The State Explodes Itself

In week two, the State scandelabra still gives off its gentle glow. Sadly -- but dolorous, plodding drama remains our daily fare, and rupture and cataclysm are yet to be invited in (but they wait, ever, always patient) -- the amount of fuel provided for the scandals is still tightly controlled. Thus, the light emitted by its burning provides neither warmth nor enlightenment. It is not a light to read by, not detailed or genuinely informative manuscripts in any case.

Yet we can scan those missives printed in large, block lettering. Since the media and most commentators write in the manner of a three-year-old unable to control his crayons, there is some material to be consulted, albeit with difficulty. A few instructive phrases and drawings emerge from the clutter. For example:

President Obama used his weekly radio address on Saturday to reassure the American people that he has “played no role whatsoever” in the U.S. government over the past four years.

“Right now, many of you are angry at the government, and no one is angrier than I am,” he said. “Quite frankly, I am glad that I have had no involvement in such an organization.”

The President’s outrage only increased, he said, when he “recently became aware of a part of that government called the Department of Justice.”

I am especially moved by Obama's obviously sincere pledge to "enforce what he called a 'zero tolerance policy on governing.'”

A few readers, those of bleak and bitter outlook (which stands in stark contrast to my absolute commitment to sunny, bumptious joy, utterly uncomplicated by any reference whatsoever to facts or likelihoods) might question the advisability of this particular executive -- Mr. Kill List, the Drone President, Death's Head in Perpetuity, as you will -- campaigning for anarchism. I greet such announcements, however dubious their origin, with welcoming arms. Calls for no more government must not be ignored. Preach it, brother!

Oh, you complain, but that report is not serious. At this particular moment, "serious" is a markedly peculiar word to apply to any aspect of these stories. Here's a "serious" news report. Top Obama aides, including Obama's chief of staff, all knew of the specific nature of the IRS abuses. They all "intentionally kept Obama in the dark." We are informed that systematically depriving the president of critical information is their job.

This is your government at work. "Serious" has been banished to another world. I ache for the moment when a single person, finally rebelling against the ludicrous pretense of treating muttered blurps and smuffles as language that signifies meaning, stands up at a press briefing, and cries in despair: "When you lie in bed in the middle of the night unable to sleep, do you ever weep for your shattered soul, that you find it so easy to be such a goddamned liar? And are we any better, that we refuse to acknowledge that you are a goddamned liar, and that we are all liars too?"

Now, that would be serious. It might even be momentarily interesting, until the suffocating forces of murderous convention and habit erased the question and the person who had falteringly, futilely reached out to connect with something recognizably human, in however damaged and attenuated a form. No, none of that for us. The White House spokesman declares: "“I mean, nobody’s been more outraged by the reported conduct here than the president of the United States."

He's only the president. It's not as if you can expect him to know anything, or to be aware of facts and events. I wonder if there's any point in hoping that a critical number of Americans might wake up and protest against this monstrous government. Is there any reason to protest a nightmare, or a fever dream? You pray that it passes, that you survive somehow. People may finally lash out -- when the children haven't eaten for two weeks, when gas is available only to "important" people with the required government documents, when the water that comes out of your tap is unsafe for humans and animals, when grocery store shelves are empty for months at a time. But they won't be protesting then: they'll be screaming before they die. And Boston tells us how the State will respond: with sufficient terror to ensure that most people scream behind closed doors, and die in agony out of sight, offstage.

In the meantime, the ridiculous pageant continues. Everyone plays his part, pathetically hoping that if we all refuse to acknowledge the truth, facts will contort themselves to satisfy our collective fantasy. And the State is insistent that we may view it in only two ways: either the State is run by the most idiotic collection of incompetent nincompoops the world has ever seen, or a gang of singularly determined, endlessly scheming liars and vicious, bloody murderers is in charge, who will lie about everything and murder anyone.

That is an aspect of this awful moment that carries a certain grim satisfaction: the State itself thus offers a comprehensive, irrefutable case against its own existence.

Hold the bastards to it. They could resolve the situation peaceably, and vaporize themselves.