28.5.16

William Faulkner: Intruder in the Dust



American elections languish  run too long  cost too much  offer too little  and its officeseekers fool themselves into believing their words and positions are pertinent only to those within the bubble or echooochamber into which they speak

not to the rest of the World


       L. Frank Baums Wizard of Oz is alive and well 
                                                   or at least its blustering chattering head is


Faulkner as Orwell usually seem to have something to share with me that befit the time and make commentary of the ridicule Republican orgies heap on those who are not like them

this afternoon was Faulkners turn:
                            “. . . and as for Lucas Beauchamp, Sambo, he’s a homogeneous man too, except that part of him which is trying to escape not even into the best of the white race buy into the second best  --  the cheap shoddy dishonest music, the cheap flash baseless overvalued money, the glittering edifice of publicity foundationed on nothing like a card-house over an abyss which used to be our minor National industry and is now our National amateur pastime  --  all the spurious uproar produced by men deliberately fostering and then getting rich on our National passion for the mediocre: who will even accept the best provided it is debased and befouled before being fed to us: who are the only people on the earth who brag publicly of being second-rate, i.e. lowbrows. I don’t mean Sambo. I mean the rest of him who has a better homogeneity than we have and proved it by finding himself roots into the land where he had actually to displace white men to put them down because he had patience even when he didn’t have hope, the long view even when there was nothing to see at the end of it, not even just the will but the desire to endure because he loved the old few simple things which no one wanted to take from him: not an automobile nor flash-clothes nor his picture in the paper but a little music (his own), a hearth, not his child but any child , a god, a heaven which a man may avail himself a little of at any time without having to wait to die, a little earth for his own sweat to fall on among his own green shoots and plants. We  --  he  --  he and us  --  should confederate. Swap him the rest of the economic and political and cultural privileges which are his right, for the reversion of his capacity to wait and endure and survive. Then we would prevail: together we would dominate the United States: we would present a front not only impregnable but not even threatened by the mass of people who no longer have anything in common save a frantic greed for money and a basic fear of a failure of national character which they hide from one another behind the loud lip[service to a flag.”

                                                          

 Intruder in the Dust  pages 155 and 156



1641,  Friday,  27 5. 16

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