War Memo From Bernie’s Alamo

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I have to level with you. The news is bad from Bernie, cutting 300 staffers and bringing it all home to California for a last, joyously desperate push at the nomination, against all odds and super-delegates—and the kids and everyone else want to know what’s next? Bite the bullet and pull the ticket for Clinton? Sit it out and prepare the survival kit? It is hard end-times realization as Sanders faces the brutal truth of the matter, even as there can be a rejoicing for the advent of a youthful Berniecrat push in the face of the Bearded Gen X Gophers of the House.

Can Sander people at least cultivate a pity for Clinton that can dip into a Hollywood script, with all its sentimental push-polling—Her Story. Indeed there is a pretty rich tale to be told with plenty of opportunity for unforced empathy, if not tinged with less harmonious vibes for her Clintoness. As such I have swerved and swayed and been pulled and pushed and taunted and harried and annoyed and angered and saddened as I’ve tried to ride the topsy-turvy curve of this particular election season so far, take in all the perspectives, grow my own and observe, tantalize the fringes—as a citizen, and even as one who has not always voted, shame on me.

I did not vote for Bill Clinton and I probably won’t vote for Hillary, eith I voted for Dukakis, and felt like I had just eaten the shit off the bottom of my shoe. I hate voting for these people, because you have to in the end or we’ll have a Fascist country.

At the gut, constitutional level: one person, one vote, and if you leave it on the table—your dissent is noted by Jesus. Take that, Ted Cruz. Here it is: My vote doesn’t matter because it’s only one vote, and I’m not trying to convince you or any other Californian out there about who they should vote for. I can’t stand the thought of that war vote, and I don’t care what came after it. She frightens me in the same way Cruz does. It will be weird, double-Clintonian hunker-down horror of this.

The stakes are obvious, bleak, and occasionally terrifying. It’s not too much to say that a steamrolling Donald Trump might actual steal this rotten motherfletcher of a Democracy that we’ve descended into, this cheap and ugly and vicious petty Tweet-driven madness we Americans are so very caught up in, take so very seriously—as meanwhile the rest of the world and the saner among all persons gra

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