Such a Waltz
oh such a wonderful waltz they weave around our land these cleanly shaven young men with their neatly trimmed coiffures nice knit golf shirts comfortable sensible khakis
storm trooper boots
the way they keep in step such straight perfect posture chests puffed pumped legs jackknifed arms swinging by their side slingblades sliding through those they
dismiss
a jolly old sing-a-long a callous kumbaya a chant such chums such chum such scum might sing methinks their mumbles their projection betray their own secret nambla leanings all victims of their older cousins wanting to bugger them all conspirators in the buggering of their own younger cousins
it’s a generational rhythm these goose steps johnnie be good tonight
i mean
hey
me
inside my own head
hey
i get it
i mean i consider myself lucky i often revel in my own good fortune as they them they had cast me from the tent sent me off into the desert with no map and little water when i was but a wee lad how why je ne sais quoi i managed to survive
well who says i did
but i’m here serendipity she is sometimes an angel a goddess plucking rescuing blessing dabbing smoking puffing-la
yeah i get it
but i don’t no not really
me
i got my own rhythm i got my own canter my own meter i got the smooth move all down like a michael jackson slide i got that mambo groovin’ all the way down my arms twerkin’ into my hands trembling into my finger tips
a thousand monkeys typing
though never quite hitting that will shakespeare will and grace dear fame and fortune
this rhythm it infects every twitch blink goosebump puppy dog hump phone call doodle schlurping up noodle butt cheek squeezing cuntilicious pleasing this rhythm it spins through to the tip of my tongue like a goddamn variable speed waring blender
alphabet for the blind make you moan don’t you know
i get this thing going on my entire body it just wiggling so much that even the blood vessels in my eyeballs get into some high intensity burpees my pupils popping like kernel corn and drops of water in hot oil
things move
off to the side
these poppin’ peepers giving me peekaboo peripheral vision
inanimate objects appearing to hokey pokey animatronically just outside my range of vision
laughing at me from their sausage party because i can never quite catch them in the act an anarchic einsteinian relativi-shit of never being able to pin down
a moment
i can’t keep still i gets the jiggety legs i gets the giggling toes you go drop down some brother marley you spin up some jerry and pig pen lay on some barry white i can’t keep still i gotta move i gotta groove do the hand jive get it going with that hipshake
i shuffle the snuffleupagus wiggle that worm put the oogie in the boogie skip to my lou like some honey-dipped hillbilly hippie on acid
but
but
but the thing is
all that grooving on the inside all that transmogification of the id into the ego the angst externalized triggered tripped
all that motion in the ocean
that i have always fervently believed to be actual dancing that i do know is fred astaire gene kelly taking command of the floor stepping heel to toe
heh yeah
i know
i know
i know what the ancients what they say sitting saturnally on their self-made bed of nails they say
we’re fools whether we dance or not so we might as well dance
and dance we must dance we shall
but not with these fools
but against them
not with these one thousand bubbas doing the hup two three four in their overly pressed khakis and their brooks brothers atop a polo if had not been the dog days of summer they would probably have had sweaters wrapped around their nazi shoulders
around your nazi klannish shoulders
yes your shoulders yes
i know you
oh i know you you southern genteel fat not phat fuck dressed up in your finery you who smile down upon your ignorant white trash cousins tsk tsking chuckling giving them the old well they ain’t so bad they just good old boys don’t mean no harm don’t know no better as they paint stars and bars upon thars declaring
american by birth southern by the grace of god
your ignorant cousins poling through the muck the mire that is their swamp cursing those around them deplorables of your own creation plopped shat into their own hell their methedrine mommas squatting squeezing them out all good earth style
cursing the gods above
a collective job they are not
as the leeches sink their suckers into jackknifed calves clinging on like christmas decorations on the tree feeding them with their poisons their vile willful moanings
desperately clinging to a past that never was passionately building monuments not to such a fa la la of a fond remembrance but rather a representation of baal himself soaring in from the heavens threatening to release havoc chaos and doom upon those who would question who would attempt to take that which is not rightfully which is not righteously theirs
the noose is such a romantic notion
layering myth upon myth weaving that which was with that which wasn’t creating indisputable gordian knots of legend wherein the daughters of the confederacy are mysteriously elevated into some sort of benign southern royalty suffering gracefully beneath the weight of tragic misfortune
rather than being truthfully cast as the harlot heirs of a despicable pharaoh driven desire to rule the land with a lace-enshrouded iron fist with a nasty whip snapped whilst riding sidesaddle upon a great white steed prancing about fields of human blood a land where their shit didn’t stink because slaves were there to dab their dainty assholes with warm damp silk towels where vivian fucking leigh was such an angel she commanded the loyalty of her mammy beyond the formal bonds of slavery
you in your antebellum attitude peering out from your turrets high atop your castles in the sand tsk tsking this unruly behavior this uncouth silliness you who say them ain’t us you who sip your bourbons thoughtfully why do declaring they these people these people who march they are so not our people they are so very much from and of the fringe but
bless their little hearts
oh how can we possibly condemn such pathetic creatures they need our understanding not our judgement we simply have to listen to them hear their grievances give consideration to the emotional needs of a defeated people
yeah
well fuck you j d vance fuck you and the elegy you rode in on
i wish not to understand these fucks i could give a shit that they are the successors of european poverty indentured servitude generations of inbred uneducated woefully ignorant clans willfully pitted one against the other by the daughters of the confederacy
their need nay their craving to have a class beneath them whispered to them in utero in their trailer park breeding grounds fenced in by train tracks hurricane fences and boarded up kmarts and j c pennys their need to fear and curse perceived lesser souls
none of this evokes compassion in my heart
none of this gives pause causes me to consider in that sympathetic there but for the grace of god go i sort of feeling none of it lifts me piously to pity not because i am better not because some other god has whispered into my ear not because the spirit flows through me not because i listened when jesus asked us to treat our neighbors as we would have them treat us
it’s not because i am blessed
no
fuck no
but that is funny thanks
no
it’s simply because it sits wrong in the pit of my stomach and makes me want to wretch and i can’t understand why it doesn’t do the same for you
and all that
