What do they imagine, these people who put their love of guns above even their own children and higher than life itself? What will they say when called to the fiery judgment for their awful actions: “I have this bit of paper that puts me beyond Your wrath for all the death and soul-scalding pain. I have this man-made slip of protection that over-awes Your love of your precious creation, the peace Your message sings. No matter how high the corpses might mount, no matter how deep is the tide of the blood of all God’s children, I have the right to have done this.”
Can anyone believe that the eternal hellfires, the spiders and serpents and isolation from the face of God forever, can be deflected by some scrap of law or legislation, some bit of misery-wracked cavil crafted by the Founding Fools who were so right on the commerce clause and footnotes to taxation but so horribly, catastrophically wrong on slavery, the equality of all and the unending wash of sorrow from guns?
Can any amendment, any gun club card, persuade the Creator that the ghastly destruction of his children, the agony of those who love them so, is right because in one miserable place it is merely legal? Those who work so powerfully for this pain will someday stare deep into the eyes of Justice. Do they believe that they can shield themselves from the hereafter they have earned behind some ancient bit of foolish man’s law?
This love of the gun more than the love of our neighbors may go unrewarded here where the men with the guns and the money intimidate all, but there is a greater weighing ahead. It is what we have been told.
And if there isn’t, then to hell with hell.
Are we ever going to learn?
With each change of seasons we are supposed to be wring our hands and wail to the heavens at the latest End of the World Crisis!!!!! in Washington. Twice a year or so they tell us that Sky Is Falling!!! Doom is inevitable!!! All Is Lost!!! And then nothing happens.
Well, what happens is that they sit down and do what they’re paid to do and resolve the crisis. At the last moment. And we all crawl back in from the roof ledge and put aside the butter knife with which we were to cut our wrists in panic and despair.
Like Lucy and the football they do it do us every year — every single year — and we fall for it every time.
Has anyone ever, even once, heard of a “10th-hour solution”? A “7th hour” resolution? Of course not. All negotiations are miraculuously completed at the very last instant. That’s the way the game is played. You can’t get the other guy to compromise in advance — you need the tick-tocking of some imaginary clock — some Mayan clock, maybe — to allow them to go back to their blood-calling stalwarts and say a compromise is necessary with those demons on the other side.
It always happens. It happens like the tides.
Yet the media and other marionettes dance the panic tune as if it were Verdi. Just as no one would believe the political polls which forecast almost to the ballot how the 2012 elections would come out because where’s the fun in that? so, too, do nearly intelligent journalists caanter around around like monkeys to hurdy gurdy music about the crisis de jour and never once look back to the truth that they did the exact same thing a few months ago.
Can Speaker Boehner go back early to his fire-breathers and say, “We had to give a little?” Of course not. Can President Obama whistle up his supporters early and sday, “It’s time to be practical because it makes sense to be practical now?” No. They have to let it seem to slog toward some imaginary brink (which can be repaired in plenty of time thereafter, anyway) with the hollow-heads running around pellmell As If This Has Never Happened Ever Before In The History Of The World. Except last summer. And spring.
Come on, just do your job and stop scaring people.
Said the party leader, a Republican of course: “In some parts of rural Maine, there were dozens, dozens of black people who came in and voted on Election Day. Everybody has a right to vote, but nobody in (these) towns knows anyone who’s black. How did that happen? I don’t know. We’re going to find out.”
This reminds me of a story told us by a friend here in Connecticut a few years ago, told in that wonderful Maine accent that seldom fades no matter how long someone has been in civilization.
“I got a call from my sister back home. She says the town’s all in a flutter. Seems a black couple has bought a house there. No one knows what to do. It’s not that they’re prejudiced it’s just that they’ve never had any blacks there’bouts and they don’t know how to act, what to say. Everyone’s talkin’ about it. Quite a fuss. But she called last night and says, ‘Oh, no worry. Turns out they’re Italian.’ ”
Mitt Romney whines that he lost so tremendously to Barack Obama because the president gave so many “gifts” to voters.
Oh, the voters got gifts all right which lead to Romney’s dismal results but it wasn’t at all that Obama helped the women, the young or Latinos with cheesey benefits. No, the gifts they got were the crystal clear representations of the low quality of Romney’s honesty, the squalid character of his rich guy policies, the sleazey style of the man’s campaigning, the unending disdain for women and those not rich, the groin-kick vision of his running mate.
The poor losers, as usual, are trying to come up with every explanation under the sun for their sweeping failure — except the ones that count: They had a bad candidate whose policies were bad for the country and were rejected. They can never admit that they flat lost but, instead, somehow the thing was stolen from them. As before when Romney & Co. sought to invalidate the president’s very essence — his birth, his faith, his achievements and success –they are now trying to reach around the moon for explanation when what they consider the god-given right to rule over mere mortals failed so miserably. Or wonderfully.
They have no idea about America and still can’t imagine that America so soundly rejects their policies. Some even claim they want to secede when, in fact, they have seceded from America’s values and tolerances long ago.
Gifts? Romney is right that the voters had received gifts: The gifts of clarity and understanding of just what a poor choice Republicans are.
I know I’m certainly sleeping better knowing that absolutely anyone in the land can snap his fingers and the vaunted Federal Bureau of Investigation will put aside everything else to look into frisky private and personal e-mails. We are so crime free that the nation’s premier law enforcement agency has nothing better to do than look into annoying e-mails. What a great country. J. Edgar Hoover would be so proud.
Of course if the investigating happens to hold the potential for embarrassing a rival agency and, much more important, put the smear job on the President in the middle of an election — and be hastened along by top Republican congressional figures like Eric Cantor — well, then that’s just the purest coinicidence in the world.
Now, after shaking the Petreaus tree, the investigators find even newer stuff on the top general in Afghanistan and his own pen pal.
So here’s another general question: How in blazes are we ever going to get out of the war in Afghanistan if the top general there is sending and reading more than 20,000 to 30,000 emails from his gal pal. How long does it take to write and read 20,000 to 30,000 pages of “inappropriate” correspondance? At a five-minutes-a-message (and you’d hope their little billets doux would take that long) that’s about an entire year of doing nothing else, except catnapping.
You could win a war in less time.
Or lose one.