Journal 15 – Elections and WASPs

Laughter bounces down the hall with the pictures
arranged in chronological procession, filled with teeth
and snow and leaves and swings and fences. Our
fences plunge themselves into the dry earth with
wry sinister smirks of demarcation. Election day
is the most pretentious day of the year. Lines
formed of the dead, the quiet dead in the year –
filled days, placeholders when politics bubbles to
the surface, broaching the temperate topic of
PC conversation – hoping to remain quiet so as not
to betray their own inherited ignorance as to what
the current conditions and proposed solutions are;
their party vote is what counts. Silent bud deadly.
I've seen the cousin to the viper coiled around
itself next to a clear plastic bag of rabbit food –
silently waiting for its young springing prey. I
could be prey. Though I've marinated too long in
wine and bourbon – a brown purple glaze for the
diner drifter – perfect for the exasperated and bored.
Ennui enticed Baudelaire – I find flowers quite
charming in their ubiquitous ability to bring candid
smiles to the sullen faces of this hindsight generation
of well-wishers. Well the mistakes that I've made;
they do sometimes bother me. If I could only show
you how I feel – you would then say to me –
hey hey don't bother me, you and I are the drastic
terrific same – same as the Nazi bellowing for the next
twitching death; same as the fish-flopping death of
one who puts his head in a plastic bag – what a
disciplined way to depart. The ivory of my skin is
said to say so much. The chocolate of hers is
off limits. There is no double standard except with
WASPs. We bear the weight of the world's ills
on our flogged shoulders – beaten and spat
upon. We still look up with incredulous tear-filled
eyes asking Why. Such a deprecated question. We
should recognize our obsoleteness with wide white
eyes – shameless and vesseled in our attempt to
adapt like a 4-chambered heart in the Palaeozoic age.
Disconfigured.

3.4.09