Tempting to leave it at that, but how often these days do we get a chance to quote a thumping good, or at least very sonorous, poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson?
"The Kraken." In one of the e-mails between the wife of our senior Supreme Court justice and the then-lame-duck President Trughmp's chief of staff, Ms. Thomas urges the man, whose name is deceptively fragrant -- Meadows -- to "Release the Kraken and save us from the left taking America down."
The Kraken apparently figures in unhinged (there's a word we're using a lot these days!) right-wing mythology. But check out Tennyson's version:
Below the thunders of the upper deep,
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumbered and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge sea worms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.
The form is odd -- a sonnet, I guess, but one line too long, and the rhyme scheme is ababcddcefeggfe. What other sonnet can you name that has an egg in it? Not to mention a near-covfefe. But never mind that. Although T. S. Eliot called Tennyson "the saddest of all English poets," this poem is surely upbeat. From the depths of unhinged right-wing projection rises a horrible floppy sea-worm-swollen figment, which huffs and goes poof. Sounds good to me -- cut it loose, Meadows!
A little worried about the inevitability of "...and on the surface die."
May it be so.
Really well thought out. Thanks