Appetite for Distraction – Another Day.

He wakes up. He has the smooth soft skin of a young Cindy Crawford. The radio attempts to do an emergency warning test but it doesn’t work. What would happen if it wasn’t a test but the real thing. What if the real alert didn’t work? What if we are all dead. It didn’t work at the weekend. Tornadoes tearing down alarm systems. A terrible racist is banned from basketball for life. All the excellent racists go unpunished and carry on with their day, untrammelled. He looks at a poster. He is told that an elephant will be killed while you wait for the bus. Is this a threat or a promise? A warning but phrased as if a butcher waits at your pleasure ready to slice up pachyderm cutlets for your dinner. Is there an app for that? One button press away from watching those enormous loving eyes glaze and darken. There is a man shouting in middle distance. He can’t hear what the man is shouting about. Possibly Jesus. It’s often Jesus. No guarantee it’s Jesus this time. A police car sounds like it is wolf whistling other cars. Sexist police car. Objectifying civilian vehicles. A man is wearing amazing water proof shoe coverings that are red and make his real shoes look like clown shoes. A bold man unafraid of ridicule. The best of men. A man on the bus is reading Brave New World. Braver Newer World. A Lady in spectacles. Is she a Superhero in disguise? Wet blossom stuck to a car like confetti. A memory of catching thrown money as a child after a village wedding. Fistfuls. Fists full of coppers and silvers excited tumbling home down the hill to count the collected booty. The Voice contestants sing, desperate to cling on to the frayed edges of fame. Tasted. Addicted. Cold Turkey pain moments away. Chalmers Johnson mumbles into his hand about Rome and Russia and the decline of American power and Portia justifies her violence on the Housewivesof Atlanta reunion. Brian Williams has a serious face but it seems like there is nothing behind his eyes. An artificial glow added to his pupils by special effects artists who are well paid and unionized. His mouth opens and closes. Words come out. Ukraine, South Korea, tornadoes, a smile, warmth enough for what remains of the collective American soul and a promise to be there tomorrow night. The judges of The Voice could run the world. It would be an imperfect system but it would provide definite results. Carson Daley says they are singing for their lives. If this were actually the case then there would certainly be higher viewing figures but also police inquires and no doubt criminal proceedings. Unless society found something like that acceptable in which case there would only be police there earning overtime as crowd control and security before returning home to young families and suburban contentment. A music awards ceremony promotes a new song by Michael Jackson. He does not know what to make of this. He is saddened by the mental collapse of George Monbiot and the moral collapse of Tony Blair. Citizen arrest website performance art. Waiting for Bardot the most beautiful animal loving fascist in Europe. George Monbiot and Tony Blair star in Waiting for Godot. They sit under a fake tree waiting for two more actors to appear. The two actors do not appear. George and Tony are reading from two different plays. The coughing audience applauds the experiment and it is well reviewed on theater blogs. When he was a child no one told him how pungent and how quickly his genitals would smell when he grew to adulthood. No one told him. No doubt it would be frowned upon to talk of such things to children these days. It is raining hard outside. He eats lots off near for his supper and he drinks a number of beers. Lifetime ban of  a racist basketball owner. But he still owns a team. A bald man screams. Does it mean anything? There is a funnel cloud warning. There is a funnel cake warning both dangerous in their own way. Bob Hoskins is dead. Who will save Roger Rabbit now? An execution is botched. A man is tortured to death with chemicals and then his heart explodes. The crime for which is he convicted is awful and the way the state destroys his life is equally terrifying. There is no respite from the abyss. 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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