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I am constantly comforting myself, when rejection repeatedly rears its ugly head and I am faced with the divisiveness occurant in our country, that the trickster and prophet is remembered and the individual citizen raising one arm high in tapestried stadiums is not. Those citizens may feel comfort in their mass, fear for their perceived enemies, and awe and respect for their leaders, but in the end their leaders and their armies are only going to win or lose; either way only dictators and generals are remembered.

The long now requires us to look futher ahead than just another administration, the end or non-end of a war, the perpetuation or demise of an empire. Our stomachs and children’s stomachs living in this time when intelligence and innovation are largely co-opted or legislated require us to look no further than this month or this quarter.

This country needs a modern trickster myth whispered in parlors by retirees as much as it is spoken about in underground “coffee shops.” It needs to transcend collegiate fraternal orders and the chess club. It needs to undermine not just political authority, but the fear that drives us to bow before the smoke and mirrors that convince us we see a cross where there is really a gun.

Your vote will not create this trickster myth. We need a silent revolution that lives in communities. We need technological protocols that are invisible to the red eyes of the FBI-RIAA demon-child. We need a clever love that confuses the chickenhawks into silence. And we need more stories.

This season of political best-sellers has been so depressing.

It is too late. Terror has won. They have driven us to a fear and paranoia that erodes our culture like a cancer. They have manipulated our leadership into foolish, unprecidented states of war that spread our collective defenses lunically thin and act like membership drives, bloody telethons for Al Queda.

I do not think Kerry will be able to fix this. But I’m more willing to take my chances that he will pause for one second before yanking the last 10 percent of my civil liberties away from me. If Bush is re-elected, we all might as well march to DC, stand with our backs to the white house, pants around the ankles, bent over. Yes Mr. Secret Service agent, I did enema this morning. And if Bush evokes the name of God one more time I will be sick. My only hope is that one day he will meet God and God can clear things up for him and his teeth will gnash into little stubs, much like mine.

I do believe our communities’ narratives could fix this. Be careful with your community’s heart, everyone. Be trustworthy when your friend or brother or sister or business partner present you with honesty. Don’t dance like two people stuck in the middle of the hall, unable to pass. This social dance must be cheek to cheek. Whisper in each other’s ear. Or don’t say anything at all. Just know.

I recently wrote in private that I hold people at arm’s length these days, in light of what I’ve experienced. One eyebrow raised, hearing the crazy shit that comes out of mouths these days. Crazy would actually be a positive term compared to what it really is…interesting. Interesting in the light of our interdependence that some would still tend towards selfishness. Interesting in our redemption that some would still try to steal our souls for themselves. Interesting in the light of love that some would still find it so easy to hate. To lie. To steal. To wage war.

So I begin to live the trickster myth. To find myself in spots of trouble because I choose to trust. Choose to trust my desires, instincts. Choose to trust others. Choose to let the wary word escape my lips, the word that allows instead of disallows. The word the opens instead of closes. The word that questions instead of answers.

And I will tell that story.

Tell a story.