Ah rumor-mongering, the appetizer de jour in desperate times, the favorite pastime of the cowards and wishful thinkers of the world, the quintessential salt of a long parched earth, like our “earth” happens to be these days. Ah, the thrill of it all. I can watch this while eating buttered popcorn, belying all my claims to dieting, reneging, so early, on all my New Year’s resolutions, that is, had I not been part of this whole thing, had I not been right here smack in the midst of it all, having a clear stake in the outcome, like freedom, and all that.
To me, this unfolding melodrama feels more like Syriosis than Syriana. It’s a disease, a full blown disease, with no cure yet in sight.
Or, to be more specific, the cure might be well-known really, but it is bitter, too bitter for our all too refined taste. After so many thousands of years of civilization, we tend to expect things to work themselves out in our favor somehow, no need to suffer the bitterness of the potential cures. You wait a long enough period, and all diseases can prove ephemeral.
But we… we are here to stay, or so we’d like to think. Because the alternative is just too damn… empty, as far as we are concerned.