(I don't know who this fellow is.)
Dear diary,
One good thing about the world having ended is that at least we now no longer care about politics. We fought for a way that would allow the people to control themselves, to govern themselves directly; we strove to achieve an order that would be entirely voluntary, transparent to all, and forever amenable. Yet what did we get? Worse than a dictatorship. And what’s worse than a bloody & brutal dictatorship? A gang of little kings, all tyrannizing in tandem. That’s what we got. So what. If you can’t beat em, join em. Therefore I say: Yay for perpetual oppression.
A king is bad if your country happens to have a bad king. But if your king is good, then you wouldn’t mind your style of government. Do you think the ancient Israelites would readily relinquish their fine mythological King David, if one of our modern U.S. Prezzes approached them in a time machine with a sales pitch about so-called democracy? No: they’d tell that Prez to take a hike. And then the U.S. would invade them.
*
I’m trying to think of what to write about today. A better writer than I would have decided on a topic before reaching his essay’s third paragraph, but that’s the breaks. You’re a reader who’s unfortunately stuck with a sloppy author. But look on the bright side: sloppy’s better than sadistic. And at least you don’t have multiple authors all jostling for control of your mind, offering committee-composed and focus-group-tested propaganda that’s barely attractive.
Yes, I’m not unaware of the ineptness of starting with a declaration like “Never again will I speak about politics!” and then proceeding to speak about politics. But I wasn’t thinking that you’d…
I wasn’t thinking that you’d pay that close of attention. That’s the truth.
*
Maybe now’s a good time to come back to Earth, to review where I’m at in daily life. People like it when an author reveals the events of her regular existence, plainly and simply.
Alright, well it’s no secret to anyone who’s read my private journal that the Bernie Sanders movement had me under its spell, since 2016. And a few days ago that spell was broken, for Sanders officially suspended his campaign. So those are the boring facts. Now, what are my inner feelings about these facts? Not much, I swear. I’m kinda sad that everyone else in these United States doesn’t share my enthusiasm for Sanders; but, at the same time, I understand their differing viewpoints. Some people hate the incumbent Prez so much that they’ll vote for anyone (even anything) just to knock him out of office. On the smaller hand, some people love the incumbent Prez so much that they’ll actually deign to cast their vote for him. I myself simply want to live the Art Life. The reason that Sanders appealed to me is that he was proposing programs that would…
My belief is that Sanders would have made it easier for me to return to ignoring politics and pursue the Art Life exclusively. That is all. Perhaps I was right, perhaps I was wrong — now apparently we’ll never know. It looks like either the incumbent Prez will continue to steer the country in the direction he’s been driving it (is there a destination? is he even navigating?) OR his opponent, whoever that ends up being, will act in accordance with either a similar, alternate, or totally different hornswoggle.
*
And people who live in apartment buildings in densely populated cities are all dying from the plague, because it spreads (rumor has it) lung-tastically; which is to say: by way of the respiratory system. So someone breathes on you, and you catch it (“Christ breathed on them and said: Receive ye the Holy Ghost!” — John 20:22), cuz the germ droplets float over to your face & eventually land inside of you; like how a frog licks a fly out of the air. Except, instead of having to extend your tongue into the atmosphere, the housefly intentionally presents itself before the doors of your face, like a hopeful suitor. And there’s not just one fly but thrillions of them, and they swarm toward you and find a home in your alveoli — those are the tiny air sacs within your lungs. And these germs, which is what the flies in my analogy symbolize, are really good at the long jump, which is a track-and-field event where you get a running start & leap from the lips of one human (who does not even have any symptoms yet but will die within a two-week period, certainly); then land inside the orifice of another. And the eyes are the windows to the soul.
