Correspondence From The Bush Wars
Minneapolis (the placid Arm & Hammer) absorbs the relentless odor of a Bush visit/violation/ghostly visitation, as George The Lesser Leper speaks at the Hyatt Regency on “health care.” Something on his face opens and out falls the usual corporate powdered potatoes, bereft of nutrition and filed under “DOA.” Unless one is fascinated by a certain animal anxiety in those sad Texas eyes, the speech is an empty suit. The Blues Feathers group decides to make an appearance (one can hear the applause from the desperately lonely!), amongst the usual chants and signs: “Hell No, We Won’t Go!” has “evolved” into “Ho Ho Ho Bush Must Go” which irritates the air until it breaks out in a odiferous rash, and we set off to avoid infection. We obsessively circle the dead whale corpse of the Target Center breathing its last upon the corporate beach of First Avenue, while daydreaming on possible assassination scenarios (little poppies of possible satisfaction lying between us and the City of Oz) emanating from an illusion of the area’s similarity to Dealy Plaza, a somewhat grassy/somewhat knoll and a few conveniently placed tall buildings. Later we pre-reminisce about interviewing the shooter BEFORE the deed, walking away to let him do his business, then picking up where we left off. Barrett takes photos of the crowd instead of simply shooting into it, while I – inveterate slacker - keep suggesting we go get a beer. Gamely, we stick on message, and carpet bomb the teeming circle with a double-sided leaflet (”Poverty of Political Discourse”/”Tom for Jesus of America”).
Highlights:
A liberal priest to whom we gleefully pass a leaflet, which will hit him differently than the usual run of protest literature, as one of the “Tom for Jesus Of America” positions is “a priest in every boy.” He seems to be a nice man, happily talking to the obedient agitators, and certain God doesn’t like Bush either.
A line of protestors set so far off to the side that they seem to be protesting a different event, possibly the Korean War. At odd moments, a city bus drives by entirely obscuring them. That seems apt.
An older woman handing out business cards and asking over and over “do you know any 14 or 15 year olds?” I felt this was a unique if somewhat degraded form of white slavery recruitment. Sometimes the old ways do have more charm.
Two older men we ran into ask us directions, and inquire if this was where Bush was coming later. Hearing the affirmation, one says “Then I don’t want to be here. I don’t like the man.” I think this is the clearest and most succinct political statement of the day.
On this entirely practical and visionary note, we decide we had done all we could do and depart to a seedy bar, to congratulate ourselves on – once again! – single-handedly notching the world up toward revolution. The self-satisfaction was both beneficial and – as usual – fatiguing.
We exploited this social event to officially kick off fellow member Tom Clarkson’s campaign for “Jesus Of America: Christmas 2002 & Beyond: This Ain’t Your Daddy’s Jesus!” This is a permanent campaign, and we plan to run Tom into the ground, as he has declared that he is going beneath the grassroots voters, and soliciting the dirt vote. Future developments in this exciting alternative to regular boredom shall be reported. Everyone will be a cabinet member! All of you shall be on Tom’s “secret list”! Keep your hands off the furniture!
Blue Feathers Project
Mpls, MN