[Toot!] Index: 3.2
Communism Bit: On
Location: Job, of course
Sade is pounding magical notes through the sides of my head. Kiss of Life. Smooth music. Fine accompaniment for a head that is empty but wants to write something ... Who knows, Bob Marley may jump into the play-list sequence (it's on random) and cancel out the mellow feeling with a suitingly-rebellious chant.
A tale from the slums, while I wait for Bob.
One of them days, some guy drove into our slums with a Mercedes Benz SLK Kompressor 1234 OMG 7th Edition PLUS 0TH3R TH1NGS 1V3 4G0TT3N. It even seemed to float disdainfully over our cholera-harbouring mud. Clearly, the guy had done well for himself. And people like that tend to avoid our half of the world. And for good reason - neither would we be living there, if we had a choice.
Anyway, my initial reaction to this blasphemy - someone driving a Mercedes into the Revolution's base - was staggering on the very edge between `stab that bugger' and `execute him in public as an example'.
And Ibra (fellow slummer) told me he was here for a girl. Some slum girl had, as it turned out, caught the guy's eye and simply refused to relax the grip. I changed my attitude.
You see, while we hate the rich idiots, we reserve a soft spot - even a throne, if you wish - for the rich guy who chooses one of our lowly women. Our chics down there are subdued by lack, scarred by need, and wounded by debt, before the lack of hope comes in, to poison them. But when they survive and turn out beautiful, their beauty is addictive, angry, disrespectful, fiery, gleaming, harsh, refined, resistant, solid, surviving, unkind, unreserved, untamed, wild beauty. And the stories abound of poor, unprivileged girls who princes sacrifice life and throne for. This Cinderella stuff is, in fact, real and happening every day. Although I have never seen this particular chic, I must believe she is cute, to make the rich slide into our sewers to take her out on a Saturday.
So, guess what. The Revolution has half the stuff it needs already! We could just get the Revolutionary Beauty Brigade to work its way into the old money, and then, on a pre-agreed day, all the beautiful women and mistresses of the rich and privileged will, at the stroke of midnight, declare - `No, don't put your grubby hands on me! Pledge financial support for the Revolution or I'm out of here!'
The blogger girls would make a nice preliminary dispatch, but none of them is from the slums, in spite of being of the same evil, tormenting beauty. :o(
Oh, frig this. Bob's Misty Morning has come a little too late.