There is this one more little set of vibrations from the nexus of, let's call it, my brain. Really, it's my me. My me is diminutive, like Lise Meitner was, say. It was already obvious long since that the Clintons had mastered the art of the me, and I was therefore immune to whatever revelations might be wrought by the machinery of truth. It was obvious to death that there is no longer any distinction between profit and not-for. Just look at the religious industrial complex, for Chrissakes.
Against terror of death, I must take a small assortment of diminutive pills to thin my blood and lower my arterial plaque. Thankfully, these are really really cheap, but I must maintain some relationship to doctoring to get them legally. That is not cheap. I suppose the Catholic Church has been clever and prescient both to transmute its paternalistically vulnerable wealth from priests to doctors, though I have no axe to grind against the Catholics for sure. Somewhere I can't link just now estimated that the total worth of religious enterprise was something like $1.2 Trillion, and that it outpaced the entire combination of globe-leading high-tech corporations, who may at least pay some small portion of their taxation load.
Thomas Jefferson and William Jefferson Clinton are both dogged by black boy babies who look like them. Steve Jobs dogged little Lisa. These apparitions resurface reliably, just as Jesus finally did some 2000 plus years ago according to some reckonings, though the story was already baked in to the collective consciousness from where it still stubbornly resists extrication, though the first Jefferson did try mightily and lost.
Tom Jefferson looked at the West as endless release against the tyrannical nature of New Englanders. Tom Paine was a drunk from trying. Now we have technology as an endless ever-renewing vista for men to keep exploring.
Here in the US, we still have no bootblack haired Core Leader like they do again in China. (I can't link behind a paywall within my limits for patience, sorry!). To keep the Jiang Qing shrill spouses in their places. From the back of the bus a young student yelled at Hillary coming on the radio that he could not abide that voice for four more years.
I lost my head for Barack, I really did, thinking that his half darkness counted for more than half female. I might have been quite wrong, although he will go down, as they say, in history, and one of our finest, perhaps even to top the Jeffs. But he cured me of ever strapping my scant personal budget for the sake of political races. I am so over that.
Still, though it will disappoint her that the men in charge have already spiked and scuttled the office, there is no more competent hand that we could have in nation's wheelhouse. Trouble being that nation is no more, as Henry Kissinger points out so ably in one of his more recent bits of expletive writing. We are all stateless.
It might be a good thing, if those who are so radically feminist as I still do aspire to be can seize the magical moment and turn the power relations upside down all over again. They shut down Vine to keep black culture from invading the white power structure. They valiantly work to draw women into market forces. We will overcome them.
With Hillary at the helm.
But it will not happen in my lifetime, which is naturally fine by me. I have two daughters who concern me more. We are so very confused between and among religious and scientific trueing. We may not be so very much longer, and the power really will return to the people, and the economy really will turn green. I hope she dyes her hair that way when she gets in to office.
I am so deadly sick and tired of aggregations of the me to fuel the oil economy. I am so over that, Amy Goodman, so over that. My heros are all women now.