But then I was distracted from distraction by more distraction, as T.S. Eliot would say, and, in front of me, a dazzling blonde with an iPhone was viewing an interview with Kelley Anne Conway, threatening, in that aggressively passive tone that makes you just crazy, that if the Demos called witnesses, the Repugs would do the same, and they had better be careful of what they wished for, because they would call up Hunter Biden, and, her tone seemed to imply, go to town on him.
Mikey, three seats to the left of me, who hates everything, muttered, "After reading the Horowitz Report, what I want to know is whether we aren't interfering in our own elections."
"Bakhtin and the mischief of the carnivalesque," whined an intellectual to my right somewhere; my fist cocked instinctively, and I was to roll out the barrel should his chin require it. He went on, like a taunt, "The problem with the deep state isn't whether it exists or not -- Ike and Snowden have said it does, and the nice middle class man from PBS, Bill Moyers has chipped in too -- but whether it'll just turn out to be one more shallow enterprise run by machines"."
I got edgy and we had to leave. I wasn't sure I cared about Democracy anymore. I looked down at the proceedings one last time. And saw a vision not so splendid in the dark and now intimate room. More walking, and Lady Liberty, er, re-oriented on a dining table, all the little festival legislators pigging out in the pork barrel. Hmph.
When I got home, I didn't bother getting off my high horse. f*ck it. Patriots, too, get tired blowing the warning trumpet and having nobody respond. They just want to hit the hay and settle into the nightmare democracy has become. And sleep the sleep of sleep.
No somnambulism allowed.
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