men of factious tempers, of local prejudices, or of sinister designs, may, by intrigue, by corruption, or by other means, first obtain the suffrages, and then betray the interest of the people – john madison, federalist no. 10
his cunning mouth can inveigle even the blind, intelligent mind.
only the pauper reads and knows the most enigmatic lithium minds of a doomsday metropolis. he lives from street to street, working his way by applying his mercantile eloquence to naive martyrs. he seems to know almost every individual who passes by the same territory he’s established his vanguard tread on. do not be fooled by the clothes that he wears. they are prepared and stylized better than a costume designer fools the performers into believing the inner spirit in them changes. their simple handwriting equates the reversed penmanship of leonardo da vinci. one who can look into the phrase sees a different catch plea more than emoluments and imminent human withdrawal. his eyes are everywhere, watching every man’s hand slip into his girlfriend’s left pocket, a hungry beast’s eyes visually devouring an innocent beauty whose breasts are swollen enough for carnal feasting, and her internal clock set for the bloodiest ounce on the crisp winter snow. he can return the change you dropped on the ground or give you a handshake, but at the same time covertly pluck a strand of hair from you and sell it to those who can obliterate your white circle of protection and usurp every single fluid oozing from your body: the essence called life by some others. he watches, waiting for the kill.
on my way to steve’s bbq. i saw him project the meekest of the meek persona. his friends who did the usual business comment on his more frequent visits to this part of town. they can sometimes even make more than a college graduate makes in his first 2 years of work. all the rejection per millisecond made a stronger george orwell out of him. i took out the exact change from my wallet as he recognized my presence.
“excuse me sir…” he jumbled the last phrase with schizophrenic hypnotism. it was the same as the crooked thing coka cola did to stigmatize the satisfied into patronizing their opium-laden concoction. “… you dropped(should) your(put) dollar in here(sir).” resounding despite my pleas to spend it on the #2. mumbling had its way of making people understand the other way around. his combination of euphymism, somewhat homonymous, syntax did not open the third hearing awareness to most.
“it’s for my dinner, sorry.” i proceeded down the narrow strip.
the swindler hoped that his sleeping subconscious would resonate the signals to queue his next move. “it’s for my dinner, sorry.” the guy replied again as he jumbled the transition of words. he knew the cryptic writing about utilizing abstract feelings was one of the most powerful tools to break any communication barrier or misunderstanding. he still uses the same measure to question spy operatives when he used to work for f.b.i. he knew his ebonics was good enough to do the cover. his identity as a recruiter for the us government did not look obvious to everyone around. what if they found out that i had a mansion down east and het had to do some dirty work before he gets back to his murcielago in the airport. the agency was going to reimburse his expenses, anyway. a 60-dollar overhead expense will be eaten by the extended federal security budget. these clothes were too condescending for him. plan b…
i’m tired, too much epistemology and angela carter.