May the filth be washed from our land, may the Christian Nationalists understand the hate in our hearts. May the rotten, melting carcasses that bloviate and lie to our faces be pushed out of the halls of power, and may their castles be detonated. May they sleep on the streets; may they experience the derision they reserve for others. Or let them be confined to their decaying Fairfax mansions and Arlington lawns, wandering the empty corridors, taking no solace in their kitschy Steve Penleys. Let the land they live on be as fallow as their souls.
Turn them away from the doors of the church; when they die of old age, deny them salvation. May they wake up in a world they do not recognize, as they have done to us. Offer them no compassion, no empathy. They deny our common humanity, that which makes such kindness possible. May their ghastliness be known for an eternity, their visages turned into the screeching monsters we use to frighten our young. They desire a world without society; let them experience this. I pray they shall never again sit peacefully at a restaurant, dining on the heart of our nation, never again go on a Sunday stroll with their lovers. May their families abandon them; may their sons and daughters spit on their grave and their grandchildren recoil at their odiousness. May they die terrified and alone, having driven away all in their life, so they must face the trials of judgement unaccompanied.
May they know the suffering of exile, even if they never leave these lands. There is no greater punishment than being expelled from one’s community. May they understand this on a visceral level. In banishment, one can occasionally forget one’s lot, taken in by the beauty of a new home. Let there be no such balm be available to them. May they be trapped in a hell of their own making.
This is not a prayer for violence, but for peace, the peace of a just world.
Miles Taylor 