“The dream was set in the most redeveloped part of the city where I and a few others were gong about our task of moving our possessions on a flatbed trailer which abruptly ended when the group as a whole realized that my individual ideas were completely foreign to their experience. And, now that I was officially considered a pariah by the group, a few of them, mainly women, were at the ready to enact revenge. Somehow my personal belongings were being forgotten or tossed about defiantly about. And at the end of the transit of the flat bed truck my clothing and other linens were deposited under foot in the mud by furious women. I in turn warned them very sternly that they had better not continue or I would take some strong physical measure to counter their retaliation.” – author’s recent dream
It is not coincidental that one’s dreams are beginning to emulate their encroaching waking reality. The idea of a ‘democratic’ consensus driven society has been firmly implanted as being inimical with the ultimate governing principle of society. This mentality might have been popularly termed ‘mob rule’ as long ago as fifty years past by that generation who were motivated to go to war by virtue of a universal sense of ‘right versus wrong’ morality to stop aggression. Now we have a simple sense of the world is unfair so we must band (of brothers) together to preserve ourselves! No surprising in consideration that in the wake of the epoch of career based Feminism as coupled with universal diminished expectation, those who are tasked to work for survival must surrender their children to a mentality of Kindergarden Socialism at the earliest age where kids become more accustomed to group dynamics rather than a strong sense of family unit. The idea of principle is attached to a mutable ‘value’ which can be bartered as being currently ‘relevant’ to the times, rather than thoughtfully measured and obeyed.
Laws and societal structure that define a society are melting under the doctrine of Marx and Engels whose proponent’s demand that we must strip ourselves or an individual identity based upon reasonability in favor of the hive-like consciousness of the pack where a small functionally superior elite of our betters become judge, jury and executioner in directing our collective consciousness to the most desirable predictable conclusion as they see fit. True revolutionaries don’t believe in countries or boundaries beyond their own overriding dogmas of crafting loyalties responsible only to their own narrow ideals. How does this differ in any substantial way from the zealots of a fanatical sect? Without fair, time-tested laws to regulate the larger society that sometimes must struggle at odds with the whims of the latest trends, how can this result in anything but de-facto serfdom?
But for that foolish person that flaunts their rebellious individual nature as being equal or perhaps on occasion superior to the pontificate judgment of the consensus bound dictums recognized by the’ group’, there is no possibility of a sense of membership in that community. For one must surrender themselves completely, part and parcel, to this existence or risk becoming a renegade. So much for the survival of any independence of thought in a theater where one’s conduct in public is no longer based upon individual dignity or a spirit of compromise but compliance. The party line emanates from the current reigning pulpit of ‘Change’ and the rest of us are bound to listen and cheerfully obey. Or else . . .
Did you ever see the way that nineteenth century loggers used to fall redwoods? They used two man saws with narrow blades that were drawn through the trunk of the tree in long even measured strokes. Much in the same way what we know of life as it was a decade ago is being sawed away in a similar manner. To those who wish to remain debunk the possibility of changes that address them in every direction the process of ignorance is becoming ever more a challenge. Even the oddity of the weather as being solely a force of mother nature is becoming ever harder to swallow despite a government inspired campaign to shrug it off solely as the result of mass population alone. People cling to their view screens in a manner similar to tiny feral monkeys trembling at their mother’s breast and fearful that they can no longer be soothed into their preferred state of a waking coma by the mind numbing absurdities that ape the existence of the general population through a decidedly distorted media lens.
Outside the family bunker, food and gas prices steadily climb while the government appears to advance towards imminent wars both foreign and domestic. It seems impossible to obtain a clear picture of escalating events considering the published fact of corporate insurgents and rogue government inspired campaigns of fear and disinformation. Yet for anyone that wants to get a sense of things it is all too easy to take ten minutes of simple string searching on any of these topics and hit the pay dirt of some undeniable amount of verification of what most choose to toss off as simple conspiratorial mania. Forget about who is doing what to whom! Consider how utterly perverse and bankrupt those who pretend to govern by the means of deceitful rhetoric alone have come down to constantly criminalize and deceive the public at large in order to siphon off the dwindling wealth of these constituents. It seems the concept of moral responsibility went out the window uncountable decades past and we are coming into a time that favors only barbarity and self-centered unrepentant aggrandizement. What matter the balance of fact versus fiction when the larger mass of humanity losses its way and becomes nothing more than viscious unquestioning savages?
