Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Headstones that Beg "Vote for Me"
The headstones are quickly erected an October night, crowding the small empty plots at several major intersections of the little town. They are crude and cheaply cut out of thick cardboard, on which a colored name is simply printed on a plain background. In the fall nights, they are a sinister reminder of a fierce battle for the town council seats and for school board nomination.
There are no dead bodies underneath the simple paper tombstones. The names printed there on the makeshift headstones are the names of live people, ambitious townsfolk with a political flair and an inclination for public exposure, a desire to run the town show according to ... not Garp, but a minority group with special interest, perhaps adherent to certain principles, maybe for want of reform.
Anyway, now the town is full of graves with "Vote for" inscription. The ghosts of the past return to visit too, reminding the people that they had failed to secure the town from the invasion of commercialism, that their distraction over the years was the the reason why the cow pastures were traded for a behemoth sport stadium, and that due to their antipathy to the town cause, a new landfill now is commissioned to cut its grand opening ribbon in between two elementary schools, blocking the pristine horizon, slashing the property values, condemning the future generations to a lifetime of congested traffics, noise and air pollutions, not to mention the double-digit crime rate.
By November 2nd, there will be a mass burial, although the city cleaning crew would be out to erase the evidence of all the headstones. Depending on the outcome and wisdom of the town voters, there would be among the buried: the lost visions of a few brave town officials, or the corpse of a wasteful budget, the salaries of more school teacher, or the last land massacre contract.
Watch out for those headstones that beg "Vote for Me." ¶ 10:16 PM
The headstones are quickly erected an October night, crowding the small empty plots at several major intersections of the little town. They are crude and cheaply cut out of thick cardboard, on which a colored name is simply printed on a plain background. In the fall nights, they are a sinister reminder of a fierce battle for the town council seats and for school board nomination.
There are no dead bodies underneath the simple paper tombstones. The names printed there on the makeshift headstones are the names of live people, ambitious townsfolk with a political flair and an inclination for public exposure, a desire to run the town show according to ... not Garp, but a minority group with special interest, perhaps adherent to certain principles, maybe for want of reform.
Anyway, now the town is full of graves with "Vote for" inscription. The ghosts of the past return to visit too, reminding the people that they had failed to secure the town from the invasion of commercialism, that their distraction over the years was the the reason why the cow pastures were traded for a behemoth sport stadium, and that due to their antipathy to the town cause, a new landfill now is commissioned to cut its grand opening ribbon in between two elementary schools, blocking the pristine horizon, slashing the property values, condemning the future generations to a lifetime of congested traffics, noise and air pollutions, not to mention the double-digit crime rate.
By November 2nd, there will be a mass burial, although the city cleaning crew would be out to erase the evidence of all the headstones. Depending on the outcome and wisdom of the town voters, there would be among the buried: the lost visions of a few brave town officials, or the corpse of a wasteful budget, the salaries of more school teacher, or the last land massacre contract.
Watch out for those headstones that beg "Vote for Me." ¶ 10:16 PM
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