Dude. What?
Apr. 3rd, 2009 10:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
home_and_awaySo I'm following some dude's Presidential campaign--actually, literally following it. I could be selling tie-dyed T-shirts in the parking lot, there are so many people following this guy, and I would be except some ex-Deadhead beat me to it. He's the second coming of Barak Obama, he's a political rockstar, he's going to save the souls of every man, woman, and tiny little child in this nation, and he's going to do it with Charisma! and his Great Plan! (which he never seems to line out for any of us...)
I'm following this guy because I'm sceptical as all hell.
I want to believe in somebody, yeah, because I'm tired of putting myself behind the lesser of a number of evils.
And this cat talks a good game.
But folk are treating him like he heals the sick and walks on water, and I distrust that deeply.
So I'm watching him, from as close as I can get.
What's funny is that he's got the Dalai Lama in his entourage. His Holiness, this incarnation, seems to be some twentysomething surf rat from the Valley-- perpetually barefoot, tanned, and with blond dreadlocks bouncing as he meanders through the crowds. This one has healed the sick with a slightly blank look and a "Yeah man, let yourself be free of it," and I begin to wonder whether The Candidate is keeping the Wish-fulfilling Jewel close to get some holy-by-association thing going. Guy pushes all my buttons; I go from wondering whether I can believe in this Candidate to actively wanting to put the man down before he can get to a position of power.
And I'm not sure what to make of the Dalai Lama. Is he here because he believes this politician? Can't be; when the microphones are off, the guy's a disrespectful autocrat of a man--He Alone knows how folk should live, and he will make them live that way for their own good. I just can't picture a Bhuddist holy-man getting behind that. Is it because the Candidate recognises this white kid as the actual reincarnation? Because China sure as hell doesn't--they've already appointed some nervous-looking boyo to Lama-dom--and Tibet is still debating the matter. Again, though, political games like that look like attachment to an earthly idea, and isn't attachment of that sort the kind of thing Bhuddists are supposed to grow away from? Also: it's a bit early in the Candidate's career to be making foreign policy decisions like this. China's going to be something he'll have to deal with A Lot, if he makes it in November; antagonising them is... ballsy? Suicidal?
I don't get it.
What I do get is that there's a 100-foot circle of mental quiet that centres on this kid. He's got something to him.
And he's letting himself be used.
So anyway.
Here's me. Standing round the Candidate's limo in the dark one night, waiting for his stump-speech to end and himself to come back. I've noticed that as he walks, he talks to his entourage as if the drivers and guards aren't there; if I can look like part of the local staff instead of a Potential Voter, I'll hear. And so will my wee little recording device. And as soon as I can find a willing reporter, so will they. This is a pitch I've tried to work before, and been tossed off of before; I'm relying on darkness and serenity to keep me covered this time, because they're beginning to recognise my face.
I don't remember what's said, but I do remember the flash of triumph--I've got you, you bastard. You're done! And I remember the flash of light in my eyes, and the pounding of heels as men in black suits chase me.
Then someone catches me, and I grab him, break his hold on me, punch him in the gut, and keep running. I'm diving into a car and praying it'll start when I realise--the guy I just pummelled? Blond dreads. Bare feet. I just beat down the Dalai Lama. Oh, I'm going to Hell. I'm going to reincarnate as a cockroach. I'm screwed. I'm sorry, dude, but this is important.
And off I drive into the night.
Haze of time passing; it's daylight and the soundclip I caught is playing on NPR and Fox News both. Hope there's something worthy in one of the other candidates, because this guy's ship is going down. I'm putting fuel in the car when I see a familiar blond head bobbing by. My attention on him gets his attention on me; he turns. "Hey," he says, "You found my car."
"Thought it was my car, dude."
"Attachment."
"Attachment. Sorry about the other night. You okay?"
"Got a bruise."
"Need anything?"
"Ride to the beach? Good wave?"
"Anywhere you want to go, man. Can't do much about the waves."
"'S okay. They do enough, themselves."
"Right on."
And we get into the car and go.
I'm following this guy because I'm sceptical as all hell.
I want to believe in somebody, yeah, because I'm tired of putting myself behind the lesser of a number of evils.
And this cat talks a good game.
But folk are treating him like he heals the sick and walks on water, and I distrust that deeply.
So I'm watching him, from as close as I can get.
What's funny is that he's got the Dalai Lama in his entourage. His Holiness, this incarnation, seems to be some twentysomething surf rat from the Valley-- perpetually barefoot, tanned, and with blond dreadlocks bouncing as he meanders through the crowds. This one has healed the sick with a slightly blank look and a "Yeah man, let yourself be free of it," and I begin to wonder whether The Candidate is keeping the Wish-fulfilling Jewel close to get some holy-by-association thing going. Guy pushes all my buttons; I go from wondering whether I can believe in this Candidate to actively wanting to put the man down before he can get to a position of power.
And I'm not sure what to make of the Dalai Lama. Is he here because he believes this politician? Can't be; when the microphones are off, the guy's a disrespectful autocrat of a man--He Alone knows how folk should live, and he will make them live that way for their own good. I just can't picture a Bhuddist holy-man getting behind that. Is it because the Candidate recognises this white kid as the actual reincarnation? Because China sure as hell doesn't--they've already appointed some nervous-looking boyo to Lama-dom--and Tibet is still debating the matter. Again, though, political games like that look like attachment to an earthly idea, and isn't attachment of that sort the kind of thing Bhuddists are supposed to grow away from? Also: it's a bit early in the Candidate's career to be making foreign policy decisions like this. China's going to be something he'll have to deal with A Lot, if he makes it in November; antagonising them is... ballsy? Suicidal?
I don't get it.
What I do get is that there's a 100-foot circle of mental quiet that centres on this kid. He's got something to him.
And he's letting himself be used.
So anyway.
Here's me. Standing round the Candidate's limo in the dark one night, waiting for his stump-speech to end and himself to come back. I've noticed that as he walks, he talks to his entourage as if the drivers and guards aren't there; if I can look like part of the local staff instead of a Potential Voter, I'll hear. And so will my wee little recording device. And as soon as I can find a willing reporter, so will they. This is a pitch I've tried to work before, and been tossed off of before; I'm relying on darkness and serenity to keep me covered this time, because they're beginning to recognise my face.
I don't remember what's said, but I do remember the flash of triumph--I've got you, you bastard. You're done! And I remember the flash of light in my eyes, and the pounding of heels as men in black suits chase me.
Then someone catches me, and I grab him, break his hold on me, punch him in the gut, and keep running. I'm diving into a car and praying it'll start when I realise--the guy I just pummelled? Blond dreads. Bare feet. I just beat down the Dalai Lama. Oh, I'm going to Hell. I'm going to reincarnate as a cockroach. I'm screwed. I'm sorry, dude, but this is important.
And off I drive into the night.
Haze of time passing; it's daylight and the soundclip I caught is playing on NPR and Fox News both. Hope there's something worthy in one of the other candidates, because this guy's ship is going down. I'm putting fuel in the car when I see a familiar blond head bobbing by. My attention on him gets his attention on me; he turns. "Hey," he says, "You found my car."
"Thought it was my car, dude."
"Attachment."
"Attachment. Sorry about the other night. You okay?"
"Got a bruise."
"Need anything?"
"Ride to the beach? Good wave?"
"Anywhere you want to go, man. Can't do much about the waves."
"'S okay. They do enough, themselves."
"Right on."
And we get into the car and go.