So what I’m trying to say is that the city folks are expiring at an alarming rate, while we here in the suburbs and rural areas are still waiting to catch the wave. So yesterday was Easter, and I noticed that a lot of the houses — probably 90% of them — had extra cars in their driveway, meaning that their family members had come to visit them in person to celebrate the holiday. Now, if none of these non-locals have the virus, then everyone’s safe. But if even a couple of them were infected, then they just helped to spread the plague. And what complicates matters is that (again, rumor has it) the disease can be spread by someone who does not even show any symptoms. So you can’t just wake up and say “I feel great; let’s visit grandma and grandpa, cuz I’m certainly not an emissary of death.” For as long as you remain alive, you are an emissary of death. And even after you die, you keep spreading death. That’s why, as soon as our squirming stops, we all must be either burnt to a crisp or encoffined.
*
But I wonder if the guys who fought the American Revolution are glad that they did it. I mean, isn’t it a bit extreme to opt for full-on revolution, as opposed to reform, which is less noisy because its change is incremental? Why not keep the current system, and stick with Great Britain? Do you really expect to get representation in government when you’re taxed? I say: Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and unto God what is God’s. And that means that your money should return to the bureaucracy which printed it (or rather clicked it into existence, since nowadays all banknotes are fashioned by striking “Shift” + “4” on a computer keyboard at some distant private bank, which key-combo yields the “$” sign; and they just keep clicking this over and over, until they have all the money they want; while you get none), and the spirit returns unto God who coughed it forth.
That last line was Ecclesiastes (12:7), and what follows is a verbatim quote from Mark’s gospel (12:13-17).
The goons in the Church and the State then sicced upon Bryan certain Evangelicals and Intelligencia, to trip him on his own words. And when they were come, they said to him unironically:
“Infidel, cut the funny talk; remain as serious as a senator & speak only in the foulest of humors — now answer our trick question: Is it lawful to give tribute to Lincoln, our best Prez, or not? Shall we contribute our fair share to the country’s worth, and kiss our capital gains goodbye, like stupid communists; or shall we lobby our representatives to legalize many more overseas tax-havens?”
Then Bryan, warming to their scheme, yawned & stretched & said unto them: “Are you tempting me? Alright, I’ll bite your bait. Bring me a penny, that I may see it. For I’m so broke that I forgot what money looks like.”
And they brought it. And he sez unto them, “Whose is this image and superscription that I see on this thing here?”
And they answer: “That’s Lincoln, the 16th patriarch and father of myriad nations. For he has military bases all over the universe.”
And Bryan answering said unto them, “Fine, you win. I say go ahead and give back to Lincoln the things that he minted, like this penny, and also those five-dollar banknotes that you paid your wife when she held me for ransom last hump-day. (Thanks for saving me, by the way; it’s not every eon that a savior gets saved. I sorta see what you all see in me, now.) And give back to God the things that are God’s: and that means your mortal soul AND your spirit, which is the eternal life-breath & thus remains the property of your Heavenly Father: he holds the patent; the wind is his trademark. Cuz when you give up the ghost, he sucks it back, & its germ-ridden droplets leave the LORD breathless. That’s karma in action.”
And they blinked & opened their mouths when they heard this jest; & the mobsters marveled at Bryan’s blasphemy.
*
So this entry, although fairly enjoyable to write, has grown insipid; and now I’m obviously just screwing around — sorry about that. I dislike that I’ve repeatedly ended these things with re-written bible passages — I can’t recall the names of the other posts where I did the same, but I know that this isn’t the first time; and I don’t want it to become a habit — some tics make good templates, but not this one: it strikes me as all-too-formulaic. Thus I feel the need to devise an extra paragraph, to serve as an alternate epilogue... But I’m out of ideas.
Alright, an idea just came to me. It’s not a good idea, but at least it’ll work as filler. I’ll simply mention the snow again from yesterday, and note that it has not melted but remained on the grass, which is a lucky omen; for, as long as the lawn is covered, we don’t need to do any yard maintenance. That last point will provide the slam-bang finale that I desire. OK, let’s do it:
CONCLUSION
Anyway, I’m happy that it snowed yesterday and that some of the accumulation stuck around: Now a blanket of whiteness drapes all but the surface of our footpath & driveway. This pleases me greatly, as it means that we need neither to shovel nor mow.
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