Blind Mule Leads

A strange parallax when the debate is debated during the debate! This is a fiber optic generation of candidates; they fit seamlessly dissembled without heart or courage into a landscape that is the backyard meadow for the looking glass tunnel that overwhelmed Alice — and overwhelms them. They speak, like the Red Queen, of the impossible things. Esp. when they put their mind to it!

Most on the stage had good practice. Now they want us to follow them to the dreams that lay at the end of the looking glass.

It informs us: every destructive event has a grand vision. Every smashing of the pillars of our promise of the efforts and achievements of generations in voting rights, wages, women’s rights, every smashing (the weeping) is paradise regained.

Neither Spike Lee’s alarm clock (borrowed from the powerful scene that opens Richard Wright classic novel, “Native Son”) or smart phone chimes (nor Kasich’s shouts or Bush’s busy spoiled brat, Ben Carson’s Uncle Remus, Crux and Rubio’s pluses and minuses) will awaken America, from the destruction these media criers vying for ratings, polls, and sound bites see as paradise.