Veruca struts out onto the stage w/ glow-sticks and glitter laced skin sparkling in the spotlight-klieg light–w/ mic in hand she starts free-styling out to the boisterous crowd; the beat-box big band booms and bounces off the stadium walls…as the secret service nervously monitors the rabble
“Ladies and germs! Next will be midget tossing! Because we are going to be winning so much tonight, tomorrow and next week! We’re going all the way to Cleveland! We’re taking it all the way to the White House!” On a
wintry, somber morning in January, Kid Rock parachutes in with a phalange of dancers prancing in formation, and belts out the National Anthem with the Budweiser logo emblazoned on his jacket…and, that evening, after a 21 gun salute with a cascade of fireworks bursting in air…everything got streamed on pay-per-view with Female mud wrestling
Pie throwing & Fire eaters
Geeks biting the heads off of chickens
Monster Truck competitions followed by miss universe pageants
American Gladiators, and finally American Idol first-Rounders!
& then during the next morning, when the celebrants languidly open their hung-over eyelids, one brave, poor soul with actually have the gall to ask for a Sena on the Rocks, at which the footloose fancy free waiter will politely inform the vomiting American that Sena is the name of some faceless drowned syrian innocent…but every day in this great country is another day to be thankful as we all gather for the feast and monopolize innocence
time to pull up your seat and pull out the carving knife so as to release the tryptophan and the giblets
the cold waves lap and pummel the rocks off of the bodrum coast, not too far from Çatalada island
uncle dave uncaps the maker’s mark as the game kicks in with everyone feeling warm & toasty
another freeloading toddler has to find a way to distract the industrious Turkish fishermen…just who did she think she was?
As the noon kickoff rears up with the new England whistle blaring, the Panglossian panoply saunters down to 7th avenue & then makes a right…the disney & pixar characters stoically glare out into skyscraper windows high above the swaddled onlookers…
Palin-genic deceptive cadence gets conjured up with the dangling mistletoe & we get smothered in kitsch & we all genuflect to the shadows flickering across the cave, shadows of the yetzer hara strike that hot iron nerve of phobia electric current…please don’t throw me into that European no-go-zone, kind of like a friend-zone, all platonic & tectonic, but then the plates shift in the brackish septic standing water, as we ingest the medication to conjure up Samadhi fleetingly
Masochistic dreck & Stockhausen keep telling us the truth, 14 years later, availability heuristic & the heartsarnes gloss over the asynchronous bonhomie; YOU will be stuck in the gulch gulping the guppies and cursing the yuppies…just in time for the final countdown cliffhanger just before the commercial break…
Now, let us hear a word from our sponsors, we meant to say kafala! When we return to our regularly scheduled pogrom, someone will kindly tell us about what happened to freddie gray…all the local yokels chant “sieg heil” as we scurry to protect the flag once it was trampled underfoot…try to bite down on the pastel de belem à la Proust
cruz quebrada & cais do sodre…. & see if you can remember spotting the shanties huddled against each other with Angolan inhabitants out on the beach…suffocating dhimmitude casting a pale upon the beleaguered sophisticates
“it’s up to me, now,
Turn on the bright lights!” kenosis transmutes into Samadhi as the harpies & the furies beset my texan imagination & stoke the jade helm rightwing freakout…& stressful sinecure was just too much…the autotuned mantra kept playing repetitively for eternity….we try on the cement shoes one last time as we shuffle down the pier in the starless night and hallucinate van gogh’s world
We reach out begging for a cup of Ayahuasca, but instead the smirking vicar tells us that Dharavi is the field of dreams. He jubilantly admonishes us that if we thrive in the squalor, roses will bloom in our smog. He promises with absolute faith that nothing will ever trample the white rose, &
after the crow gets transbustantiated, we swallow the greasy wafer−it’s all part and art of the deal!