America’s curse and her vitality is this stinging, overwhelming complacence.
As Americans, we relish the oblique status quo; the one that lingers noticeably while asking not to be noted. The one we lasciviously ignore while lavishing our greed and materialism with trinkets of consumerism and charades of childish entertainment.
And the machine keeps chugging along!
It never breaks down. Sure, it stumbles, it coughs, but still, it continues to run, propped up by the endless supply of dollars and power and influence that our nation has garnered over its centuries-long infancy.
The house of cards was only as reliant as the stillness and predictability of the air. But now: the winds of change have accelerated, blossomed like the afterbirth of a nuclear bomb. Things have a way, with the aging of a republic, to exponentially progress until the perishing nation begins to experience degeneration in half the time it might have taken a decade previous. This accumulation of cultural evolution compounds. Soon, change appears to progress daily, by the hour, deadly, tumultuous change.
The nation, once great, cannot resist the drive to succumb to fits of collective coughing.
The degeneration becomes the nation’s supreme soul, an answer for itself. What were once lofty ideals now surrender to vile principles of disorder.
Complacence, once the path of agreeable obscurity, is now the dagger of self-immolation.