Out for presidents to represent...
The same Dani, early writings published later in his life. It’s a common phenomenon in the future- Young jungle buck finally signs on to a moon tour and in days is shitting his silver pants at the shift of a seductor’s glance. As many will tell you, meaning remains elusive where plants seldom speak and the clouds never break to reveal the face you are talking to; but go under fluorescents and a whole globe can be represented by the light side of a head.
Who’s world is this? Its hers. My friend and I had slid into the juice bar booth only moments before. She spied us, and called me out. She was the friend of the friend whose invitation had brought us off of grey hallways and into this new moonscene which we soon found out they were owning.
In this low room every fruit of earth's jungle had been rendered elixir and suspended in vats clamped to beams above the counter. They were in reds and blues, greens and purples. Their names was listed on a screen all together. It was apparently supposed that we could: walk in; breathe the air of two-dozen voices without our own breath catching; find a seat as they faces watched us; then not only choose a juice but a suitable mix of them, them with names just nouns and adjectives all made-up.
That was too much. I sought my friend chest. In shame I lean against him and ask, “What the fuck.” Empathy. Our heads cock together, shame of defeat, roof of one’s own. The barboy don’t even glance at us.
The she starts out her dreadful yellin. She on a stool across the whole room arrayed around her, she rockin to the rock of the room, she the metronome, she the queen. Who but royalty can raise they voice above the room to call out a humble person? Who can conduct a shouting convo as if we was in private? Who could ask me to raise my voice to that royal level? My shame. She made me name my cocktail by mouthing 5 names. She laughed at my selection. She winked and told me she’d throw in an extra berry, that’s name started with a ‘g,’ that’s expensive, without charging me.
It was ridicule; it was a prelude to a night where she and she friend so owned my friend and me that we’d have to hug close to remember who we used to be, back when it was just us and plants and nobody could use a roomful they already rule to rule you when you come in.
Who’s world is this? Its hers. My friend and I had slid into the juice bar booth only moments before. She spied us, and called me out. She was the friend of the friend whose invitation had brought us off of grey hallways and into this new moonscene which we soon found out they were owning.
In this low room every fruit of earth's jungle had been rendered elixir and suspended in vats clamped to beams above the counter. They were in reds and blues, greens and purples. Their names was listed on a screen all together. It was apparently supposed that we could: walk in; breathe the air of two-dozen voices without our own breath catching; find a seat as they faces watched us; then not only choose a juice but a suitable mix of them, them with names just nouns and adjectives all made-up.
That was too much. I sought my friend chest. In shame I lean against him and ask, “What the fuck.” Empathy. Our heads cock together, shame of defeat, roof of one’s own. The barboy don’t even glance at us.
The she starts out her dreadful yellin. She on a stool across the whole room arrayed around her, she rockin to the rock of the room, she the metronome, she the queen. Who but royalty can raise they voice above the room to call out a humble person? Who can conduct a shouting convo as if we was in private? Who could ask me to raise my voice to that royal level? My shame. She made me name my cocktail by mouthing 5 names. She laughed at my selection. She winked and told me she’d throw in an extra berry, that’s name started with a ‘g,’ that’s expensive, without charging me.
It was ridicule; it was a prelude to a night where she and she friend so owned my friend and me that we’d have to hug close to remember who we used to be, back when it was just us and plants and nobody could use a roomful they already rule to rule you when you come in.
posted by M.N.V.L. Local 1430 at 7:27 PM
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