimper on January 25, 2019 when 10 air traffic controllers — six in northern Virginia and four in Florida — decided to stay home for a day.

Which temporarily ground all flights at New York’s La Guardia airport and caused delays at other major hubs in New Jersey, Philadelphia and Atlanta.

Which tipped the scales in Washington and besieged senators forced Kunt to agree to a three-week cease-fire.

And Kunt retreated, hurt but certainly not humbled to the White House, which Nadiya had decorated with blood red Christmas trees for no other reason than she could.[v] And Kunt, a horny spring bunny went pussy grabbing!

The air-traffic controllers short, sharp, successful resistance was the proof-positive Joy needed that the new math of revolt and therefore progress is to cultivate grass-roots resistance wherever it occurs most naturally grows and build a networked movement that connects the activist dots and makes us by the sum of its parts powerful, ungovernable, free.

Joy officially named her movement the NINETY-NINE PERCENTERS and unofficially made me her ‘interim’ campaign manager for a few tempestuous weeks, before replacing me over an iced Chai Latte with Saikat Chakrabarti, a buff, ever calm, Harvard educated ‘operative’ who had “dropped everything” to join the early stages of Bernie Sanders’ presidential campaign where he became its Director of Organizing Technology.[vi] Saikat piloted Joy to an overwhelming (78% to 14%) victory over her Republican opponent Anthony Pappas in the November 6, 2018 general election and was now her chief of staff

Joy’s idea was that I go back to my day job “to save our relationship,” which had struggled under the weight of countless disagreements over the path forward ranging from the size and color of the NINETY-NINE PERCENTERS brand font to the amount of socialist baggage to cart about.

It had taken me a while and a few shots of cold-shoulder followed by a week of forced separation for me to take the hint, during which Joy’s fame had grown exponentially. To the point that immediately after she tweeted the name of her signature red lipstick — Beso, by Stila — it sold out everywhere. But this morning I’d set the alarm for 6 AM, put on my second-best Ermenegildo Zegna Naples Blue three-piece suit, a lightly starched Dunhill white cotton-poplin shirt, a loosely knotted Hermes Saint Honore bleu caban tie, and a pair of much re-soled black Church’s Burwood Brogues and graced the office with my presence for the first time in three months, ready to rumble.

I spent the first couple of hours brushing the dust off files and wading through 6-months’ worth of Emails, texts and voicemail messages, from ‘unfortunates’ who had tripped over man-hole covers, walked into nightsticks and wandered onto building-sites without hard hats; ‘illegals’ who’d fallen foul of ICE; and ‘deplorable’s who’d sold drugs to the wrong cop, the right cop at the wrong time, or just got unlucky.

A ghostly voice message from Monica was wedged between the gusher of hard luck stories. She’s left it for me on Saturday June 23, 2018 a few days before Joy’s victory in the Democratic Primary election. She was in Panama with FOTUS and Edwin’s 2,331 Bitcoins and she’d be back soon. She said some other stuff too, but I’ll leave that be. SHE’S DEAD NOW, AND HER HOPES AND DREAMS LIVE ON IN US.

So, I replayed the shivers-down-the-spine victory speech Joy made to her ecstatic supporters at La Boom night club on Northern Blvd, in Woodside, Queens in the late evening of November 6, 2018, having vanquished Republican Anthony Pappas to become, at age 29, the youngest woman ever to be elected to Congress, to hear how resistance and eternity sounded blended together.

They sounded magnificent!

“This is what is possible when we all — the 99 percenters — come together in the collective realization that all of our resistance matters, big and small, because our power to bring about lasting change is expressed as the sum of our collective resistance no matter how small each incidence might be. Words cannot express my gratitude to every organizer, every small dollar donor, every working parent, dreamer, that made this movement — the 99-percenters — happen.” Joy rasped, waving to the crowd, her crowd, Monica’s crowd.

“And that’s exactly what this is, not a campaign or an election day,” she stormed on, her fist shaking over and over again to the beat of her determination to see a better more equitable world. “THIS IS A MOVEMENT FOR SOCIAL AND RACIAL AND ECONOMIC JUSTICE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, that I dedicate to one of its fallen leaders, my half-sister Monica RIP, whose death is ultimately the responsibility of President Kunt, a man, no a morsel that breeds division and hate. I WILL NOT REST, NO WE WILL NOT REST UNTIL KUNT IS DESTROYED.”

And then Joy teared up and watched proudly as NINETY-NINE PERCENTERS pummeled the air with their fists, chanting “Sí se puede,” a rallying cry first used in 1972 by United Farm Workers Union co-founder Dolores Huerta during Cesar Chavez’s 25-day hunger strike to demand fair wages and better working conditions — later, appropriated, perfected and translated into “YES WE CAN” by Barack Obama as the slogan for his 2004 Illinois Democratic primary campaign for U.S. Senate, his 2008 presidential campaign and the theme of the momentous trajectory shifting speech he made following his second-place finish in the New Hampshire primary.

