ANY FOOL CAN DIE! – Sing to Me of the Melodic Frequencies With Which Your Monarch Wings Flutter in the Sullen Winds of DIVINE BOREDOM! Quietly Into the Night? Nay– How Do You Glide Into the WHITE LIGHT!?

I remember visiting the anarchist collective house where my sister stayed for a time, here in the gateway to the west. St. Louis’s BOLOZONE as they called it then. A humming hive of activity and playful daring, with a homemade guitar-pedal lab in the basement as a way to meet-ends, and a milk crate of ‘free stuff’ available to any to choose an item from if they happened by. The whole house, at that younger age when I visited, seemed like that kind of magical lost-and-found dynamic, where things you didn’t know you might have left behind in the world if you weren’t looking, might pop up and surprise you by their very existence, and with gratitude, grace, & unsheathed-wire energy.

My sister had a poster on her wall, I believe she had collaged it, that read “YOUR HEART IS A MUSCLE THE SIZE OF YOUR FIST” displayed on a pumping fist suspended there, in this low-lit room, in a badly wired house, with dank depths and makeshift WARMTH of HEARTH. How I miss that feeling, today, here, in the midst, months in to this pandemic, and also, poigniantly, on the eve of departure from our would-be worthless tyrant child.

Tomorrow Biden will be sworn in, and I have this message, both to those who know well that the IDEAL the media is trumpet-blaring shall be restored under his dominance and redignification of this great land, is at best a DREAM and a STORY… and to those who think that what is coming next is a time of REST and RELAXATION after some war, Won? Or Just Abandoned? – But By WHOM? And what was its terms? Who were the factions? What is the meaning and purpose of it?

There are those who say ‘we must come together! we can be one’ but stamp the end of the page with undiscernable small print in red ink and a big imprint of IN THEIR NAME ONLY. These people, aren’t going anywhere. But they have lost their victory.

I SAY NOW THAT WE, (the ROYAL WE, for Rhetorical Pruposes) HAVE SURVIVED, we RISE, and RUN.

They said you couldn’t vote out a dictator. But they said a lot of things.

It simply was not his world to win.

And now, you freaks, COME TRUE.


If you had the chance…

And now, if we can get this back on track, to get it right this time.

We will get this frisbee trick right this time:

