THE ENTHUSIAST
Welcome to The Revolution.
The Revolution shares a thousand platitudes each laid openly within the story of us, people living together and finding interest in what makes us curious.
When one person’s eventful living becomes the world’s new affair, does anything really happen until the world moves its attention to the next.
the hero in sheep’s clothing
excerpt from "the night after beating the drum" - The Revolution, Part One
Charlie had come into the tavern alone. The night had begun. It was in full swing when the others arrived. Mick, Drew, and Stanley slid into the night without attention. There was no thinking. Quick talk arrowed round, plans were made, times recalled, plans were broken. The clock served no end, no reference. Charlie, Charles Radmore, had been offered a job, and with income not yet earned he was buying rounds. The jukebox played songs from four different eras and the bar bobbed aimlessly into each. Three girls employing one hairstyle flirted with Drew. To augment his chances of love, Drew flirted with the hairstyle. More faces had come in and the bar thickened, two people deep. The night expanded, levels rose, guards dropped.
excerpt from "reaction from the White House" ~ The Revolution, Part Three
“Don’t be absurd. You’re making this kid out to be a public monster, an undressed Democrat. If he’s such a bad pill, why is half of the country in love with him?” The President came around his desk. His voice had more of a courteous picnic tone than Oval Office severity. He wore a polished pair of brown shoes.
“It’s a David and Goliath,” replied the President’s Chief of Staff. His tie clip, a gift from the League of Women Voters, kept his moderately thin necktie tight to his white shirt. “He’s the underdog here to cure all that upsets the common folk.”
“I thought that was my job description,” said the President.
“Maybe three years ago, but not today. Today you’re perceived as part of the problem. You’ve been institutionalized. The people don’t understand,” a member of the President’s Cabinet said. “Today you’re the monster. You’re the President of the United States. How could you be real? You’re certainly not human. You live in the White House, not in a row house. This kid is approachable. He’s like them. He’s human.”
“Tell me about this human kid," asked the President. "What have we got on him? What does he eat? Does he smoke? What type of sport coat does he prefer? I want to know all about this Jack Pyne.”
“There isn’t too much to know about him. Jack Pyne is a white male, twenty-eight years of age, living in Pebbleby, Pennsylvania. He’s a college graduate holding no steady job. His yearly reported income is one half of that needed to be considered living in poverty. He’s single, associated with no clubs, organizations, or political parties.”
The President’s Chief of Staff crossed his legs and looked at the ceiling. “He’s a bum. And a boring one at that.” He chuckled. “Forty-four percent of the American population responded to a boring bum.”
The President laughed. “Well, now he’s a famous bum.”
“A powerful bum,” the Cabinet member said.
going underground
excerpt from "for all sports, weather, and news" ~ The Revolution, Part Four
Sitting on a curb, three college girls, for the first time away from their boyfriends who they would love forever for the next eighteen months, watched the scene of which they were a part. A reporter collected their angles.
“I think he stands for the people,” phrased one of the college girls.
“You think Jack Pyne stands for the people.” The reporter, for burlesque’s sake, repeated the girl’s appraisal. “And what do you think Jack Pyne stands for?” he asked the second college girl.
“Basically, I think he stands for the people, too,” she offered a sweet cup of unfermented cider, “but all people, not just one group of people, every person, every race, all colors.”
“Okay. And what does Jack Pyne represent to you?” the reporter asked the third college girl.
“He represents Mary and Joe America” said the third college girl.
Of the three, she had the longest oars. “He represents everybody’s neighbor. The country can easily picture him sitting at its dinner table.” Her skin would not know a wrinkle for ten more years, but not until she had spent thousands of dollars and the balance of her mature life trying to conceal the wrinkle, would the college girl appreciate her present-day luxuries. “People like him. They want to have a catch with him and go on a picnic.”
The reporter fixed his tie. “That’s a whale of a sales pitch. You must be Mr. Pyne’s campaign manager?”
No,” laughed the second college girl. “She’s a political science major.”