Ballroom Wreckage
Today’s draft was inspired by real events, old and new, as well as those yet seen.
I want to shout, “You’re tearing down the wrong walls!!” when I see the current demolition, sorry I mean ‘renovation’, of the East Wing. (I’m referring to ‘walls’ both literally and metaphorically here FYI.) But I don’t think they’ll be able to hear me over the bulldozers and wrecking balls, not that they would care to acknowledge my small plebian voice anyway. Not over their loud, reckless deals, which the public will pay for in one way or another. Even if it’s not strictly in currency or coin, and doesn’t come from the purse that Congress forfeited and stowed behind the Oval desk not too long ago, which is currently being paved in gold too, the plebs will pay. Don’t they always? Historically speaking, anyway? At least, until they …
Wait, sorry, I forgot to ask: Have you heard the news about what’s happening to The People’s House? About how it’s being ‘renovated’ for corporate sponsorship and private investments? (Please pause, then go back and reread those last two questions, so they really sink in.) Though they forgot to issue the needed jackets— fire retardant jackets for backers, dinner jackets for customers, straightjackets for everyone else. So how are we supposed to know who’s who now?
Maybe you’ve only heard bits and pieces about what’s happening to The People’s House since the Secret Service was ordered to close Ellipse Park, a public park, located across the street, where journalists wanted to take photos of the demolition, sorry I mean ‘renovation’, in real-time.
There’s still some drone evidence though, of the wreckage, where the gold-plated 90,000-square-foot ballroom will be, and that won’t be so easily erased from history, no matter how hard they try. Not that they will, since they’re arrogant, proud even, of all the republican rubble they’re tossing aside for the trash heap. It’s sort of fitting really, perhaps ironic, that drones are capturing the images, the evidence, of the wreckage they’re creating, like they were the ones that blew it up. (I’ll leave you to decipher those deliberately tangled analogies and pronouns.)
In those places of hospitality and community-building, there’s poisonous vapor and dust. Instead of guests, there will be paying patrons whose transactions will cheapen the now-invisible spaces originally designed and built for founding principles that will never own a price tag. I’m all for building things, you see, but not structures that have no solid foundation or integrity, that will quickly buckle from outside pressures and market storms and fickle donors and hysterical whims, etc.
Converting humble spaces of alliance into a gaudy conference room fit for a long-dead king with a rusty guillotine will only bring fire and brimstone, not blessings, in the end. As domestic and foreign consorts dance over the thresholds of glowing oligarchy, a pit of despair will forever remain below their feet, a grave full of ghosts from times past, ready to swallow their excesses and everything else they refuse to see. Like the paupers outside the future ballroom walls, who will have nothing left to eat, therefore nothing left to lose.
The most notable thing about building something so obscene is that no one will be able to miss its oppressive opulence, or the wreckage it evokes that goes far beyond its high ceilings of debt that one way or another will soon be laid low. Its beauty and affluence offers a beacon of light for the few and an Achilles heel to exploit for the masses who see everything because they don’t have the choice to look away, as everything sparkles and gleams directly in their faces.
In other words, as I look at the images of the wreckage of the future ballroom, I can only philosophize to myself: Haven’t we humans been here before? Staring at the abyss of exorbitant, concentrated wealth, deciding whether we want the abyss to look back at us or not? Then I wonder: What would it be like to miss the messy, bloody bits of true history this time around?
Want to express your appreciation for this particular post?
Buy me a coffee one time, or become a free or paid monthly suscriber for less than the cost of a fancy coffee. Please and thank you! My writing and I are fueled by loyal readers, caffeine, and kind gestures.
