Waiting for Iowa
That's where we are, you and I.
Or so I imagine.
Elections are hard on me, you see. Because they're fate and destiny and triumph and triumphalism, defeat and the death of dreams. And they're supposed to be in our hands, and they really, truly aren't.
I remember the day after Kerry gave up, declaring his own defeat because he had to, because the Democrats are the party of politeness. And spinelessness, apparently. I was washing dishes, and I was incredibly depressed about the whole thing. A friend, trying to cheer me up, told me not to worry about it, that these things happen. I remember wishing I could grab him and shake him until he understoond that it was somehow my fault, personally, that the wrong man had won. That I was personally responsible for the fate of the world.
I still am. This is the place that I live, and as a citizen of the world I feel like I have a responsibility to make it a better place.
And there's really nothing I can do except talk about things, and try to convince people that can do things to do them. I have no power, only a little knowledge and a handful of words.
I spent a few days out of the world, which is to say out of contact with the internet and out of cell phone reception. When I got back, certain events had occured that I am still piecing together.
The world's a big place. Somewhere on the other side of it, people get shot in front of their adoring public and that's the way the political process goes. That doesn't happen often over here, anymore. Not since the last time.
And it's beginning to look like Iowa isn't going to decide anything, that this process is just going to drag on and on, and that whoever wins, it won't really matter. It's politics as usual, maintaining the status quo. The rich will get richer, and the poor will get poorer.
And I'm slowly going to get more and more and angry, and wish that Mike Gravel was in any way relevant.
These are the starting shots. This is where, to borrow a term from Warren Ellis, Fuckup 2008 truly begins.
Eleven Names isn't really a political blog, but then... Eleven Names isn't really much of anything, yet. Maybe we'll talk about this some more. I hope so.
In the meantime, keep on eye on the world outside your window. Look out for a chance to make it a better place. Someone has to. Might as well be us.
Or so I imagine.
Elections are hard on me, you see. Because they're fate and destiny and triumph and triumphalism, defeat and the death of dreams. And they're supposed to be in our hands, and they really, truly aren't.
I remember the day after Kerry gave up, declaring his own defeat because he had to, because the Democrats are the party of politeness. And spinelessness, apparently. I was washing dishes, and I was incredibly depressed about the whole thing. A friend, trying to cheer me up, told me not to worry about it, that these things happen. I remember wishing I could grab him and shake him until he understoond that it was somehow my fault, personally, that the wrong man had won. That I was personally responsible for the fate of the world.
I still am. This is the place that I live, and as a citizen of the world I feel like I have a responsibility to make it a better place.
And there's really nothing I can do except talk about things, and try to convince people that can do things to do them. I have no power, only a little knowledge and a handful of words.
I spent a few days out of the world, which is to say out of contact with the internet and out of cell phone reception. When I got back, certain events had occured that I am still piecing together.
The world's a big place. Somewhere on the other side of it, people get shot in front of their adoring public and that's the way the political process goes. That doesn't happen often over here, anymore. Not since the last time.
And it's beginning to look like Iowa isn't going to decide anything, that this process is just going to drag on and on, and that whoever wins, it won't really matter. It's politics as usual, maintaining the status quo. The rich will get richer, and the poor will get poorer.
And I'm slowly going to get more and more and angry, and wish that Mike Gravel was in any way relevant.
These are the starting shots. This is where, to borrow a term from Warren Ellis, Fuckup 2008 truly begins.
Eleven Names isn't really a political blog, but then... Eleven Names isn't really much of anything, yet. Maybe we'll talk about this some more. I hope so.
In the meantime, keep on eye on the world outside your window. Look out for a chance to make it a better place. Someone has to. Might as well be us.
Labels: not really talking about Benazir Bhutto, Politics as usual, will I be a moth or a butterfly
posted by Zach Marx | 9:51 PM
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