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An American Socialist

Americans love battling imaginary foes so much that real enemies take on imaginary traits—marauding Indian savages we saw more fit to name streets after than to respect as human, imperial Spanish that somehow threatened us from a Caribbean island, the Hun, the Jap, the Red Menace, and, now, the terrorist…

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Being a writer and depressive, something’s always wrong. The day’s too bright; the night too dark. It’s too hot or cold. I’m just plain tired. That’s the fortunate part of being a writer. The unfortunate part is writing stuff that just wasn’t cool, isn’t cool, will never be cool. All…

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