The Pythia Blathers On

Now you want my post-election predictions. Oh very well. Hand me the hallucinogenic laurel leaves and release the toxic fumes. Here comes the trance state...

Here is the Pythia, chief prognosticator of the Delphic Oracle, which operated from 800 BCE to 400 AD. The bowl is a water mirror, like Galadriel’s and Ayesha’s of She. The laurel leaves were sacred to Apollo, and also hallucinogenic when chewed. The cleft in the rock was said to emit intoxicating fumes. Too much of this was dangerous to the Pythia’s health. She died young, and got internet death threats…

Here I am in the United States, in Oregon, having travelled for 14 hours on my birthday to get here. (Don’t worry about the birthday. At my age, best ignored.) I can report that the new Portland PDX airport is gorgeous, with much local, sustainable wood used in ceiling and wall sculpting. I can also report that, contrary to prevailing Canadian belief, not all Americans have sprouted horns and tails and have gone totally bonkers. They are walking around as usual, with all their clothes on, some pensive, others already showing Buyer’s Remorse, especially among those who, um, didn’t vote. The pictures of themselves weeping have subsided somewhat.

However, the chortling and champagne-swilling and back-patting amongst the Repulicans is likely to go on for a while, at least until they actually have to govern and reality sets in. To quote Sherlock Holmes — “The Norwood Builder,” as Holmes fans will instantly know — “ ‘It is Lestrade’s little cock-a-doodle of victory,’ Holmes answered, with a bitter smile. ‘And yet it may be premature to abandon the case. After all, important fresh evidence is a two-edged thing, and may possibly cut in a very different direction to that which Lestrade imagines.’”

So expect lots of cock-a-doodles of victory…. at first. But as the old saying goes, every cock will crow on his own dunghill.

Here are a few quotes about Hell that you may find of use, once the cock-a-doodles are over and the American right-wing version of the French Revolution gets going in earnest:

“Why, this is Hell, nor am I out of it.” Mephistopheles, in Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus. “What fresh Hell is this?” Dorothy Parker. “Hell is other people.” Jean-Paul Sartre.

Now, some reassuring prophecies from the Water Mirror.

1. Will RFK really ban all vaccines? Let’s find out. If so, a nice outbreak of polio, or fetus-threatening rubella (German measles), or smallpox should put an end to that. And if you think smallpox is totally gone, think again. It’s in a freezer or two, somewhere. (Guess: U.S. and Russia.) And hardly anybody’s immune to it any more.

2. So he’s more likely to defund vaccines, rather than ban them. Rich people will pay for them. Poorer people will suffer.

3. Will he force unpaturised milk upon an unsuspecting public? He may try. Those who don’t want to get tuberculosis or listeria or (list goes on) will avoid.

4. Is he all bad news? No. He might do something about pesticide use and Roundup and so forth. And clean water supply.

5. But as for the fluoride — want to die of a heart infection caused by tooth decay? Many Primitive Men did. Here’s one below: Ouch!

6. Dictatorial potentates, when they seize power, like to destroy any vestiges of their predecessors. Reversing laws, toppling statues, burning records, etc. Trump has denounced many of Biden’s works. Will he try to erase them? Not without throwing millions of people out of jobs. Just one for instance:

   “Chandler, Arizona: Funding will help construct two leading-edge logic labs and modernize one existing lab, significantly increasing manufacturing capacity to produce Intel’s most advanced semiconductors in the United States. This investment will create over 3,000 manufacturing jobs, 7,000 construction jobs, and thousands of indirect jobs. Intel’s investment in Arizona is among the largest private sector investments in the state’s history.”

   But anything’s possible for mad kings. Yes, I know you long to rewrite the key song from Evita: “Don’t cry for yourself, Arizona.” Restrain yourself, please. On second thought, be my guest.

7. The rich will get richer. The poor will get poorer. Crime will soar. Sweet music to prison-farmers who make oodles of cash out of prisoner labour.

8. Who will prevail, Emperor Elon or Pope Trump? Emeperor Elon rules the material world, Pope Trump — being a cult leader —the spiritual one. Each thinks the other is his sock puppet. But if Emperor Elon thinks he’s bought the White House for a mere 200 million, he’s better think twice: Trump is not such a cheap date. Will Emperor Elon take Pope Trump captive? Will Pope Trump excommunicate Emperor Elon? Bookies, call the odds. And how long will it take for an open rift to develop? Two can’t be President. And Vance is waiting in the wings. Don’t overplay your hand, Emperor Elon! Do a bit more cringing and boot-licking. Beware the Idiots of March!

Pope Gregory VII excommunicated Henry IV, Holy Roman Empire, for disobeying him. Henry had to crawl. Here is a picture of him doing it.

8. The Revenge of the Men. Yup, men are back. They had a somewhat thin time of it from approx. 2015 to now, what with #MeToo and DEI and so forth, and university Gender Theorists telling them they were toxic just for being men, and/or they didn’t really exist because “men” was a social construct, plus quite a lot of ridicule and disrespect hurled their way even when they were being Good Men and running into burning buildings to rescue babies.

   Wonder why Harris didn’t win? That was part of it. A lot of men didn’t want to be bossed around by (their mother) (a woman) (that girl who turned them down in high school). Now they’ve taken fresh heart. What will that mean in practice? That they won’t pick their socks up off the floor? Let’s find out next time, when the Pythia takes another whiff of Holy Fumes and we turn to The Woman Question.

8. I hate putting things behind a paywall, so I won’t this time. I’ll just remind you that all the subscription money goes to bird conservation on Pelee Island, flyway hub in Lake Eerie.

   Bonus: A poem by Greek poet Cafavy, translated by Evangelos Sachperoglu: