Letter: The tiresome charade continues to play out

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To the editor:

The pettiness of the unfortunate inhabitant currently in residence at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue apparently has no bounds, no Oort Cloud, no outer limits. It seems to not be able to recognize even the most blatant point of diminishing returns despite having no focus whatsoever than its own quest to serve itself.

This is the case even in the the midst of this extraordinary, latest viral visitation. One might think that this might be cause for an awakening of sorts. Alas, both head and heart appear deeply mired in a pool of gooey, viscous mud, and with no nurturing rain in sight, the mud is hardening. No clarity, no vision to be garnered from such a state and yet his minions continue to see fit to flock, pile on and join him in this solid state, void of light and beyond the reach of sound. Stuck, as it were, and hellbent on flipping his little orange finger at anything that makes sense. After all, what does it mean to have a sense of place in the scheme of things; a sense of purpose that contemplates something, anything beyond the self; a sense of belonging to something other than a vindictive, acerbic tribe endeavoring to hold on to something that no longer exists — that probably never should have been?

What might it mean to exercise common sense at this juncture of decline? What sense might it make to consider the validity of the original concepts of the Founding Fathers — the separation of powers, a proper, meaningful, earnest balance between the three pillars of democracy — the Executive, the Legislative, and the Judiciary? What sense might it make to give back some of the usurped power irrationally bestowed upon the Executive? What sense might it make to take a giant step outside a petty and self-serving mind and strive for that which we have yet to achieve, to be something better than we have ever been able to be thus far ?

Nah, why bother ? Take it all down, every last thing before being greeted by the inevitable. Take it all — everything he can get his tiny, little hands on. Why not ? He'll leave his mark — in fact he'll leave billions and billions and billions of marks, billions of scars. He has the "better marks," leaves the "best scars". And yet the pandemic rages, the citizenry clamors for greater equanimity, and the Earth and natural selection cry out for our species to pursue a more relevant, more intelligent path.

Well, guess what? The above is indeed the Triple Play that's needed, and the Southern District Court in New York quietly and patiently awaits. Slowly but surely the misdirected, tiresome charade plays out. What a pathetic waste of time given the true requirements of this moment.

Robin Norris,

Alford

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