Could it all be a dream? A silly, demented, self-important dream that could never possibly be reality? A hidden little corner of the human mind that has somehow clawed it’s way to consciousness, like a badger from back of the cerebellum, piercing through all the mundane transactions of give and take and straight through the forehead. Yes – straight through my forehead hangs the zombified fist of the Republican Party, taking it’s last breaths before wilting away like a forgotten rose: a truly beautiful piece of earth that bloomed many years ago and has been deteriorating ever since. With Nixon came a blustery winter. And with Reagan a rejuvenated spring. Bush II was the faded lifeless fall. And where do we go from here?
“And where do we go from here? And which is the way that’s clear? Still looking for that blue jean, baby queen. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. See her shake on the movie screen …Jimmy Dean…”
And it is this blue jean, baby queen that comes as the final nail in a proverbial coffin this evening, the coffin of an entire party filled with vampires and street preachers, degenerates and crusaders – all going down in a fireball of pompous certainty, untamed bigotry, and the most hypocritical positioning imaginable. Pure apocalyptic beauty, a Shakespearean tragedy, all rolled into the guise of a value-oriented organization. The gorgeous siren of backwoods intolerance has left her post, and with her goes the last bit of elected confidence left on the right wing scale.
If Palin is indeed the paradoxical baby queen, then Mark Sanford can be none other than Jimmy Dean – the rebel without a cause. The romantic bad-boy with a bigger picture than the restraints of his career and the scorn of his community. His press conferences are like watching a mid-life crisis in action, filled with long-faced absences of thought – pure delusion at times – before awakening to find the dumbfounded mob of reporters and supporters alike, sharing the same thoughts of confusion. His Argentine princess, a news reporter herself, and a beautiful specimen of adultery if one has ever been created, seems to be his true desire. Not the sympathy of a nation, nor the forgiveness of his constituency. No – just the love of his self-described “soul mate,” the women of his garbled dreams, and wispy little cloud that he tends to stare at through misty lenses.
Yes, where do we go from here? Do I dance on the graves of the fallen? Do I drag John Ensign back into the picture for reference, or David Vitter for good measure, and create a Christmas card mugshot for the liberal friends and family? Can I even relish in the fact that these elected men and women have all gutted their own chances of political fortune, or do I sweat at the reality that they have already been a considerable success? With every scandal that seeps it’s way through the wire, I question my own political desires and regret all my off-the-cuff remarks. If only life were like an internet history file – another subject worthy of fret – which could be deleted after abuse. Have I really won at all? Or have I been contributing to the larger target of sin! And have my efforts been in vain, and have my dreams already been extinguished by the reality of behavior? Is my party next? Are my heroes soon to be destroyed?
But I rest easy for now, with the zombie fist dangling from my mind. The entire party drooling all over themselves, trying to come up with a solution for their demise. There aren’t enough sandbags in the Sahara to keep the water from flooding the sadistic visions of the GOP, and the people know it all! Drippy little grins have turned into horrified slobbering confessions and the world can see it all! Ronald Reagan is spinning in his grave, a bone-dry skeleton with a perfect haircut still meticulously preserved. (I often wonder, merely wonder, how Russia can display the body of Lenin as a hero to a nation, and how the Republicans have allowed Reagan’s body to rot underground. The savior to our country! The messiah of the spoken word! A Christ-like figure for all the praise, the greatest leader of all time! Underground. In a modest hole. No Rushmore. No mummified presentation. Just a pile of radioactive perfection with the flag wrapped round and round.)
And here we are – the Democrats (dirty words) with all the glory of piety behind us, and almost nothing to show for it. The hopeful 60 member Senate has been achieved, and will be squandered without thought. Health care will be tarnished, the gay agenda left to drown, and all of the hopes that floated us through the finish line will fall to the ground like an ominous fog over Washington – the last reminder of a dream deferred. The last reminder of the slugs that truly run our country on both sides of the aisle, slowly sucking the optimism from the atmosphere and leaving nothing but a slimy trail of waste. Literal waste. From the Senate floor to your front door, with no end in sight. The promises left unfulfilled from years of apathy and greed – and these are the good guys. The ones to appreciate. Because they’re merely wasting our time, but taking advantage for themselves.
It’s the ones that lose both – our trust and their own kingdoms – that are really the ones to revile. The ones to look at with upturned noses and simply thoughts: You wasted everything we gave you. An entire nation of people that accept the lizards of civil service and never think twice of reelection. As long as we aren’t too burdened with the tremendous price of fuel, or the loss of cable television, or the bacon on our tables, we will vote again and again for the same disgusting tyrants of brain-washed, filthy bloodlust. Nixon, if nothing else, was a winner. But Jimmy Carter was a shame.
And the shames are who we should be looking for to drive this country away from public policy, and instead into the fields of self-reliance, peace, and contribution. Outer-Washington leadership that doesn’t have to answer to the angry taxpayer, the ambitious lobbyist, or the pile of dogshit in a suit. Where are the dreamers that don’t need the power? Where are the ones satisfied with pure change – for the better – for the people – for the elegant romance of life?
Dead. All dead. And mostly forgotten. The ones that got away.
We can never win – Democrats, Republicans, non-partisan babes of middle-ground. We are all in this together. And the dying party gives the chance for the thriving party to ruin all the gleaming ideas they once held. The element of power will take over, the wasteful shake of power-rabies finally tearing through the world. And we, again, are losers. The same ones that fought so hard for liberties and life will be the casualties of victory. The casualties of our own fight. The same fight that we “won.”
“The buck stops here,” Truman said. But the muck keeps rolling on.
