[Please, as always, just keep scrolling down for all the latest EZLN translations, as well as for assorted diversions]
I have decided to stay as far away as possible from that El Universal forum I mentioned last evening. I don’t consider myself even slightly naïve, but the sheer quantity of rabid dementia being spewed there is actually frightening.
There were a few more articles today on the weekend encuentro in the Selva, but I’ve decided to wait for the communiqués we’ve been promised. We should be getting some sort of summaries - much better, I believe, than more third-hand reports.
So what might be found the furthest possible distance from the madhouse at El Universal?
Even Herrick won’t suffice tonight, I’m afraid.
When did it all change? It really has, and I know I’m going to sound terribly recherché du temps perdu here, not to mention deeply uncool, but I don’t give much of a damn. There must have been a turning point, a marker, something we might have noticed at the moment if we’d been more attentive.
Jerry Springer, perhaps? Or when the first postal worker turned postal? When did it become not only socially acceptable, but mandatory, to be loud and loutish and hideously rude?
It’s everywhere, now, at least in North America [and I include all signatories to NAFTA]. Talking heads model the WWF, shopkeepers seethe, reality shows up the ante and reality won’t fold.
And the rancor spreads eastward. Every time I move back to Dublin, I see the change. Easier there, perhaps to fathom, given the rubble left in the wake of the Celtic tiger. Nowhere is the chasm more glaring. Stroll into Brown Thomas and watch the ladies and gentlemen who shop. Then, just round the corner, and see what you see.
But it’s so much more than that. It’s something else entirely.
All manner of people seem to have embraced their fury, freed it, finding outlet everywhere. Fits of lunatic paranoia on the Universal forum, old friends snapping into new and virulent obsession at the drop of a pin.
It’s as if the line between spectator and spectacle has blurred, and the audience has jumped into the Coliseum. As if, yes, the consummate counterrevolutionary coup, we ourselves have become the circus, and to hell with the bread.
I do, absolutely, promise to lighten up tomorrow.