Dear Stephen King. Thank you for your inspirations

I remember being trained by DARPA, being given immunity from expulsion from school until I was 18, at which time I suddenly found myself with a draft number for Vietnam.

Lucky for me and the U.S. government that the draft ended before my conscription. I’d have happily written about the My Lai Massacre. Well, not happily per se, but I’d have reported the atrocity.

They had trained me, a monster of a sort, but they’d had no idea what an enemy I’d make. Consider me an enemy now. And no, I never went to Vietnam, thank goodness. I’d have been killed by U.S. troops. Yes me, from the selfsame U.S.A.

I have no respect, no loyalty to governments in general. Not in the developed countries. I respect the government where I’m living now, mostly because they don’t try to judge or influence me. They could — my visa expired long ago. But if I’m happy, they’re happy. The police refuse to even look at my passport, a passport that shows that I’m essentially a refugee from the United States. They sometimes ask what language I speak, and I say “Spanish?” Like it’s a dumb question. And that settles things.

That’s all I have to say just now. My recommendation to people living in the U.S.A. is to get out right quick. But most of you won’t. What a shame.




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