Cat 4 catastrophe.
And Ida was, and remains, historically horrific, too. Hurricane as metaphor.
Here comes the Sun. But it’s not all right. The lights are out everywhere, not just in Louisiana. We’re gonna need a bigger flashlight.
We’re trapped in a pitch-black theater, forced to watch an endless noir of dark freezeframes. Leveled buildings. Overtopped levees. The Mississippi River re-directed.
Flag-draped caskets. “Dignified transfers” of the remains of 13 of our heroes.
But that will not in any way be a “dignified transfer” of power tomorrow in Afghanistan.
Then, there’s the “H Word.” Hostages? As I write, there are still about 250 Americans who want to get out of Kabul, but cannot.
People lie, but math doesn’t. By December 1, we’re almost certain to unnecessarily lose another 100,000 American lives to a ubiquitous but microscopic virus that nevertheless has displayed a larger IQ than we have. The virus wants to kill us almost as much as we want to commit suicide, and take our children with us. “Cause of death” on the certificates will say, “complications from COVID-19 infection.” But the real COD in almost every case will be societal ignorance, arrogance, selfishness, hubris and narcissism.
In the words of an actual expert, “This was all entirely predictable, but entirely preventable.” “F” stands for Fools, not Fauci.
That’s Jim Jones stuff.
It’s dark. It’s a moonless night.
All I can suggest is that we all try to BOOF. “Be Our Own Flashlight.”
