Monday, December 06, 2004

A New Dawn Coming 

After waking up so many mornings with a post election hangover, and going to bed so many nights with a post election soul-searching angst, this morning was positively golden in comparison. Nothing has changed really; I mean, my income is where it was yesterday, earning far enough above poverty to plan a vacation, and close enough to see the trail of tears all the way to the free food line.

I'm still single and too old for the young people I work with and too young for the old fart that made a pass at me the other day in the bar...middle aged life is good, ain't it?

Actually, it ain't that bad...I'm developing tolerance for my post 40's moods and emotional peccadillos; I look at thoughts posted online and realize I've got more than enough share of good sense and intelligent responsiveness to my environment. I look at the fucked up lives of my friends, the various shades of denial we all engage in, and I feel a sense of companionship, at least.

Yesterday, and now today, though, I feel a noticeable difference. I'm feeling, empowered. God, yes, empowered. I'm coming down with a cold, and I feel empowered. I live in a swamp surrounded by water, where it's difficult to get a really good look at the sky, and I feel empowered.

Brown-shirt fascist types are taking over our country, and I feel empowered.

I feel empowered, because we have the numbers game up on them 200 percent. And Bush didn't even get all of the votes he claims to have gotten. You may wonder how I figure we have the numbers game won.

Because we have a monopoly on good decent values and common sense. The only thing keeping us from taking our country back, is a lack of aggressiveness.

There is an epidemic of passivity. People love to flap their jaws though. Just go over to the DailyKos for a day. There is an awful lot of talking going on over there; we're in the middle of a stolen election that hasn't been certified yet, and everyone is dancing around the goddamned elephant in the bathtub. And, they throw shit at Beverly Harris to complete the process of dancing in one's own feces, like monkeys without a clue.

I'm going to forsake the ineptitude of progressive paralysis; the wringing of the hands, oh my god ain't it awful; we already know how awful it is and how awful it's going to get. What are we going to do about it for God's sakes?