I don’t have a lot of time for this—or patience either. I’ve got other things on my mind of far greater import than the teetering American hegemony and our near hysterical self denial.
We are sick.
Mr. Bush couldn’t fix us. Mr. Obama cannot. Congress is clueless. The world demands of us to fuel their disdain. Republicans are jackasses; Democrats are pachyderms without memory. Greed plays the victim. Lust wants a subsidy. Inverted biggots celebrate skin deep virtue. The last moral high ground has sunk beneath the waters of Babylon.
Don’t waste my time with your empty hope, you who really believe that it’s all going to get better. Your eggs are in the wrong basket. Your cross is made of plastic. You’ve got too much to lose to win anything. Your god is your stomach, no matter what you name it. You will get what you deserve.
I say this with frightening composure and equanimity. I have lost my ability to be outraged. My pockets are full of religious lint; my camel’s hair suit is too small for me now. I eat the flesh of the pigs and drink it down with the blood of the Lamb. I no longer vomit. Neither do you, sweetheart.
Please don’t say “I hear ya, man.” Don’t add your lame “amen.” You embarrass yourself by your affirmation. Keep your creedal nonsense—which by your life you declare utterly bankrupt anyway—keep it tucked away in case of emergency. (You ain’t seen nothing yet.) Or tell me you can’t subscribe to such a graceless perspective. Tell me your God isn’t like that. Tell me the good news about . . . . What was it again? I can’t seem to remember.
I’d apologize for this if I thought you had something better. But I know what you really want. I know because it’s what I really want too. What we want isn’t justice or righteousness or peace or holiness or any of that crap. What we want is free rein and amnesty and exemptions.