Tonight, Barack Obama secured the presidency and all I can think about is Francis Bacon.
It is a momentous, auspicious occasion for America. For everyone in and around my sphere of knowledge, in fact for the world. For me. The first vote I cast, my first word as a babe in politics was to say yes to this man. He won my heart with some of the most powerful oration I've ever heard and gained my intellectual respect with solid, cogent ideas.
Obama's campaign was based on the concept of change, in large part, but what really struck the core of me was his call for unification. He seemed the loudest voice of this cultural choir clamoring in harmony for togetherness, for understanding, for inclusion. These are the most powerful words one can utter in a society, I believe, because of the very definition of society, of humanity, of life itself in all its myriad, brutal wonders.
You see, every bit of life is only alive because it interacts with other bits of life around it. The more complex the life, the more complex and diverse its interactions: electrons swirl around protons and neutrons,
e. coli bacteria swirl in the stomachs of rats, rats in our grain bins, brokers at the NYSE, soldiers in smoldering cities. They all exist for and because of each other.
So on this night, the fourth of November, two-thousand-and-eight, I sit amidst the syncopated clicks of backlit keys and extended horn blasts fading in and out like the bell of a red-faced jazzer's trumpet passing in slow ecstasy over the mic, then comes a woman's voice belting out "Thank you Jesus! Thank you Jesus!" with an exuberance I'd previously only heard in Mahalia Jackson or Nina Simone. Despite this, I am alone in my room with my dear friends scattered across the country. I've nobody with whom to share this celebration cadenza and so it dies in me before I squawk its first gleeful notes.
How can the majority of Americans be celebrating what I myself celebrate, yet I am alone? People known and unknown to me around the country, around the globe and around the block where I'm trying to fucking sleep: they're all whooping, gesticulating, drinking, loving, all in the throng together. Yet, I am alone, somehow suddenly outside of everything I once felt so profoundly as inside myself. That's when I know I'm truly human. In Bacon's words:
Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.I certainly don't feel any sort of deity or demon. On this, the eve of Barack Obama's victory procession, as he is borne proudly by my generation on a litter of hope, I find myself locked away under the stairs, starved for society. I lie still in the dark, concentrating on my breath as I have big plans and need my rest. Perhaps tomorrow I will get to eat. Perhaps we will all be fed at long last. Every single solitary one of us.
Hope is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper. – Francis Bacon