Honesty in government

Patrick Buchanan won yesterday's New Hampshire primary, and in a bizarre sort of way, that's good news.

He's a 19th century man, a bigot and wanna-be woman-owner, a man of despicable politics to be sure. He's a horrible human who ought to be spat on, but he's the only candidate who says what he believes. 

Bob Dole and Bill Clinton will say anything to get elected, so you never know what they actually believe, if anything. Buchanan, though, seriously believes all his hateful bullshit — that homosexuality is evil, abortion should be outlawed, Jews can't be trusted, a wall should be built to keep Mexicans out of the country, Christianity should be the national religion, and all the rest. He won't back away from any of it, and if he's elected president, he seems like a man who'd keep every terrifying promise he's made. Damned scary stuff.

Say the worst about Pat Buchanan, because it's all true. He's probably the worst candidate running, and a vote for Buchanan is a horrific concept. But at least it's a vote for honesty in government.

♦ ♦ ♦   

Recovering from the bad news, I took a long walk down Ashby Avenue, and along the way met Danny, my favorite bum.

Today he remembered me, though often he doesn't, and for a few blocks walking, he told me all about his economic system. He calls it Berkeley Hours, and I call Danny dollars, and if it sounds familiar, yeah, I'd heard it all before, and written about it. I didn't mind hearing it again, though. It's an intriguing idea, and I like Danny.

Something's happened to his brain, of course. He must've taken a whack on the head, or dropped too much acid, or it dropped him. His memory's not quite gone, but it can't be fine tuned.

Clearly, though, he used to be somebody with brains and potential. Now he's just Danny, a homeless man who wanders the streets of Berkeley, and that's probably all he'll do for the rest of his life.

He needs better shoes and a warm place to sleep, a reliable source for food, and access to medical care. This is America, though, so there'll be none of that, and he'll die on these streets.

From Pathetic Life #21
Wednesday, Feb. 21, 1996 

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

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