Convulsions of a Politico Masochist

These are trying times.

Times in which an end or a beginning is one opinion swayed.

Or is that one perspective?

Or one piece of propaganda?

Will history repeat itself and a people robbed of hope?

Or will history be made?

For me, I see no source of hope. There is only a bleak end.

What will change? What can change? What will be allowed?

The stage had been set and the rules have been passed.

For every election. I am relegated to the pondering of a vote for a lesser evil.

What will change?

Perhaps a perception of change is all that is needed.

Perhaps the belief is all that is needed to cause change.

Perhaps this awakens democracy and truly a beginning of progress sets in.

Perhaps we are fooled again. 

Every amateur political fan predicting a landslide victory for Obama punctuates his statements with “unless…”

There is always doubt, there is always fear, there is always an eerie whisper of unshameful mendacity.

Will there be change?

Will change be allowed?

What will that change be?

True change comes quickly.

Change is a sudden and radical alteration of present reality.

All else is evolution or stagnation, mindless of its color or promise.

After months of contemplating and complaining, I ask myself, will I vote?

The better question is “if I vote will it count, even if I vote for the winner?”

The conclusion is no, on both counts.

There is a play performed. Democracy, socialism, totalitarianism, and so on, till end, are plays performed. Anyone, a politico, is aware of the play. The roles change to suit the times, the philosophies change to hold the masses, but the play goes on.

And to this end, convulsions temper a mind unable to rest, unable to change.