those interventions that seek to appeal to the highest in people

A poem I wrote that expresses the freehoodship ethos better perhaps than I could do in prose:

2012 Epistle of the Virtual Apostle

I’m apocalyptic tonight, Lord, though supine in

civilization’s pastiche below a pasteurized Milky Way

wondering how many back-up generators are there

keeping this light pollution between me and

the stars and

for that matter, how

many back-up generators were there all week

keeping the limp handshake and the half-hug

between me and other people?  Maybe we

are, as lactation experts

claim, not trailing

clouds of glory, but former babies wired

for such future skin to skin contact.

And maybe I’m wired likewise, a dim

bulb livewire, to consider the consequences of

that metaphor.  Or maybe not, Lord, because

consider means “with the stars” and tonight,

as I’ve stated, I can’t see them

from any of the seven thousand parking

spaces at

Sunrise Mall.  Live apocalyptic update:

just Venus visible here in the dark

nether regions by Sears where it appears

out-of-work meth-head contractors stripped the copper wire

and got away, discovering another

false bottom

to the penultimate rock bottom.  Live apocalyptic

update number two: coincidence or serendipity that

there exist as many false bottoms as

generators, darkness being a man-made light like

a 20^th Century

comb-over distracting as beautiful

rainbows on flies attracted to dog crap

in all occupied parks, Tai Chi or

no Tai Chi.  In one of those

parks, Lord, the

one where Saturdays I

offer free handshake lessons, I recently dissed

my friend’s prophesy.  I recant my dis.  She

prophesized that we’ll naturally conceive of everyone

in 2012 as our stunt-doubles: when

there’s

an off-color joke in sensitive company, there’ll

be a stunt-double to do your smile.

When some brainwashed jihadist enters a burning

mosque and rescues the 1% innocent bastard

banker

son of the 99% evil enemy

cleric, he’s also your stunt-double.  And when

you’re doing your “reverse Borat” thing, those

interventions that seek to appeal to the

highest in people, you’re

being a stunt-double

for all those politicians so bent on

pandering.  Anyway, Lord, if she were here

tonight and delivered, cross-legged on her neoprene

yoga mat, the third live apocalyptic

update,

she’d say those meth-head contractors, running with

hastily spooled spools of copper, fearing the

searchlight of the police chopper, are my

stunt-doubles in that they’re helping me consider

it all.