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Mr. Bush, the journey of which you speak can be compared, metaphorically, to the “journey” of Mr. James Byrd, of Jasper, Texas. We the People – those of us with an iota of decency – have been dragged unwillingly, and almost to our collective political and spiritual death, behind the vehicle of your delusional reign of terror in these United States of America over the last eight years.
The blood of my ancestors speaks:
May the road rise so precipitously and be littered with so many shards that your future journeys will be, one and all, unbearably difficult. May the wind be always in your face – a howling gale of Katrina-like proportions -- and may you lose your way in the storm, never to find home again.
May your trail be one of tears. May you know in every sinew of your mortal shell all the pain and suffering, all the sorrow, raised to powers of ten, that you have inflicted on the peoples of this Earth. May your dreams be filled with images of the sorrow and death that is your true legacy. May your name be remembered, even to the Seventh Generation, as a man of great dishonor among nations.
May you be redeemed. May the hologram of life be renewed.
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