Manifest Compressions in Option A

"A cordon sanitaire was created around us. Don't go near the Le Pens." -- Marine Le Pen

Sitting up past bedtime, contemplating my lack of species optimism, I skimmed through Michael Gerson's column on Trump's Harrisburg rally, where he quotes Havel on the politics of the possible, the Kantian high road against Trump's illegitimate anti-immigration bigotry, comparing it to mine, mostly in house, against primarily four linear minded black women, realizing that national analysts by necessity cannot look at the localized details of the communities in which we abide. I pity Trump, distain him as well, but have to acknowledge his divisiveness speaks to certain truths, as I spent part of nine o'clock watching a true crime video of hip hop and heroin. Despite my inner city quicksand tragedy, my immersion into black culture never went that far. I was disgusted by what I was viewing; by the same token, I am too tired, too worn down, to worry about the concourse of Google's censorship, if I deign to use my mouth as my weapon. Not all blacks utilize counter culture music as a front for subterranean drug culture, but if we took Gerson off his beltway establishment deadlines, and his vaunted efforts to roll back Trumpian myopia, and had him instead share a cell with crack hoodlums filmed for the sole purposes for exposure to minority gang culture, the conscientious anxieties of Eastern European humanism, filtered through a true conservative professional rhetorician, always wary of Slavic bears, would come face to face with ghetto machismo; it might be likened to two alien species, one of whom could barely interpret the other. The urbane would fracture against such brutalism, and most of us realize this. Education does not change how expendable most of us beneath the surface are. For every Sheryl Sandberg, with her pedestrian sentiments about making elbows in the creek for option b, there are undoubtedly 300,000 people on minimum wages, fixed incomes, and Sandberg's job is what, exactly? Running Facebbok's automated systems, as if this is somehow vital, a billion images with a few hundred words per post attached. Immigration, at its core, is about mobility as a counter agent to community stagnation, and we have complicated it for thousands of years. Citizen versus foreigner. Global conglomeration and transport technologies accelerate it, but only on the presumption that journeys are survivable, however affordable or not they are.

Not that I'm any expert, but Jackson simply used a superior military strategy to destroy indigenous inhabitants, and open the Midwest for non-landed gentry. Today we call it development, a revolving door between government, industrial, residential spaces, with varying degrees of turnover, unless it all falls apart, driving around in our vehicles, stealing wifi, dying in hospice, or ever sure fire African famines. I'm old, miraculously survived through sterile regimentation, on the verge of homelessness because I'm stuck, after a lifetime of inefficient hydraulic lockdowns, driven to offices, rehabs, facilities. My great grandfathers were Austrian solders and Roman artisans. I curse their graves.