Sometime after I was introduced to marijuana, but before I was introduced to Rene Descartes, the concept that perception is reality crossed my addled mind.

Lying in my room late at night, in a state of extreme paranoia, it dawned on me, that in fact, what a human being believed to be true in the confines of their own mind, was all the reality that mattered.  I don’t really remember the etiology of this thought.  I was fucking baked beyond existence, really.  But I remember it being a powerful truism that lasted until the morning, and has followed me ever since.

Why on earth would I be here making this confessional to a community full of people?  I usually save such gems for close friends and acquaintances after bottles of rum.  Leading to the logical conclusion that a) I really like you guys and am somewhat inebriated; or b)   I have been thinking about perception and reality in the wake of Katrina, and it makes an interesting lead to the thought I wanted to share.  I’ll leave you to judge which conclusion is true, if you choose to read on after the flip.
My return to the blogosphere after a 46 days of reading only The New York Times collided with the force of nature, Katrina.  It was really a remarkable time to come back.  My reality had been shaped by the stoic and slow Times.  But just in time for this horrendous catastrophe, I was able to switch on Booman and follow it all in real time.  Plus I was able to spew out the venom I was feeling.  All in the comfortable confines of this here community of people, who for the most part, are seeing the world at least from the same side of the aisle as I am.  It was very cool timing, if one can use the word “cool” to describe death, destruction and despair in the face of seemingly willful neglect.

Things felt kind of revolutionary in those first days, reading and blogging about this disaster.  I honestly felt that Katrina, and Bush’s pathetic lack of effective response, were heralding in an era of great change.  This was the trumpet sounding the charge from the heavens.  People of good will and intelligence were going to seize back their country from self-serving idiots.  I was sure of it.  And, frankly, I was hearing it not only from within my own heart, but here on the boards.  In the diaries and comments.  It was an awful tragedy, but in the response of the media, and the folks here, I was sure there was a silver lining.

I was perceiving the world through Booman, and through correspondents like the brave Anderson Cooper, and I was sure.  My reality was that Bush’s end was nigh.  We were going to march on Washington on the 24th, and put an end to this idiocy.  And, it didn’t seem like an idle fantasy.  It seemed palpable.

On Saturday, my trite life called me away for a number of hours.  Annual fantasy football draft, with mandatory drunken debauchery to follow.  (I got up Sunday morning, and read a diary about how a Republican couple had partied Saturday away to the annoyance of a decent Tribber, and I almost felt compelled to confess my sin on the spot).  And, during my Saturday hiatus, a set of perceptions entirely foreign to those found on Booman and those flowing from the mouths of the Anderson Cooper’s of the world, flooded my brain.

I come from a little blue-collar town.  We suffered in the ’70s.  I am from a neighborhood of Democrats that probably helped elect Reagan.  A lot of these guys never really came back to the left side of things.  And a lot of them passed this blue-state conservatism on to their children.  People who hunt, and who are not overly concerned with racial justice, and joined the Army to fight the cold-war Commie enemies.  I was one of them at 18.  And I am still one of them on fantasy football draft day.

That is not to say I become a Republican on that day.  I have drifted so far to the left on the political spectrum that I think I need to self-censor myself to keep from getting banned at dKos.  But, I tend not to be too loud with my views around my old blue-collar buddies.  We drink and eat and talk sports.  A disgusting number of them want to talk NASCAR these days, and that kind of makes me nauseous.  But, I tend to avoid politics, because I know where most of them are, and they don’t want to be woken from their cocoons.  I keep the peace with that old adage warning against the impolite discussions of politics, religion, and income.

But, this year, I was feeling revolutionary.  What with the incredible things that were happening with Katrina and the blogosphere.  I wanted to let the boys know that the revolution was coming.  I wanted them to have a chance to get on board.

I eased them onto the topic of Katrina and race, talking about Kayne West’s comments on network television.  I threw out the idea that some of those helicopters and troops in Iraq could be saving some lives in New Orleans, as we were drafting some of those Saints.

The silence was deafening.  I’ve got eleven friends in the room.  Most of them know I have drifted way left, and am writing left-wing novels.  But, now, I can hear crickets in the background, at mid-day.  And, some of them are looking at me like I am Ted Kaczynski.

Undeterred, I asked if any of them knew about September 24th, and the protest to change the world.  Let’s bring the boys home.  “Nobody should die for no purpose right?” I said.  More silence.

A friend said, “We gotta work.”  Much laughter.  Lawyers and writers do not really work, in the perception and reality of my band of brothers, I can assure you.

I eventually gave up.  Gave in.  Got fucking trashed and danced a jig to the sad state of this fucking country into the wee hours.  My perceptions of what is going on in this country had completely changed.

Sunday I nursed a hang-over.  Felt guilty for doing little to help the victims, or to even keep myself informed.  Today I read the poll numbers.  Bush is going to get a pass.  The networks are toning down the revolutionary rhetoric — toning down even the challenging questions.  Resuming their role as lapdogs.

There is no stopping Bush Co.  At least not if the jury of my peers is sitting in judgment.  Until the man threatens them and their families personally with death, I do not see them awakening.  The neo-cons will spin their way out of this.  There will be a white wash commission.  And another horrible policy fuck-up will be swept under the rug.  And the corporations that eventually write the history books will lionize the boy king.  A smirking face chimp will look back at my grandchildren from their laptops (or whatever they are reading from in those days) at school one day, under the banner “Savior of Our Nation.”

It is like we are a nation stuck in identity politics, I think.  The working class whites who support this idiocy will simply not be shaken from their uninformed support.  It would cause too much cognitive dissonance to their world view.  They are now Republicans, because they are Republicans.  They can be poor and uncared for, but they would rather be that, than wrong.

I was pretty despondent today.  Very much fearing that, for me, reading the great thoughts presented here at Booman, is something like waiting out a hurricane in a small cove.  It allows me to perceive the world the way I know it ought to be.  It can even give me the illusion that this is reality, so long as I do not leave the cove.

But the minute I step outside, I am surrounded by a shitstorm of willful ignorance, that will not let the world change.  I cannot imagine, after viewing this event, what on earth will make any difference.

I hope I am wrong.  I still hope that September 24, 2005 might rock the world.  But, I am having a hard time seeing it, in my present state of mind.