ANATHEMA IN BLUE

Vote: (n) the instrument and symbol of a freeman's power to make a fool of himself and a wreck of his country.
Ambrose Beirce, The Devil's Dictionary

One should respect public opinion insofar as is necessary to avoid starvation and to keep out of prison, but anything that goes beyond this is voluntary submission to an unnecessary tyranny.
Bertrand Russell

Look. Listen. It is long in the night and the fire is low, in the hearth and in my heart. Yes. I got beaten like a blind dog in predicting the decline of Stephen Harper and his automatons. What can i say? I was not expecting anything but a minority government for the Conservatives, but I didn't think the Bastards would get 17 more seats. Well, well. Vote splitting and panic voters in the rest of Canada aside, the Quebecois and the Newfoundlanders saved us from ourselves once again, and for that there is something to be thankful for. The rest of the feckless who could have spared this country from another year or two of the cold, dumb leadership of a man who lest we forget, wanted to join the coalition of the willing (and this simply is the single and only point necessary to bar Harper from any kind of governance, never mind that of our country), but they didn't...well, the people get the government they deserve, but I resent having it foisted on me. Yes, I know my grapes are sour, and to the victor go the spoils, but I am in no mood to apologize or roll on this one. The fruits of folly sometime fall late, and the spoils of this election are already rotten on the vine. One or two years down the road we will look back on this as a wasted opportunity. The slow crawl of environmental evils looming on the horizon will not be dealt with, the economy will get worse, foreign affairs will continue to wither, and general democracy will not be served or furthered. So it goes, I guess. There is something to be learned from this botched operation, but tonight is not the time. No. No matter how Harper spins it, most Canadians have typically sat on their hands again and the Conservative victory is simply one of resounding default. It reminds me of all those hopeless years of betting on the Kansas City Chiefs, only to have Marty Schottenheimer screw me on the point spread time and again with his inevitably conservative play calling. There is something pathetic about an electorate that never really goes for broke when it all comes down, but after all, this campaign was largely wasted from the start and full of sound and fury signifying nothing. But now I am rambling, and to be honest have no stomach for this rotten, shrunken corpse of an election.

There is plenty of blame to go around, though I could care less about it now. We have had an election for no reason, and we are saddled with many MPs who exist for no reason but to consume the dead corpse of politics in this country. So Stockwell Day can take his sentimental watch and shove it up his ass, Stephane Dion can get back to practising his English and Jack Layton can keep running madly from promise to promise. When the real reckoning comes it will be ugly and brutal, a real whipping for many who deserve nothing less.

But when I look at the map of Canada and see the blue sea of Alberta and Saskatchewan and the aping ridings in BC, I cannot help but feel depressed and disgusted. One day the tar sands will run into dry desert, pine beetles will bore into the eyeballs of the backward and blind, and Alberta and BC will once again be more than just intellectual wastelands. Ugh. I want a one way ticket to Quebec and I want it now. I will leave this place without even shaking the dust of my shoes and make a beeline straight across the northern US until I reach Vermont and head back North. One day soon the West will have seen the last of me, and I will not stop moving fast, hard and bitterly until I arrive in a place where people take politics seriously.

When I drag myself out of this low, analysis will come, and I feel it stirring viciously in my belly. But for now, you will have to excuse me, because I am going to draw the shade, bolt the door, crank up some serious rhythm and blues and drink Irish whiskey until my eyeballs bleed. Out.