The Daily Monologue

A small stage, a packed house, a fat man in a fat man’s suit all shiny and dapper and woo wee…

He clears his throat and then:

“Idiocy of this life is what keeps me going, y’know? All the times we step back and seriously question what it is we are doing then—I mean, what else can we do, right?—then, we return to the fray a minute later. Indecision marks the man, right? All the hooplah and activism, all for naught, see, ‘cause what else could it provide—what inner lookings of the inner workings could it provide, I mean really, other than to reinforce what we all, or perhaps we don’t all, but nonetheless should, or could, or would know regarding the driving, y’know the underlying current, the tidal typhoonation driving, I mean really pushing us along, all of us, the humans here, at least, y’know pushing us along day in day out, ab initio: do not be alone. Don’t. Can’t. Can’t be alone, right? So we collect a banner, a placard, a sign, a, drumroll kid—yeah you over there on the kit, what’d I hire you for if not for this? And, well I guess, y’know, I guess…umm..and for company.  A fucking ideology and we must must must must must subscribe. We jump in all Washington Memorializing and Gettysburging and pograming and schlitzning—jump into the fray of -isms and -ians, and prescriptive socio-psychological mob mentalities; into stereotypies, into the hymie jymie rhymies of you and us and them and we and I and thou and thee.

But! And this, my friends, my colleagues, my enemies, my foes, my asinine aardvark aunties,is a big but, a big fucking but, not an ass, not a glutious; no no, a transitional, overly rhetorical, logically unecessary advancement of this monologue, a huge—SKYWRITING, you see it? You see the skywriting up there? Amazing. Amazing that is…there, come on kid, where’s that fucking drumroll?—I mean, this is the time for a drum roll—BUTTTTTTTTTTTT….the catch is—I won’t even throw out the twenty two, see? I won’t do it—the catch is, cutting through the fast talk the roundabout mucka making…the catch—hook line, sinker—SINGER—gimme the chorus—KID! The fucking drumroll (drumroll starts) too late…you’re always too—but the…but the…what was I—oh yes, the catch, here it is—fly ball—catch it, dig?: We feel most human—all warm velvet and muslin and tafetta—the rich stuff, see?—feel most human when we are most alone. I said it. I said it your insufferable fucks. We don’t need each other. Nope.

 Yeah, one says, y’know, one might contend that we jump (he hops across stage like a rabbit) at the chance for contact for touch touch touch touch touch touch touch touch touch touch—for, but, for TOUCH!—and maybe we wanna, y’know, slip off a piece, all naughty like, like we’s stealing a little cookie from the Canterbury reverend or what not—right? No? Wrong story? My monologue so listen. LISTEN TO ME GODDAMMIT!…I need you to listen to this…

We get all hully bully when the mind is given, when it is taken but y’know, not for the reasons, the raison as the froggie woggies might make out…not for the reasons we think. See, we’re conscious. We know that. As conscious beings, with a moral compass no less—a moral FUCKING compass, people…navigators, you—where’s the choir? The kid? Kid? You there? Fucking kid left…unsurprising this his, petulant uprising, sir! You there. Yea. Navigator first class. Where’s your compass? No not the campanile. Not the combination. No.  The Compass. Show it to me. Let me breathe it in. SHOW ME THE WAY, sir!

Tick tick tick. Clocks tickin’ how’s your compass’s needle stickin’? —see what I did there folks?—Anywhoo…and this is, I’ve gotten a tad sidetracked I think—the little buggers up there, hands on the reins, draining any and all ability of mine to stay on track, on target because in this world—look the skywriter again. Wowwee! Look at ‘im up there draw draw drawin’ in thee sky. Drawin’ naked ladies and who doesn’t like that? Huh? Little something for everybody in this here entertainment extravaganzie…but uh…Darwin…no…but…ugh…Levi-Strauss…TURN THE FUCKING TV DOWN KID, I’m talking ‘ere, I’m orating, so take it in, masticate it you little shit.

You believe that? He runs off and flips on the old tube, like an old bike I used to ride…I ‘member when kids used to toss off I mean that’s really the excitement of runnin’ against, maverickin, your moral compass and as…as…compassionate, conscious…CONSCIOUS! There it is. We’re Back on track now, won’t be long now, not a quick second, no sir…

So, and let me begin again, consciousness brings a need. A need. Big Need. Little Need. I need. You need. We all need for need. As conscious beings we’ve a need, all knead out, and knock-kneed, a self-serving, self-promoting, superceding need for…(waits for the drum roll, a person from the audience yells out ‘But the kid’s left!’)…wait for it…it’ll come…wait…for it… Gotta believe, folks, I’ma professional here…and here it is now: we’ve a self-serving self promoting, superceding superficial supercilious superfluous semicharmed half smoked indivisible or divided we stand unifying untying forever and ever, eternally lambasting bombasting, flabbergasting need for…here it is folks…after all you’ve waited for….A NEED FOR… ALONE TIME!….My time. Your time. Gimme it. Gimme it. Grabby gooses. Take it. Spread it around. Fuck your neighbor and shit in the yard on the way out ‘cos all of it…all of it…these needs we feel for touch touch and hold hold and hug hug huggie wuggies are ALL FOR NAUGHT. That’s right. And you, yeah you navigator first class, with yo compass all outtawhack, and you, kid, who can’t play the drums and is ‘fraid to admit it and would just rather take me money so you feel big and connected like a little neuronal speck of electricity all kinetic and feel that little magic feeling of otherness we all think we need—you fuckers have to see that we’re meant to be alone. A. Lone. All these words for that one. But how the hell else was I to get through? How else was I to do it? You know? You tell me. Your turn. Bring it on. Turn it around and throw it in my face. “