The power of a lie. Look at the usual platform of party politics and smell something significantly new. It’s a lie. The crony’s of one party seeking suck from the unseen Nawabs of foreign shores playing the game of double cross have been defeated. Seemingly at every turn. What has happened? How can it be that upon the daily waves of televised opium such a miracle has occurred? Someone who unexpectedly blusters out the truth that the rest of the nation has become so long unaccustomed to saying. The words of frustration and anger that belie that all is definitely not well, nor has it been for such a very long time in recoverable memory. That sneaky box-like expensive little object locked in very hand like a parrot on the shoulder in days of sail, squawking out his name alone above all others grating the senses of all who are in earshot. Here at the eleventh hour of fading hopes for a better tomorrow, for a better century, the most unlikely candidate come of a class whose values far above our own. It is so hard to believe that he can descend from the clouds to tell the rest of us what we already know every day far to well, of how it is. The fix is in! The ponies near the finish line but the race hasn’t started yet?
Who are these unseen power brokers that their own networked sounding brass ever threaten to reveal, but always barely raise to toot? The faces of their friends rest in the collective mind like those other stony portraits that efface Mt. Rushmore. They are the rich and well to do on the stolen wealth of our efforts and the handlers of their jealously guarded airwaves long usurped from us make sure their names are spelled correctly. Lest those other names that are quizzically absent but merely hinted at take them to task for doing otherwise. The shades of these personalities, past and present, form a contiguous row back through the decades like a fence that the rest of us dare not peek over. What lies behind is the real answer to our own dilemma. One that we desperately dread to find. A mirror of sorts, of a kind, like the one that the legendary Perseus once used. So powerful is the one that uses it that they can never again doubt themselves again as they move backwards into that ancient realm to the resting place of eternal truths that lay carelessly discarded in the ruins of what formerly was. The beast that plagues us has no arms or legs or even a torso but merely a face. It is our own. A visage not as we would have wished to have had it in the youthful musings of decades past. But one that has surrendered the precious gift of the freedom of self-determination for merest of ongoing trivial illusions. We fell too easily in love with ourselves!
The winner takes the podium amidst the throng of his own cheering fans. He remarks that the road to leadership is a very hard one but is glorious when there is a clear win. So many new faces suddenly appear. And many of the old faithful kneel to polish their tarnished armor to make it bright and shiny once again. The army reforms its ranks, preparing for the larger conquests. And expects to take the rest of us along. There is muted excitement surges up and down the line! Those who felt compelled to peer beyond the old wooden stockade breath a sigh of relief. They will not have to meet their personal Gorgon after all. Their messiah has finally come to cleanse the land of those old out of date beliefs that they all held that eventually did not pan out. Those orphans of former misguided enthusiasm’s that seemed so real and true and pure to every ear. The ones that now are stained with a lingering excrement of universal ire and disappointment. Now they lay torn to shreds in the gutter. A new day has dawned, the sun rises, and all are ready to be lead out of darkness into the light of a beautiful shining dawn into the eternal Utopia of everything they ever wanted . . . AGAIN!