The Weekend Politics Leaves You to Your Own Devices

♫ What does it mean
What can you do about it
What can you say
You don’t even know about it

Nobody talks
Nobody listens
Well look around
Yeah look out your window

They’re having a ball
Having a party
Well come inside
You can do what you like

Well it’s a nightmare
It’s all negative
Nothing matters
And what if it did

You could lock your doors
Close all your windows and
Hide away
It’s only life ♫

Some percentage of caterpillars who begin pupating never emerge as butterflies. Your indolent Weekend Politics host did not bother to look up the statistics, but he assumes* the causes for permanently arrested development among the Lepidoterae start with destruction of the cocoon and move down the list through predation before ending with the bugger liked its nap. Whatever the explanation, the moral screams out: Beware ye who enter here. Chrysalization not guaranteed.

Uvular has identified strongly with the quitter caterpillars all this past week and expects to do so for a fair stretch. Nothing does seem to matter. The world’s stock market rose sharply as an honest-to-Mammon global trade war commenced. Devin Nunes and Dana Rohrabacher lapped their Democratic challenger fields in top-two primaries for election to the U.S. House of Representatives despite acting as out, loud and proud traitors to the Republic. Trump admitted he will do not preparation for his sit down with Kim Jong-Un, and even the MSNBC talking heads called that “bold.”

At some point even the Endless Streaming Twitter account blows out it vocal … fingertips? It surely does not have chords. Christ, even metaphors can no longer hold.

Getting back to the larger point, your dispirited WPT host** must needs withdraw for a few days. The danger, as belabored in the opening paragraph after the overlong epigraph, looms that he will remain away. Never fear. He will never transform into anything that flits, but he might make a convincing Pink Floyd inflatable pig.

++++

n.b., Should anyone ever ask what kinds of songs the Velvet Underground would have recorded had Lou Reed and John Cale listened to nothing but Kinks’ and Byrds’ albums, answer “The Feelies.” How does one make a guitar buzz, swirl, and chime at the same time? Add in the dead-on Reed vocalizations and the not-quite jazz Moe Tuckeresque drumming, and who couldn’t listen to Only Life on repeat forever?
*No ass. No ass. Politcados become the ass.
**Ongoing computer problems also bedevil Uvular, leaving him without consistent access to these comment threads, saddling him with a complete inability to see Twitter embeds even after doing the proxy trick, and staring down two full days of delayed work-from-home work. Missing deadlines definitely darkens the worldview of an already discouraged man. Rather than wallowing here, Uvular must delve into his to-do list elsewhere.