“Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar” E.B. White
I know in the past, I have resisted calling myself a writer. In a way, it felt like bragging and I have no idea why. It could be modesty or insecurity or some combination of both. Now, I have no choice, because I am being paid to write by the County. It makes me a professional, God help me.
I could not have written this story without wearing the official mantle of scribe. Like everything else in life, there are always choices to be made. I know the past few stories have dealt with what we are now living with, here in the 2025 version of the Weimar Republic. Speaking of that year, the playbook for this shit show goes by the name, Project 2025. Just like its predecessor, Mein Kampf, it’s all there in plain sight.
So, here I am, a writer. I have choices about how I want to engage what is going on around us. Choice #1 is starting at the bottom, gasping for words, suffocating from the daily deluge of unbelievable news. It is impossible to keep a cool head in this sinking swamp of desolation. However, I won’t get sucked down the rabbit hole of despair.
I can’t stand getting angry, because it’s both exhausting and not terribly productive. I suppose it is cathartic and not much else. Honestly, I don’t do this to simply make myself feel better. I have always written for the reader, or else I’d just maintain a diary, secreted under my pillow. Of the three choices I have concocted, this one is by far the least appealing to me. The more I think about this, the less I feel it would make me happy at all. I suppose if I were more demented than I already am, making you feel worse after reading my stories would be very rewarding.
Now, we hit the road in the middle. To me, this is all about the “facts”. It is what a reporter would do, devoid of editorializing. So, I would describe “what” is going on, but not “why”. I would totally suck at this, because I am monumentally fallible and I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. What is happening right now is without precedent, although some people are comparing this coup to Andrew Jackson, which I frankly don’t give a rat’s ass about. Back then was the equivalent of playing poker with match sticks, versus today’s super-sized chips.
To me, the idea of progress is a mixed blessing. In America, we have no respect for history, because we have such a relatively short one, in comparison to all of Europe and Asia. Now, I am not even talking about indigenous cultures, which predate all others. Listen, I know they are terribly flawed, even though we often romanticize them. Every single one, regardless of continent and time, had a reverence for nature and their stories were inseparable from it. Funny, how we have learned so little from them and in fact, all have been punished by invading forces.
Oh crap, off on another tangent and I apologize, not really. Where was I? When you just look at what is going in, it is overwhelming and meant to be that way. One minute you’re sunbathing and the next, you are drowning in a tsunami. It is a never ending deluge, purposely done in order to leave us panicked and swimming for shore, not being able to see it. It is numbing and intended to be that way.
We just keep getting punched in a never ending barrage of jabs to the gut. Personally, I don’t see the point of walking down the middle and describing each jab, thrown at a speed that challenges the quickness of The Champ, Muhammad Ali. While we are on the subject of the sweet science, I am reminded of the rope-a-dope. Here in the middle, I can’t help, but think about how George Foreman punched out every ounce of strength he had, while The Champ absorbed the blows.
When this assault began, rattling the very foundation of this country’s legal underpinnings, I kept waiting for the opposition, neutered at their own hand. Ali’s strategy was brilliant, letting the brute punch himself out, ultimately becoming a target, a victim of his own aggression. I think trying to keep track of this onslaught to our county is an exercise, best left for those, who love making lists.
Between La Grande Orange and the Musk Rat, human caricatures, who know no limits to their respective boners for power, the grotesque hardships they are causing will begin to bite them. When their blind supporters actually begin to see what is happening to them, under the guise of eliminating the evil government, it’s not going to go down well. These people only care about themselves and when they start getting fucked over, and they will, watch what happens.
This is kind of a decent segue to the third choice. To me, it is all about one’s vision and I am speaking figuratively. I don’t like looking down at my feet, always concerned about where i am going next. You miss what is going on. When you begin to look up and straight ahead, the view opens up and you’re less self-absorbed. You get to see where you are, looking for the facts of the moment, not knowing what to do about it all. Understanding without feeling is not really living, is it?
Well, number three is where I am living and writing. Looking up, you get a good view of the horizon, where the sun comes up every day, put to rest by the shape shifting moon. As a person, I choose to live there and as a writer it is what I choose to share with my words. You don’t need me to draw a roadmap to your feet, just look down. Talking about everything, everyday, feels terribly tedious to me and I am not the right guy for it either.
I am miles from being a Pollyanna, believe me. No, everything does not work out for the best, because it can’t. We are all, every one of us, here as passengers and the train of life is on a one-way track. Many, many years ago, I decided to enjoy the ride and you can only do that by looking up. We all have selective memories and I have learned from everything that has happened to me, harboring no ill will. Last time I checked, we all fuck up and it has never made sense to hold others to a higher standard than I hold myself.
OK, kids, this would seem like a good time to bring this story to a close. You know, if there could be an Arab Spring, regardless of how it played out, look no further. It was a tribute to the human spirit, even in countries built upon repression. As fucked up as we are, we have an extraordinary history, a human experiment without precedent. There will be an American Spring, because there is a limit to what people can endure. This incredible lust for power will begin devouring itself. We’ll come off the ropes and start swinging.
When I look up, that’s what I see. Keep the faith, because we are nothing without it, just a bunch of people looking at their feet
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https://www.buzzsprout.com/admin/1292459/episodes/16671761-three-choices