The exit of the fertilized
fetus from Kate Middleton’s vagina brought me to thoughts of this treatise from
the late Brit Christopher Hitchens. My
usual contempt for the traffic-accident nature of modern journalism is a trite
and labored critique. All one has to do
is witness the zealot-like zingers of HBO’s Newsroom
to see the current state of thought on journalism in America from a
lefty-righty war-game.
The awaiting
gilded bassinette and trained lap-dog feces remediation team for the
youngling’s diaper service, once the bacterium are amassed in his intestinal
track, are certain fonts of allegorical commentary on the lives of the
wealthy. I however am more drawn to the
percentage of the global populace undulating between fantastical allure to and
certain subsequent vomitus disgust for the reality show of the ‘Royals’ during
such cycles of engagements, weddings, births, divorces and car wrecks.
I can fathom the
distaste, but find the hunger akin to one’s attraction to the non-thinking of a
religious cult. I think of a canine-like
yearning to be ruled, so that one’s volition can be cast aside as a burden for
the random range of result from benevolent monarch to tyrannical dictator.
Hitchens will
never share in the gluttony for viewing the young prince’s bum or scrotum in
the manner so many women and men of the English-speaking world appear to
desire. As an accountant I ponder the
rudimentary nature of the child’s wealth backtracked through generations to the
misdeeds and formally crown-endowed doings.
Part of me thirsts
for the castigation of Windsor to be stripped of every penny as a penultimate
penalty ceasing before prison terms, but not civil lawsuits much like a debt to
an overstayed hotel guest refusing to budge.
I imagine many Brits feel the same.
However, as an American I can only ponder.
Hitchens sees the
immaturity of such a system as part of the lies we tell our selves. This is the illusion of safety, of protection
by systems that extort populaces into servile complacency with such dastardly
institutions of worship. The hypocrisy
of any such self-aggrandized system of government or wealth is too much to
stomach, and ultimately an insult to the mind for our primitive base
itches.
Hitchens
throughout his writing held up a mirror and requisite duty for people to think
for themselves, to choose. I imagine
many of you share my reaction to this child’s birth heralded with kings bearing
gifts as ludicrous theater. I beg of you
to see the resemblance of this one cell divided human to every historical weather
forecast watched, every traffic accident gawked at, every drive through fast
food troth entered, every cigarette cast out a car window, every soda sucked
down, every real-house-wife reality discussed and embroiled as at least my life
is less tragic, every barrel of carbon-based resource in place of systematic
investment in the sun, every subdivided healthcare delivery system sectioning
off alcoves of profiteering, every twerking pop-star perpetuating misogynistic
encores, every tax credit afforded to pulpits speaking more than acting to the
virtuosity of charity and learned investment, every swollen tire-rim rolling
like Sisyphus through the ghetto, every tuition billing statement demanding a
preponderance of decades for an unemployable knowledge base, every skyline
glittering with smog and every snarky piss-ant Republican-Democrat commentary
of professing the incompetence of the other when both have played the same
ultimate charade of bamboozlement like a clergyman and a mafia don duking it
out for mutual profit over the community.
These are the
prices of distraction from London to Los Angeles we are paying in sunken
treasure. Read, think, act, do, but dare
say to sit idle in indolence is to invite the return of the ideology of
monarchy. Where is the power of such a
theoretical king?
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