Further news of the vile body

No one prefers, to advance upon
the Sabbath a comment that seems
partisan. The peaceful day calls
out for a promenade on the strand
and a nap. Here again, however, we
encounter the shortfall of blog-
ging: that nothing is seen beneath
the present date. And this date is
close to closing off appeals of an-
other's life. After a week of up-
holding health care and fairness
elsewhere, our Court is expected
to affirm our exotically unusual,
and unarguably cruel disposal of
human life. Sorry to mention it.

We tend to abhor every vengeful
standard of justice, and count
the morally horrid practice of
the Clintons' introduction into
our Federal courts, of "victims'
statements," as unutterably re-
volting, but abhorrently charac-
teristic of their chronically ex-
ploitive quest for favour at the
bottom of the barrel. The en-
tire principle, of ceding the 
administration of justice to the 
State, was predicated on renoun-
cing that of the clan, which they
champion. It's what their sooth-
sayers say to do, because it
meets their ends. 

But what can we expect them to
know, who learned only what pro-
motes the arc of their deliver-
ance from their origin? In this
way, the Clintons became aristo-
crats of all our hurt feelings;
so is it why, a great ghastli-
ness but rises with their tide?

 

"Proud," she tweeted, Friday.
What will she say, of the im-
pending, certain favouring of
killing as a punishment, from
that same Court that saw our
pleadings, rightly? Who has
heard her plead, for justice
where its votes are few? We
poll the world to cite a case.

Who next will be our Caryl
Chessman: who will hold his
breath, to share another mo-
ment of this world with glib
concession, and serenity with
election on the altar of laun-
dering our life in someone's
blood?

Our culture is not her fault.
The family gift is avoidance.
Her demurral to lead strikes
one as suggesting, she relies
upon being seen as an innocent.
(He makes a career out of it).
And who is not! But should a
sparrow fly to ask, Shall the
the children be awakened, or
should a bean sprout seem to
bow with any pleading, we'd 
hope they never saw such lead-
ership, to leave them so con-
fused.

 

I may say, I know the industry
which gives us our candidates;
and I'll be thought impolite
by those who laud its nobility,
its unending excuses and thrills.
I saw it, I was with it, but it
does impose upon one's patience
with prevarication, eventually.
Yet it's there, inside the "war
room," where Clintons hire out 
for a day's position.

I wonder, who needs to put anoth-
erto death, to win his job? Mrs 
Clinton only cried in her New Hamp-
shire primary; Bill flew home to 
slaughter someone for votes in 
his. But this is vastly greater 
than any Clinton's caution. This 
is what our republic does, and so 
do we who run it with their kind.

We can make them let us stop. Or
shall we always be making ends 
meet?

Luchino Visconti
La terra trema
1948