Forty years ago at the beginning of the leisure suit nineteen seventies on or around the time of the inception of Disco music their was another transition in popular entertainment occurring. One that I was unusually well-placed to observed as my father in particular was very much invested in watching. His heroes had been members of the advance guard of the cocktail circuit. Tuxedo dressed east coast comedians and crooners who like himself had fought their way into prosperity and recognition from very humble beginnings at street level. Their era had been under constant assault of a younger form of entertainment for almost a decade since the beachhead of the Beatles in the sixties. Names like Sinatra, Martin and Davis rang throughout his adult existence as well as throughout our house in my childhood spent there. There were many frequent pilgrimages made by him to that fabled entertainment Mecca of Las Vegas where he would occasionally gain an audience with one of these kings of entertainment at one of the casinos along with a couple of hundred of the the other faithful.
But by this time, unfortunately, the curse of the quest that every younger generation must endure for their own Rock based gods and demigods had taken hold of me. And a Berlin wall style perimeter formed between my father and I that made his enjoyment of his show business heroes seem like GDR propaganda for ears that yearned for the freedom of the Western democracies. He was completely unable to fathom why ‘his music’ turned me off and his kind of ‘humor’ left me flatly unappreciative. I admit like all young zealots that my level of tolerance for prime time TV roasts and sunset Hollywood entertainers performing in the afterglow of their careers had no resonance with my tastes. So in the true totalitarianism of a youthful connoisseur I avoided these programs like the plague. The decades past as I kept my distance searching within my own self-constructed sphere for a sense of popular definition that I might feel comfortable allying myself within. But, like the 33 RPM’s records turned to CD’s and eventually MP3’s, I like a Parsifal, I stumbled through the aisles of retail America looking for a golden temple with some heartfelt undying truth to call my own.
Now that my father’s memory has faded to a ever present but unexpectedly hard to define shadow I visit the stamping grounds of his elusive phantom in dreams and occasionally upon late night YouTube rambling journeys through random snippets of the old television shows from his heyday. There I here the one liners that he faithfully learned and ultimately recited for the bulk of his existence. There also the lingering spirit of men and women who learned the unthinkable horrors that humankind can do to each other at an early age in senseless world wars and retorted with an ability to freely laugh and sing as their own overwhelming form of final revenge upon this all too prevalent form of evil. It is s sort of homecoming in many ways similar to the last sense of James Cameron’s “Titanic” where once a stranger, I now am welcomed back to come in and enjoy a world that paralleled so much of my own beginnings. Maybe also a way of having my long dead father once again at my side?
Snowfall in America under the nightly blanket of artificial government fog. We are all in a ‘No More Hesitation Target Zone’ target zone compliant target area. It is now perfectly OK for Department of Homeland Security or any other splinter law agency to shoot me if I am white, or pregnant, or preadolescent, or just plain too old. How about that for a David Rockefeller approved ‘useless eater’ clearance initiative? Does this mean I am now officially another ‘Bantu’ in our soundly failed republic? But hey, why get paranoid? It’s nice to know that one of the 7,000 AR-15 style weapons are being ordered to take care of characters like me, or for that matter you is NOT an assault weapon but a Personal Defense Weapon. So if one of us ‘Bantu’ starts mouthing off at the airport or some unexpected traffic stop they can defend themselves better with high capacity magazines to ‘full auto’ blow you to pieces. Doesn’t that make you feel safer that you won’t soon be able to even own a hunting rifle while some minimum wage ‘rent a cop’ will be going around the neighborhood Zimmerman style? It’s OK that these weapons and this ammo is supposedly going to almost any federal agency you can think of, including the National Weather Service. Hey those rapidly advancing cold fronts can be deadly! But, how can you miss if you’ve got 1.8 billion rounds of hollow points? This is just what regular law enforcement needs to make their jobs a lot easier!
