The Final Solution: From Bad to Oblivion

No matter how bad anything may seem, there will come a time when you may look back wistfully to that very day when you were quarantining say and in a state of total incredulity as the president of the United States tried to usurp an election in the middle of a pandemic by walking away with the post office ("Postal Crisis Ripples Across Nation As Election Looms," NYT, 8/17/20). It will get worse and then it will no longer matter since you’ll be dead. So is the point to totally enjoy the completely fucked-up day you’re having and regard it as some kind of high point? Or is it better to be one more hand or arm outstretched towards the heavens? Are you better off joining the chorus of human misery? And if the cries are loud enough will they be answered? Is crying for mercy one way of exercising the right to vote, when the ballot box has actually been hijacked? The pathetic fallacy occurs when nature mirrors the feelings of the inner soul. What to do about the deceptively promising though dissonant feelings deriving from a beautiful summer’s day with the sun shining in a cloudless sky and birds chirping outside the window? Is that a sign? Or, is it just a coincidence that you should enjoy before the onset of the next tropical storm?