LAMENTATIONS 

The writer loved the idea that the United States was not Europe. That Europe provided valuable lessons and a few masters but that America was to produce the future masters. And it was to produce the future masters through itself and not worry about Europe. Confidence was attained when the writer went through the thing itself and not circumvent it with excuses and disguises.

Not that America was a piece of cake. There was much that was regrettable. Often it resembled a drowning man who flounders and struggles and finally strangles the one who is trying to save him.

It was not meaningless in its initial acts but, after awhile, these acts became absurd, meaningless, and oppressive.

Its forms of repulsive machines, dreary debates, trivia, cloak and dagger realities were blisters on the skin of history.

It slaked money and goods like a nymphomaniac lust.

Was there beauty in the city?

The dominant class was depressing with its small universe of objects, watered down ideas, professional sports, and neurotic women.

It was often led by a cult of intelligence that sacrificed the sons and taxes of the general population for the eccentric phobias of the educated elite.

It was rampant with prejudice, hatred, ennui, stupidity, that threatened the structure of civil living.

It was haughty and proud of the contradictions that would destroy it in the end.

For all of that the writer embraced it. What it is, I have been. It is my guilt rolling in the mud of itself. When he plunged deep into it he became susceptible to the hatred, evil, and cruelty of human nature. With great exertion the writer bracketed out various things in which he could have no concern:

economic theories
'sex liberation'
'rock and roll music
'advocacy groups
'eccentric and near sighted explanations of why or why not
'something as large as a society, not to mention world, works.
'famous personalities
'pop psychology
'revivalist religion
'drugs
'levels of income
'mass murderers
'philistines

He was certain there was a connection between those 12 items but passed on finding out what it was.

© 2001 David Eide. All rights reserved.