Tuesday, June 27, 2006

needles in the pooh stack

Of course, an imbecile can't come down too hard on tattle tales. Sometimes they do us a world of good. Think about ole' whathisname - Deep Throat.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't know alot about this episode in American history. I don't know what he actually revealed to the other whatstheirnames Burnsomething and that good looking blonde dude. But I do know that by the end of it all sorts of unpleasantness at the White House had been uncovered.

Two things stand out: 1) Nixon kept a list of enemies and 2) he was acting on it. Employees of his re-election campaign were caught attempting to plant wiretaps in the Democrats campaign headquarters. When things went awry, he arranged for the CIA to interfere with the FBI's investigation of the case.

If it weren't for the efforts of these tattle tales the illegal actions of Nixon's administration would never have come to light. Sure nobody's lives were at risk - well except everyone in Vietnam - but American democracy certainly was.

Hopefully that's obvious to you. You can't have free and fair elections if the president is wiretapping his opponent and you can't have a just society when he uses an entire branch of law enforcement to protect himself from investigation.

Lessee ... what other tattle tales have we seen lately? Joe Wilson tattled on the Bush administration for WMD BS. Somebody tattled on his wife . Whoever outed whoever outed Valerie Plame was also a tattle tale.

Andrew Fastow.

The person or persons who told the press and the newspapers who printed the stories about the foreign wiretaps, the domestic call database, and the financial transactions database.

Jack Abramoff

Who ever printed the emails Michael Brown sent during Katrina.

I could do this all day. Hell, I could probably do it all week and barely touch the surface of all the tales that have been tattled lately, much less begin to incorporate all the accusations that get lobbed this way and that during the campaign season.

If you add in the piles and piles (and piles and stinking, steaming PILES) of celebrity tattling that occupies much effort in the press corps today, you might find yourself with a task worthy of Sisyphus if you wanted to sort through it all to figure out what was actually worthwhile and important to know about.

Which brings us back around to ole' Albert.

Whaddya say, Al? Old buddy old pal, whaddya make of all this?

The workman of today works every day in his life at the same tasks, and this fate is no less absurd.

Hey! I think you got something there.

But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious.

Yeah, yeah. I get it! I'm *conscious* of how much crap there is in this world!

Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.

What?

The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.

Aaaah, shaddap!

1 Comments:

Anonymous Chadwick said...

"There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn."

It's like the ultimate punk rock declaration, man. It means that there is no shit you can lay on me that can break my will, that can overpower my utter disgust and contempt of your petty, disgusting, bourgeois, pathetic society. I mean, I went to YOUR schools, YOUR churches, YOUR institutional learning facilities and... look... all I wanted was a Pepsi.

And anyway...


Choad is spelled chode.

7:41 AM

 

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