Wake Me Up Before It's Over


The resistance effort took a turn for the worse.  Found themselves
answering misdirected calls and painting long outdated slogans and 
moldy cardboard manifestos.  Diversifying in unprojected directions. 
Picking up pieces that nobody had any real interest in.  Thinking 
they were acting according to some divine and wholly opportune 
intervention.  Just another group of street-cornered outcasts with 
too much time on their hands.  A dangerous lot.

But that's the way things seem to be going down on Millennium 
Road.  Shop keepers closing earlier and earlier for inventory 
counts that never manage to add up.  Musicians bundling up 
harmonicas and empty lyric sheets -- picking their way through 
the crowded gathering and heading into more commercial districts, 
where the promise of a well mannered sit-down audience and a 
decent return on investment can turn the most vigilant troubadour 
into a one hit wonder.  Gotta pay the rent.

Even the Charcoal Squad got tangled up in the growing trickle 
down theorizing.  Wanting a piece of the action.  They used 
to be such a strong voice for quiet disintegration -- with their 
groundbreaking march on the Halls of Alphabetical Insurgence 
and the turbulent moonlit vigil they held at the corrupted statue 
of the Last Good Samaritan.  They've never really been the same 
since the Twilight Bureau infiltrated their legions and made 
public those damaging ties with the Big Brother program. 
When will these do-gooders learn to frisk the new recruits?... 
especially when they're wearing trench coats and sun glasses 
and can't seem to shake the annoying habit of reading all 
their lines off cue cards.

(Throw in whatever cliched old-dogs-new-tricks type saying 
here -- if only to introduce one of those ironic twists that 
seem to be so popular among the academic bunch.  There's 
always a few to be found slumming these highly publicized 
unmarked territories.)

Preparations are well under way for the Swan Song Parade.  
Banners hung at every intersection -- reminding all in attendance 
of all the various sound bitten and softened revolutionary promises. 
Key-note speakers taking turns on the stage, reciting overly 
rehearsed concession speeches and consulting with local focus 
groups to get a general idea of just how far these microphoned 
words are going to reach...contemplating softer tones -- secretly 
hoping their long traveled constituents might be setting up 
camp on the other side of ear shot...somewhere beyond the range 
of transformed belief.

The Homecoming Queen was last seen surveying the terrain from 
her ice-cream float throne.  With fingers crossed for the 
weather to hold...doesn't want to get caught in a sudden shower.  
Thinking it might be a good idea to wear her hair up for those 
dirty ribbon cutting duties.  It's not all smiles and waves, 
you know?  

A sound thunders in the distance.  Right on cue...

You won't find them listed in the expensively designed program, 
but the real highlight of this year's festivities will be the 
triumphant return of Big Joe and his Re-Formed Minstrel Show.  
Once the well-recognized darlings of the underground circuit.  
Arriving on the eve of the ground-breaking ceremonies with 
a brand new number to showcase.  Word, as it has a way of 
doing, spreading fast. Causing the odd hushed murmur to 
infiltrate among the sequestered locals.  Speculation running 
rampant.

Causing quite the stir at the admissions booth.  Brandishing 
professionally forged seals of approval and uttering profound 
scoffs towards administered requests for evidence of proper 
sponsorship.  Giving one of those coy nods toward the 
impressive variety and notable quantity of motorcycles 
currently hanging out in front of the condemned saloon, riders 
rolling into town when nobody was looking -- here to 
commemorate the last chance waltz.  Wouldn't do to upset 
them...  

Mounting the stage with a bravado not seen around here in some 
time, Big Joe and the gang break out instruments and get down 
to business...forgoing the customary sound check and launching into 
their first number.  Taking the place by storm.  Everybody 
seeming to stop what they're doing to draw a collective attention.  
Anybody with the most pedestrian form of sound maker joining in 
on the building rhythm.  And what's this?...seems the long holed-up 
whistle blower is emerging from hiding -- breaking ranks to sit in 
on this free-for-all jam session.

Go, man, go.