I'm drawing a Blank and That's Just Write

When the Election finally pulled it's hand out of America's ass yesterday, shit hung about from fingertip to armpit. The Election seemed unfazed by its fecal calamity, and calmly wiped the shit all over the country.

It's going to take a bit to clean off. From the Iowa crazy of make-up-your facts Sen. Elect Joni Ernst to the crap-mean Thom Tillis in NC, America embraced the crazy. That shit's everywhere, and soap's scarce. Young people don't need a shower because they skipped the reaming. Had they shown up, maybe the Election would have picked a less messy orifice.

I needed to feel better. I went looking for significance and profundity. I drove, which isn't my usual mode of moving but today was not a usual day. The car radio went XM, spinning 70s classics and blasting out off-color comedy. (The liberal handwringing on public radio -- well, that would only result in a deliberate wreck and hospitaliziation.)

I found my sanity in nothing. In blankness. In whiteness. Over in Durham, at the Nasher, standing one foot away from White Painting (seven panels) by Robert Rauschenberg. It cleansed the evil thoughts. I felt the pulse of the world. I heard my own heart. Reminded by absence of all I have. Finding something bigger than the election, something transcendent, allowed me to forget the shit-stained parameters now boxing in our politics. Art. Thanks, Art.