[Dialogue] Requiem for Republicans

[W. J.]

[NOTE: This is intended as a Witness to my personal experience/struggle, and not as political or economic commentary. Please do not take offense at the political or economic references. Or the references to G-O-D.] 
 
OK, tomorrow's my birthday, tonight's the party, I've been sick, very sick. . .and now things are looking very juicy. Maybe there's some life left in the old man after all.
 
But there's been this nightmare haunting me. It's about having a kinder, gentler Miss Piggy in the Oval Office, well armed and loaded for moose, but without a clue. But the real nightmare is that so many people want her there in all her no-nothing arrogance. It's almost enough to make me think: not North to Alaska, but North to Canada. 
 
My mood has been 'Anguish' (and maybe that's why I got sick).
 
So I've struggled with what it is that G-O-D is trying to say to us at this moment, when the great American Electorate wants to Start Over with some frontier/puritan/'reformist' Vision of a cleaner, more rural Utopia that's spruced up and ready for the Second Coming.
 
What does it mean to have your whole life understanding culturally undermined by this Spectre that rises like some defrosted creature from the black lagoon? And to have to decide to live all over again in an unraveling cultural devolution?
 
Even if this particular manifestation of the Unthinkable sinks back into the Swamp on November 5th, you can bet that . . . she'll be back. 
 
Hasta la vista, baby!
 
This is almost unimaginable new territory for me. And it's almost as much of a shock to be here in this moment as it was seven years ago when, sick and desperate and crying out to the Unknown Unknown, I went to be alone on the beach and walked that narrow strip of wet sand that marks the boundary between the dry land [that had, until that moment, been home, comfort, and refuge] and the great Abyss.
 
Back then I was so comfortable in my skin and in my culture that I got on the rollercoasters at MarineWorld (for the first and last time!) on the weekend and hung on for dear life, not knowing that 9/11 was a ticking time bomb with two days to go.
 
I heard on videotape the sickening thuds as people held hands, jumped out of windows, and skydived to the sidewalk. And these were the ordinary, hard-working employees of the finance industry who got to the WTC by 9 am that day.
 
Now, seven years later, the only people diving on Wall Street have Golden Parachutes. And somehow that lessens the emotional impact as they float slowly down, their termination entitlements gleaming in the sunlight.
 
But the real carnage is much worse if less visible. Some 140 trillion dollars of asset value deflated over one weekend. And I'm still trying to come to terms with that.
 
Plus, this whole scenario has my name on it. It's as though G-O-D is an incredible pool shark--far better than Jackie Gleason--who can line everything up and in one shot pocket so many balls that my head is spinning. 'Cause these happen to be EXACTLY the companies I happen to work with. MY bank, MY broker, MY insurance company--all the creme de la creme--all gone in one day!
 
Back in the old days we usta say, 'My wife is the Wrath of God in my life.' And, since I had a wife back then, I could come up with a zillion ways to ground that assertion.
 
But there's something about Miss Piggy being the Wrath of God that's even harder to take. Don't misunderstand me as somehow beating up on Republicans. Granted, Miss Piggy doesn't have a clue, but even so, her cluelessness is God's Judgement on us all. It's as though we're--God forbid--ALL Republicans in our complacency, our longing for the true and the beautiful, our willingness to look the other way or nod off occasionally while munching jelly beans.
 
And most of all, in our utterly collapsed Vision.
 
And so, my friends, even if Miss Piggy goes to Heaven on a barbecue grill--roasted instead of toasted, as it were, or burned instead of turned into Quayle II or worse--we still have 'the Vision Thing' to contend with. Are we going to be utterly defensive in protecting our narrowly perceived self interest? Or if not, then what? It's way too much for a good, self-respecting Republican to get her mind around. 
 
Regardless of the immediate outcome, let us sing a Requiem for Republicans. For, really, there is nothing there. And may continue to be for another eight years.
 
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Wayne Marshall Jones was one of those Order-type guys for a long, long time. And as you can see, he's never quite gotten over it, even at the advanced age of 68. He still dreams of the human power created by articulating a clear vision, grasping the global contradictions, and focussing our lives fully toward practical programmatic engagement. Then he wakes to the new reality: right now, in this moment, we haven't a clue about what to do.
 
 
 
 
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