Everyone is pissed, and everyone is misinformed. We are, each of us, angry or indifferent, in turn. And for good reason, though none can agree as to why or how. We are all experiencing an awakening of our own self importance and, ironically, mutual disregard for universal self-importance. And as such, we are totally fucked. Existentially and ontologically fucked. Nobody cares. That's is to say, nobody fucking cares. We are self organizing into factions. And everyone is wrong. How can we possibly come to a universal understanding of infinite contextual realities? Yes, There are fucking idiots in this world. And America is not the only harbinger of idiocy. People follow all kinds of inconceivable motivations. I don't have to enumerate my prejudices to conjure, in your mind, lurid intimations of lunacy. But therein lies the insidious dilemma. If I look at a person who is so fanatical and mindless as to be ideologically stunted by something as insignificant and arbitrary as the reflection of electromagnetic radiation, said wavelength being distorted by melanin in another person's epidermal camouflage (in lay terms, skin color), and, in so seeing, I think they are misguided, what recourse do I have? To put it simply, if my opponent is a racist or a murderer or an anathema, and even if "everyone else agrees" that they are poison, what recourse do we have? The very person who is xenophobic must necessarily inspire a certain phobia in the "enlightened" population, and we find ourselves strain in the mirror of irradiating a virus, not too dissimilar from the viewpoint of our little fascist subject. I will simplify again. If I see a wrong, if I see an entire subset of society committing an irrefutable wrong, and I want to quell them, how am I any different from them? I do not speak from a position of clarity or purity or selflessness, only from the obvious. And therein lies the dilemma. When is hatred justified? This is a hard question forms because I hate fascism. I hate that fascism is encroaching in this country, and I have said so for years, much to the chagrin of many friends and family members. But does this mean that I hate fascists? Does the fact that I hate hate mean that I should hate haters? (Not the banal social-media definition of "haters" btw I hate that language is losing all value and meaning)
I'm still going to fumble on, in love and life, as are all of us. And we love and live and die and it is beautiful and necessary and inevitable. The understated point being that the very stirrings in every American at this moment are the self same things that led to madness in every empire that came before. The writing is on the wall. These are the emotions and divisions that led to civil war, to epochal changes in recorded history, countless times, and countless times before history gained even the pathetic minuscule amount of memory that it affords us today. We all know it. We all express it in different ways. But it's there. And it's right under the surface. It might explode. It might not. I am not offering any parallel to any other time, nor any prophesy. Only pointing out what is painfully obvious to all of us. Whether it's the people closest to me, or those in different cities and ethnicities, from different persuasions and beliefs. For fuck sake, even Trump supporters feel it. That much is obvious. (I admit to being conspicuously ignorant of any intimate contact with Trumpy's Trumpeters). And all of that is irrelevant. Gay, straight, black, yellow, red, rainbow, white, flight or fight, I think I can risk the arrogance to speak for nearly every American, that we all feel a looming tension. A rubber and that strains for release. And make no mistake, I don't for a second delude myself to this being a distinctly American problem. For the simple fact that an American election is never purely an American problem, for starters, and, unless you are in a coma since 1886, you know that every square inch of the planet, and ever species that relies upon it, is in varying degrees of crisis. Something is seriously fucked up. We will never agree on what the cause is, let alone the symptoms. And there is no stopping it. It's too easy to look back and paint by numbers. I do lament the loss of simpler times, which I cannot fully grasp. But that is as useless now as waiting for the rain to fall skyward. So...should I brace myself? Or simply embrace it?