It's Mr. Wallace (unworthy son) who's at fault here: for not, in his capacity as Moderator, having made it clearly understood, beforehand, by both the debaters, that they might speak at his invitation only, and only for the amount of time that he might grant them to speak, and that otherwise they were to remain silent; and if they should violate this simple rule of conduct (and were not, say, silent when they had not been given permission, or invited, to speak), the fucking debate would be fucking over--with prejudice. Simple. Obvious. But not widely understood in America, because, by and large, Americans are stupid. A sickening majority of them believe, for example, in the Devil--the Devil. Imagine the stupidity of that. So maybe, in his turd-vulgar way, Trump really is our Representative President--in the same mystical sense that the Bourbon monarchs of France (and, no doubt, the Valois before them) thought themselves representative of their country--L'état c'est moi. I can conjure the vision of a Reality TV "star" taking Louis XIV for a rôle-model--Why not?
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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