Anhedonia

You find a second-skeleton when there's a camera 
pointed at you, apparently: the dismissed or censored 
portions of your belief system lay their hands on 
a remote-control, enhancing, editing the various imperfections 
of your mind. 

See the undercooked American male, most frequently in 
his 20s, but often still decidedly older... He has fingers 

for removing bras, the stamina of an elephant, rushes out 

of his clothes to display of the commercially-successful cock. 

Yet his humor is nervous, a bargaining tool in an unpersuasive 

proposition. He's heard many stories and lectures on the 

discreet power of character yet he is unmistakably lack-

adaisical furnishing details for this code of honor. 

And the more of them you put in a room, a comment 

section, a sidewalk for that matter, the more nervous 

and reflexively agreeable they get. Are their fathers 

the ambivalent, dispirited men I always see talking between 

massive trucks pumping gas at the fillingstation? And 

how would Darwin modify his evolutionary line-up 

with respect to the world after 1968? 

The acridly decomposing flowers of their ishvaras, 

individually and collectively, combust in the dull 

aftermath of humping girls they don't know how 

to talk to. They censor and dismiss the notion 

they have learned nothing. The suitcase closes, 

weighed down with costumes and tools. 

He exits the dressingroom and is almost certain 

the camera will find what he can't see. 

****