Saturday, 12 December 2009 09:00
Last Updated on Sunday, 12 September 2010 16:36
Fairfax, VA, USA.
We Americans, you and I, spring from some Platonic conception of
ourselves, forever remodeling our past even as we reconceive our
multiple futures. The possibility of success, tempered by the memories
our well accomplished failures, bedevils us until our dying days.
worship a dual headed bitch goddess, pursuing fame, thinking it is
success. [N1] In this, the early decades of a new millennium, we
confuse our good intentions with actual accomplishment as if the act of
aiming at a target is sufficient. [N2] We no longer actually have to
hit the target to become famous. Being famous is enough, a well
laurelled goal, in and of itself.
Everyone wants success but no one admits to wanting it. If we achieve
success, we are half apologetic that we climbed our own personal Mount
Everest. The ideal American archetype is a Tin Star who, having just
rid the world of the bad guys, responds to praise from the townspeople
by casting his eyes down and mumbling semi-audibly Aw shucks, I was just doing my job.