Tomorrow belongs, tomorrow belongs, tomorrow belongs to ME!

The morality, responsibility and consistency of those who voted for the winner may be gauged by the statement - which I have already encountered three or four times - that they "hope" that those of us who warned them against him were wrong.

Hope.

They have elected a politician to the most powerful post in the West based on what they hope he will prove.

Such appalling insouciance and irresponsibility is certain to be punished. God may delay His punishment for sin - often to the next world - but He never intermits anything to the punishment for stupidity, which is always paid, and paid strictly and with plenty of interest, here on Earth.

http://tree-and-leaf.livejournal.com/240015.html

The degree of idiocy, blind optimism driven by nothing more than the desire to be convinced, and foolish belief (someone even mentioned Tony Blair, only to conclude that Obama will no doubt be better) beggars belief. And the one person who is trying to object to this insanity is silenced. Truly, in the land of the self-blinded the one-eyed man is lucky to escape with his life.

The right poem for this historical event was composed seventy years ago

Practical sense (A poem by the great comic poet Trilussa, composed in the thirties about contemporary politics, but with some relevance to this day. My translation is followed by the original.)

The night that someone spread around a tale
That in the old castle they could see a ghost,
A mob ran there; most saw it, and most
Fell on their knees and screamed out like a gale.
Just one old man still stood on the green,
Itching to say that nothing could be seen.

Then his good sense spoke: "Is that wise?
No doubt your eyes can see some wind-blown sheets;
But where so much mob enthusiasm meets,
To follow's safer than to trust your eyes.
So it's a spectre, no argument at all."
And the old man as well started to crawl.


Bonsenso pratico

Quanno de notte sparsero la voce
che un Fantasma girava sur castello
tutta la Folla corse e, ner vedello,
cascò in ginocchio co' le braccia in croce.
Ma un Vecchio restò in piedi, e francamente
voleva dije che nun c'era gnente.

Poi ripensò: - Sarebbe una pazzia.
Io, senza dubbio, vedo ch'è un lenzolo:
ma più che di' la verità da solo,
preferisco sbajamme in compagnia.
Dunque è un Fantasma, senza discussione. -
E pure lui se mise a pecorone.

Another sign

Michael Chrichton, one of the few people who have genuinely been willing to take unpopular positions out of reason and conscience, has died on this historic day. Do you see a connection? I feel, at least, that the grimness and sadness of this day have been compounded. May a brave man sleep the sleep of the brave, "and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest"!

The saddest thing.

The saddest thing is that when, in a few months or years, all those of my friends who have committed their emotion and excitement and happines and spiritual joy to their LJs today, come back and read them again, most of them are likely to look for excuses rather than to say honestly: "We were in a mood to be deceived, and we let ourselves be deceived. This was done with our willing collaboration." They will blame people like me, or political opponents, or the Jews - anything rather than admit that they asked, begged, sought to be deceived.