30th
The Apocalypticist
“I’m a comedian,” he said.
“I’m an entertainer,” he said.
“Anyone who takes what I say seriously is so some kind of nutjob,” he said, adding: “We are everywhere. And we’re stronger than we realize.”
Like any good comedian, like any good entertainer, he staked out his patch. And then set fire to it. Because that’s how you get people to find you, when you’re lost in the woods: Stand still and set fire to something. Preferably yourself. It’s the difference between toeing SOS in the sand and writing it in gasoline. Teague understood this.
He also understood that tears were more powerful than invective. That sentimentality was a better lever than grievance. That the Greeks, those fine warmakers, small-d democrats all, were given to tears, nostalgia. They had a weakness for bad art: a Velvet Elvis would’ve launched at least two hundred ships. And a story of faithlessness and heartbreak? Well, you know how that went down…
