And I mean a dime of some wicked drug to numb me against this nonsense. Am I pre-judging? Of course, since I’ve had only the barest glimpse. But I keep returning to poor Kevin Randle’s website to read hundreds of comments. I’m not sure why. The whole fiasco hits me like a Tom Waits song, one I’ve written myself: “Gold-Panning With a ’47 Chevy Hubcap.” Except the hubcap is real, if corroded. Don’t get me wrong, as they say. I completely “get” the ineffable power of the Roswell mythology. By “mythology” I mean the actual definition of same: “The group ethic as distinct from personal ethic…faceless and obscure…whatever its leaders choose it to mean; it destroys the innocent and justifies the act in terms of the future.”
Thank you, Loren Eiseley, for that poignant definition. In the case of Roswell, the mythology will continue destroying those who believe. I don’t hold their belief against them. I’d sooner castigate Christians for their faith. Whatever gets you through the debris-strewn night, eh? When May 5th opens its bloodshot eye, we’ll see what it brings.