Topic: "Two Thousand, Ate" (4)
There are but moments left until a cosmic rotation is completed by the spherical juxtaposition of planetary objects which occurs every 365.25 days, approximately. Tina Fey might add, "And I can see Russia from my house."
Obfuscation, to Frodo, is the word that best documents the systemic occurrences on the small blue planet in the year that is about to end. Whether it be a failed President, or a failed campaign, there are those who refuse to recognize the loser's role. Instead of muttering "Shut up and deal," they instruct us to wait two decades, or longer, in order to note properly the role that history will assign to the facts upon which they have already decided. Time, they hope, will cloud the memory and "obfuscate" the facts.
The economy, whatever that word means, sucks. The Chinese are not selling enough toy dolls whose heads fall off and also carry exorbitant amounts of lead paint in their construction. The Saudis are shocked by the precipitous decline in oil prices, to equal a level more than double that when the Incomparable Moron first entered office. Americans have had their credit cut off and are no longer able to support the expansion which fueled the somnambulism of the subject juxtaposition the past ten times it has occurred. The resulting regulatory products will last until another libertarian steps forward and argues without history, in order to "obfuscate" the facts.
A war against terrorism, or stateless nihilists if the truth be known, continues, and continues, and continues. The victory sought by those who never understood what the battle was all about in the first place, will be followed, in time, by the dissolution of order and the continuation of dogmatic civil struggle. The colossal misjudgments and predispositions of foolish people will disappear from the vision of those who will pay an even greater price. What happens then will "obfuscate" the balance of power that once isolated dictators and brigands from prominence anywhere in the world, instead of unifying them as viable opponents to world order.
Frodo enjoys walking in the winter woods with Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog. The grand deciduous forests open themselves to full examination, as if they were the skirts of Marilyn, blown forever above her knees. When he tires of searching for visual quarry, Frodo can discuss great philsophical questions, and cruel fate with his attentive companions. Frodo and all his friends conclude that 2008 was the worst of times, despite a scattered victory or two upon the landscape, and that for a guiding word in the moments which swiftly approach, let it be, simply, Hope.