Gay mardi gras.

I could very easily spend my entire life rolling around in bed, fucking and reading newspapers.

I must however, get up, make do with the canvas I have to work with, get dressed and ready to doddle up the road and catch the Christian Extremist Anti-Gay Pride Rallies before the march. Apparently it’s a hoot.

Though I feel more like this right now:

The Only Tourist In Havana Turns His Thoughts Homeward.

An excerpt from Flowers for Hitler.

Come, my brothers,
let us govern Canada,
let us find our serious heads,
let us dump asbestos on the White House,
let us make the French talk English,
not only here but everywhere,
let us torture the Senate individually
until they confess,
let us purge the New Party,
let us encourage the dark races
so they’ll be lenient
when they take over,
let us make the CBC talk English,
let us all lean in one direction
and float down
to the coast of Florida,
let us have tourism,
let us flirt with the enemy,
let us smelt pig-iron in our back yards,
let us sell snow
to under-developed nations,
(It is true one of our national leaders
was a Roman Catholic?)
let us terrorize Alaska,
let us unite
Church and State,
let us not take it lying down,
let us have two Governor Generals
at the same time,
let us have another official language,
let us determine what it will be,
let us give a Canada Council Fellowship
to the most original suggestion,
let us teach sex in the home
to parents,
let us threaten to join the U.S.A.
and pull out at the last moment,
my brothers, come,
our serious heads are waiting for us somewhere
like Gladstone bags abandoned
after a coup d’&eacutetat,
let us put them on very quickly,
let us maintain a stony silence
on the St. Lawrence Seaway.
Havana: April 1961.

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