(Or, where is Kubrick when you need a dark comedy shot?)
This is for all my family and friends who are practicing Christian’s who voted for Trump and who have been bending-over-backwards to justify their choice:
The fact that so many Christians have turned a blind eye to Trump’s words and behavior and who he is as a human being is insulting. He’s everything Jesus preached against. He’s greedy, prideful, wrathful, and lustful. If you forgive these behaviors from Trump, you need to forgive these actions from others as well.
You think Clinton is a liar and a crook? You can’t support her? Fine, but don’t act like Trump isn’t one. Don’t act like he didn’t change his tune to suit your tastes.
You bashed Michele Obama for daring to bare her shoulders in a sleeveless gown at gala events, said the Bush women are so much classier and would never be seen like that, but haven’t said anything about Melania and her full nude pictures. Pictures your children easily find if they now google the First Lady’s name.
At the very least, don’t act like you’re so proud of supporting him. This goes for all the Christians who gloated about their decision on and after Election Day. You should feel shame that he was you’re only choice. Some “Grand” Old Party.
He’s spent his entire life building shrines to himself. Every building, every product, is emblazoned with his own name. The gilded halls of his hotels and casinos are to boost his own prideful ego. The only thing he worships is himself.
He pandered to the Christians. He’s not the savior of America. He’s the savior of capitalism and greed. He’s taken advantage of feelings of marginalization and disenfranchisement for his own gain.
Don’t use the actions of your political enemies to justify this vile man. He’s the very definition of hypocrisy.
Anything gained by his Presidency has come at the cost of integrity for Christians. Just because you’re a Christian doesn’t mean you’re immune to making a deal with the devil. Satan is tricky like that.
Never saw him carry a Bible before the election. Never saw him preach the word of Christ on Howard Stern. You think he decided to be a Christian and then run for President? No, he decided to run and then decided he needed to start thumping a bible.
You elected a godless capitalist who’s Holy Trinity of worship is money, power, and himself. I wouldn’t be so giddy about that if I were you.
Jesus did not promise you a life free of persecution in this lifetime. He promised you life everlasting if you believed in him. It’s not a Christian’s duty to free the world from sin. It’s a Christian’s duty to live a righteous life in a world of sin. Forcing Christian ideals on people isn’t bringing them to God. It hardens their hearts and closes their minds. How are you supposed to choose God if he’s the only choice? What’s so great about living life free from sin and temptation if those choices aren’t there in the first place. Stop acting like some Holy Crusader to satiate your own ego and start living a life of humility.
Please forgive others their pain and confusion over this election. When they see you preach love and acceptance, but see you support a man who has proven time and again he’s the opposite.
“But they did it first!” “Look at how they’re acting now” —You.
“Turn the other cheek.” —Jesus
“When they go low, we go high.” —Michele Obama
“Don’t sink to their level.” —Parents everywhere.
- Brody (Corey) Harris posted this on Facebook on 11/11/2016
This quoted author’s stance is driven from being a person of conscience and expecting that all Christians are as well. Some are. Some are not. Both groups can’t be conflated with each other unfortunately. An overwhelming number of Christians who voted for him obviously are not. Magnus Trumpus is at more home with the profane and risqué comedians talking blue at his celebrity roast than with a minister calling people to aspire to initiate the beatitudes. Having massive evangelical voters tip the vote in his favor means Christ-like moral sentiment is a convenience and that Machiavellian methods to achieve religious chauvinism on this land is all that matters. It’s the same religiosity that seeks to preserve the fetus but ignore the child born into poverty. It’s the same type that vilifies the homosexual but still casts a blind eye to divorce. Further, it ignores the humanity of the Muslim, even though they know in their minds, not their hearts, hat Jesus never would.
These are the same type of Christians whose butt cheeks could be counted on to be firmly planted on church pews while the Jews that got rounded up for the ghettos, because it didn’t infringe upon their bottom line. They shut their mouths when one of their own marched against Jim Crow laws and voter disenfranchisement. Sanctimonious emulation of the gospel meant that bigotry was of no interest unless it was directed again their religion or ethnic – cultural nexus. If catholic priest felt deep moral outrage over the loss of Vietnamese life then they had to have been the counterfeit Christians because all American wars must have been preordained by God.
All this simply means that when this country voted this man bereft of conscience and basic moral decency simply due to its national moral conscience is tuned to be complacent with bigotry, religious chauvinism, bellicose foreign policy and the market as its golden calf.
Case in point is to look back at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire which occurred back on March 25th, 1911. Today, we have outsourced our manufacturing in other countries, where the drudgery, unsafe working conditions and inability to organize collectively, is the norm.
