Dear Uncle Sam,
The Bush people do look good, even though they are so ugly, due to the same reptilian semiotic cloud that makes people call Donald Trump “handsome.” To the rat about to be eaten, the snake is a glorious idol, blah blah blah.
There are limits to what a person can stomach, though. Personally, I’m not very susceptible to Trump’s allure, probably because casinos, lisping women with breast implants, and quasi-criminal wealth are not my cup of tea. But the aura of real power–to kill, conquer, destroy–has universal appeal. Of course some of the really big-time guys can be a little repulsive–I’m thinking of say a Mao or a Hitler–because their perversion and madness are so strongly evident. But give me Stalin or Saddam, those some beautiful sexy guy, yes.
In the old days, a political king might be a pervert, but a warrior king was always a babe. The days when men were cleansed in the purifying fire of war are gone–though not so long gone. Napoleon was a bit of a freak, but Admiral Nelson was sexier than 10 Mick Jaggers, if not quite on the demi-god level of Genghis Khan, Alexander, Achilles, David, etc., from the real good old days.
The whole machines, guns, bombs, genocide thing has totally messed up the great institution of war. It used to be that being in “politics,” that is to be in power, was all about fighting in wars. The price you paid for owning everything was having to fight about it. Since sometime around the invention of the repeating rifle the rich have increasingly decided they had “other priorities” than fighting in the wars they start.
This has to be why people love curious George for his National Guard lark. Hell, he had so much clout that he not only got into the Guard, but blew it off with impunity. A lot of voters may deny or discount the relevance of this story on a conscious level, but unconsciously they recognize it all as the stamp of American crypto-royalty. Whereas Kerry threw himself into a war that he easily could have deferred out of, and then even put himself in combat after getting assigned to safe duty. Idiot! That is not how a powerful man behaves in this era. What a phony he is for acting with circa 1863 bravery in 1968. What a flip-flopper.
Bush, being indeed Belial, the AntiChrist, the sexiness is spoiled for me. It’s the worms, the death around him, the devil’s tail poking out of the suit a bit. Cheney is not human at all, doesn’t even pretend, but is Abadon, Regional Vice President of Hell. He’s there as the numbers guy, with the experience to speak for Satan on the spot on any policy decision. Ashcroft is of course possessed by Asmodeus, and no human part of him is aware of what he does.
All of these guys have their appeal, if one overlooks their faults. But only Donald Rumsfeld is really sexy. That’s because he’s the only one who is fully human. It’s the only position Satan could trust to an ordinary human: VP of War Without End. I heard Rumsfeld speak today, addressing something called the National Press Club. Man, when he gets angry, which is a lot, he really scares me. My stomach goes fluttery like the rare times when my dad used to lose it, or like when I got in a face-off with the huge black alcoholic ex-prize-fighter at a factory job I once had, or like one of the times I got mugged. And people love it. He may not be Alexander, or Nelson, or even Patton (and of course it’s all an act though Rumsfeld, unlike all the others with Bush, did do some light military service 45 years ago), but he wears the mantle of War.
And it’s very nice. Sure, war has continued to be something of a disappointment in recent times, with its long range killing, confused objectives, and the extremely high proportion of survivable hideous mutilations suffered. But the talk of war is as great as it ever was. Every time Rumsfeld got really disturbingly angry in his talk today, he would finish off with some nonsensical patriotic platitudes, and get a round of applause (from a crowd, I think, of journalists!). For example (I took notes on this), when Rumsfeld was asked about whether he had mislead the public about the “costs of war” (not even about the reasons for the war) he became frighteningly incensed, and raved gloriously for a while without answering the question. Then he offered this peroration: “don’t be fainthearted, don’t think you can make a separate peace, don’t think you can make a private deal (pause, and then reverently) we’re in it together” (pause, thunderous applause of journalists). Needless to say, there was no follow-up.
The concept of the purifying fire of something or other is alive and well. War, having become a video game of kill-zones and booby-traps, may no longer be effectively providing this to its primary consumers. But the audience at home can get the same horror movie thrill from the bullying Sergeant, the drink-deprived Dad, the scary Uncle (not you), and the other really truly fucking scary Uncle. Pain feels good when it’s for a holy cause. In fact it feels better than pleasure, and virtual pain for a virtual cause feels almost as good as pleasure.
I think it’s time to start thinking about the 2008 election. (Or possibly just reading and re-reading the Book of Revelation.) I have been leary of the Hillary candidacy generally, but it may be that, with 2 to 5 cities around the world having been reduced to smoking nuclear craters by that time, this country may be ready for a woman’s touch. Otherwise, we need an actor. I’m thinking Warren Beatty, but I hear he’s reluctant. Tim Robbins, I don’t think. I got it–Jeff Bridges. Why not?
Sincerely,
~ Paul Bunyan
