the extended re-mix of history on repeat

as i write this, a new president is being inaugurated. my toes are cold and looking out the window i see two small dogs shivering, waiting patiently for their guardians to finish their lunch indoors. the local football team lost. my final paycheck still hasn't arrived. the political is intimately personal this winter, and on a local and global-scale i see history on repeat like a skipping record. please don't hold the door open. it's a walk-in freezer out there filled with frost-covered concrete and nude tree branches blowing in the frigid breeze. i'm choking on pennies. five dollar bills are not a reliable method of birth control in this new millenium. close the fucking door. breathe. as i finish writing this dick cheney is exiting the slave-built white house in a wheel chair. clenching his cane light a rifle, 2 million people wave good bye...