If we consider the factory fire near Dhaka, Bangladesh where 117 garment workers died in 2012 and 200 more were maimed, we are forced to admit that by relocating the location where the externality gets absorbed, within a culturally exotic culture far removed from our own, helps to bend the optics to suit the narrative that this system isn’t all that bad. Within the dynamic of our predominant ethnic group here ignoring the cruelty inflicted upon unarmed black men via the police, the narrative has to get recalibrated to fit the optics. But, outcome with either coping device fulfills the same need to guarantee the system survives intact.
If we have perfected our narrative that helps justify the misery and pain that state or corporate powers unleash upon subjugated groups or have fine-tuned our ability to avert our gaze then the system runs at optimum efficiency.
Where we stand with things in 2016 is that we are stuck in a difficult position of trying to get our policy conform to two drastically different forms of national conscience. Those afflicted with a dynamic and humane religiosity seek to improve the optics both domestically and internationally and then they seek to alter our religious narratives to accommodate policies mean to ameliorate the externalities elites push down upon the masses or disenfranchised groups. In contrast, those viewing the world through the prism of static and regressive religiosities will compel the optics to dovetail with the preexisting narrative arising from sadomasochistic religious narratives.
Thus, we wind up with a bifurcated national conscience where enormous segments of the population tend to feel outraged about widely different things. This emerging fissure was most exposed during the 1960s when a younger generation rejected the designs of imperial violence on an underserving country, cast off the patriarchal hierarchy once imposed effortlessly upon women, and aligned itself with the ethnic minorities fed up with remaining left out of the American democratic experiment.
Regressive forces found ways to not permanently address the fissure that was exposed, but found ways to apply token forms of rectifying these dichotomies through cosmetic measures. African Americans found access to education and jobs somewhat more available, but with a constant underclass getting founded on being undocumented and linguistically different through the influx of Hispanics, over the past thirty years, white America found a fresh group to project its ambivalence towards: this new group could absorb the drudgery of menial and excruciating work much more so since they don’t speak the same language and came here illegally. Our prior suspicion of Russians for having the capacity to infect our innocent youth with notions of economic justice has been transferred to the possible infestation of Muslims. All of our inchoate and irrational fears can be projected onto this newly perceived threat, since their religion has been cast as the root of all political violence. Instead of saying the only communist is a good communist, most Americans feel the same inclination towards Muslims, even if they don’t spray-paint the thought on Mosques.
Hence, alleviating the pangs of conscience or dulling our sensitivity to our global system’s cruelty, is necessary in order to achieve maximum profit for an elite group and allowing the serfs with middle management, to look away. Accordingly, its suppression on matters of bigotry and economic injustice supports those elites at the top continue going about their business.
Also, when selective outrage aims to protect sanctimonious ideas of religious chauvinism instead of improving the state of those society deemed as targets to absorb externalities, the battle has already been won. Maybe, just maybe, if we adopted the same provocative devices unintentionally implemented with the conflict in Vietnam and the acts of Civil Disobedience in Birmingham during the early 1960s we can stir up feelings of spiritual dissonance. If we could start live broadcasting through social media platforms all instances of state and corporate violence we can start disrupting the inability of the sadomasochistic narratives in justifying the externalities that target groups have been tasked in absorbing. Before the collective will of the people can effect change in national policy, t’s going to take a realignment of the national character. This goes back to how people are religiously indoctrinated here. They’re taught to ignore societal injustice in the hallowed halls of worship so that static religiosity gets lodged in people’s souls. Thus, when regressives seek to maintain systemic mechanisms sustaining externality absorption within the masses or within targeted groups, progressives react with a sense of moral outrage. When the damage is inflicted onto a foreign out-group located outside our borders, progressives show up and march for peace.
Consequently, regressives are at a loss and tend to view those concerned about the plight of brown, dirty Muslims running from our drones as bleeding heart traitors. Their sensitivity is interpreted as betrayal. And, in a way, they’re not entirely wrong, but the dislocation of one’s loyalty occurred much earlier before the act of military conflict commenced; those instilled with a humanitarian will always feel the pang of conscience and seek out ways to prevent externalities from being absorbed by target groups, both foreign and domestic. Such a predisposition trumps legalistic concerns about U.S. foreign-strategic interest and the 2nd amendment. Progressives will normally first focus on the damage that our sadomasochistic religious narratives drive us to mete out and absorb before trying to find the verse from scripture or the arcane legal precedent to justify it.
But, if anyone reading this, wants to jump to the conclusion that this classification of religiosity is taking the stance that the Evangelical apologists for Trump are any less Christian are assuming too much. I am humbly trying to differentiate between different types of religiosity. I am sure there exists the same diverse camps within other faiths struggling to coexist in the modern world. I would direct people’s attention to the six moral foundations Jonathan Haidt best laid out. His investigation into what drives these divergent paths to formulating one’s political extension from one’s religiosity or type of moral sentiment rests on the two sides of each foundation. Quite simply their splits wind up shaping the conscience centered individuals, (which could be either theistic or atheistic) and sanctity-legal individuals:
- Care: cherishing and protecting others; opposite of harm.
