a tiny joke

its an old joke goes something like this if you remember stop me no sense wastin breath or time on an old harhar

a double amputee sits in a thrashed wheelchair at a street intersection a little yellow dog in his lap he waits to cross waits on the lights to change to follow the white-lined pedestrian crosswalk  he aint really a pedestrian

an attorney could argue he aint got legs

from behind a black shadow falls over him

he jerks startled by the soundless suddenness of it

even the dog is taken unaware

its a big corner

the amputee images the shadowcaster could have come up on either side of him rather than directly behind him uncomfortably at his back christ hes ridin a chair he aint agile he aint fit

perturbed a bit frantic he turns his chair akimbo throwing a glance over his left saying You startled me

his eyes look up into and meet a black featureless face a shadow casting a shadow he almost rolls awkwardly off the curb into the street into the tight moving traffic

certainly they must see the motorists this huge black monolith

  

the dog sits up in his senseless lap cocks its head remains quiet fixing the amputee with more disquiet the dog was a yipper hed go hoarse by days end tellin Tiny to be quiet Shaddup when his patience was exhausted

Tiny didnt listen well or fear the amputees hand or a rolled newspaper

Tiny was keenly aware the man would have to roll to catch him he wasnt swift he was as much bark as Tiny

Tinys confusion equaled the amputees

it was a strange black thing

the amputees halting breath stuttering wordless was terrorized  nothing percolating in his brain captured caught on this corner traffic hurtling traffic at his elbow

he found himself fingering his breast pocket

one could suppose without knees this unconscious action suggested where or what reflexes he had might remain

fumbling he grasped at pamphlets feathering his baggy shirt pocket 

 

he didnt take his eyes off the black nonexistent face  a hollow a slight protuberance at once  static

  

several fell from his pocket onto Tiny

Tiny didnt seem to notice  fascinated

his fingers found one he careless glanced to find if its face was up or down and trembling slightly his fingers deftly rotated flipped the pamphlet so when he presented it its title was immediately readable  a well-practised manipulation 

 

he took a deep breath and exhaled May I offer you this

the pamphlets was titled ARE YOU GOOD ENOUGH TO GO TO HEAVEN?

there was a yellow haloed suggestive sunburst at the top over ARE YOU 

 

GOOD was emboldened and also in the sunburst yellow

at its bottom beneath HEAVEN emboldened in blue was also an inverted billowing blue cloud

HEAVEN filled with yellow light and blue clarity

if the black shadow opened the pamphlet it would have seen possibly read its first tenet YOU SHALL HAVE NO OTHER GODS BEFORE ME

the amputee knowing his ware must truly have been mortified unthinking . . . BEFORE ME

was he GOOD ENOUGH TO GO TO HEAVEN

Tiny was a shoo-in

BEFORE ME . . .

if the black shadow turned the pamphlet over to its back side it would have seen possibly read By the way, someone cared enough about you to give you this tract.

that was dishonest

the pamphlet was a feign

the traffic noise behind the amputee lulled

he went off the curb backwards without looking landing agilely Tiny agilely keeping his seat and sped arms churning madly across the street six lanes wide

he never saw the vehicle that crushed him

anymore than the driver of the pick-up hastily making a right not stopping for the red ever saw the amputee or Tiny

Tiny was a shoo-in

                

(occurred to me yesterday 2053) am ReggaeFriday,  25  3. 16

0940,  Saturday,  26  3. 16

Kilimanjaro DarkJazz  From the Stairwell  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d29u8KWiacw

the more he read   and studied

history  politics  its –isms  fascism    he wondered Where

the masses who suffered subterranean blues(no kind of blues to have  lamentable  one could almost  almost  understand why and forgive them as they strike out against others hawkishly parry with their forgotten entitlement  that slender ironskein  they were born in America) and identified themselves with Herr Donald mystic Rafael the GOP(the Grand Old Party in case anyone forgot what its acronym was short for) 

                 

Where  they got their educations
                               is it possible nearly half of America is dull 
craven followers  frightened fearful  believed that within the democratic confines erected by the United States Constitution by the Founding Fathers who they say they revere  who they keenly stroke their cocks and clits to

that it was possible they could see either man succeed

could see either direct Americas Fiftyfirst State  the Military  bend to their misplaced at best or errant imaginings subjugate itself to their singular unfettered will

or a Senate  freshly-minted by Democrats

                                   who will staunch their every effort or action within or outside the United States as effectively as the Republicans did when they chose to obstruct the Obama Administration(not to forget(history) their top political priority delineated in 2010 by Senate Minority leader McConnell in spite of their Congressional vow and elections to do the Peoples Work) to the hellacious detriment of the country

or did he think the more he read and studied that the Fourth Estate(despite its utterly corporate iteration) would provide yet another pratfall as it did following September 11

unless  of course  Herr Donald mystic Rafael manufactured a September 11 of their own . . .  tantalising

it was the answer to the prayers of the Bush Administration Neocons(who for some reason are still hanging around Washington offering(selling) their insight or advise and somehow not in prison for their crimes)  

sorrily he supposed theyd learn  Reality Shows are produced   but arent reality after all

1717,  Day-between-Two-Ts,  23  3. 16

Dylan  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67u2fmYz7S4

Fascists “mobilising passions”:

*  a sense of overwhelming crisis beyond the reach of any traditional solution;

*  the primacy of the group, towards which one has duties superior to every right, whether individual oruniversal, and the subordination of the individual to it;

*  the belief that one’s group is a victim, a sentiment that justifies any action, without legal or moral basis, against its enemies, both internal and external;

*  dread of the group’s decline under the corrosive effects of individualistic liberalism, class conflict, and alien influences;

*  the need for closer integration of a purer community, by consent if possible, or by exclusionary violence if necessary;

*  the need fr authority by natural leaders (always male), culminating in a national chief who alone is capable of incarnating the group’s destiny;

*  the superiority of the leader’s instinct over abstract and universal reason;

*  the beauty of violence and the efficacy of will, when they are devoted to the group’s success;

*  the right of the chosen people to dominate others without restraint from any kind of human or divine law, right being decided by the sole criterion of the group’s prowess with a Darwinian struggle.

Robert O. Paxton  The Anatomy of Fascism  page 41