AS A POINT OF COMFORT….

…I’m not always right about this End of Days stuff.

I’ve been telling the only friend I have with whom I tend to discuss politics (she keeps her “political” twitter account under an assumed name, separated from her personal/business oriented twitter stuff, to avoid the usual constant threats of violence and barrage of abuse) that statues honoring Jefferson and Washington will soon follow those honoring Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson into various states of defacement and dismemberment, and that Lincoln and Grant will be in the cross-hairs five minutes after that.

Silly me.

It looks like I had the order wrong.

Oh, by the way, the organizer of the Charlottesville Unite-the-Right March, is now reported to be an Obama-supporting Wall Street Occupier who had a magical conversion to White Supremacist power player within days of Donald Trump’s election. It hardly matters if it’s true. The important thing is that conflicting accounts are now readily available from all the usual sources and you may choose among them as you wish.

I pity those whose brains remain unprotected from these waves of industrial feces by insufficient familiarity with the New Testament or the holy texts of Rock and Roll America and advise them to repair to a quiet space at once and redress their ignorance in council with their own spirit practicing the Priesthood of the Believer.

I don’t know any songs dedicated to the smell of sheep dip, so this will have to do for today’s inspirational tune from the Book of Clarence. (Chapter Seven, Verse 4, I believe, but don’t quote me. I ain’t here to start any trouble.)

Those who prefer The Good News version to the King James, may like this one better…

…Either way, hello America. It’s a brand new day!

Didn’t listen now, fools, did ya?

 

TO LIBERAL DEMOCRACY, R.I.P. (Late Night Dedication)

I’ve given periodic nods to the present air here. Doomy, I know. Probably not pleasant reading. But it’s pervasive enough it can’t be entirely ignored.

We’re fast approaching a day when it won’t be possible to ignore it at all. When everyone who refuses to choose between the remaining viable evils, or at least clap for each temporarily presiding result in turn, will be strung up anyway. The fate of the Empire is at stake! The last burning question is whether we’ll proceed directly to Tyranny….or pass through an Age of Chaos first?

The only thing that has kept the American nation from real, frightening levels of fragmentation and public violence the past few years has been the slight uncertainty as to whether the Feudalist-minded Confederate Right (which calls itself anything but) would organize and take to the street in numbers and intensity similar to the Marxist-minded Communist Left (which calls itself anything but).

Tonight in Charlottesville, Virginia we can observe a large step in the direction of an answer. Complete with Hitler salutes.

Sorry, but anyone who believes we ever walked away from 1968…or 1861….that the years of relative peace lying in between have been anything but periods of gestation (which we’ve given the Nervous Nelly name of Progress) for the coming collapse, is delusional. I don’t know if the first big outbreak in the new war taking shape will come in a month, a year or a generation. I don’ t know if it’s still 1850 or the new John Brown will strike a match that burns and burns this very weekend. I’m selfish enough to hope it’s the former–that I won’t live to see what’s coming. That, in the words of the Prophet Ronnie Van Zant, it’ll be “Lord take me and mine before that comes.”

Because it’s coming soon enough. An epitaph a stone’s throw from this weekend’s “rally” reads:

Here was buried
Thomas Jefferson
Author of the Declaration of American Independence
of the Statute of Virginia for religious freedom
& Father of the University of Virginia

The first two achievements have been under siege for decades, if not since the beginning. Last night, his university joined them. Literally.

Those of us who supported his Dreams of Possibility have been left with only the most pitiful tools to fight back. Hopes of a meaningful appeal to the government vanished long ago. Put whatever date on that you want. (Don’t like or 1963, or 1968? Prefer 1980? Whatever.) The result is the same.

What are you gonna do? What am I gonna do?

Tweet about it?

Light a torch and rumble?

Call out the riot police?

You know, the same ones who are now paid by the very people who fund the thugs in the street on both sides?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Tweet away.

So take it Dobie. Better yet, take me.

Sing that greatest record ever made by a black man in Nashville one more time. Make everybody cry.

(Well, at least I got to put Ronnie Van Zant, Dobie Gray and Thomas Jefferson in the same tag list. After the revolution, maybe that, at least, won’t be ┬ánothing…even if every one of them is turning in his grave tonight.)

DON’T WORRY FOLKS, THIINGS ARE JU-S-S-T FINE…

Just now, on Charlie Rose, a guest host whose name I didn’t catch was filling in for Charlie’s corpse and hosting a panel of Martin Amis, Carol Blue, Leslie Cockburn and Douglas Brinkley. The topic was “What Would Hitch Say?”

Evidently, the late Christopher Hitchens, who was known mostly for being for and against everything before and after he was for and against it, has achieved a status previously confined to the likes of Aristotle, Jesus and Thomas Jefferson: What would the dead man think about our current predicament (you know, the one bearing the initials DT)?

Yes, that’s what it’s come to…Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the modern intelligentsia! So devoid of any thoughts of their own they have to channel a dead pundit to be able to express themselves properly.

And the smug solemnity of the participants occurred in a vacuum so complete it achieved reverse zero negative awareness of its own complicity (or Chris Hitchens’) in our “predicament.”

Jesus Christ, I know a man chooses his friends, but if these were the best he could do, I begin to understand why this particular man stayed sloshed for the entirety of his adult life. I almost feel a kind of solidarity with him, too, because I can now imagine him being granted some kind of dispensation in the afterlife he didn’t believe in just so he can join my future ghost in a chorus of something no man of his gentle breeding would have ever let his hair down far enough to enjoy while he was stuck here, where the mysteries of the universe so obvious to some of us are forever bound to befuddle our betters….Come on Hitch. Sing it with me! (Cue the Sun God.)