All Hands in the Piggy Bank: California’s Red Light District and the Money Whores at Work

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I went to the Capitol building, where a hoard of frothing reporters stood waiting for politicians to emerge, splintering for statements as to what the failure of these props now meant to California taxpayers, for the politicians’ personal reactions, and for any hint of proposed future legislation regarding the budget. Of course, in typical bureaucratic fashion, one after the other dodged direct questions and scooted around real opinions. Election campaigns looming in the back of their minds; voter demographics and perception always a consideration in addressing important issues. Suddenly, no one was for or against this or that; no one was truly disappointed or excited; no one had any real direction or input except to restate their party’s rigid stance on the issues and to repeat, “Californians told us what they want loud and clear: no tax increases. So we’ll have to figure out another way.” Another way? Give us an opinion, some fucking direction, beyond the normal jargon of your chosen party. Give us something, anything real or true! Can’t anyone shoot us straight?!

All these political monkeys are so drastically bias, so horribly one-sided, they’re walking around in diagonals instead of upright like humans, weighted down instead by the heavy shoulder of their left or right apocalyptic methodology. And the measures they write are so complicated, vague and non-demanding, they seem to be seeking an easy way out of their mess, to pull a fast one of the general public and use our tax money to do whatever the hell they want. Where is the political High God? Sitting on his distant cloud, with no intimate investment in the measly dealings of humans, who has no bias or backdoor slush-fund conscience, who can tell us the damn truth about what all this shit-jargon amounts to? For the layman, piecing through the verbiage of our gubernatorial propositions, indeed playing high politics in general, is like masturbating in a pig wallow: slightly amusing, generally confusing, and just, plain dirty. And the only political “gods” that exist are the media outlets, who aren’t any better than the mono-wing subjects they’re reporting on. The good, the bad, and the ugly depend almost exclusively on which channel you’re watching or which journalist you’re listening to. If they’d all just hang themselves with their blue and red ties and hire a deaf-mute foreign language interpreter to piece together an outline of this mess we call the state budget and its proposed plans to keep the state actually functioning, we’d all be a lot better off.

At this point, the drugs were wearing off and the exhaustion began to set in. Almost 3 days awake now. My mind was a crumbling chemical fusion of tax increases, sneaky politicians, and large, white uncertainties. I’m walking around in a dream now. Everything is merely a shadow. Everything is the unreal version of its perceived self, a dance-play of movement and light, a collection of tiny pieces drawn magically together to pretend a solid reality. I can see more clearly, it seems, can see the whole and the pieces at once, can see the puzzle and the mess, and how we were all so innocently fooled. It’s not the problem with our minds, but rather with our eyes and the ones who control the Rorschach pictures in front of them. We need better accountability from these money dogs, more transparency and clearer summaries of what is going on with the hard-earned taxes we pay for people to provide the services we need. We need an unbiased party to shoot us straight and make it simple. And these propositions, evident in their failures, do nothing of the sort except for mess things up worse. Let’s see what the Governor and his cronies come up with next.

WC8


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