Worker bees around the honey of power, listen to me, what I need, what I am being paid to tell you is important, because I am in fact more important, pausing, but I am. The cockiness and vanity spewing from their mouth and pores like the alcohol they had the night before-only those around can actually smell it but you in fact reek. The forced smile, the insincere laughter, shoulders tense, folders on the top of the table with the correct marketing information- we are in the business of manipulation- my ba is actually a bs. The scheming, pleading, the dance of wants and desires, have you been bought or are you selling? Welcome to politics, capitalism has crashed, collided, landed, united into our invention of democracy, it was so perfect, until. . . . it became more than an idea transformed into reality. Our forefathers never envisioned this- not that all people no matter the descriptor could participate no matter what the highly edited textbooks say- not that all could be bought for the right price. The price is in fact wrong at least for me. I can’t be the only one.
Name tags of every type of constituencies, walking in herds- moving as one with the marching band toward the common goal of whatever that has been decided by them-for them. Underground the place were they keep the food in all the buildings no matter if it is Dirksen or the maze of Rayburn- the folks come together to pretend to break bread together we are brothers and sisters of course. A direct route to someone’s stomach detouring to their heart-oh I am sorry I meant their pocket or their vote. I hear them humming or mumbling “I scratch your back, if you” – they come in masses to not really eat but to play, take in a round. I have a membership you know, my card is in my pocket.
The older people, grayer, suits more boxy, mostly men and overweight still believing they are young in years. Telling the young and mostly saturated in privileged-it is dripping off them as we speak-white skins hanging only out with the with white skins, white clothes at the right time, God bring me some color- I am drowning in a sea in whiteness- blinding me into this darkness. Dating the right person from the right caste, abercombire in the beginning maturing money marketing to brooks brothers. Flipped collars, I want to flip you off make me nauseated. Georgetown this, nose job smith point that, town hall pearls, really? Glover park my ass. A token brown or poor hard worker sometimes pushes/pulls/jumps/sleeps/climbs through their label confined by social order to join this circle- a mockery of our system- the American dream is alive and well it would seem. The elders tell the young, their young essentially the legacies their offspring their clones- bush is pissed off by the misuse of life but not the legacies role in our world, his world seems to be just fyne. The olds tell the youngs what to think about changing the world or let’s be honest maintaining the quo, their status. The young ones run to tell the old, the supposed decision makers- the representatives, the senators- white skins as well those youngs run with a coffee in hand, scotch in their flask, coke in their pocket.
Those elected ones multitasking into numbness, thinking for yourself does hurt, my itinerary did not say that, your synopsis of all media was missing this. Some still banging high priced hookers, sometimes a page or intern if they get lucky- they can spend the left over money on buying someone else’s time, soul, their ideas, their votes- everyone seems to have a price in this town, this place, this district, state, this world. Don’t meet them in the bathroom- they might have a wide stance, as do I. These interns, newbies, LAs(legislative assistants), greens in their uniform of privilege run, run faster, your treo, I phone exploding to tell the boss usually boss man who are you kidding- who they work for what to think- how to think- how to vote- how to be. No one stops to look the mirror of conscience, karma, or does the 2nd or 3rd grade gut check- no one asks how to play this role like a real man or women would if given an ounce of the power, prestige, fame, or respect. No one asks, no asking, no one asked, but I continue to. Alone again in my thoughts and feelings trying my best to push against these norms of negotiation. I heart democracy my t-shirt reads. My song inside my head is so lonely- I see everything as it is. Midas might have touched our system- it is gold- glimmering- a monet of sorts but it is in fact hollow empty like a chocolate Easter bunny with the shitty chocolate waxy taste. The aftertaste is a killer and you dream of the real stuff.
Before sitting in the security line, a younger women- just out of girlhood, telling me I am not allowed to call a senator directly. I become a cocky bastard like the rest, I am above this girl thanks for the advice, but I'm not you, I'm not green like you, its a personal meeting- this is place has fucked with me too. Here is my power and my importance she isn’t hungry, not even time for lunch yet- trying to pretend that I am in fact not green.
Green i will always be. I don't play these games, buy into this way of living being, no handshakes, no promises, or words of commitment can stand against this wave of government. Run not for its people, but for the few-the many-the proud-the privileged-the power of this way of "relating", "compromising", or "conversing", the show most people dream of being part of- i despise. Alcohol soaked conversations about who knows who and who is the most important, here look at my credentials, my blue book, my cv, my bank account, my drug dealer can me here in 5. You want some coke, or maybe a xanax, here is my business card collection, did I tell you I was published. I actually am related to the Kennedy’s or the Bush's or the Hoffa's or the Rockefeller's or I am daughter of liberty, I am rich, I am a bitch, I went to Harvard or Yale or Columbia. I am smarter than you, stop, stop, stop, stop, the arrogance quiz show that never comes to commercial.
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