Sun - XIX

A slice of the novella from Tarot Blanco

Washington DC, 1 March 2025

Ask later expanse xenolithic and nothing drier remains intense air.

Occasionally coursing at somnambulant into osculant conventional tease - easy zone

She whistled softly as she worked: “Here comes the sun.” but if there was a son out behind the klieg lights, it must have been a dim one indeed. A better world is possible but the sun would have to wait. Most MoC stayed inside “the bubble” – the safe place where the people around you had a known set of beliefs which you understood, or kept their personal soul to themselves and just caught their role done: people who were cleaning ladies however high their position was.

She thought for a moment about the endless runs to elect a Speaker of the House And the endless conversations which she had with both sides of the aisle wanting to know what each person plot about the spectacle that was unfolding. Later on, she was shown the C-SPAN coverage, and one aspect that put the entire panorama into perspective was the view from above with all of the mechanical motions of machinations caught in real-time on the blue carpet with the Golden symbol. It mesmerized her because she realized that she was caught in the frame.

But now she needed to walk across the street over to the capitol building and put on that face which was her public persona only in drag. She glanced to her lower left and saw the ground still frigid with ice, and again she remembered the sunflowers popping up last year and would do so again flourishing in the greenish-yellow leaves. Along the next bed was an orange canopy covering over the more delicate flowers that needed to be hidden: and which would not flower upwards if all of the conditions were not correct. Then she looked straight down to her shoes and the gray pavement. She realized that she had not quite put on the face. So she tried again. This time she felt that gentle glower which germinated from within and projected that air of confidence that she wished she felt. But that is the trick: “Fake it until you make it” was the mantra, a trick she had learned when she was busing tables so long ago with her hips swaying to the able to catch the bill and a few coins left as tips and with the other hand clinking the dishware.

She strode out in her white-gleaming-white pantalone with a determined look from her face to her feet. A gleaming Teal necklace flaying down to her décolletage flaunting that she had made it this far and would certainly go at least one step more. She knew bad all the boys were watching her and that made her strut more strongly still like she was a model both inside and out.

Then she looked up and saw Ayanne, whose formal name included the word “Representative” and the last name “Pressley.” There was no reason that that should bother either of them. She, too, was part of “The Squad,” a group of people who looked at the world the same way: that is, they all came from the bottom and knew that most people still lived there.

Ayanna spoke first: “You will right in believing that the grassroots would not take.”

She then thought for a deep second: “They would not take immediately, it is only when they personally know the damage that they will act.”

“And meanwhile the Musk continues to run rampant.”

“If there is an odor then it will of course through the veins of the public lens until it is stopped.”

“I still don’t understand why he is special.”

“Talking with a few people who knew him or others of his type: he’s an engineer and breaks things as a matter of course.”

“Though he has that part of engineering down, but I don’t know if is engine will work.”

“Don’t you know the saying?”

But Rep. Pressley only waited with a sense of both disgust and expectation.

And so Alex sounded out the words: “Only into the ground.”

They immediately bend slightly as if to recognize that they felt the same way about the mechanical way that Elon worked: presenting to the media a fait accompli. Each of them twirled their right hand as if they both understood that the great prevaricator did only one thing well and that was to destroy the thing that it had bought.

The clouds slowly simmered and the sun came out, for a moment, illuminating the capital building.

But in her mind, she was on a white horse traipsing free of this formality and forgotten all of the time since she first decided that this was the place she would attain. It was a star that she hung her hopes on only to find that it was crumpled up and of no use, a circle within a circle bearing rays that still had not brought spring with them: because being here meant that she could turn around and speak to a forgotten people who even now huddled not knowing what to do.