The Ongoing Saga Of Our Feckless Leader (pt.2)

Oh no no no no no, thinks our feckless leader gazing at the glitzy glittering metropolis below.

 

Who are these fearsome creatures clawing at my plinth?  How dare they deign desire my declarations?

 

“Dastardly demons I cast you out!” she cries, cringing. Crushing heads between fingers, fleeing in fright.

 

She escapes to the very peak of the Jagged-Glass Mountains and there erects a ziggurat to her own hard-fought solitude. 

 

There she stays for over one hundred days, casting gaze after gaze out through the obelisk maze. 

 

Ponderous perfidy pounds her daily.  “They have not come for me.  How can this be? It’s nothing less than treachery!”  

The Ongoing Saga Of Our Feckless Leader (pt.1)

To Be Read In the Voice of an

Announcer for a 1950′s Movie

Preview: 

 

Oh good God! Our feckless leader is at it again.

One woman wrestling manfully against her own innability to articulate meaningfully her innermost, swampiest, duskiest desires.  

She wishes to prepare for the ceremonial shouting from the mountaintops.  The Declaration of Desires with two capital “D’s.”

Waking before dawn each day she runs one hundred miles over the Jagged-Glass Mountains and through the Plains of the Eternal Blizzard.

Barefoot.

She spends thirty-two hours a day in quiet contemplation and another sixty-eight in group therapy and another fifteen with sports psychologists and at least seventy-eight hours a day making crass jokes over caffeine with her Oldebest friends.

She does push-ups, chin-ups, pull-ups, squats, lunges, grunges and primal scream.  

She does Tai-Chi, drinks chai tea, practices Qi-Gong and Kung-Foo.  

She’s aquainted with existentialism, feminism, chauvinism, asceticism, animism, Buddhism and nepotism.  She’s on speaking terms with both Proust and Faust.  

At the top of the mountain her turn will come and shoulders back, head high, lionish hair blowing in the wind she will mount the plinth, and behind the podium her lips will form a perfect, silent “O.”