The perfect leftist is the fanatical hypocrite. While his beliefs correspond precisely to his own advantage, he believes in them furiously just the same. His opportunism does not even slightly detract from his sincerity, which is palpable and enormous. Indeed, if the situation changes and so do his interests, his mind will change as well. And change sincerely.
Alas, this character is easier to describe than find. In the day of Gladstone, liberalism was young and crazy and full of juice. Today? The movement exudes the overwhelming odor of fatigue. It remains both fanatical and hypocritical - but not in one person. Its fanatics, who could be broadly described as the amateur left, are devoid of any tactical cunning. And its hypocrites, who despite Robert Gibbs constitute the professional left, are as passionless as an eggplant.
They try to care. They moan, they gasp, they writhe. But their eyes are dead, whore eyes. Now that we've seen it in the White House, we'd know it anywhere. You have to be an awfully blind fanatic not to see what you're looking at. Can the amateur left, the audience, the chumps who buy the magazines, find a professional leftist who actually cares about his ideals? They'll need a much brighter lantern than it took to find B.H. Obama.
In 2010, there is nothing fresh about the revolution industry. The idealistic professional leftist is the exact counterpart of the romantic porn star - a human impossibility.
Unqualified Reservations - The Lightworker wants to touch your junk
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Daphne. Read the whole thing.
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