For the last quarter century, she’s slithered in and out of seedy circumstances … webbing her power … and chessing herself toward the presidency.
It was Obama … and this woman’s malignant ambition … that has brought us here.
To this ugly, violent moment of uneasy soul-searching. Revealing a disturbing vulnerability we thought impossible.
Informing us that we have been careless caretakers of our own good fortune. Of our own America.
And so now … now we are ripped apart because a bitter woman was denied her obsession … and revealed as a deadly tumor pressing on the spine of the Constitution.
Is America worth Hillary Clinton?
Of course, not.
But we are in this combustible moment because a repugnant phony lied and cheated herself to prominence. She was remarkable for her ambition … and famed for her callousness. And still is.
She tried to nurture her public image, but her private persona oozed through because she took insufficient care to dye her venom.
And so she lost the throne she never had … because she is allergic to truth … even small truths of no consequence.
Her first reaction is always to lie because … like Lady Macbeth … she reminds herself to “Let not light see my black and deep desires.” And there is lots of black. Lots and lots.
And now she has returned to the scene. Excusing her shocking defeat.
Blaming everyone but her ugly self. Because …
She wants another go of it.
Another shot.
She’s scheming that.
Cunning that.
Conniving that.
That’s why she … and her muzzled husband … are suddenly back on the national prowl.
Calculating.
Manipulating.
Shrewding.
Now she’s excusing violence … and exempting deceit … because that’s part of her calculus. And there will be other slithery statements that will sound-bite her back from the political dead.
In her own words:
“There were plenty of people hoping that I, too, would just disappear. But here I am.“
But America has changed.
She can roam the countryside with her almost-dead co-grifter … but she’s politically dead.
Donald Trump buried her.
But … at every chance …
drive a stake through her heart.
If there is a heart.
Denis Ian
Missives Worth Reading 