What is your favorite flavor of bullshit?
I want to believe.
Listening to the Democratic convention today I was struck by two things. Firstly, I agree with the bullshit the Democrats lie about more than I agree with the bullshit the Republicans lie about. Secondly, knowing that the Democrats are going to wear thousand dollar suits to gala parties held all week long all around the convention by lobbyists kind of makes the whole point moot.
I like Obama, and I like Biden — as much as I can tell. I realize, though, that their image — which is the thing that I like — is a product produced for me by people who I think are principally motivated by power.
Well, let me try that again — they are principally motivated by habit, secondarily by fear, and finally by power.
It’s all a bunch of bullshit. It makes me kind of dizzy and sick to think about it. I am looking forward to working in a hospital and keeping machines running that save peoples lives. I need to be doing something unambiguous. Politics DEPRESSES me.
In my younger days I used to visit strip clubs and there is this very specific emotion which a young man gets when a beautiful woman who has been teasing and flirting with him (for money) for a half hour starts to pretend that she likes him. He knows that it’s an act — he knows because he paid for it. He came to a place where they sell that act, and then he paid for it. And you know that you deserve for someone to like you — you think to yourself “I’m a likable guy!” — and the girl is a really good actress — after all she gets paid for the act. So somewhere between how much you want it to be true, and how much you believe you deserve it to be true, and how you know it isn’t true is this amazing vertigo. A nauseating mixture of hope and self contempt.
That is the feeling that I get from politics. Except at the strip club I gave the money voluntarily instead of having it taken by force from my paycheck, and no one was getting killed anywhere in my name by paid agents of the strippers. I know someone out there will think I have over extended the analogy — but I swear to god I can point at the line on my check marked “withholding” — and they just flew the death planes over my city this last Seafair. These things are not ideas — they are quite physical. So even if you close your eyes, surely you have to hear the sound of those jet engines tearing the sky in half.
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