What Does This Mean? A Rambling Political Diatribe
"Dig the tones. Let them sink in, as the words scramble your brain, and your mind yells "Uncle" for no good reason, except pure laziness!"
What Does It Mean?
There is a level dullness out there, in much of the heartland, matched only by the dishonesty and subterfuge of politicians in Washington. The two are as inseparable as the outer layer of skin, from the tender dermal layers just beneath. To fully understand this relationship, look to any high profile legal trial and you will find a similar phenomenon. No good lawyer just randomly picks a jury. They sift through potential jurors like a miner in search of gold. Because, if they find the right jury, the only thing needed, beyond that, is a good story. The story must have the ring of truth about it. Or, at least, seem plausible. The juror, then, having been selected on the basis of a psychological profile, can be relied upon to fill in the blanks with their empathy and imaginations.
If both sides—the prosecution and defense—are more or less equal, the attempt to manipulate the jury will end in a stalemate. But, bring in a high price lawyer, with an exceptional legal team and the facts will matter less, than the story told. Likewise, evidence can be explained away with a clever sleight of hand, and the water so thoroughly muddied, that the tangle of information can cause the jury to shut down and make their decision based on intangible factors; do they relate to defendant? Do they like the defendant? If so, evidence may barely matter.
In politics, it’s even more complex. The nature of a two party system compels politicians to take sides, for the good of the party. Meaning a few hundred senators and congress men and women, are allied to one or the other, with their futures bound by an unspoken family oath. In this sense, politics is more akin to tribal war, than anything else.
“Politics is war by other means.” – Carl von Clausewitz
As is the case in all wars, money is the cause—and the stake—trillions of dollars, in fact. Is there any wonder why men and woman capable of such a feat don’t see themselves as gods, and us, by comparison, as lowly toads, slithering and slinking as we walk, barely upright, a lower life form. Imagine, in a single generation, the rich went from millions to billions, and when that wasn’t enough, inflation blew its breath deep into our balloon of an economy, and inflated it even bigger, so it became trillions.
From this they sought to rebuild the Great Tower of Babble, as an edifice to their greatness. But it would be built in the abstract, so no one would know what it meant, except the few who belonged. Such men and women—if they can reasonably be called men and women—pull the rest of us into their wake, providing us with motion, energy, and purpose, or so it seems. Where would we be without them? Where would they be without us? Would we be the Jews returning from Babylon—after everything—every shred of the Kingdom of God had been destroyed?
So here are a few questions;
Without scholars, who will teach? Without engineers, who will build.
How far does this “labor, capital, materials” thing called capitalism, get us without community or identity?
Here’s my answer; Jack Kerouac was a republican, with a small r, but still a republican. He was also a Catholic/Buddhist, although, more than likely, he was a liberal Christian/Buddhist who saw history and poetry in the bible, which is how he absorbed its truths. He understood that the working class were right, but often, boring, and these struggling personalities were inseparable, but he tries, nonetheless, with booze and drugs to bridge the gap between the hemispheres of his brain. Then science comes into the picture. And science says Kerouac is in need of some biological manipulation, with drugs, only the legal kind. The other kind, the illegal ones, are what’s driving him mad or insane or too sanity—they’re not sure.
All this means one thing, there are many minds, many personalities, many people, billions of them. I’m stunned we get along as well as we do. To forge societies, with machines and expectational, exceptional-ism is pretty impressive.
What do I know, anyway?
Mark Magula
There is a level dullness out there, in much of the heartland, matched only by the dishonesty and subterfuge of politicians in Washington. The two are as inseparable as the outer layer of skin, from the tender dermal layers just beneath. To fully understand this relationship, look to any high profile legal trial and you will find a similar phenomenon. No good lawyer just randomly picks a jury. They sift through potential jurors like a miner in search of gold. Because, if they find the right jury, the only thing needed, beyond that, is a good story. The story must have the ring of truth about it. Or, at least, seem plausible. The juror, then, having been selected on the basis of a psychological profile, can be relied upon to fill in the blanks with their empathy and imaginations.
If both sides—the prosecution and defense—are more or less equal, the attempt to manipulate the jury will end in a stalemate. But, bring in a high price lawyer, with an exceptional legal team and the facts will matter less, than the story told. Likewise, evidence can be explained away with a clever sleight of hand, and the water so thoroughly muddied, that the tangle of information can cause the jury to shut down and make their decision based on intangible factors; do they relate to defendant? Do they like the defendant? If so, evidence may barely matter.
In politics, it’s even more complex. The nature of a two party system compels politicians to take sides, for the good of the party. Meaning a few hundred senators and congress men and women, are allied to one or the other, with their futures bound by an unspoken family oath. In this sense, politics is more akin to tribal war, than anything else.
“Politics is war by other means.” – Carl von Clausewitz
As is the case in all wars, money is the cause—and the stake—trillions of dollars, in fact. Is there any wonder why men and woman capable of such a feat don’t see themselves as gods, and us, by comparison, as lowly toads, slithering and slinking as we walk, barely upright, a lower life form. Imagine, in a single generation, the rich went from millions to billions, and when that wasn’t enough, inflation blew its breath deep into our balloon of an economy, and inflated it even bigger, so it became trillions.
From this they sought to rebuild the Great Tower of Babble, as an edifice to their greatness. But it would be built in the abstract, so no one would know what it meant, except the few who belonged. Such men and women—if they can reasonably be called men and women—pull the rest of us into their wake, providing us with motion, energy, and purpose, or so it seems. Where would we be without them? Where would they be without us? Would we be the Jews returning from Babylon—after everything—every shred of the Kingdom of God had been destroyed?
So here are a few questions;
Without scholars, who will teach? Without engineers, who will build.
How far does this “labor, capital, materials” thing called capitalism, get us without community or identity?
Here’s my answer; Jack Kerouac was a republican, with a small r, but still a republican. He was also a Catholic/Buddhist, although, more than likely, he was a liberal Christian/Buddhist who saw history and poetry in the bible, which is how he absorbed its truths. He understood that the working class were right, but often, boring, and these struggling personalities were inseparable, but he tries, nonetheless, with booze and drugs to bridge the gap between the hemispheres of his brain. Then science comes into the picture. And science says Kerouac is in need of some biological manipulation, with drugs, only the legal kind. The other kind, the illegal ones, are what’s driving him mad or insane or too sanity—they’re not sure.
All this means one thing, there are many minds, many personalities, many people, billions of them. I’m stunned we get along as well as we do. To forge societies, with machines and expectational, exceptional-ism is pretty impressive.
What do I know, anyway?
Mark Magula