Appetite for Distraction – Another Day

He wakes up. He gets on a bus. He is late. He gets on another bus and another and gets to the dentist. A tooth is filed down to smoothness. He gets to school and drops of the victim of this painless shaving. He gets into work. Susan Rice has a new National Security Advisor job – a reward for being the Benghazi scapegoat no doubt although this will probably not be mentioned. Her loyalty is being paid back with raw power. Then he learns that Samantha Power is to be UN Ambassador which is nice. She likes fighting wars for good causes. He is sure that she will find plenty of good causes with which to fight her wars whether she be American mouthpiece or ploughs her own furrow of indepence – whatever that means. He doesn’t understand these things. He feels weak from lack of happiness and organises to go to a doctor to get some happy drugs then he writes an instruction guide for his job for the day when he is inevitably fired and an expenses only intern takes over his job. Perhaps Bernard Henri-Levy will save Syria and then Turkey and then the Western Project of Capitalism and Democracy and then he will make love to a beautiful man and a beautiful woman. Just like he saved Libya and all the happy Libyans and then Mali and the happy Malians. He learns that a Chinese Mouse is the ancestor of all humans which will in the way it is reported just confuse everyone who thinks that they understand evolution. He wonders how we are trapped with our little concerns on this Easter Island Earth stuck on the narrow end of the multi-limbed Milky Way Galaxy. Then he reads that Michael Jackson’s daughter who is fifteen has possibly attempted suicide and then watches as vultures pretend to care and pick at her carcass then the IMF admits that they had not had the best plan when they were trying to help Greece. This is hilarious and tragic and hilarible. Then he makes his way home and eats some macaroni and cheese and some chicken and some beans and he seems beautiful and interesting and dangerous looking people on the train who are both male and female and then he gets home and he makes a flow chart that plans out the next few months of his life and it is a flow chart that does not bode that well nor that badly but somewhere acceptably inbetween. He goes to sleep.

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The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

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