November 9: Coiled Worm, Pound of Flesh, Donald Trump

Parasitism:  this itch, this gasp in the lung, this coiled worm in the gut, hatching egg in the sinew, warble-hole in the hide--is a sort of rent, paid by all creatures who live in the real world with us now.  It is not an extraordinary rent:  Wouldn't you pay it, don't you, a little blood from the throat and wrists for the taste of the air?  Ask the turtle.  True, for some creatures it is a slow death; for others, like the stylopsised bee, it is a strange, transfigured life.  For most of us Western humans directly it is a pinprick or scabrous itch here and there from a world we learned early could pinch, and no surprise.  Or it is the black burgeoning of disease, the dank baptismal lagoon into which we are dipped by blind chance many times over against our wishes, until one way or another we die.  Chomp.  It is the thorn in the flesh of the world, another sign, if any be needed, that the world is actual and fringed, pierced here and there, and through and through, with the toothed conditions of time and the mysterious, coiled spring of death.

You may be expecting me to compare the people who voted for Donald Trump in the United to the parasites Dillard is talking about--the coiled worm in the gut that must be endured as payment for drawing breath on this planet.  I'm not going to do that.  Or, perhaps you want me to compare Donald Trump to the black burgeoning of disease that Dillard refers to.  The thorn in the flesh or the United States.  I'm not going to do that, either.

Today is the price we citizens of the United States pay for living in a constitutional democracy.  Every four years, we choose a person to lead our country by vote (and a messed up electoral college system, but this post is not going to be an American civics lesson).  And after the election, there are a few months of transition.  A limbo or in-between, if you will.  This time, we will be living between a graceful, eloquent, steady period of leadership and whatever Donald Trump is going to be.  That is our pound of flesh today.

Am I disappointed?  Sure.  Depressed?  Maybe a little.  Angry?  Yes.  Hillary Clinton won the popular vote.  That means that the majority of Americans wanted her to be President of the United States.  But, because of the electoral college system mentioned above, we have Donald Trump.  That is the reality.  You will excuse me if I am unable to express any kind of hopeful expectation right now.  The bite is too fresh.  The worm in my gut a little too painful.

I am sure that I will feel better about everything eventually.  In, like, four years.

Tonight, Saint Marty is thankful for term limits.

Donald Trump addressing his supporters last night.  (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)