The Billiken's Bluff

Like a new bird cracked out of shell mouth open hungry ready to talk,
squawk.




Hitler as a youth, Elvis on the toilet, like spam mail messages
concealed. At some point you stop faking it and begin believing. Or
maybe you never believe.



But they do.



You are a fake, a charlatan.
Breaking out of middle class comfort
New ways of looking at same thing



Trading creature comforts for pictures of creatures.



poverty as a spectacle, a photo opportunity. Walk fast, click quickly, look through them keep moving.



Standing full blush in front of crowd.

Leaping that last 5 percent, realizing this IS IT you have already arrived.

This is that rainy day, the fine day in the future. This is what you spend
your nest egg on. This is what you are working towards.

I tipped my cab driver $10 USD on the ride to the airport.

This should be posterized, framed, distorted with large pixels and bright colors, worn flashy on t-shirts from Bushwick to Tokyo to Moscow. It should be





spray painted and attached to canvas stretched across wide white walls,



displayed in halls of modern art



and natural history museum



for inspection and scrutiny, added to sociology curriculums this Fall

to define, to exclamate



the every day ordinary man swagger walking the street or to the water cooler; hip hop 1992 to 2007 over the top, gaudy, full of swagger; and NBA basketball born-from-Harold Miner taking the slam dunk contest portion of MJ – no more or less. Show-ey like my style of rhetoric and email responses in the office - all bold text, underlined and italicized for emphasis, because THIS is the point.




It had to happen after the fact, in a blow out or it wouldn't be representative or Baron wouldn't have pulled his jersey out. This isn't a game winner it isn't successful it's pure bravado - technical foul, after-the-fact apologies, propriety and all.