Rising through the stages of conscious from sweet dreams to the nightmare of another Day With the Democrats I briefly considered taking an axe to this machine and going back to reading books; doing things the way God (Oops, that word…nasty word… Go away!) made them to be done, serially, one page at a time. I thought how nice it might be to rebuild my attention span. And, I may yet do it.
Last night I spent a few moments watching former President Clinton, the un-convicted perjurer, the putatively forgiven philanderer, giving the locker room warm-up speech to all the Democrats down in Charlotte. While I watched him speak I could not help hearing in my head the Dies Irae from Hector Berlioz’ Grande Messe Des Morts, as the French call it. Roughly translated that means, I think, The Big Mass of the Dead, all of them, all of us.
Perhaps he meant it as a requiem for just that occasion, for the end of everything. In that case, I think it was just the right thing to have as background music while the First Liar was speechifying.
I turned it off, the speech, when the music in my head got to the Tuba Mirum, and then turned off the computer itself. I didn’t want to see happen what seemed to me to be about to happen. Because you know, anyone who will [What was it?} try to define what one means by “is” would try anything once.
To be frank, I got a little bit scared of and for him, and a little bit scared for the multitudes in the arena and out there in Television Land who were swallowing hook, line and sinker, everything he said. I’d eat his apple, buy his car, or siding, or driveway sealer, too, I thought as the words from that ancient poem ran through my head, and the music faded:
Death is struck, and nature quaking,
All creation is awaking,
To its Judge an answer making.
Lo! the book, exactly worded,
Wherein all hath been recorded:
Thence shall judgement be awarded.
When the Judge his seat attaineth,
And each hidden deed arraigneth,
Nothing unavenged remaineth.
The last stanza above still has Berlioz rocking the night with his brass and tympani roaring and thundering as the Judge, having entered, sits. And now? Now we must answer the charge against us.
It was no lullaby to which I slid down the slope into sleep, but I thankfully had no demon democrat filled nightmares to worry me through the night either; to chase me down into dark and dangerous canyons where strange beasts waited to rend me limb from limb. No, the nightmare returned with consciousness and my waking memories of the little I heard from Darling Billy last night, and what I knew would be to come. Dare I hope merely for more of the same? It is too much to hope for, I think, because I truly believe we the citizens of these “former” United States of America as I have taken to calling them are on a merry ride to desolation for a whole number of reasons, causes and moral, ethical and political faults. We are on the outskirts of a perfect storm. The wind is picking up. The clouds gather, and we are being blinded by the well coiffed, beautifully suited and pleasant voice ringing in the arena of our misplaced hope and joy.
Switching metaphors here, Leviathan, I think, is about to grow legs and walk among us, gorging himself on the fat of the land — us.
How do I reach this depressing conclusion? Well three recent articles in the MSM have helped, but the last 3 some odd years are the real proof. They seal the deal.
The articles you may find here, here and here. Do pour yourself a strong drink before reading them. The last article has a chilling last line, apt for the place we have put ourselves, that deep dark valley of my waking nightmare: “It is a world of status quo, only worse.” What is worse than status-quo? Disaster.
The Judge approaches, and “we must all appear” before His judgement seat. Alas, “what shall we, frail men, be pleading?”