On Returning

"And, for the sake of form, Tim Price resurfaces, or at least I'm pretty sure he does."

Yes, the Confidence Man has returned. Thy humble correspondent tugs at his forelock in apologia for his long incommunicado trek through the canebreak. Things to do, people to see, et cetera, et cetera.

In any event, we are glad to see that Josh Marshall has been empire-building while we were at Croatan. Marshall's TPMCafe.com is an invaluable resource (which we shall add to our blogroll, when we get around to building it), and, of much interest to us here at Croatan, features a section titled :"Early Returns from the Political Wilderness." As frequenters of the political wilderness, we Croatanians welcome dialogue on this subject; although we of course do wish for certain modes and methodologies of wilderness-tramping and -returning-thenceforth remain occulted.

As, we are sure, does Karl Rove. Part of his amazing success has been the maintenance of various Republican doppelgangers, shadow cabinets, camerae obscurae, secret twins in the attic, termites in the woodpile, et cetera, et cetera. Yea, some of those pigeons may now be coming home to roost, as it were; Cain asking for a seat at the table; yet we have Confidence that Unka Karl will wriggle his way back into the briar patch soon enough.

For this is Unka Karl's secret, as well as that of the many forces assayed against the tsunami of Liberalism and Modernism that continues to flood higher and higher ground, creeping its way intercontinental: illicit urges demand not their release in ugly peccadillos, but rather their own entombment in a sekrit chamber, so as to spin endlessly in the musty dark and thereby provide the black matter to drive the engine of social revanchism. The festering imp at gthe heart of every man does not wish to live in the City on the Hill; it wishes above all else to Go to Croatan.

Of course, to swathe the Imp deep in a velvet cloak is to strike a fustian bargain. For nothing that Goes to Croatan may reside e'er in that bower. Its own wilding spirit drives it occasionally, mindlessly, into the light of day.

And when the Imp returns -- then, boys, it's padlock-the-chitlins-in-the-larder time, for as the Sun impels the Imp to the surface, the Imp commands the blood to rise in other creatures.