- Fairness or proportionality: rendering justice according to shared rules; opposite of cheating.
- Liberty: the loathing of tyranny; opposite of oppression.
- Loyalty or ingroup: standing with your group, family, nation; opposite of betrayal.
- Authority or respect: obeying tradition and legitimate authority; opposite of subversion.
- Sanctity or purity: abhorrence for disgusting things, foods, actions; opposite of degradation.1
“Due to coverture, I am free to do anything I want…”
Please, turn on the gaslights in this thickening fog…we have the rope tied around the chai wallah’s hands, and he thinks he can kick against the pricks… thinks he won’t go gently into that good night, but don’t fret, don’t pout & don’t whine… little barron skips in his shortpants not too far behind while we get the lynching post ready for tonight’s black Friday night of broken crystal
Fantasizing about a butterfly’s wings plucked while still half asleep in the amber, little barron simpers on the chimneysweep sidewalk, while his potbellied dad’s henchmen ligate the rally’s victim, and begin shearing off his untouched locks…
Our stadia are chockfull of a sea of pasty faces with bloodshot eyes and oxygen tanks and tricorne hats…
As soon as the klieg, sieg heil lights came on for the November celebration, the sycophantic street urchins tug and pull at young barron’s coattails, while the secret servicemen shoo them away…
This time, however, Magnus changes into a red suit with his corpulence spilling over his belt, he gets one of his lapdog surrogates to apply the spirit gum before adhering the white whiskers, and when barron’s ragtag friends crowd him on the stage w/ his bag of yuletide goodies bulging at the seams, he stomps the artificial snow with his black boots..
w/ rosy-colored cheeks the scurvy-cursed kids shove and obambulate, while barron cowers and hides between the calves of the secret service…
since he had promised santa would bring the chai wallah to the evening’s white tie- black coat event, all the ragamuffins were euphoric to where they jostled and jumped in place, fidgeting–every one of them eager to raise his hand to tell the orange-faced santa his deepest, holiday cravings…
young barron whispered in his expert ventriloquist sotto voice, “ask him to hang the chai wallah.”
And, before the grownups could do a thing, the feral children’s clamor grew so loud that the storefront santa removed his toupee & held up his hands in fear
When the teeth-baring throng of towheaded prepubescents jumped the stage, the lecherous kringle yelled out, “I don’t want to be guilty of this man’s blood!”
From down below at the foot of the stage, young barron reaches up and starts tweezing out the fingernails from the bound & bloodied chai wallah
His piercing cries got drowned out as the christmas shoppers begged for the lynching and proclaimed, “His blood is on us and on our children!”
Magnus then strutted over to the edge of the stage after tossing his heckling elves off and then peeled off his cotton-white gloves, one finger at a time.
Once the crowd finally grew still, Magnus grimaced and told the crowd through his teeth, “Merry Christmas.”
All the woe is mes
All the woe begones
All the metronomic slightings and mistaken sightings of intelligent nonalien life all dressed down and nowhere to go!!
Hang-dog, slack-jawed, sloven-potbellied, cloven shoed, sweaty tatted Muppets prowling the piedmont and talladega, scavenging for theme-amusement park cheap-thrill rides with the unctuous film of grime covering their deep-fried skins…on average they tower over the rest of us by a solid two feet with baseball caps…
I have no words of wisdom.
Weak willed, lily-livered brownshirts converge at the rally, suckerpunching sexagenarian protestors with oxygen tanks…
Feign the rictus
As the Tulsa blue-shirted brigands fire a lethal round into crutcher…
But, we had to cower behind the drapes when the patels across the street erected their ganesha statuette the morning the new school year started…
& when the hasans tuned their satellite channel to the call to prayer during Ramadan, I begged Delmar to call homeland security and to secure all of our boxes of ammo.
And then when the perez’s stationed that skeleton in that black sombrero in that rocking chair on their front porch, right after halloween, meemaw tossed and turned for an entire week….her angina wouldn’t let up for anything…but, lo and behold, after forty nights of tear-stained pillows, meemaw came into the kitchen with the box fans going full blast, and once she warmed up the gravy for the biscuits she let the curs and fices come in from the trickling rain to expound about her vision…
deep within her fevered dream, the arch-angel, robin leach pulled up in a rolls Royce w/ liberace, and they coaxed her to come along for a ride through the clouds, all the way to the hollywood walk of fame… and down where a spraypainted swastika in black had defiled the great hero’s name, the chauffeur parked the car to let meemaw out…after she crossed gold-covered streets through the languid fog, she finally saw an opening with a shimmering orange faced man with a writhing toupee on his hand, waving through the diesel breeze..
w/ the lee greenwood hit blasting through the clouds, the aryan angels burst forth in Valhalla ecstasy
and once he waved his magical himmler wand, meemaw claimed the hasans, the patels, and the perezs were vanquished-vanished… “it was as though they had never moved into the neighborhood.”
but, the great climax came when the jacksons and washingtons got carted off to the quarters never to return again!
