 The Big Reaction
The big reaction is the political pathology which ever wishes for a somehow return to a mythical previous superior state of human affairs. This longed-for post state is invariably more conservative than the present, regardless of the true shadings of the former or latter conditions. Although it is tied to current perceptions of reality, it is post-traumatic in it's origins. Therefore it's ranks tend to swell and shrink along their percieved historical arcsweep of the riverrun.
Such is the state of affairs we find Black Dahlia worship in today. The great wars with of BDS Jack and Finnegan are over. They now know in their heads the mystery has been solved, but their hearts fear the changes that will bring. The big silence. Like when they were just like everybody else, when no one knew anything. The old esprit d'corpse is what they all miss. When ignorance was bliss.
When it became all too clear that Finnegan cad had had them, they rose up en masse and struck down the messenger. The didn't think twice about it. That's what reactionaries do, they react. Without taking the time to think. They can't think under all that pressure so they lash out at their supposed tormentors, not even realizing that it's only words on a page, words that cannot possibly harm them. They are angry and they don't care if others are apalled by the blatant censorship. This is now a lynch mob mentality, the liberal niceities went out with the bathwater. It's all his fault.
All the good members are threatening quitting...Tim Finnegan must be banned, he's rude and he's crude and works in the nude. The vainglorius lout who figured it out. Tim Finnegan, he who had the poor taste to solve our best mystery, our most unfortunately unsolved case from our postwar demise at the hands of commie spies. Tim Finnegan, who just won't take our dough, and shut up and go. He must be crazy, too. Like Jack, a stone in our shoe, we will cast him away. For our gravy train he did survey, one day he will come and spend some time in L.A.
Tim Finnegan, you see cannot be killed, because he's already dead. A morning craythur fed spill off the wall made carrion of him and spilled him on his head . And when he's parked upon the table wrapped only in his sheets His is the spirit of internet freedom and truth and spirits and the political progress not just repeats, and then he is everywhere seen. On the blogroll and on the milky forums small and large cow. But the blogosphere is where he dwells, on our future fifth estate. If you're waiting for the book, you'll be waiting forever so scroll down and welt the floor, your trotters shake. It's all there. Lot's of fun at Finnegan's Wake.
 Joe McCarthy
7:47:22 AM 
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