You can try and hide behind the umbrella. you can hide behind your interpretation of the law. you can hide inside your home behind your money and your discourse. you can call for law enforcement. do not be surprised when they pull you out from cozy privilege and imprison you. restricting your arms at the wrists. rolling your fingertips in ink. will you smile for the camera? will you represent your vitriol? will you miss your mocha cappuccino reserve and high castle office? the fawning gucci assistants shredding papers, who you undress with your eyes, leaning back in your chair while stroking your gold-weighted pen?
The map of the states, the topography of the election was blood red and rising last night. I thought it looked prettier with the interstitial lakes of blue we saw in 2008 and 2012. In Manhattan there was a glass ceiling, unbroken, and through it one could see the many dejected faces below, their leader missing in action. Somewhere deep in the everglades she lost, by a fraction. Today the proper treatment is falling in line. Come together and act united, the states. I know where I’m gonna start… I will be heading over to Susan B. Anthony’s grave with my wire brush, to remove all those – I VOTED! – stickers from her tombstone.
All the civilizations and past lives are buried beneath us because they did not hire enough people to keep sweeping. Had they hired enough sweepers, we would have all the treasures of the past among us. We have the street sweepers now, machines, but they go about sweeping the roads which have paved over the past. Shouldn’t we all be digging down into our gardens, down into the deep to unearth all the treasures? We all know how. One of the first things they gave us was a bucket and a shovel and a sandbox and naturally we began digging. In two hundred years all our treasures will be buried with us, and the future will be walking on our graves! Sure, some of the treasures will be exhumed and put on display. But what about your heirlooms? What about your creations? Like rings of a tree, the superficial layers of the earth if taken out by cross-section will tell of our lives and our tragedies. In New York City, in the year 2310, someone will excavate Manhattan and find that one thin ring of chalkdust from nine eleven and put the pieces together again so nothing will be lost on the timeline. On either side of that ring will be the slick almost watery syrup of the life and times of the most powerful nation on earth. I’m sure my grandmother’s ballet slippers will be in there. And not far from that, ashes from my grandfather’s cuban cigar. There will be reams of paper mulch on one side, and the other will be tested for trace amounts of silicon and plastic. The movement from the daily morning predawn paper delivery boy to the bloggers and vloggers logging onto their apples. The countryside will have imperceptible layers of poisons in the corn, and fluoride and pharmaceuticals will test positive all over the cities for sure. They will have to really work to determine why we brushed our teeth so rigorously back then. I mean now.