Lucid Conversation in Waghdas

Jack slams his whiskey on the table. "What is the point then? You fat wanker." The point, Jack, is that the democratic process is not designed to produce a government capable of being all things to all constituents. Of course, it was never precisely designed in any sort of peer review or engineering sense anyhow. It is only a system of nodes, capable of producing another node. It will never produce a Philosopher King. "So I will suffer through this election season, and the only thing that will come of it is another stiff who I hate?" That's pretty much the gist of it Jack. Until the people on this planet are interested in their metaphysical evolution, it'll keep on this way. "What the hell are you talking about?" The adolescent nature of the masses. Trivial concerns, emotional responses, hypocritical bureaucracy; it's all part and parcel of a fundamental misunderstanding of the world. Look, Jack, without self-reliance, we the people are at the whims of more base and turgid elements. The social contract is expiring, technology is silently absolving us of communal responsibilities, and Armageddon is wracking the brains of some very dangerous people. "You sound like a paranoid moron." They call me Cassandra. "It should make a good story." Nova is writing it now, between sips of Jameson they tell me. "Will it be a movie?" Only if there are theaters to show it in. "So what I'm hearing is that before I can be concerned with improving my lot to a fourth dimensional existence, I have to sweat my physical survival?" You heard it Jack.