Gods of Glee

Eye of the Almighty Coin: iris of green-rimmed thundercloud, pupil black as the debt pits sprouting downwards into earth for to swallow our unfortunates…very little white of sclera, and oh! how it roves. It roves and roves, and I fear its observance more than ghosts. From its glowing triangular situation atop the pyramid built lovingly from native american carcasses and the rich, unencumbered strength of early nation mud, the Coin’s Eye prowls. Outwardly, across our continent’s great surface, we two-step. We consume. We work longest hours and stretch our arms till elbow-popping to acquire the answer to the ever-nagging existence question. From the day we began drinking mother’s milk, we knew what to reach for. Work longer, consume more. Outwardly, I honor the prescribed deity, the sole acceptable faith. A generation before I was born society went completely autocratic. My grandparents knew a slightly different world. I’ve only ever known the Rule of Coin.

But there’s a private place withheld. A shrine where those who’ve imagined how can learn to laugh and live material-less. Its walls are built from a thousand smiling mouths in airy, pre-bubbled Venusian mud which the secret and sequined Glee-Gods set to hardening. The temple lies propped by atmospheric cumulus, high above the Coin’s roving Eye. I sneak worship like the sneaking of illicit hearty home-cooked stews, with spice on the tongue and tremors in the gut. The route there opens sporadically: sometimes through dream, sometimes in the knowing look between two strangers sidewalk-passing. I’ll hear a ziiiiip, sound of space opening a quick vertical portal. Then I am there, among the tangerine buds efflorescing their moneyless freedom, among giggles that coat my body with sticky honey joy. It is a feeling opposite to that of income bracket-jumping, of rising a notch on the giant pyramid, which Coin avers is fashioned of unadulterated gold. This notch-rising is supposed to stuff us with marshmallow warmth, but I have felt merely nauseous and a little itchy. The Almighty cannot yet read our thoughts, and I am grateful. For every night I fall asleep praying silently to the secret Gods of Glee.

~ by kingzoko on January 16, 2015.

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