JULIAN ASSANGE [He is dressed in a grey suit. His shining hair is clean and feminine and light-bearing as a shampoo ad. Lucifer hair! He stands at a podium as at a press conference. He addresses the audience. The DEAD YOUTH pose, swoon, smirk, stand at attention, variously]
Hello my name is Julian Assange.
Thank you for your attention to those burka’d teens.
They are in a work-study program.
They are studying abroad.
They are in juvenile detention.
They are receiving extra-credit.
They are part of a good will exchange between our two nations.
They are on a chain-gang.
They are all out on work-release.
Though DEAD, they are studying for their GED’s.
& degrees in dance therapy.
I would like to deliver my prepared remarks.
But I am distracted by these teens.
They are members of a dance team.
They are on their way to an abstinence convention.
They are drinking absinthe.
They are aspiring drone pilots.
They are on their way to an interfaith prayer breakfast.
They shot two convenience store clerks for one hundred dollars.
Their van has crashed, and they are walking along the highway.
If they do not find gas soon, they will have to eat the weakest one.
They are going completely feral just a few miles from the highway,
listening to death metal, practicing magick.
They are running pornographic services out of their bedrooms.
They are at soccer practice.
They work in their uncle’s convenience store at night.
They do their algebra homework.
They study war.
They are boy soldiers, hustlers, ‘knock-off jihadi’.
They invented Facebook.
They are entrepreneurs and visionaries.
X-game competitors, budding baristas,
junior rapists, virgin martyrs and walking delinquencies.
They are beauties and atrocities.
I can’t stop looking at them.
They could not survive what was required of them.
I will now deliver my prepared remarks.
Prepared for me by the Author of the feast, which is
a cell line, or Fate.
The Smirk is full of noises. [returns to teens] The isle is full of teens.
I’m bundling up packets of information
in strong ribands of junk for its own protection
and tossing it into the sea. Perhaps you’ve seen the Tempest.
Perhaps you know how this ends. Some things sink, while other things float.
Others are enraptured in a tree.
We call this plot.
And tho I am a well known evangeline for privacy
I’m no angel. More like an ancient greek.
I like to lift the cloak off a diplomatic channel to watch the current phreak!
I love privacee. I love transparancee.
© Litmus Press. All rights reserved.