Assuming that all the illegal immigrants are not going to be legitimate targets since they have no participating membership on the NMHTZ’s targets and Obama needs them as a new voting block, as well as the fact that there are no ‘dark skin’ versions either then that means there might be seven bullets not five to blow off the heads of everything ‘white’ in sight! Comforting thought that urban ghetto America now has a new partner in terms of the rest of the country as an officially designated war zone. Guess it’s sort of a sign of the times that you better have your life insurance paid up if you decide to go outside for a carton of milk. Better take that squirt gun away from little Bobby or some of the latest FEMA graduates might decide to sharpen their skills on a moving target. Life has become so much more exciting now that everyone in a post 911 America that has decided it’s safer to toss off anything uncomfortable into the conspiracy theory bin and go on watching weepy eyed Diane Sawyer. Sleep well for tomorrow for we all might be sleeping eternally!
If I were to imagine myself an organ in the human body it would have started out long ago as a heart and on the way o a brain turned unexpectedly into a gall bladder. Could Charles Darwin in his wildest imagination have predicted such a transmigration of flesh? If we are going to play pin the ethnicity on the donkey, a very Goya-esque occupation, then it might squarely land on the rump of the French. After all, there is no secret that gall was derived from Gaul. This certainly explains my natural affinity for employing my own fractured version of “la langue française.” So having established a fairly stable ‘love|hate’ connection through my didactic let me move on to the regulatory taboo know informally as Political Correctness. This phenomena not being the accidental spinoff of a transplanted group of kindly old world philosophy professors trying to do good, but something much more meticulously malevolent in its inception.
The rules of the game here are strictly codified in keeping with the Soviet traditions that engendered it early on. These being that someone from a designated minority enacts a significant faux pas and everyone else has to act as if never occurred. Now the trick to winning the game is to be the one that not only got to play spin the bottle in terms of who the ‘original victim’ should be but rather test the premise out for say three hundred years or so on a variety of peoples in a variety of lands and then settle on the one’s who were least able to fight back. This being established in true ‘carrot and stick’ Pharonic fashion the fix so to speak is safely in where the victim can be made to alternately squawk and then cease doing same on command. This becomes a hell of a club to beat all the other players of the table with vis a vis the, “you better not talk or you’ll be cast as a persecutor!”, commandment. That one being the phase two part of the gambit where groups that are harder to control are motivated by stealthy incremental steps to finally demonstrate the less than likely side of their nature in committing barbaric acts. And then, of course, forever reminded of it with the ‘persecutor’ rule. It is imperative, as the main instigator, to sneak around ‘hush hush’ style with all these preparation and even play the dispossessed on numerous occasions to deflect any officially posed suspicions by the other players. But always have the only bullhorn in the room handy to call out with authority who the loser is! You know you’ve won when the only thing not talked about is you and the methods you employed on all the other losers. Neat huh!
In terms of conversion of flesh played upon a larger scale what seems impossible in a single unit of the animal phylum seems fairly mundane within the larger species. That old donkey of his Satanic majesty now a larger paid off conspiracy firmly emplaced to continue this time honored traditional strategy across the land of those who might also be going through their own metastasis from a former pleasurable security to neurotic irritability. All that can be said of such a situation is that every ‘organ’ is charged to take the time to know its place to begin with! Maybe it’s time the rest of us learn a little more about this game and how to win on our own terms?
