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Not Falling With The Angry Man

By       Message Kevin Tully       (Page 1 of 1 pages)     Permalink    (# of views)   4 comments

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"We have forsaken community for slogans, we have forsaken spirituality for cruelty, we have become blinded by our things, our sight is waning, darkness intrudes as we consider a lost man to lead us, one who cannot love. By truly loving each other, holding each other, we shall love him into oblivion. And, oblivion is final -- in Hell they still have names," spoke the young Mousy Suburban Soccer Mom to the gathering crowd in the grocery's cereal aisle.

The Angry Man had won the recent Presidential election. He was reported to be a demagogue. The local newspaper editorialized that he couldn't possibly be dangerous -- he wasn't smart enough. The Editor of the paper had come out for the Angry Man prior to the election. He now regretted his endorsement. The Angry Man had proposed building great camps and rounding up muralists and protest singers. The Editor had thought this a good idea until he was sent a cd of his nephew singing protest songs. The Editor's brother, the protest singer's father, had been a muralist but he died a few years back, caught unawares by an especially unexpected and violent winter tornado while painting a mural. Nonetheless, the Editor continued to believe, in private, that the worsening climate situation was God's wrath for women wearing pant suits and being allowed to direct movies.

Just before the election the Editor published an editorial positing that White People were not superior to people of color; simply better with parades and making pizza. He regretted this after hearing an angry elderly white gentleman berate a young black woman standing in line to pay for her fuel, calling her, "a damn bad pizza cook!"

The country was in turmoil. The Angry Man had empowered other angry men and women. The citizens that voted for the other candidate now too were angry. The entire country was angry. This made The Angry Man happy.

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Great meetings and potluck suppers were being held all over the country, in hopes of finding a solution to the ever worsening situation. The Angry Man cussed in public and made lewd gestures. The Angry man threatened the country's allies and courted its enemies. The Generals originally were concerned but The Angry Man promised them louder and shinier guns -- one especially talented Brigadier General composed a catchy, rousing, bawdy folk song, lauding the entertaining prurience of The Angry Man -- it was now being sung in barracks around the world. The angry Man's picture was replacing old tattered Hustler centerfolds and long expired, greasy, wrench calendars. He was nastier than what had heretofore been considered nasty. He had turned nasty on its head.

Fortunately one, somewhat mousy, suburban soccer mom with a masters degree in philosophy and a doctorate in Romantic Literature had had enough. She had been wildly promiscuous in her college days. All her ex-lovers were still hopelessly in love with her -- many benignly stalked her, some even sent Christmas cards to her husband. She was born with the ability to love extraordinarily.

She made the decision that something must be done and she was the one to do it. Her husband secretly was against her decision to speak out -- he owned a lot of guns. She had hoped he voted for the other candidate, but she wasn't sure. He kissed her and wished her luck anyway as she drove away to speak in the first cereal aisle of a local grocery store.

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"We have forsaken community for slogans, we have forsaken spirituality for cruelty, we have become blinded by our things, our sight is waning, darkness intrudes as we consider a lost man to lead us, one who cannot love. By truly loving each other, holding each other, we shall love him into oblivion. And, oblivion is final -- in Hell they still have names. So, all of you go out today and love someone, someone new, someone different -- let's show him and those that follow him, in the mirror of our love, that his large ass is hanging out and it's not becoming of a people that claim to be a beacon to the world, "a city on a hill", not a brothel in a swamp..." The assembled mothers, a hungry plumber, stockers, wine salesmen and checkers cheered wildly when she finished. Cereal sales spiked.

Her sister made a small fortune selling "Love Him into Oblivion" t-shirts. The Angry Man got angrier. Serious people finally started laughing at The Angry Man. The Mousy, Suburban Soccer Mom made the rounds of all the morning shows. The Holidays became Holidayier. A stockbroker in Long Island gave a simple Christmas eve toast about love. A dog, thought to be a well known reincarnated comedian, peed on a certain gaudy Manhattan high rise. A homeless man decided to go home. He took the dog with him. His family all told him they loved him. They washed the dog. He got a job helping the Mousy Soccer Mom's sister print t-shirts..." From "Not Falling With the Angry Man" by Franklin Cincinnatus

 

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Kevin is (writing about yourself in the third person (illeism) is a trip) an artist/writer/carpenter and frustrated songwriter living in Johnson City, Texas. His latest frustrating songwriting attempt is titled, "I Touched the Hand That Touched (more...)
 

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