The Gods Of The Copybook Headlines*

(*With apologies to Kipling.)

I read the daily headlines and then I have  a little dialogue I carry on in the grand tradition of “my old man” and other generations before him. One rarely needs to read beyond the setup to know how the game will play out in the ensuing paragraphs. So, I read, judge and mock each header in their turn. Because Obama is not our problem. Congress is not our problem. First and foremost, the Mainstream Marxists posing as “objective reporters” of our days and dramas are much our source of trouble. They hide well behind the sickly conceit of their self-importance, apportioning the lots of fact and opinion according to the dictates of their perverted schemes.

Do you remember how they shepherded us and shielded us from the horrors of 9/11 lest we be inflamed with passion and meet like with like? Bless them, may they live forever! How brutish we mere mortals must have seemed to them, demanding vengeance and a show of proper retort for the blow we were dealt. Have you hugged your journalist today and thanked them for their sagacious intervention in our national bereavement? Yes, they moved us along quickly after the fact, and now have the temerity to drag us back to it yearly and force us to kneel and beg forgiveness for our sins.

I’m sick to death of it. The Marxist Media, ensconced in their small opinion labs,  study the populace as a great Experiment. They observe, but cannot resist the urge to meddle. They profess their purity of heart and yet project onto their subjects all manner of racism and debauchery even when they don’t actually see it. They assume it is an occult blood factor, sins that we hide, horrors that they want so desperately to see. Their voyeurism knows no satiation, and so they proclaim to see what is not there.  Not finding all the debauchery and sin they imagine means work for them, and they are supremely lazy.  So they drop the casual lie and it is picked up often enough and degraded through so many iterations that when it finally arrives back at them, it sounds like an inscribed truth: Americans are racist at heart, xenophobic, backwater hicks. Rubes to be ruled by their betters.

Tomorrow the Marxist Media will do its level best to find itself in our graces. They will deign to enter the house of mourning, seeking to bring some gift of gravitas that they imagine the little people will appreciate.  And I will mock their mawkishness, their dumb show, their pretense to understanding the enormity of what cannot be imagined and yet happened.

The world of men is full of much more unimaginable horrors and our godlings will never whisper of it. Women will be mutilated, men will be eviscerated in unutterably offensive ways. The Media godlings will never let us know. They will shield and protect us and tell us for whom to cast our votes. They will never willingly give up their place as the magic mirror of our society, assuring us of our own ugliness and complicity in the horror. They will assure us that 9/11 was our own fault. They will do it over and over and over for years and decades to come until we become, at the last, as ugly as the gods of the headlines would have us be.  With angry fangs and tongues hanging out. Chocmul-like thralls awaiting another beating heart to be tossed  their way that the sun may come up in our dull lives one more day.

All those 3,000 lives lost 10 years ago just keep on sacrificing themselves to these insatiable media cretins.  They will churn out thousands more hours of afflictions for you to observe until you beg for mercy and agree with your tormentors that you and you alone are to blame.  Just please make it stop!

Even so, you will likely read every word and watch every clip and listen to every anguished soul captured in the digital resin of emergency calls, voice mails on loved ones’ phones, and stories of miraculous escape or miserable suffering.  But not because the godlings command you to.

No. Because your heart is not like theirs at all. You want to preserve and revere, truly honor their death and reflect on such lives cut short; lives ended before they had that vacation, that connection, that revelation of love, that  completion of wisdom and that joy of figuring the whole puzzle out.  It haunts you in your quiet meditations, out of the glare of the outside observers. No. We’re nothing like our MSM overlords at all. Our heart would tear out the eyes of our attackers and  run them through with sorrowful steel and righteous wrath.  Our hearts know better how to handle their own griefs and sorrows.

We reject the writs of the Gods of the Headlines.  We ignore them while they talk down to our suffering, seeking,  like some flat avatar, to usher us into a place of peace and calm acceptance.

Oh Hell no.

Update: Wretchard speaks for me:

The story of September 11 must for all time become the story of how a certain date became unspeakable to al-Qaeda and its followers; a tale of how this day of all others,  became the blackest day in the history of Islam. It should forever be a date that can never be mentioned without arousing a deep sense of shame throughout the Middle East so that in generations hence, people should still come up to strangers unbidden and say, “I’m sorry for September 11. “  Until then it is unfinished business.

We have no right to forgive. We have no right to forget. We have no right to move on until this final condition is met. That in the holy of holies of our civilization’s enemies, in the innermost recesses of their sanctum sanctorum they should say with heartfelt ardor: never again. Never again. Never, ever again.