Oh-oh say can you see……….
What do I think? Hmm. I think the strings are attached to my manufactured ankles and wrists at the same exact contact points as yours. The grand puppetmasters in calfback leather easy chairs in studies the size of hotel lobbies are on the phone to hierarchic & penumbras peons on the phone to fortunate sons in midlife crisis & middle-management positions cueing sound & light crews in production bridges behind the cameras that direct my limbs to dance on the fire, …& like it or lump it, just like you and David & David and Cassandra and Ed and E and Andrea and joe bag-a-donuts over there and everyone else who is not a little fat cowboy with a silver spoon and a red carpet leading to a cardboard throne is consumed & disenfranchised. & so, in suit, just like you, I am going to pick the lesser of whatever set of fortunate autocrats are lined up at the gates of the Hell that we’ve stood by and allowed their oop & contemptible fathers to create. So, as I’ve clearly noodled in the pages past, I consider Edwards the lesser of the ills, perhaps (although it gives me an itchy naïve feeling) the one who may have a fraction of his soul not bought & paid for by the lobbyists who rue this world and covet all it’s greenbacks. I consider Edwards the ONE perhaps true human…being who may actually have some semblance of a fight left in him and perhaps, perchance, a spark of sanity and decency and diplomacy and a soul that knows what it is to want for a meal or to see a mom or a pop suffer for the tabletop, however you want to define the soul or not to soul, to sleep, perchance to dream, to shuffle off this mortal coil or to take it in arrears while a quart low and diminishing rapidly. But I won’t be holding my breath that he’s still human, nope. That would be inexperienced at best. Humans don’t float that high on a wing and a prayer, it takes a jet stream and jet streams are owned by corporations, yep. As a product of my citizenship, I believe it takes a special sort of corrupt & ruthless to overwhelm the laws of gravity on the way to Peppermint Hill ~~ teppermost of the schleppermost ~~ in the 21st Century. & it’s not that difficult to see Obama as his semi-honorable sidekick on an 8 year track to the holy presidency. But do I think Obama is not a plant of one kind or another? Fuck no. Do I think he can be a meaningful diplomat? Fuck yeah. …I have no doubt he is in some very-very deep pockets from way back, though, …or he would never have made the cut in the first place unless it’s just a matter of more ingenious soap opera of state ~~ more than the fact that he’s of far bluer blood than most of us & most of the sisters and brothers who’ll get out and rock the vote for him. Millions upon millions of space bucks do not cry poor and street and of the peepes. It says rich, so, bitch, pay the sorta-kinda black man his due respects as he’s driven to that bank not on your side of the tracks! But, then again, he has a diplomatic way in his look and feel. So where does that leave me here chained to the reel, the wholeharmed and hagridden hoi polloi citizenry near the butt-end of this deal? Without a rhyme or a good reason to be optimistic about we, the people anymore, Lucile? Well uh, stuck between a hot war and a cold chase with no relief in sight for the human race, not even for the hopeful or the frightful or the truly sexually satissssfied. When those in the actual middle-middleclass on up to the higher-educated-upper-middleclass bourgeoisie, and the children of those since diminishing bourgeoisie, and th‘80s & th‘90s nouveau riche who staked their claims to ready & well-timed breaks that hefted them (who held on tight) through the heaves and the quakes while their agents set the stakes as their humanness of being caused their midland bows to break, and the children of the early ‘70s nouveau riche still hanging on tightly to what’s left of their sense of economic viability and gift of wellborn-self-indulgency are scratching their heads and making their non sequitur choices for lack of anything actually tangible enough to really be defined as an option, …then me and you and a boy named Sue…got nothing doin’ in the midst of the brouhaha…but to bicker back-n-forth or align at times. Not one iota. Not a smidge. We just signs our X’s on the line there nexta the brightest & most feasible darkhorse allotted for this season’s soap opera of state championship presidential race. Who do I like? Honest? None of the above is my battle call, it’s an honest remark for a dishonest embarkation over those great big fundamentally fucked-up falls; not an option either though, so I’ll likely pay the Edwards toll, and play the part of Mr. American Fool again, yo. But who cares. We’ve all just given in again anyway. For lack of something more poignant to accomplish here. Kick and guff and give up. Kick & guff & give up. Aw tough, suck it up. What alternative do we have? Martyrdom to lost causes? Affecting art followed by long pauses? Puff & lonesome (loathsome) suicide? Alcoholic obliteration alley-eyed? Cold disconnectedness? Ire & pestilence? Nope, in the end everybody just falls in step and picks from the field and lays their chips down on the pass line and takes their free drink in hand, ‘cause something in hand is better’n nothing in hand. & it all heads back around again…while the real ho-lee trinity: banks, insurance, oil/pharmaceuticals secure our figurehead for us poor fools. @ the caucus-carnival-show (via radio), Edwards made a speech that brought a scant of goosebumps to my breech while driving down icy evening roads leading home again, …so either he or his speechwriter is the shit in my mind tonight. Mrs. Clinton’s tongue sounded like a concessionary passing of the baton…so that’s groovy like a good movie, and hey…good for I Heart Huckabee & his handy-dandy traveling friendly-face festival knocking off two-three-four-face & 'is hedonistic hoards of holier-than-thou henchman. All in all, I plan to be perty fucked for the next umpteen years………….UNLESS, of course, Edwards can beat the cheat and earn the office that perhaps he could make noble again and maybe, hopefully, perchance he is actually…the sort of cat (that he, wow-we, or) his speechwriter wants us to believe he is. I wana believe he is, but I’m a shill for the evermore disappointed & disillusioned moot tunesmiths without a venue. ~~~~~~~~~PeaceQuake~~~~~~~~~
