Everyone has a story to tell.
As I obsessed about the bleeding of the world on a daily basis, I noticed one thing. It's like a macabre craving. Reading, processing, imagining and falling through the sand pit of making sense with all that's going on right now.
World news doesn't just make sense anymore. We seem to be engrossed with its trappings like a nicotine fix.
Nations rise and fight each other, with sordid tales of horror and macabre transgressions.
Everyone collectively gasps and swipes through every detail. In every swipe you'll find a crime against humanity.
Paris, San Bernardino, Syria...
Meanwhile, life goes on.
Everybody seems to be needing a real estate writer.
How about writing Syrian real estate? Get paid $10. Write a 500 word essay about that. The economy's on the uptick, with all the oil sales. Prospectors are hungry. Arms sales are up. And the Jihadi government is making strides in establishing foreign policy.
A Merry ISIS Christmas.
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