All hope abandon, ye who enter here! -Dante
“We won’t lose because we can’t lose. It’s simply inconceivable. Years and years and years of preparation. Do you really think they would just sit back and let it all be for nothing? No, not them. Not ever. The White House will be hers, and thus, the country, all of it, will be ours.”
For the sake of this tale, I’ll call him Occam. The name fits given his peculiar penchant for uncomfortably accurate prognostication based upon the repeated premise that if given a choice, regardless of a singular subject or multitudes, it is human nature to attempt more with less.
That is his church, his altar, his place of greatest content.
He loves to win. Even as death tugs at his shirttails, he can only think of the next future, for the past is worthless to him.
“Memory is burden, and I prefer to work light.”
That statement is so…HIM. Arrogant, self-assured, yet ultimately, a pathetic reminder of his near-constant battle to keep himself from being flushed down the drain of irrelevance with all the other spent waste that is yesterday’s news. When I seek the truth, or at the very least, an approximation of that truth, and am unable to secure it on my own, it is to him I find myself going, despite good sense and reason warning me not to do so. For each time, I lose a little more of what I once was. If I don’t stop, there will be nothing of me left. I will be him – a shadow of a shadow, a figment of accumulated experience drowned within the waters of repeated manipulations.
The flesh, bone, and blood will yet remain, but the soul will have departed, never to return.
His own flesh has been badly singed by great power on more than one occasion. He wears those burn scars proudly, like the most expensive of jewelry. Throw out a name, and he’ll nod, lift up his chin, and remark how he worked with them back in 88′, 92′,99′ 08′, etc. Millionaires and billionaires, presidents and kings, they are the rarefied oxygen that he breathes. Hell’s Rolodex of the greatest political sinners of the modern era.
He knows just about everyone. Not their public persona, but much more importantly, he knows that which they fear the most.
“Some of them have wanted me dead over what I know, but I remained valuable enough to more who would rather continue to keep me around, and so, here I am.”
Yes indeed, here he is, 2016, and still doing what he does best.
More recently he has taken to rattling off names of campaign staffers he is directly involved with. Names like John, Jim, Maya, and Joel. He talks mostly of Joel. He likes him, perhaps even respects him, even though I think he is most likely no longer capable of forming such a feeling.
Instead, he is fueled primarily by fear, resentment, and as already stated, the all-consuming desire to win.
“Joel knows his sh*t. The parents of the Muslim soldier they used at the convention? That was Joel’s baby. I could spot his work a mile away. And they are kicking ass with it, aren’t they? Look at the stupid son-of-a-b*tch Donald walk right into it! The man is too primitive for this game. We’re nine steps ahead of him, every step of the way.”
He almost always uses first names when referring to others.
“They can’t prove you knew what you knew. First names are ambiguous. Last names? Well, that can get too close to something or someone real, and that pisses people off. Eventually that is going to come back and bite you. There’s a whole lot of us still around, but none of us have all our fingers and toes left. The important thing, though, is to keep your head.”
As he so often does, he laughs at his own joke.
We’re working for the same goal, but doing so from opposite directions this time. I say “this time” even as I know, though that knowing came far too late, that he was never with me to begin with.
“It’s just business, kid. You’ll understand some day.”
He doesn’t mind. Doesn’t care. Clearly doesn’t think me worthy of being feared. I’m a spent tool, a badly soiled rag, a broken toy from an already almost forgotten war, barely hanging on to whatever is left of my own quickly fading relevance.
I remind him how close the polls are, despite a forty million plus campaign in just the last four weeks to damage Trump, and despite the media giving Hillary Clinton hours and hours of fawning coverage.
It is quite literally, Donald Trump and his supporters -vs- the world.
Case in point. He told me the following, and I believe him. EVERY WORD OF IT.
And so should you, that is, if you care to know the truth.
It goes something like this:
**Last Friday, just three days before the long-scheduled beginning of the Democrat Party’s national convention, Wikileaks released thousands of DNC emails, some of which included clear evidence of an alliance with the Clinton campaign at the expense of insurgent Democrat candidate, Bernie Sanders. Other emails hinted at other biases as well, including Antisemitism and the ridiculing of Hispanic voters. More than one report described the emails as “hateful.”
**Later that evening, a panicked Clinton campaign ( including Joel) huddled with affiliated DNC officials to come up with an alternate version, a subjective pivot, to spin the email hack into something they could use in their favor. It took nearly four hours of intense discussion, but by Saturday morning, that alternative was finding its way to a handful of highly trusted Mainstream Media sources.
And by Monday, the beginning of the convention, there was almost no media discussion on the actual substance of the hacked DNC emails. Instead, there were a multitude of accusations that Russia had done the hacking, and that Donald Trump himself was in favor of it.
“The only political reality that matters is the one WE make, and it doesn’t matter one damn bit whether it has anything to do with the truth or not.”
That’s an old saying of his, but one he has been saying more and more of late, and for good reason. That alternative reality ploy has been applied again and again in Hillary Clinton’s favor in recent months, from her own personal email scandal, to multiple shootings of police officers linked to the Black Lives Matter group, to a tepid economy running on fumes and a presidential campaign still getting away with promising yet more of the same.
So, he says they won’t lose because they can’t lose.
I say they won’t win because they can’t win.
Two sides of a very different coin.
And a truth that will most likely not set either one of us free.
The game is afoot…