Waking from a siege of the flu, catching up with myself, I am unhappy to continue the witness of the worst side of American politics. When Americans across the country are hanging onto hope with one hand and their derrieres with the other, there seems to be little uplifting in the current candidates. Gone are the genteel…no Carson, no Fiorina, for example, and perhaps that should have happened. But what is left is an endless barroom brawl, that sustains itself with evermore noise and suds. Everybody is participating.
Here is the ugly truth: we have two political parties both of whom have this arrogant idea that they get to make the decisions about who runs, who is chosen and who will be anointed, and you, you slovenly citizens, somehow think that’s your right and your duty. Well, yes, it’s your duty to vote….we put that in there so’s you think what you think matters. How did you think that would be seriously entertained? Who cares what the people want, because, you know, we know better.
Good grief, I’ve surrendered my altruism and my rose colored glasses and seen the light of day. Not for the first time, but this time the view is incendiary. We are inundated with copies of Harry Reid and Mitch McConnell. Saying those two names together makes me want to go gargle. The enormity of the unveiling of Marco Rubio makes me sick to my stomach. The reveal of the true Mitt Romney makes me feel naïve and unintelligent. I’m usually pretty good at looking behind masks…makes everyone so uncomfortable…and I missed that one. He really is pretty ugly behind all that exacting grooming…he’s fixing that by letting his hair grow, as if that will give him cred. Oh dear, what a chuckle. Why bother guessing what appeals to the people, Mitt, you’re still, well, what you are. Getting that mask back on isn’t on anymore. Go sit down.
Having the flu with nothing to do except try to hold your head up leaves a lot of dead time, and it’s the silly season in the land, so after hearing the drivel for hours on end, while some things drone off the edges, some stuff stays.
Like, all pols think we’re fleece-able sheep. Still. Like we live in a penned field and don’t know nuthin’ ‘scept what they want us to know. Hey. You can’t blame them. They live in the polished, phony world of the posh elite, so far above us they can’t fathom our discontent with them.
It’s our own fault, you know. We’ve been snoozing at the switch while we’ve been fleeced, royally. Omg, we know their NAMES! The masses KNOW. Likely way too late, because if this keeps up we will surely lose what we think is America and have to deal with what they’ve really created for themselves. But under all that, Americans in large numbers of any stripe are looking around and saying, “what the hell” and there is going to be hell to pay. Cleaning this filthy house will not be pretty and in the throw-out a few valuables will be tossed, too bad.
But here’s the hard part: sleeping so deep means the discernment gene is functioning poorly and the info machine has lied and lied and lied to the extent we can’t recognize the truth readily. Be very careful, sheep. We are about to be royally shorn.