International Writers Magazine: Reality Check USA
In The Age Of Avarice
to the People's Republic of America
Presiding Over The Ashes Of Free-Market Capitalism
is a valley of ashes!--a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat
into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the
forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with
a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling
through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of gray cars crawls
along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak, and comes to
rest, and immediately the ash-gray men swarm up with leaden spades
and stir up an impenetrable cloud, which screens their obscure operations
from your sight. - F.
Scott Fitzgerald - The Great Gatsby
maybe all the things
You thought you got coming to you
Ain't coming to you
Not in this life
And maybe all the promises
You thought were broken
Were never really made
Promises never made
- Dan Bern - Toledo
doomstruck "Every Man For Himself" convention speech of 1924
roused the tycoon brigade and whipped off a flapper-rich parade of blank
checks from Wall St. to Main St. The Roaring Twenties were already careening
into what F. Scott Fitzgerald later called the "greatest orgy of
excess and greed known to modern man". That night Coolidge
was for all intents and purposes reciting The American Manifesto, the
"Where's Mine" siren to every Mr. Jones who lived under the
illusion that a Golden Ticket was the birthright of a generation. Slick
hucksters with nary a piss pot began living high on the hog on the backs
of millions of ghetto rubes and sucker farm hands who were soon to be
flattened by The Crash.
That was the year of the Awakening, when Land Barons &
Fat Cats found Jesus and ran hat-in-hand to Mother Government, forging
a golden age of American Socialism. The New Deal's avalanche of investigation,
transparency and oversight saved us from ourselves before WWII thinned
us out for the Baby Boom and helped to wipe clean the nasty memories
of economic suicide.
This was the vacuum later filled by Ronald Reagan and
an eruption in rapacious lunacy to rival the darkest days of Nero. An
army of yuppie zombies spent the Sleepless Eighties gorging on the fleshy
innards of the crumbling middle class. Blind surfs who couldn't be bothered
knotting the thin power ties were ushered into a nether world of sad
excuses and poorhouse hand-outs. But soon the Savings & Loan Crisis
forced Mother Government back into the arena to wield her mighty rolling
pin of taxpayer relief to the tune of $160 billion.
Fast forward to the Zany Nineties when everything appeared
invincible in the cyber boon. Geeks got rich bilking nerd wannabes and
consumer addicts while corporate lackeys spent trillions on researching
how to rape the new Wild West. But it all went belly up in the summers
of 2001 and 2002. It was not disaster but portended one, so there was
nowhere for the money men to scramble but to Real Estate, where the
Bubble was filled with the hottest most expensive air and Credit flowed
like sweet nectar. No one claimed to see the bottom, thus it was called
bottomless, and "no bottom" means not having to pay up. Ever.
Oh, the land of Every Man For Himself returned in spades
and mere speculation morphed into a riot of flat-out gambling. Eight
year-olds and homeless junkies were good for six-figure plastic and
hardened criminals on the lamb were buying up property on fake leases
with fluxuating interest rates that began to expand with the fine print.
Things looked so rosy in the lending field there was enough fun money
to cover a nation. Shit, it covered many nations, all the way to China,
via the White House, chief.
Ah, but the hardest lessons are learned by those in promise
to the Piper. The Piper always comes, and sometimes The Piper comes
in the form of a bank. And when the bank needs your capital and you
have none, we all have a problem, especially when those banks are attached
to the teat of Mother Government. And this is where we find ourselves
today, bub, because Mother Government is us, and we have to pony up
with $700 billion to slate The Piper or the Piper will get his one way
or the other.
The president can't stop The Piper, nor could Congress,
God or God's God or even General Motors or Standard Oil or Donald Trump
or The Saudis.
And it became frighteningly apparent these past weeks
the gang running for high office knows even less about this than you.
Listening to Barack Obama talk about economic crisis is like the aimless
rambling of a man learning that his wife has been moonlighting as a
hooker and his kids' college fund had been dumped on a three-team teaser.
But it was far easier to stomach than John McCain, who appeared as a
doddering stroke-victim wandering the halls of a sanitarium bellowing
incoherantly about how he must suspend bingo and save the uiniverse.
It's as if the very notion of how money works is as alien to him as
speaking without mini-flashcards.
These people talk as if The Market is some kind of ancient
dragon that has devoured innocent Americans. It is not a mystical beast,
it is the creation and manipulation of Americans; ones with retirement
funds and pensions and college investments for their kids and leans
on their cars and loans for their homes. And, as usual, it is never
anyone's fault. It's the system! It's the policies! It's the evil Moneylenders!
Either way, we'll soon be the proud owners of the fragments
of Coolidge's maniacal mantra. We will embrace the victims of Captilalism
and become a government-run Market controlled by The People. That's
right; the People's Republic of America. The concept of a free market
system is not only wounded, it is dead, and its ghost is named Socialism.
The government, bloated beyond precedence and under the umbrella of
a loser gaggle which still possess the balls to refer to their party
platform as Conservative have sunk the ship. Now it will be time for
a clean-up, and no matter what poor sap is unlucky enough to helm this
gory economic afterbirth, it will ultimately be ours to control.
Where's all the big government, Liberal bashing now?
Sorry, you can't hear it under all the gimmie...gimmie...gimmie...
Freeloaders, deadbeats and gamblers rejoice!
We've got your back.
© James Campion
Sept 26th 2008
Total Eclipse of McCaine
Palin Plan Plagiarizes Change Mantra Into Driver's Seat
is no point ignoring it any longer; John McCain's brief stint as the
focal point of the Republican ticket for president of the United States
is over. Sarah Palin is in charge now. The polls, the press, the people,
and the opposition party's obsession with confronting her at every turn
have spoken; it is all Palin all the time. McCain is simply in the way
Palin Overshadows McCain
one fell swoop the McCain camp galvanized a flaccid base, challenged
the gender/generational voting gap, and put some historical wow into
a comatose candidate fronting a damaged brand.
Democrats Make Mile High Noise and History - James Campion
are only two aims of achieving success at a major party's national convention;
define/redefine the candidate while skewering his opponent and bridging
any chasms widened by primary overzealousness, power positioning, and/or
the expected special interest harangues.
Stadia (Shea Dreams)
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