Should we collude, readers here
and I, in a colloquy on what to
aspire to, when the obligations
we face this November are final-
ly met? Should we pursue beyond
the limits of exculpatory refus-
al, humane drinking water, wher-
ever tapped? When the bestial
candidacy is terminated in re-
jection, what shall we propose,
to mark the occasion with a mor-
al motive? Or is that a nuisance.
Fear is all very well, as a de-
fense against the worst. But is
the scale of the horror to be a-
verted this year, to be accord-
ed nothing more than a stake of
I will be blunt. The model is a-
kin to England, in their immola-
tion shouldered alone, against a
monster. Now we have our monster,
and his retinue of coy apologists
to reject categorically, and our
eyes are upon not merely a nega-
tion, but an elevation. I'm con-
servative, so I want humility.
I'm progressive, so I want hope.
I'm ordinary, so I want liberty.
I'm flesh, so I can be mistaken.
This finest hour is bigger than
tax relief. It wants generosity.
It cannot be voted in. It has to
be poured from every tap we are.