Generalissimo Bubbly Pants, the immediate successor to ousted Princess Cloppingsound, glared into the infrared television, full of news. His nose lit the trammels of despair with a new populace. “How dare the heathens infer rejection of my favourite asymptotes.” He snorted, the lyrics of “Hello Dolly” dangling like the latest combat boot in this Afghanistan business. Envelopes filled with method acting open so that speaking parts can be delivered. We have become the new Reagan, added as footnote. As footnote, this statement can be pruned if not plummed for later consumption, when the very winds have ceased to bring salad days. Ronald Reagan yes, the same plain spoken heliotrope, when heliotrope means asshole, as it sometimes does, because words live in the roots of “things”. Battery acids my ass (it may not be comfortable); this may not be a funny political program, like clockwork and desperation. Bubbly Pants the most high rejoinders a reflection, pants down maybe, pants forward breathlessly. These days of active election in a delirious state conflate heroes and seltzer water. A word or two, filled with narrative, until we can figure things out. Things as in “things”. Princess Cloppingsound remains on paid vacation, a vista of passed days pressed forward, just as forward days press back. These “things” make no scents, someone sniffed, and everyone just had to agree.
The work becomes chiding of sunlight. The work is elegy and shaded. The principle ciphers as a god, in the way transience is purpose. Transience works this brief, ending fields, making trees concern. The hell of halting midway identifies the work of burning thru. Forever makes a sign. Sign makes worthy. Indeed the tramp of feet forward concludes any sentences but suggests more. Long sentences, stupid words. The caroling heard by Dante, brilliantine remorse for a better tide. The long road up from down, and turned around. The work then becomes the work now, as stained glass similitude. Anxious in the class structure of catastrophe, the baying song over all. Nothing to do but be done. Ruskin gave you papers to remind you. Slow battering concedes the earth in time. Time being functional and oblique. The worker inside sees the nation by exhalation. Transitive connection sports of culture. The class that ends becomes the class that begins, both left and right.
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