“Shouldn’t we be at a bar?” Gilles Deleuze raises his arms and hands scanning around the Great Beyond Starbucks.
“It’s Malcolm,” Franza Kafka explains. “Doesn’t drink.”
“Coffee either,” Deleuze shrugs. “And why are we here? Talking about some American football player and the president?”
“The brother has a name,” Malcolm X says walking to the table before sitting. “Kaepernick. Colin Kaepernick.”
Paulo Freire scoots his chair over so the table mostly is equally divided among Deleuze, Kafka, Malcolm, and himself.
“And the president, Obama, is talking like a house slave,” Malcolm continues. “Telling Kaepernick to consider how he has hurt military members and their families.”
“It is the bureaucratization of the mind,” Freire interjects. “Obama must assume the political pose of the bureaucrat—seeking to offend no one and as a result offending everyone.”
“Poseidon,” Kafka offers absently.
“Poseidon?” Malcolm asks, scanning the others at the table.
“Obama has endless work, the work of a bureaucrat, the chief bureaucrat,” Kafka sighs.
Deleuze raises a hand, adding, “It is the necessity of administration, of administering. Always reforming, always in flux.” He pauses with a slight shake of his head. “If he declares anything, it is over, finished. To be finished is to be without purpose. The nightmare of the bureaucrat.”
“If Jimmy was there,” Malcolm says, “if Jimmy were there, he would say what needs to be said.”
“Jimmy?” asks Deleuze.
“Baldwin,” Freire leans toward Deleuze. “James Baldwin.”
“O, yes, where is Baldwin?” asks Deleuze.
“With Ali,” Malcolm explains. “Prince is performing, and Jimmy says he has had it with the living and their invoking his name while doing nothing.”
“Carlin is doing a set after Prince,” Kafka smiles.
Seemingly in unison, the four turn toward the billow of smoke gradually enveloping their table from the one beside them.
“So it goes,” comes through the fog of cigarette smoke. “So it goes.”
Message to Grassroots, Malcolm X
Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut