Two lines of a song from the Fantasticks (an off-Broadway show that ran for 42 years) go like this:
Why did the kids put beans in their ears?
No one can hear with beans in their ears.
This lyric keeps coming to mind when I'm on Twitter and tweeps on our side keep asking WHY.
I doubt they do it cuz they like the taste.
It makes them run to the john with undignified haste.
There are so many facts they haven't yet faced.
Trying to tell them is such a breath waste.
Why do the trumpies eat deworming paste?
As Spock would say: Humans are not logical, ergo it is illogical to expect them to be logical.
Once you get that old fart logic out of the way, you can see the hapless herding horizon of human behavior. There are two major socio-political herds. The need to identify full bore with one's own herd is unarticulated but compelling. Recently, their herd (heretofore somewhat loosey goosey) has experienced a greater cohesiveness, and with that a sense of power.
The red hats, confederate flags, mask-bashing, vaccine-invecting, election-doubting, gaslight-basking, FOX-watching, bleach-ingesting behaviors help establish that identity. The glue holding it all together is HORSE PUCKY! Lies, mendacity, sham, canard, deceit, fallacy, bunk, hokum, fraud, flimflam, hogwash, perfidy, libel, sophistry, evasion, dupery, and trumpery.
Folks who actually speak the truth are ostracized - fired, banished, disowned, trashed, deep sixed, disappeared etc. They are a danger to their herd, because to pull on that thread could cause it all to unravel; to stumble and miss one goosestep is to put the whole parade in jeopardy.
And individuals, most of all, can't tell the truth to themselves. Whether it's a row of dominos or a stack of blocks or a house of cards, to doubt one delusion is to put the whole structure of the psyche on shaky ground.
Picture the human mind as a house:
Ego hangs out on the main floor and Superego in the attic, The cellar is the subconscious where Id skulks around, messes with the plumbing. and reads girly ammo magazines. Id puts in earplugs when Superego comes to the top of the stairs to start nagging. Which is most of the time. And sometimes Id comes up the stairs and they fight for control of Ego. In some folks, more often than not, Id gags Superego, handcuffs it to the bathroom sink, and convinces Ego it would be a great idea to dress up like Fred Flintstone as the Grand Poobah and, along with the rest of the herd, storm the Capitol.
Despite the consequences, the psyche is still holding steady. Ish. The psyche, albeit in jail, is metaphysically still part of the herd. But while Id is lamenting prison food, Superego chews through the handcuffs, goes down into the cellar, turns on the lights, and starts throwing shit out, oblivious to the fact that the original columns supporting the floor above have been ravaged by termites (with names like Atwater, Rove, Limbaugh, Falwell, Gingrich, Hannity, and Carlson). What had replaced the columns in their supporting role, were the stacked-to-the-ceiling trashy magazines, which Superego is feeding into the furnace. Until the floor collapses and Superego is knocked out when a refrigerator lands on it. And Ego, still in its barca lounger, is flailing around getting sucked closer and closer to the sump pump.
No one can hear with beans in their ears.
After a while the reason appears.
They did it cause we said no.