There can b e few worse hypocrisies than to expect an eye for an eye in a spirit of eternal retribution. The level of brutality and crime that have been unleashed in the name of any cause far outweighs the human imagination to comprehend the horrific depravity that results. This is true of any war where anyone before the gun is a fair target on any level of barbarity. Hollywood has indoctrinated us to believe that there is some noble rationality in unleashing death upon others as if it is some noble gesture on behalf of some celestial presence. But it merely the collapse of any culture into a form of chaos that forever damages the perpetrator, robbing him of entire tracts of himself that will only be replaced by madness.
Standard myths about winners and losers from previous wars fall prey to facts which paint the differences as merely being a slightly better opportunity of one group to annihilate the other with better efficiency. Though many still carry on with well acted tales about epic victimhood, one has to wonder if these protests cover up a more sinister fact that their crimes against their antagonists were so much greater and unthinkable that they had to balance it within their conscience in order to have even the slightest possibility to live with themselves. The winner of any major struggle invariably showing themselves to be the most ruthless and blood thirsty.
So now we all live in a cold age where compassion is considered bad form and prowess by all genders in efficiently inflicting pain and death being a desirable skill. But in the process we are dehumanized and made worse than all the worst of the animal kingdom. And as the Bible reminds us, “all that live by the sword shall one day die by the sword”
“Gun Violence!”, scream the daily headlines in Chicago but nary a whisper of, “no talking to the police”, is the real wind in the sails of so many continued incidents of shootings. We have marches and photo opportunities before hungry news cameras looking for stories to divert attention from the ever worsening unattended state of a moribund national economy. The fact that shootings in the city as a rule are far below what they were in decades past along with the fact that the new mayor as part of the Federal ruling structure is continuing to cut budgets for crime prevention are supposed to be overlooked. And perhaps, given the rising incidents of unwarranted lethal violence inflicted by the police against all strata’s of society, it may indeed be understandable that those at street level will not aid the enforcement of the law at large through the jeopardy of their own safety, however immoral that stance may be.
Yet it is a thousand times more unjust to continue policies that deemphasize the presence and will of the majority in favor of an artificially engendered cult of official victimhood. Considering that in the last ten years the focus of those in the highest offices of power have sought to install and favor the rapid growth of government organs that seek to wrench this nation from its moral foundations for the sake of an elitist global utopia favoring centralized rule by the unelected. Like rainwater through a roof that has rotted away, these currents stream down ceaselessly corroding and dissolving what once seemed like normal life into a perpetual sense of instability and uncertainty conducted by the whim of the daily agenda of an unseen polit-bureau. The ‘guns’ don’t seem to be a problem when they are funneled into a foreign region for political aggrandizement in support of a ‘national interest’ but they become a well-publicized anathema through events that contain more theatrical artifice as opposed to investigative fact.
The most overlooked fact of the issue is that a ‘gun’ in any of its many manifestations needs a finger upon the trigger and an agenda behind it that points it toward a particular target. The real issue that remains purposefully unspoken it just who has the most guns and who they intend to point them at! Considering that the anomaly of that loathsome entity of DHS which seems established mainly to humiliate and intimidate the general citizenry while arming up with enough weaponry and ammunition to domestically massacre every citizen and illegal resident within the national borders six times over. The whole situation becomes a play of whispers within the general population versus those put forth by the rule of federal government as to what the next staged event will be in terms of conflict that will provide a ‘shock doctrine’ remedy to benefit the destruction of the nation as a whole. The daily faire of a virulent level of formulaic social patterning though the incessantly ocular perspective of the popular media competitively showcasing ‘black’ over ‘white’ suggesting a manufactured schism leading to what appears to be a desire for a violent race based conflict.
What occurs in the various ‘ghettos’ of America, ‘black’ urban or ‘white’ suburban, is mischief plain and simple. It seems time to call out these agent provocateurs and retake the public forums in order to confront them publicly with their crimes. The time is long past for continued whispers but rather a determined call for taking the initiative by proactive moral action.
