But I know a lot. Ask Helk. He knows physics down to the level of quanta, but he also knows I feel the nature of the universe more than he does. I’m an oxymoron. I’m just a dilettante writer. But at some level I know, have always known, absolutely everything, from the smallest to the biggest. I know where everything fits and how, no matter where you point your finger. I can reorganize the whole universe from that point, see it all in an instant, and then struggle to explain it to people who can’t remember all the ripples as they expand.
Normally I don’t parade that fact. But this week I’m outraged. When everyone focuses on a pure triviality, my perspective becomes, uh, hi-def. Who’s the smartest pundit in the world? Krauthammer. To me he’s just a blister. I told my wife what he would say last night almost word for word. He was right but he was wrong too.
The United States is being slain. All the myopic pundits can’t ever quite see it. Too much personal stuff, too much belief in the power of maneuvering. Too much intimidation by the better educated libs of the NYT and WAPO. They all still think there was a course at Harvard or Yale or Columbia that just makes you smarter than everyone else.
My perspective is different. Why I’m content to some degree that educated morons will succeed in ending the American experiment. Not because there’s anything but buffoonery to sustain their world view, but because intelligence rises and falls like the tides, subject to the cycles of the moon and sun.
What I’m trying to share here is my boredom with the process. I know what is happening, I know why it is happening, I know exactly how fucking idiotic all the supposedly brilliant people are (as if I were watching from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel), and I know that we are as doomed as a sailor with feet cast in concrete and attached to an anchor chain tossed overboard.
So I’m part human and part pure mind. My mind says let it go, let it all go. It’s time. My human self says fight to the death, to the last gasp, and beyond.
I choose to fight, even as I drift farther and farther away in the dreams I experience at night. What I’m telling you is that I need all of you to keep me tethered HERE.
Raebert’s wrong to turn his back. I need you all.
P.S. Lake reminds me that nobody knows physics anymore but MIT and Cal-Tech nerds. He’s right.
Then why does Raebert know the answer to the riddle of Schroedinger’s Cat? When the box opens, what’s in there is definitely dead, unless he recognizes the face. If it’s Mickey, Izzie, Elliott, or Cassie, it’s his cat. Everyone else is Schroedinger’s and a dead man.