(no subject)
A tall lone figure walks up to a podium that has been set in front of an American Flag. However, this flag has been turned upside down. The individual is rather tall, slightly chunky in the middle, but not Michael Moore fat. Dressed in a t-shirt tucked into blue jeans, with a casual button down draping the waist so as to hide the self image of the good year blimp being transferred psychologically onto the audience. Or just anyone who's looking. New Balance sneakers embrace his size 17 feet, or the feet lovingly cradle the support from the New Balance. Catch 22 there. Anyway, yes.
The individual has mounted the podium, but there is nothing pornographic about this. A grim facade is presented from his visage, adorned with glasses, mustache and a goatee. "Weird Al's" lawyers may be researching into image copyright, but the individual is not wearing a Hawaiian shirt for obvious political raisons d'etre. Or even Christian Dior's raisins.
The individual coughs slightly, the audience turns with rapt and patient attention.
"Friends," he begins. "I have only come here to say one thing, and one thing only. And it is this."
They can take my unborn grandchild's income when they pry my weapon from my cold dead hands
"Thank you," he said quietly as he left them, the stage, and the podium behind. His five seconds in the sun left for the audience to think about. What it could mean for them. And someone, not the person he paid to do the slow clap at first, turning to strength and speed with each additional clap, applauded. Then the same person stood up. Slowly, others turned to stand up and applaud as well. The audience turned to their representatives and demanded...
Then the lights went out, and I woke up from my dream.
The light was filtered through a gray dismal sky. A sky that felt no shame or pity while it spat on my window. A sky that seemed to know what was going through my head, heart and soul, while a political curtain was being erected to separate the People from their Representatives. The only thought that was in my mind as I rose from my lone bed, "What would Hitchcock do?"
The individual has mounted the podium, but there is nothing pornographic about this. A grim facade is presented from his visage, adorned with glasses, mustache and a goatee. "Weird Al's" lawyers may be researching into image copyright, but the individual is not wearing a Hawaiian shirt for obvious political raisons d'etre. Or even Christian Dior's raisins.
The individual coughs slightly, the audience turns with rapt and patient attention.
"Friends," he begins. "I have only come here to say one thing, and one thing only. And it is this."
They can take my unborn grandchild's income when they pry my weapon from my cold dead hands
"Thank you," he said quietly as he left them, the stage, and the podium behind. His five seconds in the sun left for the audience to think about. What it could mean for them. And someone, not the person he paid to do the slow clap at first, turning to strength and speed with each additional clap, applauded. Then the same person stood up. Slowly, others turned to stand up and applaud as well. The audience turned to their representatives and demanded...
Then the lights went out, and I woke up from my dream.
The light was filtered through a gray dismal sky. A sky that felt no shame or pity while it spat on my window. A sky that seemed to know what was going through my head, heart and soul, while a political curtain was being erected to separate the People from their Representatives. The only thought that was in my mind as I rose from my lone bed, "What would Hitchcock do?"