The Baked Potato Cannot Exist Without The Salt

At this time in my life I presume I’m only a common ordinary narcissist prone to narcissism and, as such, the center of the universe surrounded by other centers of the universe also prone to their own narcissism but able to shed their antlers at least once in a while for the good of the herd.

I must have consciously surrendered to democracy at some point, declaring myself a citizen of the state, not minding to be governed by other intelligent people, whether they’re brown or black or white or purple etc so long as they are intelligent, not only able to think for themselves but to think also about the welfare of their constituents.

The presumption of intelligence must have been a mistake. Perhaps I’d been asleep all those years, knowing I am a narcissist, accepting this indisputable fact but willing to share my fate with the millions of other narcissists who also believed in decency, common sense, liberal humanism, sanity, and competent political behavior that translates into actual governance.

But democracy as practiced in the USA is wearing me out. After having experienced right knee and left hip replacements in less than a year, it seems I’ve exhausted every possible appeal to common-sense healing, all the way up to The Supreme Court. Perhaps I’ve become a martyr too, a replicant of those other martyrs in that great line of wealthy but crucified martyr/leaders who continue to inspire such confidence among their followers.

Flaubert once wrote, “The whole dream of democracy is to raise the proletariat to the level of idiocy attained by the bourgeoisie.” Another Frenchman once advised a fellow martyr to put the baked potato inside the front of his pants, and not in the back.