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Saturday, February 9, 2013

The Department of Youth



There was no safety, no comfort, living under the perverted neon umbrella. Every meal was a few and far between feast. Every bath, a baptism proper as the dirt of countless days fell away to make room for fresh sins to soil the flesh. 

A child snuck off to the city fair. He rode every ride, took every high, spent every dime. The sun began to set and his compass was confused, dizzy from the sugar and bright lights: “Which way home now?” Minutes grew into cruel hours quickly. Surely, he insisted to himself, Mother or Father will be driving up any second. The only lights he saw however, were the cigarettes of tired Carnies that circled and jumped like fireflies in the summer black. 
“Why haven't they found me? What’s going on?” 
“Move along now, boy.” said the man from the ticket booth. 
“But I’ve nowhere to go.”


I should start a campaign; I’ll borrow the title from Alice Cooper: 
The Department of Youth. I’ll tour country wide, telling every anxious adolescent to rejoice for pimples and breakups, for rusty first cars and day old meatloaf. I’ll tell them to thank every teacher and every parent preacher. Thank God for the roof that keeps out the rain! Thank God for the school that gives you an A! Be glad for first loves that end on a dime, your true love waits on the edges of time. Thank God for your pillow, it sees you to rest! Thank God for each day and you'll all pass the test!

You never had it so good!


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