"X" marks the spot

Once upon a time, I was a fan of the tv series The X-Files. There are three primary motifs that I believe are more relevant  today than when the series was first broadcast. In no particular order, they are:

• The  Truth is out there;
• I want to believe; and
• Trust No 1

Later this week, a Pentagon report on UFOs is to be released. Will it reactivate interest in the original tv series and the multitude of themes that are, these days, scattered throughout state and national capitals and social media platforms. As a lead in the series once warned US, remember Fox Mulder’s claim that “your own government lies as a matter of course, a matter of policy”.

If you're as cynical as I've become, you may find yourself wondering if the release of a UFO report at this time (why now?) is little more than an effort to distract US from other, perhaps greater, threats to our democracy. If you want to gain some insight into several of those threats, take a look at the work of Sarah Kendzior.

Since the Republican party frequently benefits when legislative gridlock prevails, does that leave the Democrats at a chronic disadvantage, have the majorities of both parties become toadies to oligarchs running the country from behind a screen of politicians, is it all the work of Putin, or the Kochs, or are Putin, the Kochs and other oligarchs all colluding?

My personal theory on how and why 99% of the population of many alleged democracies are voting for the candidates they do is that the Martians, or other aliens, are hiding behind the moon and  beaming a "stupid" ray at the populace while we sleep and boosting it as we head to the polls. Perhaps the Republicans are doing a worthwhile service by suppressing voting opportunities. After all we know, you'd have to be "fat, dumb and sappy" to vote for a Republican candidate.

truth

By Gwendolyn Brooks

And if sun comes

How shall we greet him?

Shall we not dread him,

Shall we not fear him

After so lengthy a

Session with shade?

Though we have wept for him,

Though we have prayed

All through the night-years—

What if we wake one shimmering morning to

Hear the fierce hammering

Of his firm knuckles

Hard on the door?

Shall we not shudder?—

Shall we not flee

Into the shelter, the dear thick shelter

Of the familiar

Propitious haze?

Sweet is it, sweet is it

To sleep in the coolness

Of snug unawareness.

The dark hangs heavily

Over the eyes.

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