Ill-faded Flag: Cult without a leader. Hairy Hantaeosities.

 

 

 

Ill-faded Politics.

 

Setting to one side Ted Bundy-level psychopaths, who diagnostically can (and do) latch onto anything, anytime, anywhere, any way they can, we identify three sets of syndromicals in this phenomenon.

 

We may take them as in analogy with the three colors of natural politics such as it has been:  red, white, and blue.

 

First we may take in the "allies," white knights of blameless signalling and cheer-leading indefatigably.

 

Second, the victims, at least 98% I would just throw out as a guess, estimate, first approximation, the members of the cult for lack of a more precise term. 

 

Call them "red" as they are hardly orange, flying the flag, with years of sunny doubtlessness and dauntlessness under their belts.

 

This leaves the blue, baby:  oh yeah, no leaders. What? No leader(s)? So who is true? Who is blue?

 

This is where our guide through the mazy wilderness is none other than Susan Blackmore.

 

Call her "Susan Greymore," or Susan Graymoor, S. Graimoire.

 

Something of that nature. In no way alluding to or alluded by psychic phenomena. 

 

These cultural aspects are entities hardly human nor even humanoid, neither android nor archetypal in any sense or tradition familiar to us as yet.

 

The new, the blue,  call the together sameling, the ill-faded, the Reaganite Trickle Aura of piss-down economixing and matching and seeing what "works" or flies.

 

What can remain aloft, or even "take off." 

 

To begin with.

 

The 98% are nothing without their indefatigability of imagination and creative inventiveness and in-winded wafting and blowing and circulation of airy Antaeosities.