Every now and then I join a zone of thinking that puts me in charge. I see myself upon the dais, as I hope you might occasionally see yourself there. In my case, and for some unknown reason, I am wearing a suit, a shirt with collar, and a tie. But the tie is not straight, my hair is untidy, and usually I wish I had shaved shaved. When it comes time to speak I am magnificent at first. "Lend me your ears," resounds across imagination. Then slowly I fumble into a meaninglessness of words that make no sense to me, but which my audience eats up, and as they do, I find myself gesticulating, pacing around like a demon, as I absorb the heat of adoration.
It's a mostly pleasant reverie we share, sometimes agitating. In my case, it often happens under the privacy of the front porch, as I fidget at trying to avoid one or other of the tasks that comprise a necessary part of any day. And, I would say it is a reverie a majority of the political class experience each time they see an image of themselves in a mirror. I'd also have to admit that the joy I get from these moments of lunacy, is based primarily upon an imagined adoration from a sympathetic crowd rather than anything true. And I guess too, it's pretty much the same for the political class. The difference is, they might hear a cheering that might win votes, while I hear the quarrel of Mockingbirds, the rasp of Wrens, and at this time of year there are plenty of Crickets.