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Huh and Metacognition |
Destroying a fictional love is a matter for presidential politics. But not in our country! Nothing can ratify true love until we have a supreme…well, not love, but maybe orphan to preside. I’ll tell you, it’s getting hard out here for love and government. The inner voice murmurs “mutually exclusive,” but they’ve been seen canoodling in the wild. This interests scientists the way a fiddlehead adopting a fawn might, especially in a snowy wood replete with crystal chandeliers. Love: a person dreaming of music cannot tap his feet or snap or nod his head in reality, held in the paralysis of rapid eye movement. Cannot clap or sway her hips or flash the band atop the shoulders of a man whose apical meristem is a woman on the one hand and a flame in the other. Even oppression loves a Caesar for the two dueling drum solos he was. Reason is a helluva drug, or gateway. But there is a government of pain. Knot in our county, its rural southeast, its ulterior metropolis, connected by a leap of faith. (When the taxpayers’ dimes inflate, our infrastructure crumbles in a nanosecond, but there is a Brightside: a new fleet of weather balloons!) Nothing brings love and government together quite like a Swedish super-group’s death-warming power ballad, but for me, it’s my toddler’s watercolors. Arch your back, mademoiselle – the nationalist on his deathbed
copyright 2014
Jake
Sheff |
