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I’ll Remember It For You, No Charge August 11, 2015

Posted by The Typist in movie, Politics, Reality, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street, We Are Not OK, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, WTF.
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It was the reference to Bobby Kennedy that was the gut punch. I won’t know if a Hollywood writer tossed in the line about Ferris F. Fremont buying up all the voting machine companies, or if that’s in Phillip K. Dick’s novel Radio Free Albemuth. It would be easy enough to find out. Get it on Kindle. Search it. It might put my mind at east to know that is was a bit a Hollywood fluffing for an overtly political movie.

I’m afraid if I buy it, I’ll read it.

Bobby Kennedy. I found myself compulsively wondering, as I wandered up to Cansecos for cigarettes to steady my nerves. if Sen. Bernie Sanders will make it to the podium alive. Bobby. Martin Luther King, turning from civil rights to the war and economics, stealing Malcom’s African Nationalist economics of the Ballot or the Bullet speech into equal rights on every level, questioning the foundations of a society that requires a pool of surplus labor of all colors starving in the wings, wars invented to siphon off and thin the surplus while making money for all the right people.

Bang.

Have you ever watched Bulworth? If you do, freeze frame on the assassination scene at the end. (Don’t complain about the spoiler. If you were going to watch the most important political film made in America in the 20th century you’d have gotten around to it by now.) Notice the uncanny resemblance of the central tableau to that on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel.

Bang.

Perhaps They have evolved beyond that, become more sophisticated. Buying airtime for Rush Limbaugh until he caught on, tapped a vital and ugly vein at the core of America. Fox News. Badgering the real journalists for not being Fair and Balanced until the media corporations took over and enforced their version of Fair and Balanced. Flat earth versus round, equal time for both sides: you decide. They have divided us as bitterly as the Serbs and Croats, something to think about if it all comes apart. Because that ended so well. And the Right has all the guns.

Bang.

So that’s it, I’ve lost it. You’re sure of it. Certain, because you never took a turn to sleep in your office because someone tried to break in, because someone was rifling the trash at night before corner-store shredders were a thing, because of the dark sedan frequently across the street that drove off when you approached it. All because of that Menace to the American Way, U.S. Rep. John Breaux. His voting record is hard to find, but he was as centrist as they come. A founder of the Democratic Leadership Council, which birthed President Bill Clinton and gave that cute young Republican Hillary a leg up into her lap dance for Wall Street. Still, he was a threat. A victory by Breaux in the “first primary” of the old Louisiana election system could have upset the apple cart and tipped the Senate to the Democrats in 1986. This bode ill not just for the last years of Reagan, but was a threat to the entire Southern Strategy of the GOP, built on open race baiting and voter suppression. And he did. We did. We beat the motherfuckers, even if my own views were nothing like Breaux’s. And those things happened: the sedan, the garbage riffling, the attempts to force the door.

Paranoid. If paranoia consists of someone putting a plate of fish in front of you and saying, here’s your chicken, and you call them out, then I’m pretty much stark raving. If paranoia is writing stories questioning the campaign finances of a suburban police chief who publicly pistol whipped a disapproved of boyfriend of his daughter’s b in the parking lot of Oakwood Shopping Center, and having your car broken into and nothing taken, not even several dollars of change in the tray on the console. Nothing but your briefcase. Yep, I’m pretty much talking to the lizard wall paper. That’s me.

I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that a few chapters of Black Lives Matter have taken to harassing Sanders, because groups like that are never infiltrated by the Red Squad. There are no provocateurs. Red Squads, he says. (Make circle around your ear with you finger here). No, I’m sorry, I meant that bunch of photographers covering the First Gulf War Protest who were standing at a good distance from the rest of the media. The ones in suits. Ever met any photo-journalists? Ever seen one working in a suit?

Paranoid. Ever had your named leaked to the newspaper as part of a list of people who would not be admitted to a George Bush rally? I think the most radical thing I had done in the 20 years before that was write a letter to the editor suggesting if they wanted a Decalogue in the city park behind my office, maybe they should consider the Bill of Rights. Oh, and I volunteered for Howard Dean. Remember him? Raaawwwhhhhh. Yeah, him. Pretty much everyone on the Fargo 42 had done some work for Dean.

So, signed any petitions for Bernie Sanders? Been to any rallies? Really. (Scribbles in notebooks). Anything else? Any intemperate political remarks on Facebook? Hmmmm. (Scribbles).

I have shied away from electoral politics since the Coup of 2000. (Yes, you heard that right. Or don’t you remember that video of the flown-in GOP hill staff Hitler youth trying to break down the doors in Broward Country, bringing the recount to an end.

(Damn, he went and did it. Hitler.} No, I said Hitler Youth. I think I get an exemption for that. If not go back and see if you can find the video on the Internet. It forgets nothing. Unless it is erased.

I haven’t watched a national news program since I returned from Europe. I had avoided cable news in any form for years before that. My ex- kept asking me why I wouldn’t watch MSNBC. I couldn’t. I probably would have had a stroke by now if I did. I joined the Breaux campaign not because I agreed with his politics, but because as a young newspaper reporter I was tired of watching. I wanted to get into the Great Game.

It is not a game, unless your definition of games includes Russian roulette, the poison scene from The Princess Bride and, possibly, Day Glo lawn darts in the dark while on acid.

I try not to click through the latest bits of idiocy by the GOP nominees. I would not have been caught dead watching that debate. This isn’t for shits and giggles. This is real, as real as that black sedan, as real as the leaked list, as real as it gets. And I have a feeling it about to get a lot worse.

Why did they have to mention Bobby Kennedy?

Why, when Sanders is single digits behind the neo-liberal (did I say lap dance?) Secretary Clinton.

Why did I watch that fucking movie?

Do not watch Radio Free Albemuth. Do not watch Bulworth (sorry about the spoiler). Just go on about your lives treating the GOP nominees like they’re from the Flat Earth Society. But do stop and think and debate the tactics of certain chapters of Black Lives Matter as if there wasn’t only once answer.

Oh, and definitely do not watch Network. Especially the assassination scene.

(Bang.)

Sorry, I hope I didn’t spoil that one for you, too.

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