Surveillance Dance by Nadine Sellers

At first, we politely join the grand ball, the musicians play a compassionate conservative minuet. Somewhere, between bow and curtsy to the magicians, we failed to hear Souza compose the Patriot Pact. We catch our breath and shake our tired heads as we rally to the march in a discordant crescendo of missteps; uh? Right? Uh! Left? In the background, The Stomp begins to thump, and we forget our stride. Suddenly Diamanda Galas is screaming the public wail in the cathedral. Snoop is rapping to congress and making love to big car money. No one has heard the Stealth swooping like a great howl, stealing our image. Few have noticed the main frame surreptitiously sucking the life out of our data. Around the corner 68000 cameras have recorded our every move, there goes your double chin. That's the least of your worries! The dance is over folks! The music has stopped at the last soldier's funeral. The fat lady didn't sing, she fell asleep between bonbons and babies. Big brother was cultivating flowers in the military greenhouse. While too many others squandered too many low wages to hear the bimbo blues. Nothing to fear but the big bad virus, chickens don't dance, cover yourselves! It's roulette time baby! Let the Bon Temps rouler all over the South. Nothing to fear Honey, get in the bunker! Did you bring the water? I got the crank radio. Pull the grass over the trap door, we may be here awhile!

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