A letter to Nicolas Sarkozy

He presented himself as the candidate of change,
and promised to make France finally a modern land.
A land which, like a femme fatale, has to accept the new law of the invisible hand.
A doctor with a new drug.
Not curing the cause but only hiding the symptoms.
A psychological disease anyway.
Maybe even caused by the doctors themselves, eager to copy what others are doing.

The candidate of change,
the light to illuminate the dark corridors of globalism that France does not dare to walk in.

And we discussed. And we discussed.
About how France can undertake a smooth but nonetheless deep reform.
To finally arrive to the shores of modernity, with its wisdom of crowds, its rationalized happiness,
the freedom of all, the American dream, the spotless society where theory, the capitalist one,
can finally triumph in a field deserted by its opponents.

Ah, soon the dream! as Nicolas Sarkozy promised.

And now?
Well, apparently, modernity starts by a love affair. Typically french or stupidly anglo-sexist?
They say stubborness of unjust media driven by the primal curiosity of the people. What else can it be?

Can it be that this is it? The promise is being fulfilled? The minds are being changed? And France is finally brainwashed from its rationale and intellectual political life which has always been only a drag to its economy... The ships of modernity are arriving from the cliffs of Dover and the harbors of Maine. The best of them have left their home land to preach the good word. They are here. Pictures are everywhere, rumors of marriage are on every lip, from Calcutta to Buenos Aires. This is what the world needs, this is what the world needed, at least this is what they say. Modernity is here. The drug has arrived. French can finally have an artificial smile on their face. They can finally claim that they are happy and join the legions of other zombies.

Happiness is here. Our problems have disappeared. Thanks Nicolas and Carla.