On The Inevitable Lightness of Democracy’s Death Spiral
It’s the New Hampshire Primary tonight so, naturally, I’m thinking about the scene in the John Waters film “Pecker” where Edward Furlong and Christina Ricci’s characters have sex inside a voting booth. This is what happens, I guess, when you’re possessed of a puerile mind, a nascent grasp of political gravitas and when you’re, of course, “full of Grace!”
I don’t know who’s going to win this thing, and I don’t care. I don’t know if alleged “democracy” is going to survive much past this year, and I don’t really care about that either. I wonder if apathy, ambivalence, anhedonia, anthropomorphism, anachronism, arcanobacterium haemolyticum susceptibility, and asseating are emblematic of a new generation of American ascendency. I wonder if it is a survival mechanism, like eating your Rugby teammates (and the pilot, “after all, he’s the one who got us into this”) on the Andes mountains, or like writing funny little passages on a math test you know you’re going to utterly fail in the hopes that you’ll at least entertain your teacher enough for him to still like you at the end of the day.
#askingforafriend
#nottheeatingmyteammatespart
My dog looks at me over the back of the couch like I have answers to what will happen if he gets elected again. I won’t say his name, like some…