I’ve been holding my literary fire for a while. I am superstitious and I hate to put into words what I am sensing when the stakes are high. So I won’t say it. Maybe. Probably not. Probably.
Do you think the malcontent of an entire nation can, like plutonium, reach a level where it bursts into a nuclear explosion? Well, of course we all believe that, because it is proven. The American Revolution. The French Revolution. The Russian Revolution. The Cuban Revolution. Etc. It isn’t very often that the explosion can be contained within a limited area; it generally spreads its effects around the globe.
And so we are seeing, once more, in Brexit and in the growing popularity of the European nationalist parties. Our European brethren (is that a sexist term? Yippee!) see the results of decades of left-wing rule that proclaimed that the average human being was so essentially good that you could turn your 16-year old daughter over to your 30-year old neighbor for the night and get her back intact. You know: there are no borders; nationalism is sick; the rich should either not exist or should pay out most of the dough their non-manual labor earns for the stupid and lazy class; which goes hand in hand with “and it isn’t fair to be smarter.” Their world is on its head, as is our own country. We, the malcontent, are suffering from the alleged illness of nationalism and cultural identity attached not to a minority voting group, but to an entire country . We have become the demon fought by those who cling to their power.
People just like you and me are really quite fed up. We’re fed up with being told what to say and mostly what not to say; with being told we’re stupid and racist and homophobic and most of all, deplorable. I’m one of those saying, “I’m an adorable deplorable.” We’re cuddly, once you get past the immigration regulations.
So. Back to the unspoken. In a few short hours Donald Trump is going to take on the Queen of Mean, Hillary Clinton. Soul Sister to Leona Helmsley. I tremble for him. He has no audience reaction, only a rigged system and a rotten moderator cowed into submission by the Leninists of the Democrat Party. “Stop him!” “Show what a liar he is!” “Don’t fucking be fair!” “Make up facts!”
Trump is a master at manipulation of an audience. He can do mind-melds. He may misjudge the larger country from time to time, but he feels the vibe from an audience. Hillary is another thing. She’s like a whole body on botox. Unfeeling. Needing direction. Needing the words fed. But tonight Donald has no audience. He isn’t going to get the feed-back, only the venom from the so-called moderator. Can he pull it off? Can he put in the stiletto, even as he smiles and calls Hillary “Mrs. Clinton” instead of “you lying bitch”?
But Donald, Donald, sometimes he says things so bad even those who loathe and despise the Democrats have to curl up their toes. So here’s the prayer: please, God, send a little angel to sit on Trump’s shoulder and send jamming waves to Hillary’s earpiece.
As for US foreign policy (you knew it was coming, didn’t you?), we are totally lost. We are so deep in the muck of the military-industrial swamp that we don’t know which way is out. Are we really thinking of setting up a no-fly zone in a country we are operating in illegally? What will we do when the Russian jets assume control of that zone before we do? Will we shoot them down? Hillary Clinton will start a war there the day she takes office. Are you really ready for war that hurts us too?
Okay, enough scary stuff for today. I’m off to do the novena.