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Can't think. Can't write. Everything in bits. Bits and pieces. Can't seem to form them. Put them together. Do they even go together? I don't know. I can't know. Confused.
Foreign has a darker ring to it. Tinged with fear and suppression. All things strange and unknown are shapeless wraiths in the dark; it is not uncommon to mistake them for rows of machete wielding Pakistani boogeymen, a whole army encased in body turbans, shrieking and throwing their blades in the air. Thats pretty damn scary, now matter how racially sensitive you are. Still, even scarier, are the men in suits who don't fight at all like our ancestors, who drink whiskey and sit in big chairs up in offices built up to the sky, beat their children then shower them with blind praise, kill thousands of men for their oil and heroin, yet still call themselves civilized and decent people. It has to be foreign to you to have the full effect, we see that every day, but its safe to say we're all pretty terrible all around.