Lo, and behold, the real estate scion swore he would remove all woe…
And, he is proof that prayers are answered…
But, meemaw passed away in her sleep, still dreaming with a smile on her face.
The dogs are still outside barking to come inside to get out of the rain.
Veruca struts out onto the stage w/ glow-sticks and glitter laced skin sparkling in the spotlight-klieg light–w/ mic in hand she starts free-styling out to the boisterous crowd; the beat-box big band booms and bounces off the stadium walls…as the secret service nervously monitors the rabble
“Ladies and germs! Next will be midget tossing! Because we are going to be winning so much tonight, tomorrow and next week! We’re going all the way to Cleveland! We’re taking it all the way to the White House!” On a
wintry, somber morning in January, Kid Rock parachutes in with a phalange of dancers prancing in formation, and belts out the National Anthem with the Budweiser logo emblazoned on his jacket…and, that evening, after a 21 gun salute with a cascade of fireworks bursting in air…everything got streamed on pay-per-view with Female mud wrestling
Pie throwing & Fire eaters
Geeks biting the heads off of chickens
Monster Truck competitions followed by miss universe pageants
American Gladiators, and finally American Idol first-Rounders!
& then during the next morning, when the celebrants languidly open their hung-over eyelids, one brave, poor soul with actually have the gall to ask for a Sena on the Rocks, at which the footloose fancy free waiter will politely inform the vomiting American that Sena is the name of some faceless drowned syrian innocent…but every day in this great country is another day to be thankful as we all gather for the feast and monopolize innocence
time to pull up your seat and pull out the carving knife so as to release the tryptophan and the giblets
the cold waves lap and pummel the rocks off of the bodrum coast, not too far from Çatalada island
uncle dave uncaps the maker’s mark as the game kicks in with everyone feeling warm & toasty
another freeloading toddler has to find a way to distract the industrious Turkish fishermen…just who did she think she was?
As the noon kickoff rears up with the new England whistle blaring, the Panglossian panoply saunters down to 7th avenue & then makes a right…the disney & pixar characters stoically glare out into skyscraper windows high above the swaddled onlookers…
Palin-genic deceptive cadence gets conjured up with the dangling mistletoe & we get smothered in kitsch & we all genuflect to the shadows flickering across the cave, shadows of the yetzer hara strike that hot iron nerve of phobia electric current…please don’t throw me into that European no-go-zone, kind of like a friend-zone, all platonic & tectonic, but then the plates shift in the brackish septic standing water, as we ingest the medication to conjure up Samadhi fleetingly
Masochistic dreck & Stockhausen keep telling us the truth, 14 years later, availability heuristic & the heartsarnes gloss over the asynchronous bonhomie; YOU will be stuck in the gulch gulping the guppies and cursing the yuppies…just in time for the final countdown cliffhanger just before the commercial break…
Now, let us hear a word from our sponsors, we meant to say kafala! When we return to our regularly scheduled pogrom, someone will kindly tell us about what happened to freddie gray…all the local yokels chant “sieg heil” as we scurry to protect the flag once it was trampled underfoot…try to bite down on the pastel de belem à la Proust
cruz quebrada & cais do sodre…. & see if you can remember spotting the shanties huddled against each other with Angolan inhabitants out on the beach…suffocating dhimmitude casting a pale upon the beleaguered sophisticates
“it’s up to me, now,
Turn on the bright lights!” kenosis transmutes into Samadhi as the harpies & the furies beset my texan imagination & stoke the jade helm rightwing freakout…& stressful sinecure was just too much…the autotuned mantra kept playing repetitively for eternity….we try on the cement shoes one last time as we shuffle down the pier in the starless night and hallucinate van gogh’s world
We reach out begging for a cup of Ayahuasca, but instead the smirking vicar tells us that Dharavi is the field of dreams. He jubilantly admonishes us that if we thrive in the squalor, roses will bloom in our smog. He promises with absolute faith that nothing will ever trample the white rose, &
after the crow gets transbustantiated, we swallow the greasy wafer−it’s all part and art of the deal!
While getting ready for work this morning, someone decided to pick my brain about the available candidates vying for support from the American public. After dousing my head and eyelids with water in the shower in order to remove the mental cobwebs I shot back the following:
Well if someone wants to protect the capitalist state machine we currently have with the same imperial meddling g we’ve had since around 1993 while keeping Hannity, o Reilly and Limbaugh employed vote for Hillary. If one wants to make the u.s. more theocratic with even more escalated tensions in the middle east with no epa or a minimum of gun control vote for Ted Cruz Re: sanders
The very basis of his platform looks to other countries for finding ways to improve this one so that very act is offensive to most here that think the current method of doing things is the best and only way. One example would be healthcare. His essential premise is that education, housing and healthcare shouldn’t be so out of reach for most Americans. Most Americans are raised to think that life should be this hard except for a tiny portion at the top. So if his main target is getting money out of politics the biggest struggle is for most Americans to see how that ties in to how the state currently works.
