by Dr. Bones
“First, there’s a huge difference between being arrested and being guilty. Second, see, the law changes and I don’t. How I stand vis-à-vis the law at any given moment depends on the law. The law can change from state to state, from nation to nation, from city to city. I guess I have to go by a higher law. How’s that? Yeah, I consider myself a road man for the lords of karma.” – Hunter S. Thompson
I was doing about 15 over in a 45, my Toyota wobbling every so slightly as I struggled to appear as sober as possible. Vodka had excited my blood, and now Tecate beer swam slowly down my throat to realign my humors. The day had been a good one, my wife and I showing up in the small town of Fellsmere like two poltergeists, making our presence known and felt everywhere while thoroughly confusing the locals.
The whole day has been one big irresponsibility: pre-gaming it before 12:00pm, buying books I might never read, drinking beer in a graveyard, and stealing a jar of hot pepper sauce for no reason. I had even managed to wander into an elementary school just to look at the architecture, students and faculty just assuming someone dressed like a time-traveler from 1910 would HAVE to have a reason to be there. It occurred to me right then that everything could have gone very different: if a cop were to pull us over at any point it might very well be the end of everything: my career, my license, hell even my life.
I made a silent prayer to St. Christopher for protection and decided to drive faster.
I don’t think much of “what-ifs,” and I don’t normally mourn the loss of any potential future. When you’re in the Hoodoo business people expect results: if it doesn’t happen it doesn’t happen, and people would like to know when exactly they can expect their money back.
I’m beginning to wonder when the Bernie fans will start asking for their money back.
The fix is in, that much is clear. Despite a huge groundswell of support in primary after primary the Clinton Machine has pulled every trick in the book to get ahead. The talking heads are already lining up, declaring the race over. “We simply can’t afford a Trump presidency,” they stammer, “it’s time to grow up and do the right thing.”
The paternalistic platitudes are enough to make you vomit, or in my case drink to excess.
Every week I get on here and point out the fact that not only did I call this charade since the music started playing but that the people, as a whole, seem unwilling to do anything about it. The talking heads are asking you to swear allegiance to someone who, if not for her massive political connections, would be rotting in a jail cell as we speak.
“The [FBI] has so much information about criminal conduct by her and her staff that there is no way that they walk away from this,” Joseph diGenova, formerly the District of Columbia’s U.S. Attorney, told Laura Ingraham in a Tuesday radio interview. “They are going to make a recommendation that people be charged and then Loretta Lynch is going to have the decision of a lifetime.“I believe that the evidence that the FBI is compiling will be so compelling that, unless [Lynch] agrees to the charges, there will be a massive revolt inside the FBI, which she will not be able to survive as an attorney general. It will be like Watergate. It will be unbelievable.”
This is someone who laughed as Qaddafi was knifed in the ass, was on the board of directors for Walmart, and is directly responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocents.
“In 2012, Clinton was the obstacle, not the solution, to a ceasefire being negotiated by UN Special Envoy Kofi Annan. It was US intransigence – Clinton’s intransigence – that led to the failure of Annan’s peace efforts in the spring of 2012, a point well known among diplomats. Despite Clinton’s insinuation in the Milwaukee debate, there was (of course) no 2012 ceasefire, only escalating carnage. Clinton bears heavy responsibility for that carnage, which has by now displaced more than 10 million Syrians and left more than 250,000 dead.”
If ever there was a candidate most likely to be a gigantic lizard pretending to be a human being in between feasting on fetuses she is it. Hillary is the scum that has risen to the top of the Imperium’s political machine, a cold and power-obsessed fiend who will step over the bodies of children to see her twisted vision for the world gnawed onto it’s very bones.
It looks like the anti-gay kiddie fiddlers of the political spectrum are going to end up playing a round of two-girls-one-cup of their own: do you take the crazed New York billionaire who still thinks Mexico is going to pay for a wall or the bible thumping Tea Bagger described as “Satan” and “a miserable son of a bitch” by his fellow party members? The Republican primary is almost as depressing(or hilarious) as the general election will be: Trump stands zero chance of winning any Latino vote and Cruz is as well liked as mustard gas by northern Republicans; both candidates will give the Republicans a huge disadvantage, practically handing Hillary the presidency on a plate.
Which brings me back to my return trip from Fellsmere.This is assuming Trump doesn’t say “fuck it” and just run as a third-party candidate if he gets stiffed at the convention which will positively sink the Republicans and create political tremors for years to come. If one thing is popular this election it’s being anti-establishment, and while people haven’t yet figured out you can’t vote the system away, they’re slowly becoming aware all is not as it should be in “the land of the free.”
After kicking the gas up I begin to dial back, the visceral thrill of the quick burst in speed satisfying my alcohol-fueled thirst for danger. A steady calm washes over me, the knowledge that while the country may be self-destructing it doesn’t mean I must as well, the thought sinking in like Florida rain on a cardboard box. That’s the spell of politics, making you think these people matter, that their decisions are iron clad and must be obeyed. The persistence of the drug trade and the fact that I made it home safely are a testament to the foolishness in such a belief.
No matter which way the election goes, there will be pockets where those of individual tastes will find homes and fortresses to attack that which attacks them. We are only slaves as much as we allow ourselves to be. Renzo Novatore wrote:
“Our epoch is an epoch of decadence. Bourgeois-christian-plebeian civilization arrived at the dead end of its evolution a long time ago.
Democracy has arrived!
But under the false splendor of democratic civilization, higher spiritual values have fallen, shattered.
Willful strength, barbarous individuality, free art, heroism, genius, poetry have been scorned, mocked, slandered.
And not in the name of “I”, but of the “collective”. Not in the name of “the unique one”, but of society.”
Perhaps as long as the species survives the greater bulk of us will bend to insipid calls for a weaker, duller group morality: they’ll poison the planet and tell us to recycle, they’ll monitor our every move and teach us to snitch on our friends, they’ll tell us to tighten our belts as global finance reaps obscene profits. And the people will, unflinchingly. A new study has shown a surveillance state actually breeds meekness, fear, and self-censorship just by virtue of it existing. If we’re worried now lets see how the “people” look in 50 years or even 100: a nation of timid mole rats keeping their heads down and their voices low. While such a creature may be a worthy totem for the broken others will find resonance elsewhere.
For a few the risk will be worth the reward and whatever moral connotations an act may be branded with will be rejected out of hand, like working six-days straight and finally getting the day off together to revel in hedonistic fun and feel alive again, even if just for a day. Certainly not productive, legal, or safe. But when has that ever stopped me? I have no interest in Hive Morality.
Entropy is a bitch and the Age of the Eagle is rapidly coming to a close. In it’s place, for however long, rises the Age of the Hyena: scavenge what you can and sniff the air for rotting corpses, teeth bared and seething with laughter. Seize the world by the throat and refuse domestication. Link up with others in the dead of night and stalk the bloated and tottering zebra splashed in red, white, and blue. He’s nearly down now and there’s plenty of meat to go around.
On those back roads, no matter how bad things get, the Wild Ones will roam, and as the Imperium crashes all around us under it’s syphilitic weight those roads will only get wider and run for many more miles.
Time to jump in the car and go exploring.