The Debt Ceiling. I am not sure how to choose from the smorgasbord of frailty on this one. So I will start with the blanket. That thing that coddles and confuses us, that thing that puts us to sleep and then wakes us up again because it is choking us. That thing that Marshall Macluhan became famous for seeing. I call it the blanket. But it is that thing that we now just simply call The Media. And why not? There is scant a press to be found anymore anyway. The trees should be sighing but it is hard to do so when they are on fire. This was a rough week. A week that succeeded brilliantly at failing in a variety of ways. But I will stick with the start. The Debt Ceiling and how the story got told by The Media. Why oh why did we the people, the plebeans who listen to the radio, who grew up with the notion that there was a trustworthy news source out there, believe anything? Or was it just me? Now it is me sighing and I definitely feel like I am on fire. The failure is within, perhaps. Why oh why did nobody report on how raising the debt ceiling - until this week - has been as common in American politics as fairly elected representation appeared to be? Why oh why did it take the 11th hour story telling for it to emerge that Obama, and with him an enormous part of the world, was being held captive by a kind of corporate racism and belligerent fear? A fear so rampant that it is bound to tear so many - albeit flawed - but largely civlized processes apart? Should I blame Poetics for how our news stories unravel? There is an anecdote about Ghandi that used to make me laugh, that when he first returned home to India from America he was asked "what do you think about western civilization?" To which he replied: "I think it would be a good idea." I miss being moved to laugh on this one. I miss believing in the notion that flaws were merely indicators of a system that was largely holding. I miss believing in evolution being the key agent of change. Change is not a positive. Not necessarily.