I don’t recall a time when our political divide turned sustainable differences into an uncompromising contention, transforming constructive discussions into combative clashings, turning everyone into savage foes.
This is the fallout of propagating lies and misinformation masked as science and well caring, parading as paternal concern for the willfully ignorant multitudes transfixed by mass propaganda.
The smoking downward spirals of civility and prudence darken our skies.
Poisoning even the most stalwart with its whistling siren song.
Methinks evil communist forces are afoot.
Political anger is the weapon wielded in Washington by both parties and their corporate cronies against We the People, viciously turning us against one another in a souring feud. Bulldozing the foundation of our country, wrecking friendships, and severing family bonds. Creating an ambiance of fret, hate, revulsion, and racism.
Bitten by PoliTicks induces partisan addiction, causing inflammation of the psyche, resulting in myopia and obstinacy.
I am a recovering junkie of the PoliTick venom myself.
It helps to admit.
Recently, I confused a friend’s passionate comment as an attack on my character. I’m ashamed it happened. But as it is, it took that to start the recovery process.
While my friend and I have our differences in opinions, some spanning great distances, there are always bridges connecting us (veganism, for one). His observations and opinions have always given me pause for thought, no matter how antithetical to my enduring thesis of life, theories, and gruesome inevitabilities.
PoliTicks, like religious FanaTicks, is a disease of the mind. Infected, one cannot undermine the psychological ramparts the ego erects to protect its precious notions; no matter how fervently reasonability begs, we ignore.
However, for milder cases, there is a countermeasure.
A self-thrown gut-punch to the psyche.
Resulting in the appreciation of fallibility.
A receptivity for the probability of wrongness.
These finer faculties you gain by exploring a particular from multiple angles. It’s tough, I admit. But this is where varying ideas and respectful discourse comes to play in building harmony. As should the bitter-tasting thought of alienating a friend or family member over some nonsensical bull dung such as our psychopathically infused politics inspire.
My own gut-punch ushers in the next chapter of my life.
In keeping with my innate spirit, seen by the consensus as the repugnant rebellion of individualism, I’m returning to my anarchical paradise of old. The peaceful retreat into living with reduced emotion of circumstances I’m powerless to change. A contented life of de-energized politics, complete with its resurrected suspicion of the State, and every other damn thing that says it wants to help.
I’ll focus on my favorite things: veganism, family, friends, fast cars, firearms, and my misanthropic misgivings.
Too, I may write about health and fitness. Mine in particular, how at sixty-seven I can still do more chin-ups than you.