Dear Humanism

Thanks for the Michael Moore footage--the cry against the shock and awe of four more years in the Oval Office. Confirmed is secrecy in the brightest room of the world: never more than 'the secret domain of feces' as what psychoanalysis designates, not so very different from the prototype in a millionaire's bathroom. Perhaps is he an honest soothsayer though he too is a millionaire?

There are people, people who are sick at the cocksureness of a cowboy President, assimilating the moralizing posture of trust. It strikes you without warning on the back of the head: the inward nausea, the obtuse feeling about the inhuman character of 'American optimism' that kills. The point is not the cry against particular individuals, not even the President, the sworn-in killer: but the whole climate that makes us dancing to its tune. Now virtually everyone is a post-9/11 terrorist, which America must live optimistically.

I have been a part of it too, either without or with fully knowing it, to the same degree that everyone is, thinking and believing that I am different, and no part of it. I am not exactly the dream of an existence without shame.

If you are disillusioned and discharged by the latest political drama; its object unleashed in Christian anger of righteousness to the cathartic effect of the 9/11 terror, if you think you are the only pebble unsunned in the beach, do not wait. You will be picked up no sooner than the philanthropic emotion dries up: hence, the call of "Dear Humanism."