Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Flying High on Wings of Feathers and Wax

Dear George,

Isn’t it a gas to live in a world of sociopathic sanity? The bubble that is the Beltway isn’t our nation’s capital, it’s a sheltered workshop that gives individuals, who would otherwise be committed. a chance to live normal and productive lives.

Those who would denigrate sociopathic sanity forget that this disorder is the linchpin of our economic prosperity. The Beltway has but one function, and that is to produce a constant feedback loop of chaos and destruction.

Our economy is a bubble machine that thrives only when a new bubble appears the moment an old bubble pops. Often, the economy goes into a nosedive while waiting for a new bubble to appear. It is then that the Beltway turns to that old standby, the War Bubble to keep things from spinning out of control. Every time capitalism crashes it looks for a war to bail itself out.

The depression of 1893 catapulted us into the Spanish-American War. Both that war and World War I silenced a rising populist rebellion over the abuses of the Industrial Revolution and the rank corruption found at all levels of government. Needless to say, World War II pulled us out of the Great Depression, and that was when we discovered that there was gold to be had in the creation of a garrison state.

One of the characteristics of sociopathic sanity is its self-destructive behavior. As the twentieth century drew to a close, we, in our wisdom, gutted our industrial plant and discovered the adrenalin rush of finance capitalism. So it was that we stumbled into the twenty-first century with bubble after bubble popping.

We are now facing an historical milestone when it appears that capitalism has run out of bubbles. This means that it is time to inflate a permanent War Bubble that must be kept in place until the whole structure comes crashing down around our ears.

For the sociopathic sane, a glorious fall is the ultimate rush. Their inspiration is the Greek myth of Icarus who, with his father, took to the sky with wings of feathers and wax attached to their arms. Who does the world remember, George? It remembers Icarus who flew so close to the sun that the wax melted causing him to plunge into the sea.

Who in the fuck remembers his father, Daedalus, who landed safely?

Your admirer,
Belacqua Jones

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