And we will be ready, at the end of every day will be ready, will not say no to anything, will try to stay awake while everyone is sleeping, will not sleep, will make the shoes with the elves, will breathe deeply all the time, breathe in all the air full of glass and nails and blood, will breathe it and drink it, so rich, so when it comes we will not be angry, will be content, tired enough to go, gratefully, will shake hands with everyone, bye, bye, and then pack a bag, some snacks, and go to the vol- cano— Toph does another trick where, okay: First, I throw the frisbee to him, and he catches it normally. And then, while he’s standing there, he just, he just slowly and methodically puts the frisbee in his mouth, like a dog. And then once he’s got it in his mouth, he does a little jump, like that’s how he caught it. Catch, put in mouth, then little hop. It’s hardly even funny, that one, it’s just sorry, it’s so dumb. And he does it in front of other people, which is the tragic thing, he thinks people’ll laugh, which is just so— He laughs, of course, loves it. But he still can’t do—I’m not even sure he’s tried it—my big trick, the one where I cartwheel and catch the frisbee with one hand while I’m upside down. That’s a great trick, a crowd-pleaser, but he hasn’t tried it and I’m not sure why. But he throws well, and you have to throw well to make the cartwheel trick work, you have to throw it low, two or three feet off the ground, and not too fast, and not too floaty—just a nice even throw. And it has to go to my right, because I can’t do the trick going to my left. So even though he can’t do the trick, he’s essential to my doing it, because he’s the only one who can throw it the right way, consistently, which is okay for now, but he’ll do it soon enough, he’s doing everything earlier than I ever did, beats me in every sport, basketball I cannot get a shot off anymore, they come back in my face and he revels, he yells in triumph, is already almost my height, is six inches taller than I was at his age, will surpass me within the year. It’s never too gusty on this beach, it’s just balmy, the air waving around, loopy and soft, which makes you wonder why anyone ever goes to Ocean Beach, which is always insanely windy, pointless for anything, and you can’t swim there either, and the wind just destroys any kind of throw you want to do unless you’re just standing next to each other and dinking it back and forth like a couple of pussies. To throw and have it be any fun we need some calm, because we need to wing that fucker. And of course people stop and watch us, we’re so fucking good. People young and old, whole families, gather to ooh and ahh, thousands of people, they’ve brought picnics, binoculars— Not like we’re frisbee geeks—we don’t wear fucking headbands or anything— We’re just good, so good— We throw it high and far. We just get as far apart as we think we can get— And so we sent flowers and Lance, who was always closest to her, wanted to go out for the funeral but just came back from New York— And so we sent a wreath from all of us, and never had to see her embalmed and cold, could just think of— And everything that seemed possible at twenty-four, twenty- five, is now just such a joke, such a ridiculous fiction, every birthday an atrocity— And we now keep the gold tin on the kitchen counter, and inside are my father’s business cards, and a tiny sweater my mother knitted for a teddy bear, and some change, and some pens, and a cap to something, maybe a camera lens, that we haven’t been able to match with its mother and— Oh fuck I was going to say: so Toph’s got this other trick where he catches it normally— I’ll throw it straight to him, a totally regular throw, and after he catches it he’ll take a few steps forward and do a little forward roll, a somersault, with the frisbee on his head, like he caught it mid-roll or something— You should see him now, he’s so tall all of a sudden, he’ll be some kind of giant, seven, eight, nine feet tall—surely the tallest guy in our family, ever, always— We’re best at the long high throws. Like when you take four or five steps and rip it— It’s almost like a shotput approach, the steps, four or five quick, one over the other, kind of sideways-like—and then you slash away with that fucker, it’s such a violent act, throwing that white thing, you’re first cradling it to your breast and then you whip that fucker as hard as you possibly can while keeping it level, keeping it straight, but otherwise with everything you can send with it you whip that fucker like it had blades on it and you wanted it to cut straight through that paperblue sky like a screen, rip through it and have it be blood and black space beyond. Oh I’m not going to fix you, John, or any of you people. I tried about a million times to fix you, but it was so wrong for me to want to save you because I only wanted to eat you to make me stronger, I only wanted to devour all of you, I was a cancer— Oh but I do this for you. Don’t you see I do this for you? I have done this all for you. I pretend that I do not but I do. I eat you to save you. I drink you to make you new. I gorge myself on all you, and I stand, dripping, with fists, with heaving shoulders— I will look stupid, I will crawl, drenched in blood and shit, I will— Oh look at those birds, on their stiff tiny legs and— There is nowhere I stop and you begin. I am ex- hausted. I stand before you millions, 47 million, 54, 32, whatever, you know what I mean, you people . . . and where is my lattice? I am not sure you are my lattice. Sometimes I know you are there and other times you are not there and sometimes when I’m in the shower with my hands scratching around in my head I think of you all, all your millions of heads and legs, standing under buildings shuffling them around, carrying them, taking them apart, making new buildings— And I am with you there, when you’re under that fucking building all centipedey and everything you motherfuckers— And when Toph catches his, he flexes with a fury, his mus- cles just these taut strings, his mouth open, teeth straight and pushing so hard against each other. And when I catch I do it, too, I flex and yell and vibrate— Can you see this? Goddamn, look at that fucking throw did you see Toph throw that goddamn thing, the trajectory on that fucking thing? it’s going way past me but I can run under it, I am barefoot and run like an Indian and I can look back and it’s still coming, I can see Toph in the distance, blond and perfect— It’s up there and rising, Jesus fucking Christ it’s small but then it stops up there, it slows and stops all the way up there at the very top, for a second blotting out the sun, and then its heart breaks and it falls— And it’s coming down and the sky is all white with the sun and the frisbee’s white too but I can see the thing, I can see that fucker I can make it out and I can run under it I know where that fucking thing is, I will run under and outrun that fucker and be under it and will be there to watch it float so slowly down, spinning floating down I beat you motherfucker and I am there as it drifts down and into my hands, my hands spread out, thumbs as wings, because I am there, ready to cradle it as it spins just for a second until it stops. I am there. I was there. Don’t you know that I am connected to you? Don’t you know that I’m trying to pump blood to you, that this is for you, that I hate you people, so many of you motherfuckers— When you sleep I want you never to wake up, so many of you I want you to just fucking sleep it away because I only want you to run under with me on this sand like Indians, if you’re going to fucking sleep all day fuck you moth- erfuckers oh when you’re all sleeping so many sleeping I am somewhere on some stupid rickety scaffolding and I’m trying to get your stupid fucking attention I’ve been trying to show you this, just been trying to show you this— What the fuck does it take to show you motherfuckers, what does it fucking take what do you want how much do you want because I am willing and I’ll stand before you and I’ll raise my arms and give you my chest and throat and wait, and I’ve been so old for so long, for you, for you, I want it fast and right through me— Oh do it, do it, you motherfuckers, do it do it you fuckers finally, finally, finally.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers

Come true its only divine right. Slip back through the plot for the new shock, seeing us then, when we were the real people.

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