Interlude: Musings on the Passing of the Pope
JD Vance visited. The Pope died.
At least he was spared the ignominy & indignities to be further unleashed by an administration built on cruelty (especially to the poor and downtrodden, once championed by him).
In another age, in another country, the death of a pope would have called forth statesmen, sovereigns, and saints to stand beneath the sorrowful banners of the world and offer due respect.
In this age, under this Pretender, there came instead a blue-suited narcissist, late and loud, posing like a squire at a joust he had mistaken for a pageant.
The bells tolled; the crowds wept; the flags drooped under mourning crepe — and still the Pretender smiled for cameras that had not been raised for him.
He wandered the aisles of that ancient basilica as if lost in a discount warehouse. When at last he found the bier, he lingered not in prayer but in calculation — measuring camera angles, not legacy; rehearsing slogans, not requiems.
The world mourned a shepherd. America sent a wolf.
There are tragedies that play upon the grand stage of history, and then there are tragedies that unspool like threadbare pantomime. This, alas, was both.
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