Being someone who once had a relationship with a dog who has long since past into the dust of memory and shallow earth, I sometimes wonder if he is in Heaven does that mean that their is poop in the streets there as well? Oscar night strikes me in a similar vein. It is certainly fair game for the fashion savvy and soapbox cinematographers with barstool politicians able to get in their licks. It is certainly a glamorous night out that each of us think that we should one day hope to deserve. And if the movies of the year actually warrant it, it is a heart felt celebration of the miracle of the creativity that while it many times strikes out yet all so many times supplies the magic for better or worse that populate our dreams. There are no accidents in Hollywood only endless script rewrites. These yearly celebrations mark the finale in a ritual of many lily pads jumped to assure the confirmation of bankability for both actors and the myriads of people that support their performance. They don’t replace the films that individually affect with a similar product line but the occasionally supplement it with additional product.
In a more personal sense the flagging hopes and dreams of all the unknowns who have strived to be great are revived occasionally by the personal invocations of some of those who win explaining that the most basic truths on occasion still count despite all the evidence to the contrary. It is a place where believers go to see themselves in some hopefully not too distant future time accepting praise to pass on their thanks to so many eternally long departed. Too many times a rogue’s gallery of rough trade in souls and human flesh to be sure. But, perhaps it is also the closest thing that the culture still has left collectively to a national prayer service where what we would wish to be is finally acknowledged and accepted for all time to come.
Life among the forty foot tall dendrites. Is that the Sun up above or simply a big lightbulb lost somewhere within a forgotten back room somewhere? And I am really standing upon the back of a very hairy flea who in turn is biting the left ear of an equally hairy guy whose still asleep. His slow respiration powering the appearance of an occasional wind. Safety begins within my cloistered cage. Intellect becomes merely a popper stopper pooper scooper. Stand there amidst a filagree of dead tree trunks and if you listen carefully you’ll hear a delicate melody amidst the branches. It sounds like, like, ‘victory’. Victory waiting in the wings. Victory in the form of an ever watchful chaos that seeks to dissolve all that is considered meaningful to microbes such as us. But in reality is simply temporal bout of passing vanity on the way to the boneyard. All that is written is subject to be erased! Ask smart ass Robert R. why he had to ask permission of De Kooning to erase. Natural chaos isn’t quite so polite. Like these dead termite ridden boughs surrounding me that stand wrinkled within the clear light glare of a bounced blue bounded sky. Here they stand timelessly today but never to be seen in an equal combination as such tomorrow.
“Today, I will drink beer and perhaps a touch of strychnine as a chaser!”
Anything that slowly kills puts one closer in touch with the rarity of a short lived vitality of enjoyed by a well-rounded experience of life.
To cocoon, or not to cocoon? How fragile the human ego? The interplay of desire unleashed to the limit of its chain and then yanked back again. So prevalent among modern women taking it up to the point of play but fearful of sensuality. Men grapple and women caress was the old adage of the past. But now so many are encouraged to circumvent their passions in abstractions that avoid the point of the struggle they felt drawn to to begin with. And their most vulnerable side is wrested from them through meaningless agitation as a smoke screen to cover up the tenuous nature of their vulnerability. Imagine the commitment of offering one’s hand to the touch of a stranger without the immediate hope of reciprocation. Fully revealing for a moment the sensual nature of the simple action to the vagaries of the fickle resonses of another. Most rely upon a Kabuki doctrine of escapes and ‘get out of jail’ free scenarios that are learned by rote through the popular media. We are all cast as voyeurs watching our lives from a removed platform in 3rd party space. We carry a picture frame around with us in this sense that we cast up before others, expecting the most desirable result that we think is due to something in our presentation. This artificiality is the death of any chance of intimacy and spontaneity. So many end up caught by their own poorly posed reactions in a lifelong cat and mouse chase. The electricity of sparks may come from the repression of the outward expression of feeling but like any capacitor, energy must ultimately flow in direct proportion to the amount of charge that is initially withheld. Funny how no one can escape the fundamental reality of themselves? As we are born to a world run by the pantomimes and shadows of cinema, we all eventually become actors. The only question becomes, is our performance ‘honest’ enough?