The alternative to hope is the acceptance of death, the acceptance that things can’t really change, that we already live in the best of all possible worlds, that real democracy doesn’t exist, shouldn’t exist, but is better as a constantly eroding shell, held up as though it were the whole and worshipped as piece after piece falls off — isn’t democracy beautiful and perfect? Don’t you wish you were dead too so your dried up shriveled remains could more closely resemble the objects of our worship? Don’t you wish you were dead too so they could toss your little corpse into the impenetrable cavern of their delusions? Look, there lies the nation and the well-educated informed voter, the responsible and responsive policymaker and justice and freedom and the free market and reason. How they shine when I aim my light at them! And how they meld in with everything else in the dreary damp darkness when I turn my light off again.