Plague Journal, The End Of The Innocence
I listened to the new reports last night of the delivery of the vaccine. The Pfizer vaccine was quickly approved by the FDA and is now being distributed throughout the country. An additional vaccine from Moderna is reported to soon be approved and follow. I worked in a laboratory for several years. I can imagine the atmosphere of expectation surrounding the work of development, and testing of these vaccines. A high stakes game raised to the highest power. Imagine betting the lives on millions on work which by definition is a dance with Nature? Success or failure is revealed only when one remains on the floor with the partner you have chosen until the music ends. Success is just a beginning though. Months will be required to vaccinate millions of people. Meanwhile the rate of mortality from the virus increases daily.
I finished reading The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge by Jean-Francois Lyotard. Absorbing Lyotard’s words were difficult, and 
concurrently filled with promise. Published in 1979 the book paints a compelling picture of our situation here presently. Lyotard describes a social condition of nostalgia for a past that is irretrievable. The rural, small town populations of our country have been left behind politically, economically, and educationally by an ever more tightly networked world. Memory conjures up a simpler time, — Daddy worked at the factory and Mom stayed home, when choice was less confusing, when there was elbow room to spare, and one’s neighbors looked similar to you. The quest for American “paradise” lost has been exacerbated by one craven politician in particular. Naturally most of his party have joined this festival of cynicism, and guns. It is always difficult to sacrifice one’s profession and livelihood on account of principle. All the more so when it is impossible to express, to present what the future is going to be like. What is a politician to do?
It must be clear that it is our business not to supply reality but to invent allusions to the conceivable which cannot be presented. And it is not to be expected that this task will effect the last reconciliation between language games, — and that only the transcendental illusion can hope to totalize them into a real unity. …the price to pay for such illusion is terror.
The nineteenth and twentieth centuries has given us as much terror as we can take. We have paid a high enough price for the nostalgia; of the whole and the one, … we can hear the mutterings of desire for a return of terror, for the realization of the fantasy to seize reality.
The answer is: let us wage war on totality; let us be witnesses to the unpresentable; let us activate the differences and save the honor of the name.
Excerpt, The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge by Jean-Francois Lyotard p. 82
This anthem that will get us through.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wYCTlqK9m78
The End Of The Innocence
by Don Henley
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky
Didn’t have a care in the world
With mommy and daddy standin’ by
But “happily ever after” fails
And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers dwell on small details
Since daddy had to fly
But I know a place where we can go
That’s still untouched by men
We’ll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass waves in the wind
You can lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence
O’ beautiful, for spacious skies
But now those skies are threatening
They’re beating plowshares into swords
For this tired old man that we elected king
Armchair warriors often fail
And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers clean up all details
Since daddy had to lie
But I know a place where we can go
And wash away this sin
We’ll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass waves in the wind
Just lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair spill all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence
Who knows how long this will last
Now we’ve come so far, so fast
But, somewhere back there in the dust
That same small town in each of us
I need to remember this
So baby give me just one kiss
And let me take a long last look
Before we say goodbye
Just lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence
2 thoughts on “Plague Journal, The End Of The Innocence”
As always, there are many facets to your offering today. My focus in this reply is on just one of those facets, that being the purported demise of small town America.
Certainly we have witnessed a mass exodus from the rural town where work opportunities are scarce and the work that is available, such as agricultural, meat packing, or tedious factory assembly, does not provide a living wage or attract young people who are seeking a fulfilling career. But there is something of which we can be almost absolutely certain and that is that life is circular, that the pendulum swings to the left before swinging back to the right.
I believe there is a good possibility that humanity may reinvent the small town. Perhaps not in our lifetime, but at some point when people can fully work from a remote location and they discover that our species is basically a social animal that craves community. The days of the church social are waning. Fraternal orders are petering out and social clubs as we once knew them are dissipating.
Imagine a small town nestled into the hills of southern Indiana, situated along the Ohio River. Houses are old, but with some loving care can be revitalized. Nature surrounds the town, offering myriad opportunities for discovering the environment. The local coffee shop and eateries become renewed meeting places. The homes and therefore the people, are connected to the world at large by high speed internet that’s available to all. Solar powered homes rely less on large corporate interfaces. Young people tire of the constant face of a cell phone and rediscover the joys of face to face interaction.
I realize that I’m describing a kind of Utopian dream, but somewhere along the line, I believe we will become reacquainted with ourselves. We will garner a better understanding of what creates a meaningful and fulfilling life and I doubt if the inner city or even the diaspora of the suburbs will give us that vital sense of community.
We currently see this kind of thing happening on a very small scale, but if we continue along our dystopian path, the beauty of the small town or village may call to that inner self. Or at least I hope this will be the case.
Perhaps there is room for one or two more in that Indiana river town that you described?
When enough of us reach the point of enlightenment that the megalopolis is a failure on many levels — then the time will be ripe to try something else….