Every age has its epic poem. This is ours: The Pelosiad. It's not art, but it's ours.
The good news is that the monster we've been creating has a fatal disease. It's very unlikely this system is not going to unravel, from both external and internal pressures, in the coming years (and that could be only a few).
I liken the entire process to waking up one morning and learning that your spouse of forty years has been systematically poisoning you. We are now going through the continuum of feelings that accompany such a discovery. First disbelief and confusion, then hurt, then slowly building anger...