“And, your choice?”
You’re talking to someone who thinks the governor of Michigan should be taken out and shot before a single member of ISIS who’s located outside the U.S.
Fox news would prefer that we cower and overreact to regional conflicts playing out in locations thousands of miles removed from our homes due to the incessant bombardment of graphic violence beamed in from the middle east all the while ignoring that men like governor Snyder have caused more damage to civilians here with their desire for “smaller government.” Apparently America loves to be on the receiving end of the swindle. Think about how much of our tax dollars has been squandered fighting ISIS during the same amount of time that we have known about the drinking water’s contamination in Flint, Michigan. And, why is it that the water system hasn’t been completely rectified for that batch of citizens? We have to admit that we been taught to direct our fear and outrage outwards while averting our gaze to the externalities borne by the poor and with darker pigmentations than our own. Just so long as you can turn people around and have them bow down to the same flag you can keep you can keep putting lead in their water. The trick is to keep everyone in this country thinking we are all in this together.
None of the pasted in exchange from up above is meant to imply that I view Bernard Sanders as the perfect candidate who could or will usher in Valhalla or a democratic socialist paradise. The strawmen that the likes of Regressive Talk Radio peddles to the unsuspecting public is one where indolent Generation Xers and Millennials yearn for a world of guaranteed outcomes regardless of one’s individual effort. Pandering to that strawman argument or thinking that is the ultimate goal of said candidate is a sly feat of misdirection. If that is the view that you are using to digest this train of thought I suggest you hop off of this passenger car at the next stop or jump off between depots. Nor, is this short exchange at the top used to imply that the other party in the conversation endorses a regressive stance completely willing to swallow as much of the externalities or at least disperse them across the public. This spindly essay seeks to expose the act of distraction itself.
On the night of Wednesday, March 9th of 2016, this candidate got called out for statements he made about Cuba and the Sandinistas, who fought in Nicaragua in the 1980s (this party is now labeled as a democratic socialist party in this Central American country, and was named after Augusto Cesar Sandino who heralded the country’s resistance to the U.S. occupation of this country during the 1930s). Now, we have to realize his earlier positions were being brought to the attention to the American public tuned in to their television sets due to our conflicted history with both countries, ones where our diplomatic relations have evolved more so than the insipid consciousness of our general populace. Memetically, Sanders was speaking from an outlook that assumed Nicaragua and Cuba deserved their autonomy and the ability to seek the economic and governmental mechanisms that the respective countries deemed best for them and their futures. This assumption stands in opposition to how too many Americans have grown to think since we fubared the civil war in former Indochina. His basic view of how we should approach other countries’ adoption of self-determination lines up with how most American used to think more than a hundred years ago but doesn’t line up to how we approach other countries where the people speak Spanish or whose pigmentation is yellow. By aligning ourselves with the same measure of respect that Sanders used in formulating his views of countries in our hemisphere choosing economic and state models different from our own, we are venturing into the exotic attitude that inspires humility and tolerance for different approaches to government. If we view such humility as beneath us then it is only naturally that we become dismissive of anyone that does and ask ourselves, “How dare he provide a sympathetic ear to those countries?”
Before we contemplate this disconnect, let’s try using a different analogue. Think of America as one long TV serial that has been running within the American consciousness for centuries, constantly creating characters, revisioning some, recasting some characters as the good guys and others as the villain. We have pledges we declare at school, we sing anthems at sporting events, and imbibe ourselves on propagandistic stories in novels, television and film, where we depict ourselves as the pristine hero of our own making when it comes to dealing with the indigenous peoples living here before we had conquered the land all the way to the west coast as well as the people we have attacked in countries far removed from our coastlines. For the sake of keeping the storyline simple and easy for the audience to identify with the protagonist, the portrayal of the conflict has had to remain very arch and affected. In very stark relief, the public has to remain ignorant of externalities getting unleashed upon civilian populations where our invading armies have trod.
Would you keep watching a show where Andy Griffith decides to start acting like a horrible father? How about a show where Andy would refuse to do anything about gun violence if one of Opie’s classmates shot a fellow classmate? Or, would we keep tuning in to see Andy enforces the law of Mayberry after the mayor gets exposed for poisoning the drinking water? Would we think highly of Andy if he glibly looked the other way, or even worse decided to use his cudgels on protestors? What if he and Barney beat Otis up for public intoxication? Would we laugh at the sitcom then?