“I often think back to that incredible day of June 26, 2017, when despite lack of media attention and the bookie’s odds and being outspent eighteen to one by a 10-term incumbent with his clammy hands superglued to the levers of power, WE WON, WE WON, WE, WON.” She sang, arpeggiating up the octave to a high C, and we will change the world for the better. Not just for our generation but for all those that come after us.”

And then she paused as the “Sí se puede” chant rebuilt, louder and prouder than before.

“Gracias,” she answered, and she silenced the chat with a wave.

“Yeah, Gracias, gracias, gracias --- I think about the excitement and the sense of hope that was unleashed that day, not just in our community, but in the world. I think about that excitement and we now have to channel that excitement, so that we can prevail in what we all know deep down inside us is not a partisan fight --- it is not and probably never has been about Red and Blue or left and right, but about the top 1% and the rest of us, about right and wrong, about finding our collective soul, networking the crap out of it, bringing down Kunt by any means necessary, and saving our planet. “

As the video cut to Joy being embraced and congratulated by her supporters with whom she shared such hope born of anger, I was distracted —, first by notification that Attorney General, William Pelham Barr’s heavily redacted edition of the Mueller Report (which he had previously, whitewashed in a 5-page fairy-tale delivered to Congress on March 24)had been published. It was by all reports a, hatchet job — 40% of the pages had at least one redaction and more than seven percent of the text was blacked out.

The second distraction was ruder — a pack of Beasts for God kitted out in flowing white robes with blood-red trim, masks, AK-47s and a variety of hand-guns kicked in my office door and moved on me casting long ominous shadows all the way to the Broadway facing wall.

According to the Beast waving a Battlefield Green 9 mm Glock G19 Gen 3 at me, I’d been tried and found guilty of “Meter la nariz donde no te llaman,” which loosely translates to “Poking my nose where it doesn’t belong for far too long!” about which I had no argument at all.

And when he ordered me to put my hands up and kneel, I looked at the gun barrels pointed at my head, did the math, and did exactly what I had been asked to do.

It was a few ticks past 11 AM when they pushed me out onto Broadway, which was bathed in temporary sunlight, and bundled me, with the Glock attached to my spine, into the back of the second of two matte-black BMW X5 Security edition trucks that were conveniently waiting outside.

The masked VOL, who took his place beside me had the empty bloodshot eyes of a man who found relief from his own misery by inflicting pain on others and stayed up all night dwelling on it.

He stared at me a little longer than we both expected, as if he was struggling to see inside me, to see what I could see, as if that might explain my bursting in on his life, uninvited;


Then someone, I assumed the Beast in the front passenger seat, fiddled with the X5’s iDrive controller, until he found 1010 WINS ‘News Talk Radio,’ which was coming off a spot for GEICO Auto Insurance, in which a brat on a road trip, déjà vu happening all over again, plays with the buttons of a infotainment system asking “what does this button do, what does this button do —“ ad infinitum until the car crashes.

Then came the “YOU GIVE US 20 MINUTES AND WE’LL GIVE YOU THE WORLD” tag, which was followed by the news headlines, which were that:

“Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s report recounts ten episodes of obstruction involving the President and discusses potential legal theories for connecting these actions to elements of an obstruction offense,” which in the darkness, I saw as a grotesque comic book or a magazine.

And then Joy, victorious having slayed the Democratic machine, was passed a mic and she wailed a double chorus of ‘This Train is Bound for Glory,’ with the lyric improvised for the occasion.

So, Kunt pleaded with Dan Coats, the then Director of National Intelligence to intervene with Comey and stop the FBI’s Russia investigation, and when he was again rebuffed, asked the then Attorney General Jeff Sessions, to un-recuse himself so he could end the investigation, tweeting:

All else having failed Kunt directed Don McGahn, the White House counsel to have Mueller removed citing conflicts of interest that were the products of a hyperactive imagination born of rabid narcissism. And when McGahn, like Comey, Coats and Sessions before him refused to fire Mueller, Kunt tweeted:

And when the shit hit the fan, Kunt made like Pablo Escobar, Rafael Caro Quintero AKA “Narco of Narcos,” Vito “Don” Corleone, Tony fucking Soprano, Richard Nixon and God and directed his henchmen — cunts like Paul Manafort, Rick Gates, Michael Cohn, Roger Stone, Don McGahn, Dan Coats, Jeff Sessions, Michael Flynn, and Steve Bannon — to flood the swamp with disinformation, keep their mouths shut and to stop cooperating with the Mueller’s investigation.

But Mueller had persevered.

IT WAS TRANSPARENT IN THE DARKNESS THAT MUELLER HAD TAKEN A COWARDS WAY OUT by concluding without precedent that he didn’t have authority to charge this President or any President of wrongdoing, even though there was ample evidence that Kunt had obstructed justice. And that his 448-page prosecution-for-dummies guide was an impeachment referral to a congress he hoped would do the heavy lifting that he had bailed on.

I was savoring the thought of Joy tossing a brilliant warm death-kiss smile at Kunt, when something big and strong and going very fast piled into the back of us and knocked us off the road

I saw brighter whites and darker blacks and colliding primary colors and I heard a big bang and then a bigger bang and then a perfect silence and I felt nothing at all.