We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Europe

The volcano, the Euro falls, the burqa laws, someone is stealing Picassos.
I don’t care. I don’t care about Europe.
It’s nothing
but dead philosophers & museums & French Presidents
throwing fits & the slow burn of German Prime Ministers.
Europe is not a happy place. Europe is a nervous place.
Fassbinder is dead & Gerard Depardieu has lost his looks.
British tourists have taken over leaving vomit all over the continent
& hammered girls from Leeds off on bachelorette holiday
give blow jobs to embarrassed waiters in Portugal
Europe is off her game Europe
has no where to turn because
her philosophers are still dead
& her music is bad techno
The smoke of holy war rising it’s not profound or dramatic, even if it’s memory mixing with desire even if it’s dead Europe where the gypsies have wi-fi , leaving left-over clairvoyance to the lonely-soul amateurs in Ohio who sell incense & yoga at 30 US Dollars per hour another ten will get you a happy ending but that only lasts a second.
Instead, the smoke of holy war it’s grisly like severed bloody pigs heads nailed to the doors of Amsterdam mosques
following the murder of
Theo Van Gogh, her last dead philosopher.
Her ghettos are festering with Muslims she doesn’t want now that her factories are closed
Europe is unhappy & she makes everyone nervous.
What makes you happy? You make me happy he says.
The answer makes me sad
the answer is rote.
Tell me something
I don’t know there’s a secret I don’t know
there’s a secret I don’t know
there is a secret that I don’t know.
if my camera doesn’t see it
then I will never know
& film is so expensive & it’s the only way I go.
Forget Europe. Forget Europe.
I’m gonna go to Oklahoma
I’m gonna stand in the middle of the prairie with a baseball bat & a long-neck
& hit hail to crack it
into a thousand shards of ice
all the secrets will spill out I’m gonna save the horses I’m gonna save the singers and the story-tellers and the snuff dippers and John Stink, he was an Osage, the town drunk in Pawhuska who laid himself down by a pile of rocks outside of town and died & he became alive again & he walked back into town and scared the bejesus out of everyone, sometime before World War 2
but they took it in stride, being used to John the Baptist & Lazurus & said here John Stink have another drink
& he said no, because out by the rocks I got to the middle of the secret.
John Stink was a real man because my grandma told me & my uncle wrote a novel about it but it never went anywhere him being a West-Point drop-out & a failed novelist & having to be a lawyer instead but when I crack that hell storm ice all his books will tumble out and run away as best sellers and the secrets will come alive.

Charlotte Mann

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