Regressives want to skip whole seasons of America that took place from ‘63 through ’73, and in turn find fault with any group that has to continue absorbing externalities, whether they live in ghettos in the inner city or in blighted Appalachian enclaves where coal is still king. And, if it comes to the externalities meted out to people in the Middle East who never asked us to occupy their land, we have grown comfortable with ignoring their resentment as well. Regardless of where the outraged group resides, we must never discount the regressive’s ability to ignore their reasons for dissatisfaction since it believes the opportunity for the all of them to overcome their context of suffering is just as bold as their own. Again, the narrative allows and teaches us to hit the fast forward button.
Would you keep watching such a show after Vietnam took place? We’ve apparently inured ourselves to identifying with a protagonist within this serial that our official mythology would overtly disavow. The national character struts and frets about on the world stage with seemingly little regard for members of its own household, at least in regard to its weaker, downtrodden members. Our national character has grown to embody callousness, crassness, superficial piety, while the whole time belittling other characters that possess sensitivity or compassion.
Americans were raised to raise their own individual characters within a narrative teaching that our national ideals act as a beacon of freedom, liberty and opportunity for other emerging democracies throughout the world. In arch contrasts the populations were told through a unified mythology that if one played by the rules that the capitalist system would work for one’s benefit. Our collective storyline told us that the democratic process was impartial and that if enough people showed up at the polls come Election Day, then the political will of the people would be respected. Generations up until the one that came of age during the mid-sixties believed in the childlike notion that our global actions were blameless and had the sincerest of benevolent motives.
At least, this was the format of the first seasons of the series. But, then, something odd happened to the later seasons of the story. Colors splashed upon the characters’ faces; darker hued people started getting dialogue instead of simply standing there with hors d’oeuvres on hand for white actors. Then, subtitles started getting supplied for Hispanic characters. And, before we know it, on our cathode ray monitors by the most tumultuous decade within recent memory, something discomfiting started happening: moving images of black demonstrators getting pummeled with fire hoses and attack dogs and American soldiers using Zippo lighters to set small Vietnamese huts aflame came flooding into bucolic suburban households. These disturbing optics had to have provoked a visceral response within the soul of a country that thought of itself as the ethically pure hero. So, what did it to do grapple with such discomfort? Instead of learning from these new episodes and maturing it decided to quench these flashes of spiritual dissonance by going back to the DVR memory bank and deleting them from the hard drive. The elision is the master stroke of regressive media. Consider how the cracks within the narrative allowed more sunlight to penetrate this bubble the dominant ethnic and religious group was ensconced in for time immemorial: once the helicopters fled the rooftops of the American embassy in Saigon, people started voting a year later with a mind more open to paying attention to the more sordid details checkering our American pastoral, such as the genocide of the indigenous population through European conquest and colonization coupled with our expansion of manifest destiny along with the graphic brutality of the Middle Passage got seared into the American consciousness through Alex Haley’s best-selling Roots and its subsequent TV miniseries adaptation. But, within a few years a toothy former actor would arrive on the scene reigniting passionate belief in the American Dream rewound to 1962. We would be told it was Morning in America. In order to avoid the cliché of saying the rest is history, please pick up a copy of Rick Perlstein’s The Invisible Bridge; within it, he details the rollercoaster ride that prepared the public for Reagan’s ascent from the years ‘73 through ’76. During the contested convention of 1976 all the way through Mondale’s pummeling in 1984 a geriatric salesman asked us to suckle on the childlike fantasy, whereas a different one today is asking the public to wake up from a dream and cast off a cynical and smarmy embrace of our country’s hypocrisy.
On the other hand, now the final icing on the cake is that this aversion to the truth has retooled our narrative to the point that the focus of our outrage has become so recalibrated to where the majority of Americans are more concerned about what ISIS gets away with in Iraq and Syria than the fact that people within the interior corridors of state and city government have gotten away with poisoning the citizens of Flint, Michigan. Do we think the America of forty years ago would display such a callousness to its own citizens as we do now? How is it that we can explain away the indifference to a score of children, ranging from the ages of six to seven, and decide that nothing can be done or should be done to prevent another gun massacre? What kind of country are we that can stand by and let cops straggle a man on live video, an unarmed black man whose sole crime was selling loose cigarettes on the sidewalk?
Again, the regressive flight today simply locates the remote and forces the viewer to simply change the channel. It will flit over the uncomfortable sources of information that dare to expose externalities the public has to bear until it finds an entertaining plot that simplifies life for the viewers. If a society can stomach a grand jury withholding an indictment of a cop who strangled a man to death with a chokehold with it being fully videotaped for the jury to view repeatedly, while all during the preceding months Sean Hannity on Fox News can justify the cop’s actions, we are seeing proof in real time that the memetic divisions keeping us from giving two bowel movements about our fellow citizens who are slightly different are irrevocably riven. This monolithic industry devoted to making us shrink back in fear and lose empathy for those different from us showed the whole world that it has accomplished what it has set out to do once that grand jury came back and extended its middle finger to Eric Garner’s surviving family members. And, what did the American public do in response to this injustice. It simply turned its back on them and told the angry protestors to go get a job.
