Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Apocalypse Spring

My great dream is to play Pontius Pilate in a Native American/Ghost Dance themed take on "Jesus Christ Superstar."  I would rock the motherfuck out of that blue-eyed  devil shit and I fucking ay know it.. That's what I can do for the movement.  At Occupy Lincoln I  was the only one who could cook at all.   There was a Lexington Latino fresh out of prison who labeled me "Custer".  My first experience with K2 was with a man newly paroled for drunk-driving a stolen semi along the railroad abouts the Havelock yards.  He handled me "sunshine."

I am a white man; liberated, educated, so totally not like my bellowing racist family men at all.  It occurs to me only now that I say or think "I" far more often than I do "we" but this is coincidence surely.

The little junction town of Nebraska City was so named with the intent of being exactly that; the future state's socioeconomic window to The East. Such was also the goal of Bellevue, Blair and even the now -prettified tourist trap pseudo-village of Brownville. If you follow the long line of WASP male territorial governors in   the north hall of the Capitol you shall happen upon an Oberyn Martell looking fellow named Thomas Cuming. Cuming had personal links to Omaha business interests on the one hand and also to generals congressmen surveyors etc on the other. Bribes went to the right places so that the UP railroad began at 10th and Dodge. And now Omaha is Omaha while Nebraska City is a Wendy's on the way to Kansas City.  Minneapolis folk made bribes to the right people too; making sure that all rails in both Dakotas had to lead to Minneapolis.  And so Omaha is only Omaha and not Minneapolis. 

As I recall is was around this age, the postwar 19th century, that those of the New Guard began to use "FUCK" in a way that meant "I have contempt for ______" and not a literal command to have sex with all members of an ethnic group, all constables the world over, the corporate entity of Whole Foods, the conceptual ideas of warfare, capitalism, proposed landfills, the corpses of Ludwig Wittgenstein, Ayn Rand, Hubert Humphrey, Carrie Nation, Charles Dickens, Frederick Engels, Andrea Dworkin, the Muslims, The Muppets, those scurvy fucks across the tracks, Every Last Motherfucking Suit along Lake Shore Drive.

I ask for nothing except a lover who takes obsessive pains to hide both our relationship and my own physical existence. Who insists that Bright Eyes 'First Day of my Life' is about joining ISIS, who frees me from the world with thirty years of apartment jail except no, not at all.

The truth is that I'm a highly internalized fellow but also a vital one with a deep need for stimulus.  The truth is that I have never taken as much joy in sex as from the year's first smells of thawing earth and pollinating yard. The truth is that I have been intimate with Nebraska City. I nighted in my van there after Mother wired me several hundred dollars to smuggle in Missouri fireworks for The Fourth. It was the death summer of 2012 with the Wyoming look of eternally blasted plains reaching all the way to the Mo River. when it was still 90F at 2AM I could hear my land screaming with thirst so I gave her some Franzia.

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