What is all this shit about national reconciliation?
On the "National Day of Mourning for former President Richard Nixon,"
declared by President Clinton on April 27, 1994.
My fellow citizens,
I have called an emergency press conference
to inform you that there was a time when
between America and myself something
hard and irresistible wouldn't stop growing:like the tomahawk resting in the bed
between Ishmael and Queequeg
at the Spouter's Inn in New Bedford,
the barbaric yawp! of Whitman's
late-night revels, or the phallic ultimatum
hanging like a question mark when
Thomas Eakins cast the loincloths
of his male models into Schuykill River.It grew even harder when Billy Budd
bade farewell to the Rights of Man,
while the harmonies of Charles Ives
collided in the background
like slabs of ice melting
on the Housatonic in winter.But enthusiasm for national destiny
cooled fast after Sand Creek and
Wounded Knee, turned limp
in Fatty Arbuckle's hotel room,
then succumbed to racial abuse
erupting from various machismo
soloists like Jack London,
Frederick Remington and Ty Cobb.Detumescence intensified as U.S.
presidents started to lie as a matter of
state policy: Eisenhower about the U-2,
LBJ about troop deployments to Vietnam,
Nixon about the bombings in Cambodia,
and Reagan about Iran-Contragate,
thus assaulting the very kidneys
of our democracy.Urinary pressure intensified
when it was next revealed that
Aldrich Ames had blown the East
European networks for a cool million,
while Sen. Helms attacked with violence
Robert Mapplethorpe's gentle photos
for a lousy ten grand of NEA funds.So let me say in conclusion,
my fellow Americans, with things
being what they are, and you
being who you are, I shall
now ask you to assist me
in recapturing our national vision
as we empty our bladders together
on Richard Nixon's grave.