if the irony weren't dripping from a bloodbath, one could almost laugh at the Times and the Post, and the rest of the right flanks in the establishment's stables, lined up like so many conscience-less zombies, their collective karma in an overwhelmed coma, more dead than their millions of abetted brown corpses, their 'free speech' banners as hollow as Trump Tweets, the burden of their collusion haunting the fetid breezes where Democracy might have actually rung.
when compared to the astonishingly consistent, hundred percent subservience to the Machiavellian wishes of Israel and Saudi Arabia, evinced in the election-resistant slightness of light between the establishment's firmament of right and righter parties (notwithstanding those bulging curtains and shuffling sandals that loom in the 9-11 mists), Russia's unprecedented, heinous and nefarious, Godzilla-rearing influence must be a preternatural thing indeed. going only by the sold out crowds for the resurrected re-ascendance of nationalism and patriotism, by the strange sightings of McCarthy's ghost, lurking with his war profiteer bedfellows at the head of the goose-stepping ranks of the Party that isn't Democratic, joined at the hip as they suddenly are to "Democracy's friends" at the CIA, spontaneously sprouting from neoliberal pods as a redefined species of born again regime changers, speaking in their suspicious, fifties tongues, just loud enough to be heard by the listening devices their souped up cell phones so willingly surrendered to one of their folksy own, sounding on their righteous trumpets a clarion call for the infotainment freedom of regurgitated speech, while sharpening pikes for the heads of Wikileaks and shading the right sides of elephants' hides, brandishing their subscriptions to the woefully persecuted John the Baptist scribes and channellers, those Prepare-Ye-the-Way-of-War serial criminals at the Times and the Post, this inconclusive, and stubbornly elusive influence, thinly veiled and eagerly, unanimously assailed, would have to be a sort of hitherto unimagined dark matter, a reverse-acting, negative-exposing, history-and-reality-reinventing, circumspection-circumventing, menacingly-clever-yet-obtusely-clueless, conveniently-refocusing, repackaging and recriminating, self-inflicting-with-demonization type of 'influence', equipped with a malice uncannily similar to our manifestly predestined, projected intentions. those very same, never questioned, mythic intentions we're forever hearing all those accolades about, that are in fact the stock and trade of every American politician, and form a kind of religion in and of themselves, prompting us (and oddly, no one else but us) to surround other people's countries, especially the independent ones, with eight hundred state of the art military bases. those very same, ever so profitable intentions that naturally allow us to excuse ourselves whenever we happen to murder a noticeable number of "other" people, which happens whenever an angel rings a bell and the stocks go up. the sputtering, Democracy-splattering intentions that gushed from a string of proudly appraising presidents who eyed Cuba as the "jewel" in their "necklace", glinting with promised riches in their gated and whitewashed Latin American "backyard".
the beacon-beaming, exemplary intentions that the peasants and pack animals in Southeast Asia are still reeling from, and so many refugees are trying to escape. the "good" intentions that are buried with the "bad" Indians' freedom. unfailingly masked by the pornographic fiction of colluding Hollywood, and the dependable deflection of our directionly disabled, looking glass media. and yet as if to prove our legendary lawlessness and our stunning dearth of sentient, functioning journalists, they are brazenly flaunted in the bedazzling light of 'America's day' in Bill Clinton's celebrated declaration of piracy and the Sainted Obama's smooth assertion that "full spectrum dominance" is the "overriding goal" of our "exceptionally indispensable" foreign policy. meanwhile, i expect the uniformly reputed rarefied niche of Simon Bar Sinister's retroactively ricocheting, reasonless influence will one day be explained. it's the sort of thing one might hope to find in the special features of a Doctor Who DVD. perhaps in that lost episode where he stumbles over the invisible weapons of mass destruction and ends up accidentally spreading Democracy™. ** **** * **** *** **** * **** ** - Evan Hawthorn, the 22nd of May, 2017
the relief that our left bank colonial flank is safe in the reassuring arms of "Centrist Neoliberalism" echoes like the quaking knell still hemorrhaging for our substance-less "Democracy". it washes up in trending waves, raising the death-rattle spectre of Jacob Marley's chains, resounding with the reflectionless ring of emotional appeals, like the congregational tide of shocked indignation which is itself, in its with-us-or-against-us relentless resistance (to undoctored history), and blithe indifference to the dauntless dearth of choice, the very essence of the unnoticed absence. this haunting is made complete with the myopic visitation of Fascist unwanted posters summoned by the unholy communion of donkeys, profiteers, assassins and spies, unfurling from virtual woodwork in a focus-stroking shell game, much like the "Democrats" themselves, or journalism's jugglers, hooked with green IVs to the Powers that Own. for they dish out many isms, and before enamoured eyes installed the creaking floorboards beneath the bulging, bloated clown, that deftly played distraction who could hardly accomplish, left to his own narcissistic devices this decades-long descent, let alone the perfectly executed Ayn Rand Strangelove's homeopathic cabinet of all-consumingdecapitation. the Bully in Chief, that one-man travelling brand, the bleached whale poster child of Wee Willy Syndrome, is opportunity's opportunist, incapable of creating anything, leering from lurid curtains when times and rubes ripen. the biggest baddest wolf at the Protection Racket's revolving door. the demon head on the flipping, counterfeit coin, bedazzling the preening flock of endangered, lopsided, ill-informed eagles, pinioned by their surplus of righteous right wings. like the slickly conflicted corporate menus the demented beacon's atrophied citizens and reassigned consumers are saddled with, the French electoral circus doesn't furnish off ramps from the lockstep, bipartisan, rapaciously exceptional, paved with rampant "interests" and "inessential" corpses, 24-7, highway to hell.