This series has jumped the shark, and apparently the rhetorician who want to try making that giant leap over an erupting volcano as a great finish come to us in the form of a braggadocious real estate mogul whose political views change depending on which side of the bed he wakes up on. The Sanders commercial that was released a month ago paid homage to the memory of Eric Garner with his daughter providing the narration: it resonates with those in this country whose hearts are synchronized with the empathy implicit within our country’s highest ideals. 3 It is this same empathic impulse that should drive us to rectify the ongoing water crisis in Flint. If we aren’t asking ourselves whether our preferred candidate stirs those empathic sentiments within how we treat our fellow citizens and how we deal with other countries striving for independence and self-determination, are we really asking ourselves the right questions? And, if we see these realities and choose not to do anything about them what does this say about our priorities as a nation?
- “In 1952 for the first time, television news was able to broadcast the Republican and Democratic conventions live from Philadelphia to the rest of the nation. The importance of that event for rural America went beyond the fact that rural residents knew in real time that Dwight D. Eisenhower and Adlai Stevenson were running for President against each other.”
2 “In economics, an externality is the cost or benefit that affects a party who did not choose to incur that cost or benefit. Economists often urge governments to adopt policies that “internalize” an externality, so that costs and benefits will affect mainly parties who choose to incur them.
Isn’t it ironic that those who worship the Founding Fathers and the constitution they engineered while disdaining the modern day intellectuals of today conveniently overlook how the Founding Fathers were the bold and innovative, leading intellectuals of their day?
Aren’t they subconsciously paying obeisance to the ideas the Founding Fathers came up with instead of the arduous exercise involved in using the powers of the intellect to analyze the preexisting orthodoxies of conventional wisdom?
I mean, hagiography is much easier than emulating the same adventure such men as Jefferson, Franklin, Madison and Hamilton set off on. But, I wonder where we would be if these men simply had regurgitated the concepts and words they had ingested from the likes of Rousseau, Hume and Locke instead of setting out on their own.
Regressives simply seek to claim the natural birthright to the Founding Fathers when it suits their interest, but if progressives seek to expand egalitarian notions of liberty and freedom found inherent within the Constitution, accusations of blasphemy and heresy erupt on cue.
Again, either politico-psychological template approaches a sealed document with its own set of attitudes and moral sentiments. But, keep in mind that once we start off on the act of analysis and reason with initial reverential rigidity, our ability to maintain a level of elasticity with a set of ruling principles will be hamstrung. A blind spot to our attachment to orthodoxy will shut down an honest discussion on what the ruling principles should provide us when dealing with a totally different generation demanding egalitarian treatment and opportunity. Moreover, the regressives worshipping the Founding Fathers simply expose their worship for the conditions and hierarchy that existed when the Founding Fathers established a new republic. Maybe they pine to maintain such a pyramid of power over constantly learning new ways to apply the ruling principles to new ethnic and religious groups.
But, then again, this strict adherence to orthodoxy, à la Bill of Rights, in a very binary interpretation suited to maintaining a tightly wrapped social order in regards to patriarchy and a WASP patrician class is not that dissimilar to the zealotry found within Christian Fundamentalists’ conveniently optional literalism. But, we should take a step back and ask ourselves whether a group of 18th century Deists deserve the same unmitigated respect and unwavering imitation, especially if it means trying to reconfigure the world to approximate theirs where minorities and women knew their place, as we would to a document that claims to be inspired from the mind of and spirit of God.
Ultimately, all of the ideals, ideas and applications of freedom and liberty the Founding Fathers espoused are cherished, so long as they are applied to an 18th century world, with little or no accommodation made for groups left out and disenfranchised during that epoch. To open up interpretation to include others is anathema to said regressives, who would feel more comfortable if different races could be treated as inferiors, if not three fifths a person, and the only armed militia we had to regulate were stocked with muskets. But, alas, we don’t live in such a world in 2016.
