There are certain phenomena, inherent in true revolutions, that cannot be understood in terms of the criterion of rationality of action... To account for them, we have to come to view societal change as essentially a "religious" transformation. By this is meant a very fundamental and dramatic form of religious experience, essentially one of death and rebirth.

Edward Tiryakian, A Model of Societal Change and its Lead Indicators 1967

Dark destinies deep departed. And it is I who knocks upon the door of the future. I have heard from our would be leaders and they have told me nothing except that they promise to do thing that have not been done, when the people who will have to do them will not even start to do them now.

I don't believe. I don't believe in the third face of Eve, nor the man who thinks that the most important thing in the President's vocabulary is the first person pronoun. The sheep give themselves to her or him, and in them to other powers. The powers that they serve are not the powers that I serve.

The age of I continues, and if so, thus so and so, let it be me. This is serious, if it is an age where we have lost a war with an Army of won, why not continue this glorious cultural revolution and lose a whole history and nation with a President of One?

I've been told a thousand times I have to support Hillary. "Of course you must be a big supporter of hers." I've been told this before committing four unspeakable acts in three acts.

She, at least, talks about we. The problem is that we is "me and all my baggage." And oh it is a ponderous chain she's forged, link by link. It was fully as long as John McCain's was in 2000, and she's labored mightly on it since. She transitioned her campaign manager to the role of advisor, and will, I think I thought I heard her say, she'd still be listening the people who've let the nomination slip through her fingers. I think that's why no one wants to join Hillary, the shores of her world are crowded with souls who have washed up there, and no amount of failure, however staggering, is enough to be sent away.

This is the Age of I, and what ego in its right, left, wrong or other mind, would join a cause that has no room except among the camp followers? What's left is Hillary, small things to small people.

I could make a thousand puns on Barak Obama's name and still not have covered a tenth of the continent of how much of a joke his movement is. The only one that matters I think is that Hillary should have divorced Bill and married Barak, because Barak is more like the man she married than the man she is married to. But the flailing claws no longer catch, she's no longer the fruminous bandersnatch. Only a jub jub bird.

Tis brillig on the queen of Clintonia, but the dynasty is intact. Because while the Queen was looking down, the jester stole her thorny crown. The convention will be adjourned, no verdict will be returned. It is the romance of the century, and the century has only started.

So what of this Vaudeville, this baudacity of hope, this pornography of revery for Presidential campaign that tells the people that the Queen must die. The Queen must die. But as of today, the Queen is dead. Long Live the King. You'll find that thrones come in assorted colors, but only one weight.

Yes, King Barak is soon to be enthroned in the land of Id and the empire of Ego. And we wouldn't have it any other way, because he is us and we are him, in the land that is west of the sun and east of the moon, with hanging bright planet that shines, with its sulfuric clouds and hellish heat below telling us what our destiny is.

He hopes to do the right thing, so long as he and we can keep doing all of the wrong things.

But there it is, the architecture of Revolution. Barak Obama will have that moment, that moment West of the Sun and I n his honeymoon, and in that moment everything that must be done will have to be done. And in that moment he must be sent every little thing to do that's magic.

We dream rain and days. Of gardens ripe without the pain. We wake in vain as the dreams we love slip through our hands. This desert rose will not come again, this moment now that has no end, if not this hour, then never or when. This sweet perfume is the intoxication of the future.

As the year turns and moves this way, the logic is for us to pay, the piper's cost so he will play. This fire burns and nothing is as it seems. Here is a man whose consumed with himself, who never thinks of anyone else, whose campaign is the cult of one, and he's sold the future because it's begun.

And there's our hope for change, however weak it may seem strange, the less he wants the more he must give, and he'll give it all so his power will live. So when even turns to odd, when we spare the chimp beloved of God, it will be a moment to make our demands.

We must leave the desert sands, we must end the emperor's commands. We must have an end to the ministry of fear, not later, not sometime, but within the year. Since the King wants less, we must demand more, that's what the Audacity of Hope is for. Since he promises little then we must ask for all, not sometime in the future but before the first fall. Since he is all things to all people, then we, the people, must ask for all things that are right.

We will only get one chance to finish what has been so badly begun, before this moment of change is run. The revolution is not finished on the king's election, nor upon even his ascension, but when we see the final suspension of the tyranny's that are the old reign's animation. Change will only come when we are free, when by writ and by decree, the new king makes all those needful things to be.

But he will not answer if not asked, he will not do if not tasked, he will not move if not shoved, just as a child will not listen, if not loved.