by Emmett R Smith
MANY Have once again tripped over the idea that our politics at their heart are rotten.
THE Need it is said is for “renewal.”
THE Question metaphorically then becomes how many times can we root around and operate on a Vice-Presidential heart before we have to give it up as a bad job?
OR In other words, just how often do the police have to taser some poor slob in the Vancouver International Airport (or rural Amboy, Minnesota) before his heart just plain quits?
FOLLOWING The insights of Nejmi MuHammad in an earlier comment, we all can see the problem I think:
THE Citizens of the Old Atlantic West in this story don’t have as much as an ounce of anything resembling an actual — effective, ie — inner attitude in a ton of it. At best their Feng Shui studies, “personal spirituality” and hyper-technology, all undertaken in the first place for sexual and economic purposes and deceiving one another about motives and purposes and real estate, all of it and Shirley Maclaine had just barely brought them around to the problem of THINKING when late-modernity crashed to a halt in late-divided Berlin, in late 1989.
BECAUSE Of the viagresque sordidity of an aging and morally-busted “baby boom” demographic, your contemporary Atlantic Man (and “his” Woman) is a man already in his late fifties or worse — and all the more is this so be he “individually” an apparent adolescent or twenty-something, weighed and cursed by the thin ghastly yelps down halls of wasted time, of Eric Clapton, Cher, the no-longer-quite-so Rolling Stones, the mummified memory of doors now jammed forever shut and Jim Morrison, all this hideous Hollywood bric-a-brac of ancient Egypt. Needless to say much more development of any real awareness in such a population en masse is not necessarily to be hoped for.
ALTHOUGH To be sure one can always hope to stop being a nuisance at any age!
OLD Atlantic Man’s typical response however to problem-solving — “Show me!” — is exactly his approach to life, because he is a hedgehog who knows this one big thing for sure and that if he can just get himself into the same room as the woman that everything then will go the way he likes. These manipulative habits of what some students of the human problem call the “Commanding Self,” the personal power drive for social dominance in order to gratify ones whims and be looked up to all the time, is pretty difficult to root out so late in the game, and all the more so when whole foundational narratives have been rotted and displaced, by globalizing chatter and the multiculturalist and adventitious, state-subsidized, “professionalisms.”
AND So — as in the most of history, truth be told — the longterm efforts of the wise again in this case, as in so many generations, are forever being derailed by the need to go out into societies and try to put various trains back on the track and pull runaway cows out of the ditch again. They are of course “the same old cows everyday,” as Anne Frank wrote. Cattle loose on the tracks altogether is the great problem everywhere on Earth so to speak, for example of the hidden “divisional managers” of every generation’s main line. The welter of primary and unmediated biological impulse all compounded with stupidity is a universal, to be sure. But this sort of thing always gets worse during periods of comparative local prosperity when people can get away more easily through careerism with forgetting their basic reality. Perhaps it will help to better understand the true situation of early-postmodern man when you realize that for example on his rustic and personal, local-but-televisonized, level our very own homegrown postmodern Old Mankato Man is in exactly the same boat as all those crippled throughout time with an other-directed political psychology.
THE Paradoxical conclusion thus must be that in terms of the big picture, very doubtlessly it is all Hell and downhill for the West henceforward, but the human party certainly isn’t over as yet, not by a long shot and it is pretty much likely to be business as usual for a good long time to come:
HERE A cow, there a cow, everywhere a cow-cow (and Mrs Bill Clinton)…and every so often, some wise guy pulling up at the station and shouting down from the cab that really it will be OK in the end after all, now “just get them God-damn critters aboard!”
[Emmett R Smith all rights reserved 5 December 2007]