One side lies about money; the other side does the same. The only sure thing in this sinister kabuki is that the rich will make out like the bandits they are, and the weakest will go to the wall. You can waste your time trying to parse every little twist and turn of the “policies” of these murderous poltroons, as they set about gutting the carcass of their own country and bombing the hell out of several others; you can pretend their words have meaning, that they aren’t the howls and grunts of brutal degenerates given over, sad wretches, to evil … But me, I’m off to read Machado, to hear him
Sing of the ordinary oak,
the branch cut off by the axe,
and the flower that no one looks at.
Let the damned bury the damned in those vast marble tombs along the Potomac. I’m going to wash away their stench with a cool breeze from the blue hills of the Guadarrama. His words — sharp, etched, subtle, true — will take me there.