I just finished theThe Ragged Trousered Philathropists. It's a great book about turn of the century (1900s) working class England. This book is fiction but it is hard to ignore that the consumption which plagues the main protagonist also killed the author. It is pretty transparent that you are reading one man's view of being cursed with too much vision about the powerlessness and desperation in which fate has thrown him. Of the characters, one of the numerous and mindless workmen seem a more merciful existence. In the book, a socialist workman is conversing with another who has since become disenchanted with the movement. He has this to say about the electorate.
"As for the people-- they vote for what they want; they get-- what they vote for; and by God, they deserve nothing better! They are being beaten with whips of their own choosing and if I had my way they should be chastised with scorpions!...
They vote for it all and uphold it. Well, let them have what they vote for..."
Yep. That was about my exact feeling when the numerous people asked of my opinion about last November. The leader is merely a symptom, not the problem. Anyway, I'll cut this entry short. all politics and no play make jack a dull boy.