The Clouds Part

Perhaps it was when he began floating above the podium that I fully appreciated the historic moment. Imagine, I thought to myself, a man who can levitate, who can shoot pure light from his palms and eyes, who can calm the rowdiest crowd with a nod of his angelic head, the nominee of a major American party. I smiled, then took another deep hit from my Lincoln skull bong.

Finally, the Big Show begins. How long has it taken to get here -- two, maybe 10 years? I can't quite remember. American political campaigns never end, they just go into debt. And given all the hoopla, all the shouts, tears, curses, slanders, threats, promises of savage retribution; all of the delirium and tossed off hosannas, only a small sliver of the American electorate has participated so far, with a marginal uptick come this November. The majority of American adults have not and will not move their hands anywhere near this election, another perk in the Land of the Free, and probably just as well. Who wants the overfed rabble to possibly derail the mighty history train? Keep it among the True Believers and those momentarily conned into believing, and everything should go according to plan.

I know -- I should be on the floor, blubbering about the awesome specialness of this moment, but my trick knee won't let me. It was inevitable that someone other than a middle-age or elderly white man would snag a corporate party nomination; and that Obama spreads it smooth like Sam Cooke laying it down for the ages definitely helps polish the process. You couldn't cast it better. Roaming around the libsphere, I see the predictable gushing, weeping, looking to heaven with beatific gleams. CHANGE is coming, we're breathlessly told. Big CHANGE -- CHANGE that'll burn away your clothes and leave you standing naked in the New Dawn, ready for rebirth. Feh. What can you do? Once the snake waving starts and the tongues channel Babylonian gibberish, all one can do is step outside the tent, take a few belts from a large flask, and hope that the worshippers don't get too excited and descend upon the town, torches raised, hyper-mad expressions on their faces.

Some libs are already mapping out Obama's first 100 days. I wouldn't do that if I were them. Bad karma. There's a lot of time between now and November. Plenty of room for slime, lies, and gawd knows what else. Hillary's campaign only gave us a taste. The ownership of the country may feel that a black man can be entrusted to manage their property, but numerous white people will beg to differ, some in the foulest ways. Think racism is dead in America? Evoke Dr. King all you like, but prepare for a little sociological reminder about white pride, fear, and hatred. To quote Garrett Morris, all white people are crazy.