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The Hierarchy

Imagine Fundamentalism is an old vintage car. It doesn’t run. It hasn’t moved in years. It’s a shell of its former self, housing memories of quick trips to the store for milk and longer jaunts to state parks.

But there Dad sits in the front seat trying to turn it over while he’s flooding the engine. The Son sits in the passenger seat begging, “Let me try for ONCE, Dad!” And Mom is quietly sitting in the back seat with a plastic smile pasted on her face, sweating in the humidity, checking her panty hose for runs.

You walk up on this scene. You notice the vintage car. You wonder what could be done with bunch of metal and rubber. And you keep on walking. You’ve got flowers to water and dogs to feed. You don’t even see the drama inside the car.

I want to talk about each of those personas and their relationship to that car. Well, they don’t have a relationship to the car really. The car is useless. It’s their relationship to each other that matters.

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