Wednesday, November 6, 2002

optimism bound

America, I have a little question for you. Okay, a big one. What the fuck is wrong with you? America, I want to shake you hard, violently and ask what is wrong, ask if you are on fucking drugs, because honestly I can see no other reason, no other explanation. I am so fucking perplexed right now because I thought I understood you, I thought you understood me and that we had a good thing going.

At work, we had all been Jeb bashing and I was so excited to come home and check the election results, had my little fingers and toes crossed, hoping for the best, containing in those crossed toes, the boundless optimism that some, that I like to associate with America.

Alissa at work tonight asked me where I was born because I was singing along to every classic rock song. I said Tampa and did not bother to elaborate that I only lived there for three years before moving to Virginia. She said a knowing oh, that's why I knew all these Southern rock songs, because she's a cracker and knows them, but she thought it was weird that I knew them. And that comment made me happier than anything, that because I knew all the words to "Black Water," because I got really into it while singing it, that I was Southern, a cracker even, and most definitly an American.

And I biked home under the shining heavens, I biked superfast, wind flowing against my cheeks, my ass cheeks being pressed into my uncomfortable bike seat, and anything could have happened, this is the land of Speilberg, I could have flown on my bike into a full moon, could have done anything because this was Election Day and this was America, and we were going to decide what headlines we would wake up to tomorrow, we held so much power.

But now I am at home, looking in retrospect at those moments, considering them wishful thinking, naivete - and motherfucking goddamn shit, the question remains unanswered, a couple hundred thousand of you, here in my city, in my place of residence, my neighbors, you willingly voted for Katherine Harris. I don't understand, not at all. Jeb is bad enough, hard enough to grasp, but Katherine Harris? America, we need to have a talk. I fear you are acting out. Give me a hug, tell me what is really bothering you and let's attempt to work this out. There must be some way.

America, this is not just a Florida problem, not just the effects of the heat, I see crazy stuff happening all over, Senate candidates I was rooting for have lost to scary people. I need to know why. Explain it to me. What the fuck is wrong with you? And yeah I hear Robin Kinzer and Paul Outka both reciting the same Ginsberg line, and now I will be a reciter of it too, I ask sincerely, more sincerely than it may seem, but so fucking goddamn sincerely that I would slit your fucking throat if you questioned my sincerity, if you wanted proof: America, when will you be angelic?

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