Protesting, Redux, MAGA, Dying

ON SEPTEMBER 11,2011, the OCCUPY WALL STREET protests were held in New York City, way downtown, in Battery Park, and elsewhere.If memory serves, there were smaller versions of the protest movement all across America's fruited plain,in communities large and small. Sometimes, with advancing age, you get your protest movements confused and mixed up. I was too young, in my early teens, to do the Viet Nam War, aka "police action" protest thing, although I wanted to, and would have, had my parents let me out of the house for anything other than school, neighborhood pick up baseball, golf, (I was a fair bogey golfer), and frequent visits to the local public library. The purpose of the protest was to express opposition to corporate greed and domination of the American economy, the grotesque economic inequality which has always and contiues to characterize and plague the United States of Avarice, and whatever else we could think of that came to mind. Thus my disappointment at being sidelined under age restrictions for the anti Viet Nam war movement was finally quenched, somewhat. I like to remind people what a precocious little anti-establishmentarian I was (and remain to this day), that I was entirely against the Viet Nam war as a grade schooler, but was afraid to come out of he closet on this issue, what with my parents being so patriotic and conservative and all. Mom and dad were raised Republican, and remwined mired in this evil disease, as far as I know, until their respective dying days. Dad never wavered. Mom moved a bit leftward, maybe, when she indicated that she actually liked Obama. However,she thought he was arrogant. So did a good friend of mine,a fellow left wing "radical" democratic socialist and erstwhile Obama supporter. Evidently my love and admiration for Barrack Hussein Obama (BHO) blinded me to his arrogance, and still does. Like Goethe said "He loves not who does not see the deficiencies of the beloved as virtues". Now, in the glimmeringg, gloaming twilight of my existential existence on this here plane of perceived reality, divine providence or sheer blind ass luck have presented me with the golden opportunity of one last huzzah harrah. The "No Kings" anti-Trump anti fascist (ABTIFA) protest movement-rally is coming soon to a location near you and everyone else, having been there before. Last time out, it was a glowing success in the lower midwestern college town of about a hundred thousand residents where I taught and near which I still live in dignified, (usually), professorial retirement. Most likely it will be once again. The estimated turnout nation wide,if memory serves, was about eight million patriots. We anti-Trumpers would doubtless consider the imminent version a glowing success if those numbers were repeated,a smashing success if they were exceeded. With each passing day oppposition to The Felon (Trump) broadens, widens,and deepens, like the reflecting pool's publicity, as former but now disenchanted MAHAts lose patience, as they pay more at the pump, and watch their paychecks and spending power shrink to the size of Trump's hands. As the Felon's support sags to its current paltry thirty six percent, fallling like a parachutist with lead in his boots,the MAGA movement commences to sun set, with little sound and fury. Conservatives are quietly slithering away, rehearsing the speeches they will recite to their grand childern, about how they never liked the son of a bitch in the first place.