11 November, 2004
post-partisan depression

...that's what they called it on the radio, yesterday afternoon. damned a propos, to be sure. witty, concise, sounding like you'd just passed something enormous from an unsuitable orifice... i'd say that pretty well summed it up.
promise kept: slogging past last Thursday (one of those godforsaken leaden days suited only to organizing CDs... for like the first time in a year), through the show on Friday (punctuated by incessant phone calls, including a crackly cellie connection with infused with patois just as my finger was poised over the "on air" button) and dinner with Biggles and family, culminating with the blur of horses, nationalguardsmen, drunk preppies and breezy sunshine on Saturday: a mad flurry of marching powder, beer, gin-and/or-vodka-and-tonic, bloody marys and unending stream of dialogue until nine AM the next day.
oh, the pain when the ride stops. i could never do this except on occasion... that raw, swollen, unconnected feeling that endures for days afterwards is a price too dear.
but, the desired effect was achieved: complete disconnect from any deep thought, political or otherwise.
then i woke up to the smoldering remains of the election and the Arsenal season, and the rasping crow of neocons... and bible-thumpers.
it's as if the clock had been set back twenty years previously... when the MoralMajority and soon-to-be-defrocked preachers ruled.
fundamentalists to the right of me, fundamentalists to the left of me, hand picking scripture to suit feeble arguments. literal interpretation of everything...

...which can bite you on the ass.

because GodHatesShrimp, too. says it right there on the scrolls.
i wonder how many souls roast on the spit of Hell on a RedLobster rap?

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