Echoes of Daniel

"I've done thousands of interviews!", the little big man, on my provocation

Somehow, I knew The Washington Post would produce this column on Angela Merkel, even if I lacked the requisite knowledge of Stelzenmuller and Brookings Institution Senior Fellows. Progressives, mothers, women, need assurance even while their worries are stoked, and I've written posts in the past that Merkel has, essentially, reconstituted German imperial ambitions which the Third Reich strove for, and had Hitler defeated the British, we might be in exactly the same place. 

If you'd like evidence that lithium might have a beneficial, mitigating effect on my dead brain tissue, my quarrel with Schneider in or around 2009 might offer proof I am in denial: when I cut myself off from his Cosmoetica site I thought I basically destroyed my career, and literally hid in the kitchenette, literally, cowering as if Dan and his wife were brain bugs about to suck my bodily fluids into a husk, and telephoned Marie in tears. The laity doesn't do what I did, even to B personalities, and here we are, perhaps my journalism days comparatively over. I don't know, not for sure, though it is harder to get paid, harder still to get prominent, and it isn't that Schneider is stupid, or doesn't have a point or two. I simply hated him, and didn't have the deviance to finesse it, play the facile invalid, take what opportunities I could. 

He isn't wrong about creative writing complacency, that it is coprocephalic. I came up in it's culture as an indigent poet starving to death offside Temple's campus, and going down in it through the firewall of Submittable fees, and don't have time to read it all, even if I wanted to put on liberal costumes to get laid. The journals aren't commercial products because heaven forbid students learn how to sell a marketable product. Would it have helped me in the eighties? No. Jerry was the Irish atheist Christ, and Professor Clark was beloved Apostle Thomas, and I was Janis, flaming out on angel dust for all that I truly thought about the future, and now I am megalomaniac enough to believe I can penetrate access to Bannon for vengeance, burying my hatchet in the rabbit hole that I voted for Trump the motherfucker over more of the same subsistence under the left. As much trauma as Diamond Park's location inflicted on me, I was still young, resilient, believed I could succeed, did, until I let the walls come tumbling, and never truly resurfaced. I'm hanging by my fingernails, actually pleading in my soul to threaten Riverside's manager in my notice, storming off, dead of winter in the bend, only my hellish intestines keeping me on the bit. Anything I can do to constrict CILS even further, like an anaconda, I'm going to do. The snake kills that way by design, atavistic. Revenge, that denotes a great deal of emotional involvement. 

Jennifer Rubin, by acclimation?

When Donald Trump first started polling in with his support at 20%, I tweeted to his account, "you had to borrow money from your father for your casino," which in translation means the electorate supporting him doesn't look too closely at how Donald Trump makes a living. Hitherto this assessment, I've taken a rather mercurial pleasure in the stomach cramps he's given to the fourth estate, but this doesn't mean I think he's good for the country. Fareed Zakaria may admonish angry reactionism by asserting that Trump cannot restore the US to what it was, and may be right even if he is often too generic to take seriously. Jennifer is finally closing in on what the media should have been doing about Trump, which is to ask what the fuck has he done other than make contracts? Not much.

I've been reading Jennifer's output for awhile, a few years at least. She is cool to libertarian sentiment, which may mean she's sexually content; she's reasonably hardline, rightly remains suspicious of the ongoing "Iranian revolution," doesn't have any of the glaring demerits of the Clinton biography (Kenneth Starr's report). She's female. Her election would be historic. Wapo's power and street credibility would take a quantum leap. Post election headlines would scream for days: Disability Journalist drafts Jennifer Rubin campaign singlehandedly

And voila. The woman gives me a second tier cushy policy position, scolds me that addressing people with "fuck you!" is not a lead for how Julie Andrews vocalizes chords in The Sound of Music, and between Rubin, Merkel, and I, all our male colleagues wind up emasculated in terror, a new age of Pax Romana ensues before you even know what hit you.

Leers menacingly.