Toupeed Yosemite now learns how to monetize and organize red-state hysterical discontent, as St. Kim from Kentucky displays her stigmata on the courthouse steps, cloyingly flirting with the camera as the crowd cheers and chants
“Qu’ils mangent de la brioche” W/ a hundred thousand overly dramatic valkyrie , cherubim, & rockettes storming the celestial breakers loaded up in glass-bottomed boats and traversing the tesseracts & parsecs, w/ a jackknifed tractor trailer we seem to be falling through the clouds in our collective fevered dream of paranoia
mcmurphy now steadies himself as the orderlies lean in to adjust the guantanamo black-site voltage coursing through my electro-shock therapeutic paregoric pejorative
Bricoleurs & luminescent tumescence, the soothsayers are turning out to be naysayers, faring thee not well as they put the kibosh on the Kasbah
& the highly esteemed neurosurgeon sambo waltzes through the chlorine-stenched halls, stopping in mid-arabesque so he can huff deeply on his own personal stash of ether; he ventures out on the small-club circuits with his trolling, irreverent material, homing, polishing and perfecting his pithy tropes, bromides, clichés, all the while catering & pandering w/ Cheshire grin
Apolitical jerry-riggers keep on ranting about water found on mars, or strange anomalies found on pluto, the once-again-planet–not the dog, while the shimmering light comes back from KIC 8462852, but once the manned rover plummets through the atmosphere-less sky and lands, the unfurled, prehensile rope ladder lets the waddling astronaut cast his gaze upon the garden of martian delights triptych unfolded and completely surrounding his landed craft all in panoramic obsession,…
w/ matt damonesque gravitas the sojourner starts his pater familias obeisance, but it all swiftly morphs into patter-rollers; we have to incite the fear ratios inside the souls of all the heartland, hinterland, trailer park, crucifix-clutching, flag-waving, bandolier wearing cornpone men’s men who will one day save the day, as we wait for godot…if we lean down towards the mossy peat earth, we can hone in on the silence and forget the waxing flood of jackboot marching coming towards us and now, listen up, listen closely as Aylan Kurdi’s mouth lifts above the roiling wave once more before drowning…listen close and you will distinguish the instantly recognizable mel blanc lampooning & trolling us all….the joke is on all of us since you golden parachuted into the backwaters of far eastern penury and lived like a king with disposable mopeds & self-contained underwater breathing apparatuses you have no idea of the torment the wayfaring strangers face…
bobbing out on the Aegean like bloated, pink driftwood…while all the while fonzi makes a final practice run out on his skis waving at the cameras
when the cartoon world takes over, we are offered two doors, the hallway leading to franco’s nave or the thickets trailing off to caliphate interregnum, and when the clouds break, marvin the martian slams the brakes on his planet-razing ship and when he peers out over the feuding camps littering this sectarian wasteland, he turns around and swears not to ever look back…
…anticlimactically, as his exhaust fumes slowly dissipate in our stratosphere, a fully grown great white shark lifts its head out of the atlantic and gazes up at the disappearing ship forlornly
kingdom come canton & splintered houses rift through with white phosphorous…beefy good ole boy snipers are doing god’s work near tikrit… and the armchair jarheads line up for mile length queues stretching & snaking & wrapping around the multiplexes in the rain, hail, sleet, & snow…just to feel the bitter anguish of oblivious schadenfreude; when the comparable resident expert assassin gets interviewed by the bubble headed bleached blonde, her knickers get wet when she recites how many confirmed kills he got in four months, “33!”
the grinderman & his monkey hold the paranoid hinterland blue haired listeners captive as the no-gone zones are gonzo, BUT NOWhere near Las Hurdes Atlas will you hear the boisterous, belligerent few yell out, “we built it, we paid for it, it’s ours!”
the kingdom is coming soon and with it a host of avenging angel armies in hot pursuit after the riffraff…we are gathering up the queens, the darkly hued huddled masses, those that pray eastwardly, we’re stuffing them into a concrete garrison or possibly an apartment in chapel hill, nc…the unvaccinated find their métier behind bunker walls, praise god & pass the ammunition, & damn the torpedoes! Kill ‘em all and let god sort them out…Don’t tread on me but come and take them
turn on the blinding, klieg stadium lights and croon out the tony Orlando ditty through the overbearing bunting…the delegates rescind an elusive grasp on reality and all half-measures get punted down into the end zone…as the oathkeepers come out gallivanting in their drag-stag cancan getup, the overhead speakers keep playing the battle hymn of the republic as the vanquished Wobblies are forced down upon their knees in unison…the crowd chants the proof-text and when they get to the end of the verse…the white hooded victors raise their scimitars as high as their arms will allow
the potluck feast is where crow is the entrée & strange fruit is the delicacy…
let off a 21 gun salute as the bombs are busting in air…the brass band is pimped out all in the red-white & blue-blooded confederate regalia pumping out the sousa
it’s morning in america …the reason I know this is that I am the one who put bonzo to bed…but, my head aches, and I feel so bilious & woozy…the paroxysm of the oppressor fulfilling the wish…we spat up the nostrum and then graduated to the pabulum & pap…
the reason I know all this is that howard beale and arthur jensen are the same person
the first rule about agenda 21 is that you do talk about agenda 21,
…nightly, …along with the Egyptian-marxist caliphate, and the ubiquitous false flags, and the tripwire gets tripped so as to set off the rube goldberg thermonuclear chain reaction; if we’re lucky, we will usher on the coming of the kingdom
Don’t mock my voodoo theories, because if you don’t bow down to my freshly graven image I will put a hex on you…