A Few Mixed Metaphors for John McCain as Poor Old Marat...
MY NAME IS JOHN McCAIN AND I APPROVED THIS INSANITY (but now I don't like it): Poor Old Marat McCain, he stirred up the hornet's nest of mixed metaphors, he rode the tiger but the old saying goes like this:
"The hardest part of riding on the back of a tiger has always been that of getting off."
Whether it's trying to get down off the beast he created or, like Poor Old Marat, finding himself drowning, being swept away in the wave of anger he stirred up... (The Persecution and Assasination of John Sidney McCain as Performed by the Inmates of the Presidential Rallies under the Direction of Karl Rove's former towel-boy, Steve Schmidt ?)
Ralph Ellison, in his novel Invisible Man limns the progressive disintegration by which Ras the Exhorter becomes Ras the Destroyer (not intentionally and not desired).
John McCain looked into the eyes of that (drunk? mentally challenged?) woman (we only saw the back of her hair) who incoherently finished her sentence against Barack Obama jumping to "He's an Arab,"and, unlike Bush gazing lovingly into Putin's eyes, I think maybe McCain saw his own lost soul in there -- lost to mob mentality, lost in the fires of insane anger -- and saw it was now out of control, as his mob booed him for suggesting that Barack Obama was a decent man, because by God, they were salivating and yelling:
"WE DON'T CARE!! WE WANT TO SEE A FIGHT. WE WANT BLOOD!"
If McCain had ever dabbled in ritual magick, had ever read anything by Aleister Crowley, or any other Occult Practitioner, he would know the first rule of invocation:
NEVER CALL UP ANYTHING YOU CAN'T SEND BACK DOWN
The stories of those who did usually end with the creature tearing them to pieces -- as does the story of Marat* in Peter Weiss's Marat-Sade.**
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*Poor old marat they hunt you down
The bloodhounds are sniffing all over the town
Just yesterday your printing press was smashed
Now their asking your home address
Poor old Marat in you we trust
You work till your eyes turn as red a rust
But while you write they're on your track
The boots mount the staircase
The doors thrown back
-----------------------------
* *Full title:
The Persecution and Assasination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton under the Direction of Monsieur de Sade
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"The hardest part of riding on the back of a tiger has always been that of getting off."
Whether it's trying to get down off the beast he created or, like Poor Old Marat, finding himself drowning, being swept away in the wave of anger he stirred up... (The Persecution and Assasination of John Sidney McCain as Performed by the Inmates of the Presidential Rallies under the Direction of Karl Rove's former towel-boy, Steve Schmidt ?)
Ralph Ellison, in his novel Invisible Man limns the progressive disintegration by which Ras the Exhorter becomes Ras the Destroyer (not intentionally and not desired).
John McCain looked into the eyes of that (drunk? mentally challenged?) woman (we only saw the back of her hair) who incoherently finished her sentence against Barack Obama jumping to "He's an Arab,"and, unlike Bush gazing lovingly into Putin's eyes, I think maybe McCain saw his own lost soul in there -- lost to mob mentality, lost in the fires of insane anger -- and saw it was now out of control, as his mob booed him for suggesting that Barack Obama was a decent man, because by God, they were salivating and yelling:
"WE DON'T CARE!! WE WANT TO SEE A FIGHT. WE WANT BLOOD!"
If McCain had ever dabbled in ritual magick, had ever read anything by Aleister Crowley, or any other Occult Practitioner, he would know the first rule of invocation:
NEVER CALL UP ANYTHING YOU CAN'T SEND BACK DOWN
The stories of those who did usually end with the creature tearing them to pieces -- as does the story of Marat* in Peter Weiss's Marat-Sade.**
------------------------------
*Poor old marat they hunt you down
The bloodhounds are sniffing all over the town
Just yesterday your printing press was smashed
Now their asking your home address
Poor old Marat in you we trust
You work till your eyes turn as red a rust
But while you write they're on your track
The boots mount the staircase
The doors thrown back
-----------------------------
* *Full title:
The Persecution and Assasination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton under the Direction of Monsieur de Sade
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posted by Saintperle at
12:56 PM
