I Read All That. For What?

I looked at my considerable library the other day and sighed. The following books--nearly all of which I read cover-to-cover-- are there on the shelves (in alphabetical order of the authors):

• Twilight of Democracy--Anne Applebaum
• Oath of Honor--Liz Cheney
• Disloyal--Michael Cohen
• Border Wars--Julie Hirshfield Davis and Michael D. Shear
• Betrayal--Jonathan Karl
• I Alone Can Fix It--Carol Leonnig and Phillip Rucker
• The Fifth Risk--Michael Lewis
• Unthinkable--Jamie Raskin (actually, I gave this one away after reading)
• A Very Stable Genius--Rucker and Leonnig
• Midnight in Washington--Adam Schiff
• Fear--Bob Woodward
• Peril--Woodward and Robert Costa

I don't publish this list to tell you that I'm smart or smarter than most. I write this to say that I made a thorough investment in absorbing relevant facts. All are evocative, in some way, of the horrors of not only 45-47's mismanagement of government, his ugly stupidity, and his endless lies, but also the potentialities of another term. We are there now. These works' expositions have been all too predictive, and we are just two weeks into four years of onrushing hell.

I thought the idea of reading works like this is to be more informed and forewarned, so at the very least, should the opportunity present itself, one can cast a logical, rational vote in favor of someone else offering an alternative that simply makes more sense--or, in this past case, some sense, which is a lot better than the sense 45-47 projected, which is none. This is how democracy's supposed to work, I thought. I didn't exactly run out and become the first on my block to buy these books--I prefer to read reviews first--but I did spend a considerable amount of money purchasing them.

It all circles back, though, to a single question: For what? These all attack 45-47 in some way. None of them stuck with the general public; they bounced back and forth in the same echo chamber. They created rage, yes, but also numbness.

The authors of these works, too, must be asking themselves this question, too: If a more informed public cannot become a more enlightened public to a degree in which efficacy occurs, does the First Amendment even matter anymore? Does education? Does conversation?

How the hell did this monster win more individual votes? The inefficiency of the Electoral College in 2016 was enough of a misnomer--or what we thought was a misnomer. But this time, he won.

He. Won. All that information revealed above, all that verifiable truth-telling, couldn't amount to success at the ballot box. I haven't read anything from anyone discussing it, and I get the New York Times and the Washington Post, as well as MSNBC online. Nobody has touched this. Doesn't this bother anybody?

It brings me to another quandary: What do I do with these books now? Do I go on eBay and sell them as a set of futility? Do I keep them as an example of how incredibly stupid a fraction more than half the nation is and has been? Do these represent a decent archive of what we were supposed to do, but didn't?

Did I overinvest? It would suggest so. By the time I came to the most recently published book, the chaos, the depraved behavior, the idiocy had been well documented both daily and in these kinds of works--to the point at which I, like many have now, gave up because everything represented a reprint, more or less, of what had come before it. 

The dead horse had been beaten. I knew who to be disgusted with. I knew what laws had been skirted. I knew that the game had been fixed by people who should have known better or had been consumed by unrealistic fears or inspirations or quasi-religious obsessions. And even though the daily record revealed this implicitly but the books had not--I knew about those who were supposed to be on the side of justice for all had either dragged their feet, didn't step up when they were needed, or overlooked what was right in front of them.

But I digress. Do I keep all these works to skim over them again when the day comes that it becomes finally obvious to even 45-47's supporters that they've been hornswoggled? That they'll be inflationized into oblivion, with no relief in sight? Or will they believe, once again, conjured chimeras invented by those ready for all excuses, any excuses, to avoid responsibility?

Well. Edward Gibbon's The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire is still out there and can be purchased for, perhaps, comparable reading, since our empire is about to collapse into nothing more than empty rhetoric. And there's always Barbara Tuchman's The March of Folly, which describes in clear and decisive tones how people with all kinds of advantages squandered them because they valued the wrong things and couldn't get beyond their own myopathy. Seeing as how we are about to be engulfed with blind, ridiculous Christian nationalism--and we are--maybe some of the more daring scholars left will begin work on how religion was used as a weapon turned out unsuccessfully, as it always has and always will be.

Then we will have another set of books to buy, read and collect. They will sell like hotcakes in the first three or four months, then fade away to something else. All of which suggests that there are no universal truths--or there may in fact be, but we can't get ourselves to pay attention much past staring down at our noses.

Sorry this is so dismal. When I get cause to write something more positive, it'll appear here. Give it a minute, okay? Or four years?

Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.

