Remember the world-wide Body Count gig in the ‘90s — “The Born Dead Tour”? My ears are ringing again just thinking about it. Today’s rant is a subset of being born dead: those who are born asleep…and stay that way. In other words, it’s about Donald J Trump and his base.
I briefly jumped on the “Woke” bandwagon a few months ago. Thought it was a good idea is all. And I’m a sucker for good ideas. As a teacher, I’m into trying out new ideas. Sometimes they become habits, sometimes just pleasant distractions and sometimes they end up in the bin…or at least the freezer, wrapped in the leftover tin foil from my hat.
Now that we’ve all been forced to witness the entrenched narcissist, how he’s trying to burn down the house (sorry D. Byrne) before exiting stage left (sorry Snagglepuss), his presence — or absence, some would say—reminds me of the old saying “let sleeping dogs lie”. And lie they can.
Nearly half of the citizens — or at least of the voters —in the good olde USA are apparently sleepers; both in the literal as well as the figurative sense. Anyone who says they believe the United States of America was a more pleasant place in the 1950s than it is now is dreaming. As we know, in order to dream, you must first get some sleep. When the dream is pleasant, who wants to wake up?
Then there is the figurative sleeper: a person who holds reactionary views and bides his time until he can do the most damage, then arises (in his dream) and blows it all up. God, that feels good!
To those of us who are awake, the sleepers’ actions seem to be from a place of unsettling madness and hysteria. To fellow sleepers, it’s just good, clean fun. After all, we’re asleep and nobody can blame us for what happens in our dreams. We have a right to dream whatever we want. And the stuff that happens in our dreams doesn’t do any harm, so there can’t be any judgement and therefore no need to feel guilty.
On top of being a sleeper, the lame duck is all hopped up on drake’s little helper (sorry Drake), prescribed and properly dosed by medics at Walter Reed. You can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice: That cat is high! (sorry Ink Spots). Yesterday he raided Rebekah Jones’ home in Tallahassee via his surrogate governor, today he murdered the black inmate Brandon Bernard via his customized DOJ, tomorrow he’ll almost certainly lash out against the Dems or BLM or California, either directly or via one of his many sycophantic Republican Senators. By the third week in January, he will have pardoned himself for the crimes he and his family have been committing on a well-greased assembly line for decades. The American empire has brought forth our very own Nero. And the similarities are glaring:
“Some modern historians question the reliability of the ancient sources on Nero’s tyrannical acts, however. There is evidence of his popularity among the Roman commoners, especially in the eastern provinces of the Empire, where a popular legend arose that Nero had not died and would return.” — Wikipedia
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Make America Gangster Again (sorry Ice-T)