What It Looks Like to Feel the Bern
Matt Clifford • February 21, 2016 • Progression •
It’d been so dark and death for me lately, holiday funeral professions, I was beginning to wonder again what the hell for. And just when the big band started its old-time show in the shell, the drums started to go, there were tears and hugs on the park bench I passed because they had to. It was such a natural juxtaposition.
Still I walk on, defiant celebration, the air thin warm and beautiful, luxury in global warming’s comeuppance, sixty-degree winter weekend. It’s getting closer: the rally, the caucus, the ending.
A loose gathering mills about, seeming as eager to talk as their dogs are to sniff butts. A pent-up political energy demanding expression: 99% hangover, Doc Martens, man buns, suburban tennis shoes, flannel shirts, pins frenzied together under oval arches by call-and-respond. Clap three times if Feeling the Bern.
An offering of our national anthem. O’say’what’say’you. It’s easy to forget you love America, easier to question it, easiest to doubt it, hard to change us. It starts by getting together and having conversations. Coast-to-coast it’s happening. Hope to work.
Sanders is not a savior despite being an outraged-outcast-Jewish-pariah mad at the money-changers; separation of bank and temple. We can cure blindness with lasers now, Jesus couldn’t move Congress and the Rothschilds out of history’s shadow if he had two pure mustard seeds in a plastic bag.
Directions : disperse left, head west on Franklin (toward the mountains), stay respectful on the sidewalk, follow the conditions of our permit not to interfere with the event on the east side of the capitol. Do this and we will take Iowa (whose Iowa? Our Iowa!) Land of the free, home of the rage. Let’s introduce our speakers.
Number one-and-only Felt the Bern before pound signs were hashtags, when the republic rediscovered Iraq, when he signed off, discharged, bought a house, the bubbles were still blowing. He’s got his reasons, and there are a hundred others each experience brings, here comes the money shot after a series of honest screaming umm’s off the dome almost almost almost done When you feel the Bern you see the light –Boom!—he beams, nailed it, thank you and applause. It’s a good day for this, the crowd is growing, don’t you think, hun?
We’ll do this in fifteen minutes. I wander to investigate these claims. It is getting bigger though not in the thousands, wouldn’t fill an arena, but Jeb and Hilary don’t have one, not disappointing. A helicopter cruises over, yellow or orange, probably not police. It’s a much less paranoid atmosphere than Occupy became, no one has asked if I’m a spy yet and made me perform my notebook.
If I’m a spy/I’m a jazz spy/a mole man/holed up in rhythm/& too many jackets
I may have to piss soon, I’m feeling a burn.
Whoooo. Cheers are simple as smiles, spontaneous as humor, difficult to listen, to capture complication. Battery power, in the back row sitters wish they’d brought a PA system- are there still laws against those?- the human microphone is stuck on chant mode. Main Street not Wall Street, fight corporate cancer, for the people, winds of change are the Bernado cardboard cut out, line up for photos with the candidate who never wore a tuxedo. Click the child. Democrat Republican Awake, the box to sign check vote three/one, the trumpets are rolling, let’s start to march.
The revolution will not be televised but it will be tweeted and it must include dancing otherwise what’s the point of it. Fun sells and revolutions are inherently public relation campaigns. Don’t forget to be awesome, this machine pawns noobs.
A little girl cartwheels on the icemelt and does not fall. Six conglomerates own the media and the weapons to back to front. A baby in a carriage holds a flag with curious eyes this will be normal for him. With luck and mercy, we won’t always need to do this. Protesting is a favorite pastime activity and that is a privileged statement, that could be the great part of these orange United S’s of A.
I jaunt the side to catch the center, marches always look longer in a line if less tight. I stop to write often, it is trickier when moving, I want to record the action I’m missing, show and tell simultaneous. A muscle bare chest burner spits, it just misses my rushing, sorry bro almost got you there, no worries I’m sneaky, all good comrade.
Pedestrian crossing exiting Cheesman, this may take a moment, honk twice for social justice, speak a word, abracadabra, so it is, let it be, illness cured, problem solved, we come home in there.
Car horns make us hornier than groupthink, an ideological orgy, this is Colorado we know how to cause a stink, axe body spray and patchouli, smoke smoke smoke. Pedicab service, four riders in a bike cart banging on hand drums, tie dye, dreadlock bandana, snack banana, the Donnie Darko rabbit, ukulele, the Georgian, glasses ruffled hair, permanent marker posterboards, the outline of our outlier hero as recognizable as Michael Jordan. Gambling futures.
It wouldn’t be a populist March if Donald Trump didn’t come up. South Carolina, New York City, that dude is Teflon, race, 9/11, unelectable, that’s what they said about Hitler and it just came down to money. Who’s going to print it, hold it, own, fold this in your hand and buy his story, the soft ego of nations. Cookies in the library, joints at the bus stop, constitutional correctness, sunshine masturbation.
Franklin left on Colfax, the assemblage splits sidewalks, encounters a detractor. Can I get twenty dollars, give me twenty dollars, snark snark snide giggle, I’d tell him if you really need it but only in writing. A few women tell him to hush up and call his worldview scary.
7/11, Subway, Paul’s Liquor, H&R Block.
7/11, Days Inn, Grease Monkey, Ogden.
Satellite, Nob Hill, Prohibition, Charlie’s, Streets of London.
Streets of Denver- we’d have the numbers to take them but someone’s a leader and promised no disruption. Whatever.
Trying from the inside, legitimate electoral victory system, mass appeal, superdelegate, a blond dog-follower strolls by muttering to herself you’re the biggest idiots of them all, at least we have her to be normal.
Skateboards in the alley behind McDonald’s turning tricks on thrown couches. The Jack Kerouac Grant mural, practice kindness heaven now. Finally the gold plate dome of the legislature becomes visible and the shade and the sun reunite in the assigned step spot to shout what we believe democracy looks like, the scent of pot.
I sit, still having to piss, a little sweaty, and reflect maybe-it-is-maybe-it-isn’t. I’ve yet to change the world, I’m willing to try anything. Policies sensible, he doesn’t seem so radical, not advocating a post-job economy or capitalist overthrow. Basic rights, modest proposals, a return of wealth to its creators, very important. Without the minimum comfort of a space for incubation, it will require all the more effort, maybe impossible, to imagine and implement our new ways of living. Eh, why not?
Bernie is a politician and a Democrat. Thank God he’s not Jesus Christ. Bernie Sanders doesn’t want to be president and in my opinion that makes him fit enough for the position because you have to be an insane sociopathic egomaniac to decide you are the most capable of figureheading the free world and want to do all the networking. In my opinion I don’t know.
WomenForBernie, BabiesForBernie, QueersForBernie, caucus for Bernie, SabraForBernie, who wants hummus and a sticker? Broncos for burgers and patriots escaping blizzards, championships, Mom How do you know who this guy is, he’s that super liberal Larry David dude from New Hampshire who wants to pay for your college.
Cats are like babies you don’t have to take care of.
Ah these found pieces of language, this blue sky, this rumpled truffled ranting raving adorable curmudgeon thorny motherfucker. This city, those mountains. It’s all so crazy and delightful. I need to find a toilet.