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James Howard Kunstler: Puke Time

This is the moment when the illusions fall away. This is the season when the comprehensive contraction becomes unmistakable and we have to make provision for its mandates: to get smaller, leaner, more local, more earnest, more truthful, and more willing to endure the discomforts of changed circumstances. Mr. Obama didn't have to promise "change." Change was happening all around us in the disintegration of our something-for-nothing dream of entitled exceptionalism. Tragically, the Tea Partiers want to claw back that absurd dream. They're obviously too dumb to know the difference between dreams and realities. But where are the men and women who do know the difference? And why are they too timid to step up and say something? Can it be that precious a thing to hang on to some mere appointed position just because the pay is good and you get to circulate in places where free canapés are passed around? What kind of chickenshit society have we become? Well, brace yourself for a wild season. The Pequod is going down and the crazed harpooners are looking to slaughter everyone on board. Captain Ahab is down below the quarterdeck brooding on the mysteries of the cosmos and don't count on him coming up from there to set things straight. Round and round we go as Moby Dick circles the ship, making a vortex with his gigantic flukes. I'm already in the water, waiting for Queequeg's coffin to bubble up out of the cold blue sea.

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