this is the final of four mood movements
which are designed to teach us all how
to dance. together is an option, is
optional, as they say. they do say
that. i’m not here to hold anyone’s
noses, nor to blow them (unless it is
a particularly sensual, particularly
sinful, extraordinarily wet nose,
that is). you in the back, against
the wall of indeterminate color,
you with your hand up, do you
have a question? because there
is no time for questions, nor for
the movement of a hand being
pumped upwards here. exertion
is for turtles, my dear classless
class and, it being impossible for
me to speak for anyone other than
myself, we here are all rodents. am
i nothing less that crystal clear? i
detect a bit of dissent and, as if
you don’t know me well enough
by now, then let me assert right
here and now that there is no
thing i can tolerate less than
dissenters. subjects j, z3,
a48, b80, 933, 406 and w,
you have each refused
the grand assimilation,
you may now walk your
selves out the door and to your
immediate right, where the
sergeants of mind monopoly
will be on the ready to
clip your lips, bind
your buns, and
haul you off
for immediate
composting.
as for the
rest of you
insubordinate
cogs – and see
how easily i can
switch to humor? –
i hold no modicum
of dim hope that
one or two of you
dear fledglings
might make
our future
more air
tight with
such effort
less and swash
buckling talent.
as i was saying,
class, as the
final failures
leave the room
and are well on
their ways to a
fair oblivion,
you, my dears,
i am pleased to
report, have
all passed
level three. now,
stay alert, and be
here promptly at
oh five hundred
in the morning
as we begin
level four.
ciao for now,
chippies.
all passed
level three. now,
stay alert, and be
here promptly at
oh five hundred
in the morning
as we begin
level four.
ciao for now,
chippies.
