I’ve spent the last decade much like some Hamlet wandering through a T.S.Eliot poem distracted from distraction by distraction, not sure what to do next, all antic and melancholy at the same time. I keep a low profile, and yet no matter how I try to avoid the pressure points of re-visited trauma, I always seem to take the wrong turn down some labyrinthine corridor of consciousness. Most recently, I detected a peculiar sound and turning right looked into the semi-dark of a chapel chamber to see Henry Kissinger on his knees, but not in supplication to some Redeemer, asking forgiveness for all the bad karma caused by his machinations – stealing liberty, poisoning the rule of law – no, on his knees now ravishing presumed First Lady MacClinton, the sound a slippyslosh of jowls and giblets in violin-like vibrato. Two aphrodisiacs at work.
Book Review: World Order by Henry Kissinger
Yes, Henry Kissinger is back, kneepads and all. That’s the thing about K. He’s always coming back: the Cathedral homunculus of a flying buttress, or a fat Keebler cookie elf, or the nose-picking intellectual giant speaking what Eric Schmidt called his “charming German.” When I’d almost forgotten him, up he pops in Harper’s magazine, the lead piece in February and March 2001, being excoriated, in the trial docks of the late Christopher Hitchens’ mind, for treason, war crimes and outrages against humanity. There was no reasonable doubt left after I’d finished reading; I can tell you that.
Self-inflation: the Ultimate Little Blue Pill of Power
Lots of nasty stuff has been written about Henry Kissinger over the many years since he left government service. For me, though, the most telling and direct lead to the essence of his character came in March 1973. He was meeting with President Richard Nixon at the White House and they were discussing an urgent request from Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir to exert pressure on the Soviets to allow Jews to emigrate from Eastern bloc nations. Kissinger, totally aware of Nixon’s ferocious anti-Semitism, might have offered up any number of titbits of advice, but instead our aphrodisiacal maniac offered up vile lickety-split.
“The emigration of Jews from the Soviet Union is not an objective of American foreign policy,” a craven Henry tells Tricky Dick on a White House tape released in 2010. “And if they put Jews into gas chambers in the Soviet Union, it is not an American concern.”