The cowards claim social media heroism

I’m drunk. I consumed 3 bottles of beer and I’m actually surprised that I managed to return to my place without crawling. I tripped 2 times while walking up the stairs, though. Oh details of everyday life — I so love you.
 
Anyway, this country is hopeless. It’s absurd to watch people who ardently argue about the good and evil of politics — as if that very realm knows any sense of moral. It’s exhausting to witness all these social fragmentations, all these promises of genuine electoral change, all these madness and willingness to slay the vulnerable and the deviants.
 
It is ridiculous to live with the careerists — both young and old — those who allot more energy in image building than nation building, inane even. Those who do not hesitate to sell this nation for some stupid incentives and titles to attach beside their names. To hell with this endless spiral of insanity and incalculable torment.
 
It is exasperating, really, to exist with the idolaters who applaud the murderers for roaming free and condemn the indigenous communities and hungry farmers for raising their fists and collective indignation.
 
And then the deranged writes solicitation letters to the Chancellors and the Lords, removes the larger and historical context of class struggle, and asks for trickles of alms to assist the oppressed and the exploited in this time of El Niño.
 
Some wannabe progressives, on the other hand, throw motherhood statements from Marx or Mao or Lenin or Guevarra and god knows who else, then post photos with Bam Aquino like what the fuck. The cowards claim social media heroism but is fearful, in actual, to stand up for others and risk their names and personal interests.
 
This country is demented.
 
Yes, I am drunk and I tripped on the stairs twice but hey — fuck all the spineless, the specious and the pusillanimous! You’ve been slaughtering this nation in ways you’ve never imagined. You’ve slayed your fellows, even fed on the inconveniences of one another. You’ve robbed the next generations of their futures and sapped the blaze of those who revolt against this dying light.
 
Yes, I am drunk. But even in my intoxicated state, I still see how the oppressed mimics the oppressor by constructing their individual hierarchy on the broken bodies and dead aspirations of the dreamers of far flung hopes. They are sober and they don’t even realize this.
 
This is the most disappointing part.
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