A Politician Hones His Campaign Speech
Thank you and good evening. It is morning in America. No, not literally as those of us with watches can plainly tell. However, we’ve got to believe that it is the morning, or we will be left in the dark. Most people think a good speech tries to say as much as possible with the fewest amount of words. Well, I disagree. I’m a plainspoken man, so I’m going to do the opposite and use a lot of words to tell you just one thing. Tonight, I am here tonight to tell you all that: no matter what time it is, or what the sky looks like, or what my opponents say: it is morning in America.
Almost a year ago, I announced that I was embarking on this unlikely journey to change America. I was not born with a desire to run for office. But I was born with two arms, two legs, one head, and several fingers. Now that might not be good enough for some folks, but those are the people who can’t understand that it is morning in America. It’s morning, we shouldn’t be telling each other what we can and cannot do. Do you call your husband up at 4 a.m. to tell him he can’t build a boat out of ice cream? No, of course not; it’s just too early in the day.
For a long time now, we’ve been told, and increasingly so, that we have to choose between a morning or a night. Well I’d like to suggest there is no such thing as a morning or a night. There’s only morning all day long. The morning is when we look to the future, when anything seems possible — like morning, even throughout the night.
We’ve been on a dangerous path for far too long. There have been too many ups and downs, twists and turns, and bumps along the way. It’s time that path came to a dead end. Luckily for us it has — so now we will forge ahead without a path, because paths are clearly far too dangerous. It is better to simply wander off a well-trod course into the forest. It is safer to burn the map, which thankfully I lost hours ago at the second trailhead.
Those of you out there are well aware that I am not speaking figuratively. I was as disappointed as you were when our campaign bus broke down earlier today on that beautiful, abandoned stretch of I-73, next to the seemingly limitless Oshougada State Park in the middle of a real America. Looking around at this rich, green, thick woodland, I do not see a single cell phone tower — not even way off in the distance — and that is what makes this part of our country truly great. And by great, I mean extremely large and, apparently, sparsely populated.
But to move back to my main point, it is morning in America. It’s not that I want to end the night. No, I want to end the mind-set that gets us into the night — because it is the night time when the wolves come out. This is the crux of my seventeen-point plan to avoid the wolves: we just never allow it to become night. The rest of my plan is available on my website — for donors.
Believe me, it is a rock-solid plan. I formulated it after I spent a lot of time researching it with my trusted advisors and a lot of time talking to folks like Marsha Alavarez, of Costa Mesa California. Marsha has three kids and is working two jobs to afford health coverage after her husband Danny lost his job in May. I’m not saying the wolves had anything to do with any of that, but I’m also not saying they didn’t.
What I want everyone here to remember — long after this day is over and we are discovered by park rangers possibly, probably, months from now is not to give in to the cynicism of my opponents. I hope it is clear to you that when I say “opponents” now; I am exclusively speaking about the w-o-l-v-e-s because I think they can hear us. I am going to get down off of this stump, which I thought at the beginning of my speech was a good idea, but now I realize has certainly attracted the wolves attention and allowed them to pinpoint our location. Finally, as we prepare to run — both for office and for our lives — please ladies and gentlemen, keep my words with you: it is morning in America! Let us pray they don’t have watches.
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Even as I write this now I am debating whether or not to erase it all together.
When I say I’m in love with you, I mean I love the story I can tell to my next lover, about my ex-lover, about how beautiful things were, how intense, how storybook, what a couple we were, and how you gradually, inexplicably, painfully, bit by bit, disappeared.
“I used to be afraid of failing at something that really mattered to me, but now I’m more afraid of succeeding at things that don’t matter.”
I was 24 and, while not gay, ever since college I had been getting more attention from gay men than from heterosexual women.