Tea for Coup

Coup for Tea

I can’t want to write a “straight” article today. But Robert Hubbel says what I would say here. And don’t miss this one.

It is happening… We are in it. Who are we in it? Where do we stand? They are going to do it. They want to go all the way with it. They like it — the new/old feelings. Do we care enough to do something about it? Will we go down with it? Why are they doing it?

But even if we do something, won’t that just be nothing? Or less than nothing? But if we do nothing, we will feel even worse. Yet if we do something, they may come to get us eventually. But in any case, they will come to get us — all of us — eventually. Better to do something. But what do we do?

We are dis-united, untied. We are like protoplasm, blobbing around. Feel the burn, the cynicism.

Go march. March against the coup. March, march, march. No Kings. Carry the little sign. Walk, Picket. Pathetic. Pathetique. They mock us. Troll us. Or hit us. They’ve got the military. They’ve got the FBI. They’ve got the drones and the Proud Boys and KKK and the Operation Mockingbirds and the nukes and the Stargate and the masked ICE. They’ve got the voting machines. We’ve got our little phones, each personal total surveillance broadcast medium letting them know everything we think and do, at every infra-second.

Please tell us what do we do now, gorgeous George Orwell?

This is kinda fun. So fun! Madness. Chaos. Catastrophe. Simulation. Illusion. All life is short, transitory. They say all values are simply made up, concocted. There is no ethical imperative. Morality is for slaves, said Nietzsche. So just do whatever. Do whatever feels good. Just do it. You do you, Melania. I do me. And yet, the long arc of the universe bends… swivels… curlicues…

“They” (formerly known as the experts) tell us, in our children’s lifetime, it will reach four degrees Celsius warmer than today. This means that at least 7 billion of us (them) die, at a minimum. So bad! Bad situation! Feels so bad to think about. So think about buying a nice expensive suit instead. 40% off sale at Paul Smith. Good to be dressed well for the concentration camps, the death camps, the Apocalypse. The End Times. The robot wars. Shut off the news about all of that other bad stuff. Nice sunny day. Dance party.

George Bernard Shaw said: “Everyone talks about the weather. Nobody does anything about it.” So we did something about it.

They just can’t wait to do it. Trump’s brain is melting down, disintegrating, so he needs to do it fast. Itching to do it. Faster. No real words come out of his mouth anymore. Just hateful sounds, inchoate mewls. Trump — he really is the perfect avatar of that ol’Antichrist energy, isn’t he. Out of central casting. But Peter Thiel: He is number one in the running for the real Antichrist. Or is it Elon Musk? No, it has to be Thiel, with a bullet. After all, Thiel loves to talk about the Antichrist. Thiel claims Greta Thunberg is the Antichrist but we think he knows he really is the Antichrist. Sneaky as usual. Probably gives him special warm psychopath fuzzy buzzy feeling to suspect he is going to make Hitler look like a piker, when all is said and done.

Gay Catholic Antichrist? Oh, isn’t he just killing it? He’s killing us, too. All so hilarious. Isn’t it just, like, so ironic? Buy the best culture, the best lawyers, the best reporters, the best lay. Then you have Vance coming on strong with his mascara. Junior league tinplate despot vibes. Power is so hot, such a thrill to win the big game. Banana Republic stuff.

It is — so ironic, isn’t it? Postmodern Nazi Christian white nationalist dictatorship. Just doing that whole thing all over again. If it was good enough back in the 1930s, now let’s replay it, but this time let’s layer in AI, algorithmic mind-control, souped-up autonomous drones, and — hey, why not? — let’s implant chips in the brain. Get all those fools to “Seig Heil,” salute, goose-step in lockstep. Be like Putin: So fun riding high on the golden jet with the transnational oligarch mafia ruling elite plotting each other’s murder. Enjoy the benefits of cellular rejuvenation, biohacking. Live forever. Die never.

A bit too late for sad old Trump though: His brain is decaying very quickly now. brain-soup squirts out of his ears. Just little sounds come out of his yarping lips now. Squarps, squarls of hate, threat, contempt. The White Man’s Burden. White Privilege Trumps Everything. Nothing but a living, inchoate snarl with hair implants, diapers, and catheter, guzzling Diet Coke and snorting Adderall.

So this is our lives now: This was the inevitable end point, the culmination of the great America, the great promise, the American dream-scream-machine-scene.