Mister Mark

They Wouldn't Print It, So I Will

After all, this is what I have a blog for--

Every year, my congregation has a booklet that it puts out, filled with missives on the season written by its members, spanning about 300 words. It's strictly volunteer, but many people, like me, pretty much do it yearly. The church leadership gives us a biblically-based theme, and we expand on it.

In past years, I've heard good things about my entries. But in those years, there was reason to note that Christmas was a time for peace and joy and hope--which were pretty much the themes suggested this year, too.

Except I don't feel that way this year. If you read below, you'll see why. I don't think it's absurd or otherwise subversive; it's just where I am and will be for some time. The original shock of the election results has led to a depth of attitude that I find, and feel to be, uniquely devastating.

So I wrote about it in this year's contribution. And got it sent back to me. The leadership of the congregation, which I joined because it pretty much dovetails with my personal feelings on religion and its purposes (and still does), won't run it. They get it, I was told, they understand, but to publish anything this despondent would give them a reputation that might put it in jeopardy with other congregations they have combined forces with. So here, too, is a place where political considerations hold sway, where being politically correct has to take precedent.

Not here. Not in this blog, where I've been anything but. I have much more to say on this topic, but we'll settle for this right now. I was asked to modify my attitudes, but I refused. "I can't fake this," I replied, and I won't.

I don't want to waste the effort, so I'll run it here. I'll leave it up to you. Would you run it as an example of how people might be potentially feeling, or dismiss it as the attitudes of one? Is this such an awful thing to say as representative of one person belonging to one congregation and thus should be left to him to speak for himself?

If so, okay. Again: This is what I have a blog for--

For Christmas Booklet, 2024

This isn’t writer’s block. I’ve had that.

Nope. Not it. Writer’s block means the words are inside but just won’t emerge right now. They strain without coherence. They arrive, though. They always do. They just need a minute.

This is different. I’m without words. Not sure I’ve ever been here before.

Is this the definition of hopelessness? Where there’s no possible way to describe how you’re feeling? Where you could never imagine depths into which you still feel yourself falling?

I’m there. Which is to say, nowhere.

Not counting on that angel to show up and say, “Do not be afraid.” Uh-uh. Wouldn’t matter anyhow. We’d have to argue about the meaning of that, too, about someone born of migrants, who will soon be hunted down by a vicious ruler, using the power of government to assure dominance.

This is fundamental. This is a direct threat, allowed by those who should have known better. Who have found simple logic wanting.

Who define being human in ways I cannot fathom, with condescension and superiority. Who allowed thought to be eclipsed by raw emotion and an anti-reality.

And, in immense self-delusion, actually believe that God wills this. They have allowed themselves to be led about as far away from The Mount as can be.

I taught some of them, too, in subjects in which they should have connected with their civic responsibilities, their human obligations. I feel responsible, though I certainly didn’t lead them there. But nobody could have anticipated abrogation of thinking wrapped around Christian nationalism.

I am afraid. There’s no getting around it. I am afraid for my country. I am afraid for myself. I am afraid for humanity.

It’s the only thing left when you’re backed into a corner with no way out and no defense. When you don’t know what’s coming but you can guarantee that it’ll hurt a lot.

Zechariah was struck into silence by Gabriel when he doubted his good fortune and had every right to believe he was being blocked from it. I’m there now.

I’m done talking. All that writing I’ve done, all that reading, all that fleshing out of ridiculousness, has resulted in an empty return. 

When I see hope, I mean the real thing, I’ll say something to somebody about it. It’s not on the horizon right now.

I can’t. The words aren’t there.

Talk later. I hope.

I don't want to unnecessarily embarrass the powers that be that stood in the way of publishing, but after all, I did want to make it public, and this is really the only way I still can. I wonder, now that they think about it, whether they regret the decision to 'spike' it or not.

It reflects what's going on all over--that people are retreating for reasons that are taken out of context or mostly imagined. I find that astonishing. What is freedom of expression, after all, if you can't say something that someone, anyone (maybe even everyone) might have an issue with? Otherwise, it's empty.

Yet, I must remember my own context. Church publications normally don't want to stir up controversies and disagreements. Better to play it safe. Doing otherwise would be highly unusual.

But these times are, themselves, highly unusual--in which certain things had better get said before we dull ourselves to accepting the unacceptable. Which is, based on the acquiescence of high-level media entities, just around the corner.

So there it is. I print it because someone prevented me from doing so, and--far more importantly--not one word of it needs to be changed or deleted because my feelings have been somehow reduced. If anything, that volume has grown.

Enjoy. Or ruminate.

Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.

Mister Mark