“I’m so bored. I hate my life.” - Britney Spears

Das Langweilige ist interessant geworden, weil das Interessante angefangen hat langweilig zu werden. – Thomas Mann

"Never for money/always for love" - The Talking Heads

Friday, August 08, 2008

the october surprise in august

The october surprise came early this year. Did you notice it? Well, it began when it became apparent that Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac might go belly up. In a sense, we can mark that as the end of the era of Cheney. It was at that moment that the money men, via the Treasury secretary, pulled the plug on the vanity next-war-in-the-making: Iran.

LI tries to remove himself from the painful spectacle of election year politics because, well, everything about it hurts. This year, in particular, we’ve watched the Dems watch the price of oil skyrocket. We’ve watched the press speculate endlessly about the cause of this, in one section of the paper, and report, in another section of the paper, about this or that statement or action implying that Israel or the U.S. is about to attack Iran. We’ve watched the crime in action, and we've watch the feebs that represent the opposition sit on their hands and seal their eyes. Did the Dems make a peep? Did they use this as a case study of the virulent blowback from pursuing a vain, egregiously stupid, manically male foreign policy in the Middle East, in contravention to the collective wisdom of the past eighty, gloriously oil fed years? Nope.

About three weeks ago, Bush changed course. There were no headlines – but the oil futures market could read what was happening. The signal was clearly sent – no war with Iran – and the security premium that had been inflating oil prices collapsed. Since then, the GOP seems to have started attracting, once more, its exurban constituency, the ones especially hit by the gas price jump. The exurbanites are also the ones that especially hate the environment – they are bred up to hate environmentalists, any limit to waste, and all the feminine frilliness that would keep them from growing fat in the ass and plunking that ass in an SUV. On the other hand, such is the ambient cretinousness that these same people are lovers of camping, hunting, and the great outdoors. Welcome to the moronic inferno of the 21st century. So, like the mouse people listening to Josephine the singer, they all swayed in unison when another stupid GOP-er, McCain, proposed destroying property values from coast to coast with pointless drilling – never mind the environmental havoc.

Of course, the opposition to the moronic inferno is caught up, still, in fantasies of unmotivated evil of its own kind. For them, preceding from the sound principle that the war class goes to war, they go to the unsound conclusion that the war class is a vast, planning organism that is going to bomb Iran tomorrow – in spite of our knowledge that such a thing would have the most evil effect on the moneymen who float the whole operation. As the planning for the occupation of Iraq shows, the new warmonger is not happy about war per se, but likes the vast corruption attendant upon pretend war. Plus of course the spectator value of being pretend warriors, exhibiting pretend bravery and pretend moral outrage all the way to the bank. That Iraq turned out not to be Panama is a bummer, dudes.

So the GOP did what it had to do – broke the back of the oil inflation monster. Since that is the most visible symbol of our economic shambles, who knows whether it will be enough to keep the exurban cretins in line. In one sense, that would be nice – let the fucks vote in ever more vile gangsters to pick their pockets and leave them out on the roadside, bleeding. But my more lamb-y, love side is against the rush of immediate gratification which this idea brings.

Put your raygun to my head - and please, press the trigger. Put me out of this misery.


roger said...

By the way, a review of Galbraith's Predator state by the writer of these here words is up here:

Brian said...

Awesome essay, roger. When you don't leave this poor ill-read, ill educated bureaucrat in the dust with your perambulations through French philosophes' theories of leisure (lol) you rock!

Anonymous said...

LI, I admire the restraint of the opening couple of paragraphs to your review of The Predatory State. All the more so, since I hear a cry there, something crying out to be heard, in the lands of the deaf and dumb.
Let's just drill for oil from coast to coast. Let's have the Supreme Court say that oil companies that are raking in billions don't have to be accountable or spend a buck or two on the havoc they wreck. We're all part of this muck. What are we supposed to do, switch the channel to another show? I don't know, but at the very least it is necessary to cry out. And there is no God to absolve us.


"Ballade des Pendus (L'Epitaphe Villon)"

Freres humains qui après nous vivez
N'ayez les cuers contre nous endurcis
Cas se pitié de nous povres avez
Dieu en aura plus tost de vous mercis.
Vous nous voiez cy attachez cinq, six.
Quant de la chair que trop avons nourrie,
Elle est pieça devorée et pourrie,
Et nous, les os, devenons cendre et pouldre.
De nostre mal personne ne s'en rie
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

Se freres vous clamons, pas n'en devez
Avoir desdaing, quoy que fusmes occis
Par justice. Toutesfois, vous sçavez
Qua tous hommes n'ont pas bon sens rassis.
Excusez nous, puis que sommes transsis,
Envers le fils de la Vierge Marie
Que sa grace ne soit pour nous tarie
Nous sommes mors; ame ne nous harie
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

La pluye nous a debuez et lavez
Et le soleil dessechiez et noircis.
Pies, corbeaulx, nous ont les yeux cavez
Et arrachié la barbe et les sourcis.
Jamais nul temps nous ne sommes assis;
Puis ça, puis la, comme le vent varie
A son plaisir sans cesser nous charie,
Plus becquetez d'oiseaulx que dez a couldre.
Ne soiez donc de nostre confrarie
Mis priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

Prince Jesus qui sur tous a maistrie
Garde qu'Enfer n'ait de nous seigneurie.
A luy n'ayons que faire ne que souldre.
Hommes, icy n'a point de mocquerie;
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

- François Villon

L'amour n'a pas d'âge
Et la mer étale
Là-bas sur la plage
Non plus n'a pas d'âge

Les mots sont les mots
Toujours mal criés
Pourtant il faut bien
Se servir des mots
Qu'on nous a laissés
Écrits sur la vie
Criés dans les cries
Des amants lassés

L'amour n'a pas d'âge
Et la mer étale
Là-bas sur la plage
Non plus n'a pas d'âge

- Léo Ferré


roger said...

Amie, this could be my motto every day:

"Freres humains qui après nous vivez

N'ayez les cuers contre nous endurcis

Cas se pitié de nous povres avez

Dieu en aura plus tost de vous mercis."

Brian, I'm sorry for the obscurities, man. But after six years of shrieking like a banshee in the face of the Great Fly and all its minions, you know, I get a little fuckin' blue. Whereas doing research for my book against the happiness culture makes me happy. Ho ho.

Brian said...

Ah, don't apologize. Nothing to apologize for-I still enjoy your wisdom. You, Ioz, Dennis Perrin, the lamented Mr. Scruggs (where is Mr. Scruggs gone, alas?)