Mistletoe is poisonous, as are most good things. We devour the hollow sacraments to ward off the Wrath of Ancients, but to no avail, for a Wrath will be heard, like it or no, and a particular poison can cure the lamb but infect the wolf. The Solstice wheels in the sky, and stars freeze across the firmament. We run headlong into the New Year, and the Breaking of the Myths of God.
The Bad Magician strings lights to the tapping of wires, the rhythmic beats of captured noise. Curving himself into his wave aspect, he rides along the lines that jump from amp to satellite to receiver, and counts the infractions of speech. The Bad Magician rides the moment of loss, and spies another exit: standing on the edge The President cackles with glee, and suspends the crystalized edicts of the Founding Fathers over the abyss, damning the form, damning the content.
The President screams as salt whitens his hair: The Revolution changed everything. The War of 1812 changed everything. The Mexican-American War changed everything. The Civil War changed everything. The War against the Native Indians changed everything. The Spanish-American War changed everything. The War Against Unions changed everything. The First World War changed everything. World War Two changed everything. The Atomic Bomb changed everything. The Korean War changed everything. The Cold War changed everything. The Cuban Missile Crisis changed everything. The Vietnam War changed everything. Kent State changed everything. Chile changed everything. El Salvador changed everything. Nicaragua changed everything. Grenada changed everything. Panama changed everything. Kuwait changed everything. Somalia changed everything. Yugoslavia changed everything. 9/11 changed everything. Iraq changed everything. The Bad Magician saw all the change. Nothing changed.
The Bad Magician stares at the President, who kicks pebbles into the abyss, and laughs and cries and makes his arms like pin wheels. The Constitution is a bird: it claws at the President, and pecks, and mocks him with "You're a shit-stain. Caw-caw. You're a shit-stain." The President grimaces, steps back, runs forward and leaps into the void, carrying the Foundation of the Country above his head, he floats as his legs are torn on the rocks, his flesh shredded like paper. God loses His wings and plummets with the President, falling out of Time, plunging upwards and down and frozen: nowhere is everywhere. The President screams: We are the Mighty! We are the One! Lightning surrounds God, thunder and rain and brimstone and steel: they fall into the Net of Gems and reflect their own shadows. The Bill of Rights flaps its wings and departs. The Death of God changes everything.
The Bad Magician climbed into his sleigh and ignored all of the children. He flew because he liked to fly. No one knows where he went.