I come before you to refute the
argument that the 21st Century has killed good,
large things. I too remember the size of
promise, horizon’s kinetic scent wafting
through, those times we really thought
we had our pants on right;
I remember Huey Lewis.
I remember mapped, tangible genres of
music, with Princes and Queens,
massive, fertile icons, guaranteed
seats. Boy George
Michael. And before that, I know about
rock, folk; whispers of honest
efforts. Where are the Simon & the
Garfunkel we thought would replace
Simon & Garfunkel? I am not
too young – I can share in
Beyond music there was once
the notion of the hungry war, one
we bit into and wanted more of, teething
on the thrill of super power. Superpower.
There were Olympic Olympics, I
remember them, gymnasts stuck the landings
for all mankind while we ate
beef like it was bread, and
Michael Jackson had a jacket with
a hundred-thousand zippers, and
we all knew what was inside each one –
answers. Big things. Nuclear weapons
being thrown into the sun by Christopher
Reeve, and the way computers would
take care of us when we grew old.
Willy Wonka has now consecutively
promised more than a couple
constituencies everlasting gobstoppers,
and not delivered.
My citizens, my friends, I come before
you to say it boldly:
there is Turkish Delight.
I have seen it, elusive, spinning
crimson in my dreams, in Crayola a
redder burnt sienna.
It will not be easy; expect failures. However,
wait and you will have it back
again, our scope, our importance, and
we will land a man on Mars.
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