Diary

The Reality Show Presidency

Has anyone yet considered or posited publicly that Barack Hussein Obama does not actually exist?  That he is in fact only a character played by a ward-heeling Chicago pol named Barry Soetoro, and part of the preparation for his role was election to the United States Senate?  That just as Brad Pitt needed to put on a considerable amount of muscle to believably portray Achilles, so did Barry Soetoro’s image likewise necessitate the equivalent of a personal trainer and a carefully controlled steroid regimen —  one that no one discusses publicly, but which anyone who looks twice cannot help but acknowledge?  How else could a low-level Chicago politician of no provable accomplishment beyond his ostensible schooling, with a background that could not only not survive an FBI background check, but of an upbringing so teeming with questionable individuals and travels it would actually initiate such a check of its own accord, how else could such a man find himself where he does today?  Could not the absolute absurdity of the Reality we currently face — the utter incompetence of the man and his administration — also suggest that the man in question might well have once been as interchangeable as any actor up for a role, and that he won that audition long before the 2008 election, and was groomed for decades as a possible portrayer of a role?  A role that evolved as necessary, but once put into play, has assumed and utterly enveloped its current embodiment?  That he was never intended to be a competent President, but rather means to another end entirely?

Since Soetoro is essentially irrelevant to his own equation, and to extend the metaphor, the question becomes which movie studio is responsible for this particular 2008 Autumn blockbuster release.  The reviews were incredible, as though the studio had bought off nearly every critic in the country.  The pre-release publicity brought out throngs of fans caught up in a story they recognized instinctively, as it was one they had been trained for a generation or more to await and react accordingly, when finally presented in a fully-realized form.  The role was pre-written: a Messianic figure carved carefully to nestle securely within the safest of wombs in the national zeitgeist,  a transcendent figure above Race, Color, Creed — even Nationality itself — all concepts of a less-enlightened age, not congruent with the all-encompassing Oneness which all right-thinking people know mankind will someday achieve.  His very name quickly became one word, slightly foreign but ultimately reassuring in its brevity, an invocation capable of rolling back seas and offering everything to everyone.  He was the One all good people had been awaiting for generations, and even some of the most experienced and jaded political commentators could not bring themselves to not support the possibility he might be what he claimed.

Soetoro is in reality no different than Pitt:  just an actor working from a script, with predictable confusion whenever he strays from the carefully parsed prewritten word.  And as an actor must believe, when the cameras roll, that he actually is the character he portrays, Soetoro finds himself in the unenviable position of being an actor for whom the cameras never stop.  His feet up on the Oval Office desk, his multitude of vacations, the eternal smugness with which he faces us all, the genuine rage when someone strays from the script and effectively breaks his fourth wall, are all signs of a man who thinks he knows something we do not, yet who desperately seeks to escape from the overwhelming falsity of his life at every opportunity.  He tries very hard to believe he is as he was so recently portrayed, but events and simple reality have quickly negated that possibility.  He is of course not what he was presented as being, as the character we were offered was so implausible the role achieved, necessarily, a purely fictional nature, as surely as if we were told the man could fly.  Our superhero plummets daily closer and closer to the Earth, and his irrelevance to the now central question grows only more apparent:  who exactly wrote this script, and when?  Who bought the rights, and who is responsible for this movie’s release?  And what is stopping them from producing the sequel, this time with a female lead more well-known to the audience?