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a little holiday spirit coming on strong Zion is waiting, they say. it's coming up, over our neatly trimmed headges with our nice city managed plumbing for wasted, our recycling bins empty week after week, but we feel better for having them. it's coming through the radio that plays the same songs over and over, coming through the garbage sacks filled with trimmed grass fromt he lawnmen's bags, coming out of our manicured thoughts, our censored televison, our expensive armani shoes and lexus lifestyle maintanence, tailor made suits and layoffs handed down from the top. we're giving severance plans of ten million to our exectutives and laying out the middle men with nothing but a few months post salary wages. it's coming through our vacumed rugs with the neat little lines, through our designer perfumes, through our starbucks drinks handled ordered oh-so-carefully. it's eatting away at our french presses and taking money from the bedstand that we set aside for the maid or the babysitter. it's coming through the tooth fairy stories and the santa claus routine and there's nothing to be done about it. we're feeding ramapant on the lives of others and glowing at their look of surprise. but it's coming. the shrewd bankers will see it. the day traders. the UPS executives and the mall employees from the crenshaw district. we're hitting the ozone with a temperment of five and floating downwards flesh falling away tremors itching at our brains richtor scale hitting nine and a half just from the way we laugh at strangers. but it's coming quiet. gingerly placing footsteps on our doorstep leaving marks in the snow. a guitar solo lets loose in the background and we're thinking about the next evening. will we get fucked, be fucked, fuck our brains out? will the rent come in time? will the electricity be shut off, need to pay the cell phone bill. what are our modern conveniences costing us? is there value in immediacy, in now not later in give me this i'll take that from you, tell the boss you called him a name so i can move my way up shimmy legs spread style bent over a secretary desk and head right up the ladder. head is the only operative word now. down is the only kind of comfoters we use. black and blue our favorite colors to dress our children in. and it's getting colder and colder every goddamn day. so i sit here ans meddle my way through your affairs listening to "over the hills and far away" and stretch a smile across my long face breaking my ribs from bending too far to see the light. but it's coming now. coming in red and greens and thanksgiving turkeys left out overnight and leftovers the kids take home. green bean cacherole and sweet potatoe pie. baked yams with the little marshmallows on top. we've only got fresh stories to tell now. one lost his job. another fucked his boss. another got promoted to the new internal head of building security so he gets a larger desk to sleep on staring blankly into the cameras at nine am instead of two am. then "fool in the rain comes on" and and my head bounds low and up again there are plenty of things at last glowing and fiery tempers left unchecked, agression fed through free turkeys at tom thumb and orange and black parents who already have their christmas tree up and start their shopping on the first of the year. it all begins here. with glasses of milk and too much beer to drink six pack in the cooler washing your car sitting down watching the football games on t.v. hoping tommorrow the flight wont be too packed wishing they'd bought first class tickets for their sick stomachs and their bag of extra food for turkey hash and mounds of mash potatos the size of north east asia and just as cold, just as cold. it's easier to make up your mind i guess when you don't mean anything you say.
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