Monday, January 17, 2011

That Is No Country For Old Dudes

Or old broads, come to that. Yet few and far between have been the past and present American high-hats resistant to the siren song of songs (Pythagorean mean, and mean indeed), “Middle East Peace.” Its music and lyrics enter the bloodstream, play on loop continuous through the heart, then pump, pump, pump, down, down, down, and up again, collecting artery-squeezing lipid potentates along the way to Byzantium (Two! Two! Two states in one!), to settle bits of loamy plaque in the government brain, then back by loop through heart again, and so on and so forth. And now the song, not to say the brain itself, has morphed: A pathetic hymn, and Byzantium just as out-of-reach as ever it has been.

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