I took a train early this stormy morning so I could go to my northern home town to vote. Elections are supposed to be held every four years, but in this particularly unstable country it seems like it's every two years or so.
These elections were (and still are, even after my vote) difficult to make a good choice in. Every candidate seems worse than the next one, but that's hardly new. Perhaps it's the endless stream of hatred, division and promises of doom that each contender spews forth that's so repugnant. But again, nothing new there either.
Perhaps this is the sobering up phase of life, when you realize that apart from very rare cases politicians will always let you down, will never keep their promises and will excel only in self preservation and the gathering of wealth via corruption. So why vote? Some people don't bother. I still do.
On the way back, listening to Shearwater's Rook on the train, I felt for a few minutes as though we were the only people left alive in the aftermath of some cataclysm. The passing terrain, forlorn and occasionally almost green, whisked sideways as the weight of my vote slowly dissipated. The apocalyptic verses of "Rooks" sang in my ears of the coming fall of the world of man, while I reminded myself that it's OK, it's not yet the end of the world. After all, the next elections will probably be held in just another couple of years.
Music and art allow the ideal. Such is Over the Rhine's "If a Song Could Be President". I think there are far worse candidates for the positions of senator and ambassador than Neil Young and Emmylou Harris. I know; I probably voted for a few of them today.