The Prophet Grouches

The Prophet Grouches

I am sick over the country.
I am disappointed in the citizenry of the United States.
They are not able to safeguard their democracy.
They are too stupid, selfish, half-ass, boring, most of all boring.
Humans are too boring to notice reality, to ground in Reality, and to do the right thing.
There is no solution.
The governed will hand their government over to tyrants and then be surprised and whine privately about being betrayed while publicly trying to get their piece of the stolen pie (if you shove some of it in your children’s faces, you’re a “loving parent”, not a “willing lackey to a criminal state”).
The cycle of their never-ending idiocy will continue.

What would you have me do, God of the makeshift tents?
Where would you set me sail, Lord of the boring rants?
I give up on your people. They never were what they said.
You may move through time and space but they’re always led
By foolish twists and empty yearns. I don’t want to learn
How it all falls apart in their fat fingers.

So said the great prophet of Something Deeperism.
He had declared liberal representative democracy a spiritual Good.
Because it allows the people to serve as a final check on madness, corruption, and evil; while together prioritizing the universal value of aware-clear-honest-accurate-competent-lovingkind-joyfullysharing, and in this prioritization of the awareness that we are all in this together, gently nudging their shared (overlapping) governments and cultures towards the better and away from the worse.
He had declared liberal representative democracy a spiritual good because it selects for honesty and decency and deselects lies and corruption. He said it seeks win-wins and thus a place where one can be both happy and decent — as opposed to thugocracies, where the supreme good is not competently governing for the best for all, but keeping and maintaining and exploiting power at all costs.
But then he sees them wobble, unable to see through and definitively repudiate Donald Trump, unable to choose honesty over lies, competent government over thugocracy, kind resolve over mean tricks.
So he tells God, his God, whatever that shapeless dream is today, that these are a backwards and a stiff-necked people and that he can do nothing for them, nor for this God, who dreams this world, wherein all these souls flow together with their mind/heart/bods and with everyone else.
How strange for one who would rest on impermanence and interdependence to scream and foam and flail about like a rabid orangutang in the marketplace.
Perhaps he’ll tire himself out and pass out on the warm cobblestones and a whore, tired from a long day of selling her all, will take pity on his broken and worn-out form, will ladle cool waters onto his cracked lips and tell him that this one’s on her.
Perhaps the world will melt down around him and he’ll get to die before Putin, Trump, Xi, Modi, and all the other strong men divide up the world into nice places for criminals to get blowjobs and where everyone else can suck it suck it suck.
How strong these men are! How strong they make their countries! How great is strength! I think it is better than truth, better than love, better than goodness, better than everything. I think power, prestige, wealth, and forcing your dick down other peoples throats is the supreme good!
What else? How else can we explain how a free people can submit to a bully, can open up and swallow his nonsense, while scorning a decent man and faithful steward of their shared democracy, which they used to like, until it turned out that it wasn’t equivalent to always getting your way and winning everything and gloating up to the heavens, where God duly thumps you on your back, tells you you’ve been a good and faithful servant, and otherwise bullshits you into continuing to believe that your whiny pouty selfish self-deceiving thought is wise and deep and wonderfully spiritually glowing like that thump thump thump swell and tingle you feel at the parade when the big man tells you how great you are and how great it’s gonna be.

Author: I guess it is Bartleby Willard
Editor: Maybe Amble Whistletown
Copyright: Well, the only legal entity in these parts is Andy Watson

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