Henri Regnault – General Prim 1868
I had a big September 11 post all written in my head, full of fire and anguish, but in the end I couldn’t do it. Others all over the Internet did a much better job than I could have. Besides, the events of the past year have left me sad and depressed. Not beaten, though- the bastards will not get me down.
One could be forgiven for thinking that the 11th of this month has a hex on it- especially if you’re Hillary Clinton. I can’t but think there’s a little Karma adjustment going on. Trump, bless his boneheaded little heart, at least had the decency to know when to shut up. We’ll see if that holds up.
Meanwhile, we have millionaire athletes protesting the national anthem because this country isn’t treating them right. The reality disconnection there is mind-boggling.
Days like yesterday put me in mind of The Boss, in his younger, less politicized days:
Outside the street’s on fire in a real death waltz
Between what’s flesh and what’s fantasy
And the poets down here don’t write nothing at all
They just stand back and let it all be
And in the quick of a knife, they reach for their moment
And try to make an honest stand
But they wind up wounded, not even dead
Tonight in Jungleland
God help the United States of America. We need it.