Notes on a train wreck

Watching from afar. A grand, sweeping vista. It’s an ugly view. Brett Kavanaugh, sorry excuse for a life-time appointment, confirmed to the Supreme Court of the United States. I am aghast. I am angry. I am thoroughly disgusted. I am resigned.

I refuse to call America “my country” just now. I am American by birth, American by passport, American by default, but no longer American by consent.

What I see:

America, the spoiled rich kid, ignorant of the world, insistent on unearned privilege, squandering—callously so—its inheritance, the accumulated wealth of generations.

America, shouting, foot-stomping, carrying on.

America, fingers in its ears, shouting “Nah nah nah, I’m not listening. Not to you, not to anyone.”

America, hopelessly, recklessly, stupidly arrogant.

America, the drunken frat bro who just wants to do keg stands and bang unconscious chicks without your judgment.

America, the land of “Me first” and “Go fuck yourself.”

America, the Empire of Liberty (not at all ironic), where of course the sun never sets on bigotry, violence, and hate.

America, the shining beacon of toothless, gun-toting, backwater morons.

America, the fantasy island of God-fearing, Dirty Harry wannabes, with their dead eyes and their cold dead hands and their praise Jesus amens.

America, the darkened shore of the retched, huddled masses, the teeming, ragged refuse, the brain-washed, tired, and weary.

America, from sea to shining sea, a colossal cluster fuck, no longer anyone’s land of milk and honey.

America, a hulking, sagging wreck washed up and broken up on the shoals of what might have been.

And yet, and yet…

Somehow, I remain a patriot—of self-evident truth and inalienable rights, of equality before men and women, and any other category of human—ideals that a vocal and benighted quorum of star-spangled idiots seem so intent to discard, so casually, in the name of what exactly? Tell me what kind of better world.It isn’t at all apparent from here.

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