PRESTIGE GAMES
The secret to electoral success? Promising sun to the
cold and shade to the hot, preferably in the same sentence.
If
we map political language, which is inherently ambiguous, onto logical and
temporal variables, their seasonal "truths" translate like the expiration
date of a yogurt taken out of the refrigerator. Politics is a system in which
coherence borders on the thermodynamics of a vacuum, and we can model it as a
sleight of hand.
Political
art is built with bricks made of dreams held together by mortar: the principle
of explosion (ex Falso sequitur quodlibet), meaning that if a system accepts
both a proposition and its opposite as true, then any conclusion can be drawn.
It's
a magic show where the voter hopes to be deceived again next time. The politician
suffering from—fantastic lies—first convinces himself of the lies he must tell
and then convinces the electorate.
The
illusionist's hat is always empty: the system is made of double bottoms and
secret trapdoors, and no matter how much you shuffle a political cheat's deck
of 52 cards, the fifty-third card always comes out.
In
short: if they say everything and its opposite, mathematically they're saying
nothing. The net result is a truth value that tends to zero, regardless of the
volume of their voice.
QUARTAVEL
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