I completely forgot this blog existed
It slipped away somewhere between Winter and Spring
where most of my memories seem to scurry.
Rachel and I went to an Obama rally tonight
sometimes I think that we are conscious of too much. I mean how do you turn off the skepticism?
Would we choose to switch it off if we really had the chance?
I think I would vote no on the previous rhetorical.
I want so badly to believe that someone is actually aware and willing to do something for us.
I'm sure this thought has been thought before
this blog blogged
this ash ashed
but really... who will save us?
During my Vonnegut obsession I frequented a column on Inthesetimes.com entitled "Dear Mr. Vonnegut"
One letter posed:
"Dear Mr. Vonnegut, I have not so much a comment or a question for you, but rather a request: Please tell me it will be OK."
To which he replied:
"Dear Joe, Welcome to Earth, young man. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, Joe, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of: Goddamn it, Joe, you've got to be kind!"
Upon re-reading his response, I don't know why I reacted so strongly,
but the first time I wept in a public place (a strict badass/Sagan rule breaker).
But I think it was the first time in my young adult life that I had witnessed anyone being real. There are no remedies to the human condition, no prescriptions, or words of advice to make your trip a little easier or more economic. You just have to hold your breath, swallow it down and hope that someone offers you a glass of water.
I once thought that Mr. Vonnegut would save the world. He would stand up tall and geriatric facing a crowd of hopeful onlookers in front of the White House and look sorrowfully into the crowd, tears streaming down his wrinkled jowls to announce with grand gestures, a heart bursting with kindness and want for the American people and proclaim that everything would be OK; that he had come at last to lift us from our deepest caverns, coax us down from our mountain peaks, embrace us with his nicotine stained hands, and finally finally make us all whole again. He would devise community projects, distribute purpose with firm handshakes (maybe throw in a couple winks), he would hand out hope without disappointment, and bestow upon us the gift of a future without a desperate and hostile path. Then he died.
I mean he was old anyways. I was being foolish, I was longing for what every young adult desires: to see their hero call the shots, design the cars, feed the hungry, house the homeless, and most importantly, call us up every other Sunday to join them for a long cup of coffee and invigorating conversation. But unfortunately, we are most frequently disappointed.
But right now, I feel this breeze.
I was explaining this to Rachel during breakfast-dinner at the Waffle House.
It's like when you are sitting in the kitchen and you feel this gust of air. It's nearly insignificant, but every now and again it swells just enough so that you are forced to look up and turn your head in search of an open window. Then you stand up and walk to the living room to see that the door is actually open, so you close it.
This breeze, though, seems to have no origin. Wherever I look, the windows are tightly sealed, the door locked, the fan unplugged. It's like being in a room that is only partly enclosed. You're not quite cut off from the rest of the world, they're still looking in and you're still aware that anything could happen at any moment, that you do not have control.
I feel that. It's not novel, I've experienced this before. It is usually followed by something big (relatively). I felt this breeze when Taylor died. I remember the morning, Icq'in on the family Gateway and obsessively glancing over my shoulder every 5 minutes just scanning the room for some opening to the outside, but I never found it. I eventually discovered the source of my discomfort, but it originated from no screen door or blasting vent.
I think something is going to happen. I think that Obama may be honest. I think that he may very well be vying for our needs to be addressed, maybe even resolved. I think he is my Vonnegut in red, white, and blue armor. His dialogue is unique. He is addressing issues so directly and with such fervency that he couldn't be lying. So many politicians skim actual problems when describing the trajectory of their economic policies, but their game is easily revealed. But Obama asks the questions that I ask: Why is this happening? Why are we ignoring the billions of wasted dollars, the glaring corruption of lobbyists and corporate tax breaks, energy mongers, and lucrative prostitution circles? Why are they allowed to go about their foreign policy blunders without addressing these incredibly visible and poignant issues?
BUT I know I know I know that he's just trying to win my vote. I know that he can't actually care about me. I can't pretend that I trust him or anyone else for that matter who consciously chooses to step up and run for such a powerful political position. There has to be something he's not telling us, something the media is hiding. Some character flaw or secret scheme to take over the world. I mean, there's something right?
Or am I paranoid? I mean I know that I'm paranoid about a lot of things, but I feel like this we must not yet shed our inhibitions or let our firm distrust be swayed by charisma and grace. We cannot allow ourselves to be wooed by a young face and fresh organic produce promises. If I think about the repetition of history (and I rarely do), I am aware of several dictators who were adored by their citizenry because they arrived just in time to save their mother lands from a devastation of all hope and purpose. How do I know that the same will not be true about our dear Obama? He has all the ingredients to be a textbook dictator. He promises change, a large shift in government structure, a new vision for the economy, racial/religious/sexual/economic equality. He's charismatic and charming without being suave or overly emphatic. He knows how to speak, he knows to whom he is speaking, and how best to formulate his dialogue based on this god-given awareness. He's perfect. And I mean, he may very well be perfect. For all I know, he is the saint of all saints that we have been hoping and clasping our hands for. He may be the solution or at least an acidic catalyst to begin addressing and resolving pressing global issues.
But he could be lying.
What I really want is this: I want him to sit down and have a cup of coffee with me. I want him to shed himself of political flattery, slouch, relax, look me in the eye and be real. I mean really real, just for a second.
And I want to ask him:
"Are we going to be OK?"
And I want him to say "Yes," I need him to say "yes."
