No Air Support
There is a woman on the street. She is old and tired, ignored and retired. There is a cart near her filled with things. She exists, yet stands invisible. No one is there, she is a ghost. She holds space, yet no one can help her, for they cannot help themselves. The buildings are tall around her, they provide pitiful shelter. I see her standing there in my mind, and she is probably standing physically now.
This is the society in which I live. Great advertisements, sad realities. Happy smiles, empty worlds. There is a reason Walmart failed in Germany. They saw the greeters as creepy, the cashiers as inauthentic, the corporation as a monstrosity.
America is a psychostate, a factory prison for its inhabitants. Yet I cannot tell if it is necessary, or simply cruel. For there are enemy states outside its borders. China and Russia, or so they say. North Korea, Iran, I guess them too. Greenland and Venezuela, evil to?
Well, one might wonder how many enemies a nation needs, versus how many it actually has. However, within the war state, a new monster may well exist around every corner. For the average person, their personal enemy is usually economic. The tax man, the electricity bill, the student loan, the credit card debt, the car note, the cost of groceries…
Normal things become enemies in America. A bag of yams? An existential cost. An unplanned surgery? A bankrupting event.
There is no forgiveness in this country, only pillaging. The lady on the street will not be helped, cannot be helped, because the community around her has been destroyed. Luxury, yes, but they are all enslaved. Pumped full of debt like turkeys, stumbling around on their last legs. They may strut, yes, but their bank accounts are owned by private equity. No autonomy, no options; their individuality is coercion, a public play. A sort of “show and tell” for real estate developers and their henchmen. There are no people in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia, just pawns for property owners. They are numbers in a ledger, color dyes of black and red.
Hello! We’re D.J. Hoskins
We are Davena and Jason Hoskins, co-authors of 40+ books and siblings who write under the pseudonym D.J. Hoskins. Three years apart and in our twenties, we have been fascinated by stories from a young age. Davena is a student attending Princeton University, and Jason attends Georgetown University.
