The man on the corner, near the curb near the stop light; he waves happily at children, as though he knows them, like he’s their Uncle Dick, and he has not seen them for many years.
The man might move up and down the line of cars, in which sit, people who are going to specific places, to get there—where they’re going, to get there on time—avoiding the boss’ spiked harpoon.
There are those who are posers in soiled orange county jester costumes—you see a conclave depression costume, a beat up, uptight look on their faces, and hear closeby‘excuuuuuuse me for living’ ala The Muppets living in lower Manhattan, a Polly Anna high from the Jesus’ supply.
Attention-getters like the reverse drama of the show gets them all laughing or crying, then gets them to give me something, anything,, but preferably whites only who are in the money.
They are the whites in Black Face docilely manipulating other whites to forget their evils, their shortcomings, their guilt, their shame and blame games, all with a song on their tongues craving hand-covered snickers, raucous partyers (sound of recoiling laughter), cruel, sardonic snickers, and ‘happy-to-forget-frivolities!’
The man on the corner carries the small sign, and is a connoisseur of entertaining the masses, to live one more day in this world of blame—ah, no, not that he could save himself from his vaudeville ways and means, I mean that’s outrageous—even to think like that, wow dudes!
At times, the “haves” are facilely mesmerized, artificially energized, misplacing a societal-structural compassion (this is not conservative compassion) for an honest cultural critique—not tongue-in-cheek. They call this the deadly, but sublime “make over.”
No, I don’t think it is, but for the troupe the most basic and essential fact from Science is evolutionary survival, only the strongest pretenders will abide, in their camps or at their sally ports\they roll on their mats, holding their sides—bouncing—they roll on their mats, holding out, holding in, repeating the adage of the Barnum and Bailey Big Top=”A sucker is born every minute into illusion each second” and don’t you forget to move your American-made cigar up & down for effect—time of laughter and forgetfulness.
©Christopher Bear-Beam November 2, 2013