Reply #47: Thanks, and I have no idea. What the question really boils...

[Poll_Blind]

...down to is when do I give up hope on the last, best, chance at freeing this country from a certain growing brand of Tyrany. How do I say it? The Democratic Party is not the only diner in town. But it happens to be the only one that serves my favorite dishes and the only one open 24/7. Right now, that's looking alot more like an I-HOP than a late-night five-star bistro, but I'm hoping they fire the cooks or at least give them some better recipes.

  I've lost hope exactly twice in my life and both times it had terrible repercussions which I am not willing to endure again for anything this trivial, in comparison. Losing hope is losing Hope. It's turning away from the sun, nomatter how cloud-addled for a long, intentional, sullen march into hopelessness.

  I cannot easily or casually recommend it, especially with the framework that we have in the Democratic Party.

  But it's a shitty, shitty going right now.

  Oddly, or maybe not-so-oddly, I'm reminded of some Leonard Cohen lyrics in relation to this shameful derilection of duty:

Field Commander Cohen, 1979 (?)

Field Commander Cohen, he was our most important spy.
Wounded in the line of duty,
parachuting acid into diplomatic cocktail parties,
urging Fidel Castro to abandon fields and castles.

Leave it all and like a man,
come back to nothing special,
such as waiting rooms and ticket lines,
silver bullet suicides,
and messianic ocean tides,
and racial roller-coaster rides
and other forms of boredom advertised as poetry.

I know you need your sleep now,
I know your life's been hard.
But many men are falling,
where you promised to stand guard.

I never asked but I heard you cast your lot along with the poor.
But then I overheard your prayer,
that you be this and nothing more
than just some grateful faithful woman's favourite singing millionaire,
the patron Saint of envy and the grocer of despair,
working for the Yankee Dollar.

I know you need your sleep now ...

Ah, lover come and lie with me, if my lover is who you are,
and be your sweetest self awhile until I ask for more, my child.
Then let the other selves be wrong, yeah, let them manifest and come
till every taste is on the tongue,
till love is pierced and love is hung,
and every kind of freedom done, then oh,
oh my love, oh my love, oh my love,
oh my love, oh my love, oh my love.

PB