You’re killing us, Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick

Not knowing quite where to begin after such a long absence, I suppose I’ll begin with a wished and prayed-for ending. That would be the end of Kwame Kilpatrick as mayor of this city.

As someone who strongly, damned near adamantly supported the man during both mayoral elections, it is rather hard to describe the pain, anger, rage, and anguish that brings me to a point where I feel compelled to scream all of this out loud. And given my current job, which is where it is, some might even say this isn’t particularly wise. But I just can’t shut up about this any more. The man is ripping the bleeding, furiously pumping heart right out of the chest of the community which he hilariously reminds us on a daily basis that he loves so much.

I say ‘hilariously’ because by any rational, recognizable definition of love, Kilpatrick’s warped contortion of both the word and the sentiment are a tragi-comical parody of epic proportions. Simply put, you just don’t do this kinda shit to someone you love. OK? That’s not love, that’s sickness. And when you’re that sick, you need help. You don’t need to be governing a major American city in crisis. YOU NEED HELP, MAN.

There is no need to recount this entire sick episode here because there are more than enough news locations that can provide more minute-by-minute, day-by-day breakdowns than anyone could possibly want. And with each passing day this circus of perversities and wonders simply continues to expand, repeatedly outgrowing one tent and squeezing again and again into another and then another. But it’s hard to imagine a size big enough to contain all of what we’re seeing here. This is simply not a one-size-fits-all situation. This is some record-breaking, jaw-dropping insanity we’re witnessing here that reduces all comparable fictional episodes and TV dramas to boredom-inducing wannabes.

How could any act of fiction rival such a rabidly perverse real deal such as this? We have dead hookers. We have a high-profile politician who has stepped out on his wife to sleep with one of his co-workers. We have lying to a jury, we have secret deals concocted to hide it all, we have hotshot out-of-town lawyers, we have hot and saucy text messages, we have…we have…just so much shit.

What’s not to love?

God I wish this was fiction because if it were I wouldn’t be able to put this book down. But this is happening in my city which I love. This is being done to our city by a man who once had so much potential that it was hard to see where the top floor was. By someone who has already accomplished so much more than many want to give him credit for but which cannot be denied. I mean, it would be bad enough if Kilpatrick had been a mediocre individual. But for some reason it’s always the most promising ones whose sheer brilliance is matched only by their madness. These are the ones who seem to repeatedly crash and burn like Icarus because they cannot resist the lure of the sun, despite the lessons of history. Like Prince said in one of his songs, “The beautiful ones always crash the picture. Always. Every time.”

You’re killing us, Mr. Mayor. And you don’t even give a damn, do you?

~ by teamowens313 on March 27, 2008.