Impeachment was the route. Republicans need to quit falling for the sunk cost fallacy and pull the damn plug. They may end up being the only ones who can, and it may be too late before they choose to.
We live in a world of of delusion, of pretense and pretending, where real feelings, what we feel at our deepest level is universally denied, a place where everybody is terrified to go and fears more deeply than the plague. For this reason, that the game is played on a massive scale where any who dare to explore, to question, to truly self question, are greeted as pariahs, misfits and insane. As in the Matrix and agent of one kind or another is always there to bring us back into the game. And we do this because at those deepest levels I refer to we are absolutely convinced of a lie that is simply not true, that by being put down as children and compared to others, we were made to feel, the core of unconscious belief, that we are the worst in the world, on the one hand an impossibility and on the other a complete lie.
And we have never been exposed to these truths in our lives, never had the encouragement to self examine, never had a place to go for support, for help in rooting out these feelings, for reliving them and knowing they are a lie, that there is not now nor ever was anything wrong with us. We do not know, don't know we don't know, and don't want to know we don't want to know. The catch 22 is complete. We do not know we believe in a lie because we believe that knowing that lie would kill us. No, we will just realize the dies long ago, psychically and to die again is to be reborn.
Perhaps if the world heard this good news that is avoided by the fear of death, and enough people worked to challenge it, we would begin to understand that all hatred of the other is hatred of the self. We would not need a savior like Trump to pretend that our salvation lies in the belief in our lie, that everything is cumming up roses as, like frogs in a heating pot, we slowly embrace our demise.
In the mean time, or as it seems to me:
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
A world full of sleeping machines:
Welcome, my son
Welcome to the machine
Where have you been?
It's alright, we know where you've been
You've been in the pipeline, filling in time
Provided with toys and 'Scouting for Boys'
You bought a guitar to punish your ma
And you didn't like school
And you know you're nobody's fool
So welcome to the machine
Welcome, my son
Welcome to the machine
What did you dream?
It's alright, we told you what to dream
You dreamed of a big star
He played a mean guitar
He always ate in the Steak Bar
He loved to drive in his Jaguar
So welcome to the machine