Swifty & the Devil’s Lexicography

November 10, 2006 § Leave a comment

In a remote hive I caught Mr. Flex rehearsing his lines. Smell of thick skin and several generic substitutes, sneaky sneakers syndicated in a nightly noose – has some managers, Man.

“Slow…and we are, in the interests of ______, a greater evil maintained by the brunt and bank and booty of False Rock Gods, scare tactix, syntax, movie stars (select makes and models), gold-rush TV turn-ons:

‘Now working the entire house, and very talented, is a caricature of a former self,’” Mr. Flex asserts and Mr. Flex ain’t afraid to show it. “The microphones have been looted, so beam in the back there, be ferocious.”

Booming over their heads again he bellows, “Who sings here?”

He had demonstrated the power, but also the limitations of _______, but they couldn’t believe him – at first. Now, they are so devoted – a thousand of them amassed, chanting slogans, a few in fantastical make up. He is an audacious speaker; his timing is perfect; and there is laughter, at least. Many are sitting along the wall in simple and blind listening positions.

“You cowards! Any of you act? Do you juggle? Are you ironic and lovable? Can you S T I R T H I N G S U P ? Can you mime meme minime eminim?”

(Shaking his head) “A climate of toppled idols…”

Exiting the stage and in passing, he protests in my direction,

“You just don’t hear danger like ya-use-to.”

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