Perspectives

The day after voting we awoke to a “new mourn” in America. The Holy Roller Luddite Party of Righteous Republican Know Nothingism achieved significant political gains throughout the nation. It will be “high fives” and “Hosannas” all over America’s corporate boardrooms. “Praise the Lord! The fools bought our crap yet again!” What rubes we are.

I marvel at how clever our moneyed interests are. “They” neither underestimate our collective stupidity nor lose track of what is important — to them. What I do not totally understand is this: You can only feast so long on the blood, on the weakened body of America, before it becomes a corpse. If the light flickers, if the spirit of our nation wanes, it won’t be because some shuffling, gray-haired, minimum wage Wal-Mart greeter asked, “Please sir, can I have more porridge?” Grasping, ungrateful, no doubt liberal, old socialist hag that she is!

Biblical verse Luke 12:48 has been lost on our privileged class, “For to whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.” It now reads, “For to whomsoever much is given, what, there must be more!” And so it goes.

I get ballistic over the nation’s course, but folks, we have to let it go. Or as Carly Simon sang, “I haven’t got time for the pain.”

I’m 61 years old. That is old. Any way you add it up. It is real time. I’ve approximately 22 years left if family history be any marker. And I am totally at ease with that. Jepson men are strong until they aren’t, and then poof — relatively speaking — we’re dead in a week.

Now, I’ve consumed far less whiskey and red meat than either my father or grandfather (although I am not so free of vice, but who among us is), so I might get a bonus six or nine months at the end, maybe not; yet if I’m lucid, I’ll willingly grab the extra days.

Whatever an election’s outcome, there will always be (regardless the goons/flaks in office) good books to read, toe-tapping music to hear, stunningly beautiful flowers to smell, light-as-air champagne to sip, new ideas to ponder, delightful people to love and conversation. And laughter. Of course, laughter. And art.

No empire lasts forever. Any student of history understands this. Each generation must fend for itself. Yet, I so hope the center holds (metaphorically and literally speaking).

But, we mustn’t despair. Even if the Huns are at the gate and Rome lost. As Pogo said in 1970, “We have met the enemy and he is us.”

And that is the crux of the issue. To me. Any pretense of America’s moral authority is a chimera, so many decades has our nation been a meddlesome, imperialistic power. At home, our nation deconstructs before our eyes as our leaders spoon-feed us pabulum while ladling up backroom pork for the special interests. And the irony, the tragedy is, we elected our own executioners. Dupes (I have met the enemy and…) that we are.

And until that day when heads roll (ours), do let the band play on.

Ah, yes, the band. As I understand it, the band played while the mighty, unsinkable Titanic sank. Deck chairs for all! For all.