Anyone else plagued by a persistent, deep foreboding... the sense that the fix is in?
This sensation's become the occasional, droning companion to my thoughts, a mosquito I can hear but somehow not quite swat. It is not yet an epic tale, but it feels like we're getting there, we're getting there.
Closest I can come to explaining the goose-bumped phenomenon: It's akin to The Feeling That Descended Like a Cloud of Ice Fog in 2000, when SCOTUS suspended the Constitution, and Our Democracy, and installed its own choice of president to power.
We yawned, shrugged, scratched, stretched, and embraced that decision -- which should have been cause for another round of hair-raising alerts. It was suddenly clear that we would accept anything.
That mosquito whine continues -- distantly heard, as in half-awake sleep, triggering the willingness and readiness to slap oneself black and blue, all over, trying to get it, trying to make it stop...
The raised hairs on my neck is close to another feeling -- one that arrived like an uninvited troop-and-funeral train onto the sidings of the rail yard of my thoughts -- when it became clear the U.S. would stop at nothing now, and that yet another goddam war of choice was hellbent to start. Iraq, again.
What? You didn't get quite enough last time? Need to outdo daddy? Still some damn money left on the table -- what?!
Honorable, decent, or meaningful reasons need not apply within, said the moquito whine.
And, of course, the warning was right: It would get far worse later, under the auspices of the Bush Treasury Removal Service, lugging off trillions for war profiteering -- during which time more than 30-thousand injuries and deaths were visited upon military men and women, recklessly chucked into one more meat grinder of conflict -- another perfect, military oxymoron: ordered chaos.
On Monday, August 6, 1945, after six months of intense firebombing of 67 other Japanese cities,...
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