Monday, August 01, 2011
August. And the heat swells. Beginnings of southern living. In the climate changed north. I can hear you. Clanging away silently. We are the notion of discontent. Fingers barely reaching keys. Sweating knuckles. In the new south the people have become powerless. Delirious with the heat. Giving in to any whim of misdirected government. Please take all of my money. And my shoes. And my sanity. I need nothing to survive on my own. In the woods. We are all moving to the woods. When the police run out. When our houses burn down. When the streets crumble. The roads of perdition. You continue your obsessive chanting. Thinking there is anything else. The same as this. Another version of articulating blonde. Or drinking German beer. In August. In your free time. Since we no longer require services. Or looking after. When the schools fall we water the fields with lemonade. Good old fashioned hard luck. Dusty. Dirt smeared on our noisy stomachs. Corporate flash still convincing us. We love this.