There's hardly a Patriotic Consensus like there used to be, that somehow excused and made possible the Endless War in Iraq and Afghanistan and Libya and the Yemen, which the official New York Times' and Wall Street Journal's editorial opinion epitomised. But they'd be mad to think they have that kind of support now. Wouldn't they be? Interestingly--one glimpses here the scaly claw of the Lizard Master--Trump really probably is certifiably demented (as was his father, at an early age); his very subsidence into lunacy and imbecility being simply a meaningless cover for the deployment of armed force.
I burn hot. I tend to exhaust people in conversation, like Margaret Fuller did Carlyle. Which leaves me (but apparently not Margaret) always wishing I'd shut up sooner. I have quite a few friends and not many enemies, but I'm very proud of the few I do have. There is consensus among my friends about me, which is how I know to write about myself. What my enemies think of me I have no idea. That, of course, could be dangerous.
The list of interests and favorites is absurdly partial and half-assed, particularly as to music and books. It's the stupid format of the blog itself, as given, that, of course, I color outside the lines and burst the seams of.
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