The case can be made by those of advancing age that as the years go by, one must learn to live on less and less as a matter of expediency in the increasingly uneasy quest for survival. Surety and security come into focus as one’s youthful sense of invulnerability dissipates after an experience of violence or one’s impotence to defend one’s self before before the imminence of same. The descent of once robust physicality, the growing inadequacy of internal plumbing, all these factors signal that existence is running on short and there is little left to take for granted in the daily progress of one’s life. The end of each year brings a growing closer identification with ‘Father Time’ as opposed to his newly soon to be attached grandchild. The year past providing ample evidence that things are no longer the way they used to be. A drive to the far edge of town seeming infinitively more crowded than in the yesteryear of past decades. One’s insignificance being diminished further down another flea on a massive dog’s back of endless strip mall lined asphalt lanes subtending matrices of tiny brick boxes. The ego deflated into ever tighter confines. The arbitrary social marker of another revolution by the planet around the sun. Does this mean we are all that much closer to final extinction a billion or so years hence? If humility can be said to require the proper environment to blossom then it is within the perception of these current mental confines. All one can strive to do is to start out to be one then two and eventually four rising multiplying exponentially like any other species or competitive phylum. Everything beyond survival and growth is a false vanity. Happy New Year and prosper!
Well, here we all are in the midst of the ailing American Empire approximately half way through the second decade caught in a relentless media ‘toe hold’ of admonishment for continuing to possess an intransigent racist society. The borders are open to undocumented aliens, the major municipalities are supporting several generations of unrepentant welfare spongers at both economic extremes and the majority of the population, officially calculated as sixty-four percent, has been officially outed as “WHITE”, their term not mine. Constant ever whining cries of foul rise up from questionable ‘embedded‘ organizations originally created in proxy as surrogates for the aggrieved victims that the percentage of ‘BLACK’ faces on the airwaves or the fine arts do not measure up to the contingent percentage of ‘MINORITIES’! This despite the fact that almost without exception there is and has been a ‘BLACK’ face on every major motion picture, a lead human interest article daily posted in every newspaper, and a fully equal in status television segmented character. The game of race baiting has reached the heights of absurdity with the singling out of police departments as progenitors of racial profiling and therefore no longer of respect but only derision.
Consider that the extended media community is a very tight knit class indeed, especially if anyone bothers to tally up the last names and cultural orientation of the handful of controlling moguls and their small legions of supposedly ‘LIBERAL’ functionaries. Simply expressing one’s opinions counter to same in public if one is an ‘anybody’ can be a one-way ticket to Palooka-ville especially if its context is completely viable as a statement of demonstrable probability or fact. That ever present media cannon of foreign inspired mores of social conduct enforcing those Communist ideals of the dominance of the “new man” as being ‘SUPERWOMAN’ superseding the original laws of the land. The constant twenty-four hour seven days a week selectively posed topical media bombardment beating down any other point of view, rational or otherwise as socially abhorrent.
The big ‘WE’ are barraged with the shaky notion of indelible guilt and the corresponding eternal debt need to be paid to official victims based upon the supposed actions of the modern sense of racial/cultural class that our forebears have recently been assigned to by the media hucksters of our current Patrician class. The honors and recognition based upon the actual labor and toil of the numeric majority has been reallocated to be summarily distributed in public ceremonies to small cadres of loafing sand-baggers whose educational and job qualifications seem to keep them permanently employed as perennial officially designated ‘victims’. The pool of same providing narratives that are meticulously pruned by exclusion of unwanted independent statistics and verifiable facts so as to serve as egregious, “I told you so’s”, to batter and further marginalize the larger two-thirds of the population with the curious phenomena of fearing to object to the character assassination that they are subject to.
The level of absurdity has risen to attempting to very publicly seek out scapegoats among their own institutions of deceit within the ‘empire of their own’ and lambast them on their own airwaves, as if these same organizations have some innate affinity to the very majority that they routinely as a matter of course defame. “Divide and Conquer” has now defaulted to “Replace and Conquer” by mandate of a subverted federal governmental system of articulated goals completely aligned with elitist multi-national corporate Globalist objectives. The once sacrosanct notion of, “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”, has been politicized as a battlefield to advance false concern for the supposedly universal right of the officially designated ‘victim of the week’ to run roughshod over all the rest of humanity at the election of those who feel it is their divine right as the mythically ‘chosen of God’.
So it’s the Christmas, end of the year, time and all the mental baggage has tumbled out on the floor from ahead and behind of where the presents have been hidden for the last several months. All the final resolves and fatally attended to plans gone awry lay scattered at one’s feet. The only possible remedy to their resolution coming in another weak-kneed, “next year!” The venom saved up from the irresolution and excuses primed and ready to be shared at the first opportunity of an unwary quip. The mirror is off limits to deeper introspection while in public you offer a simple view or what you expect in your ego-bound self-inscribed little universe. The lens that is used to focus after long practice acts like a one way mirror. The world has changed out there but not within. The same old dragons still slumber as they have for the last ten-thousand years. Smoke so effluent that it has to exit out the butt. The physical dimensions of the flesh are in the midst of suffering an epiphany of neglect. And so on and so forth band, “waaa, waaa, waaa!”
For everyone, the fantasy, must and does continue. The greater the number of rings of wrinkles upon otherwise dissolving flesh. This ant colony of continuous bleeders suffers offering only the veracity of victimhood in a pile of genuine excuses fully sanctified by a society engineered primarily in deceitful sarcasm. The jungle is a war of words cloaking the constant threat of unexpected nefarious actions. The fat purses growing fatter buried beneath the growing number of towers of steel, stone, and glass. The bridge back to an approximation of what is loosely termed, ‘humanity’ shivering unsteadily upon the few remaining unsullied notions. The remaining possibility of salvation pinned upon taking what has been stored away and patently ignored for decades. Something that was lain dormant while the rest of the world has radically changed. The notion of time and past generations poised upon the tray of the scale of relative worth.
It is simply from the chaos of the unexpected where one finds the possibility of something worth continuing with when the equally prescient realization that one is living in an otherwise dead existence crashes against the timbers like the flood of a Tsunami. No time to gather up the treasured possessions of past mistakes and bundle them any further on the back. Perhaps the pleasure of pleasing one’s self has to be abandoned for the sake of preserving the health of the heart? Abstinence from the realm of too much and a couple of drinks around the tree to recall the fact that despite all of the above, you’ve made it through another year.
Christmas is a time for fond memories, especially when it is all that remains of an otherwise wonderful relationship one had experienced long ago. The lights of a fully dressed Christmas tree all aglow within a darkened lounge hearkening back to so many long ago eras from childhood through to one’s first years together. That customary music expected of the holidays giving one pause for both flights of fancy and serious thought.There is also certain sense of selfishness and remorse that runs through these holidays at the end of the year when a dormant sense of nostalgia for people and times lived long ago but now forever past collide. Those times spent with so many bygone ‘other’s’ holding an unexpected tarnish that one inwardly yearns to burnish away to find a sort of resurrection with a hope for the possibility of their rediscovery. The emotionally restless present tense letting loose the many beasts of past remorse to beset one in such manner that it seems impossible to find comfort within these otherwise soothing vapors of the past. Too many incidents long misplaced within which one found themselves short of the ability to extend an olive branch or even desperately needed assistance, too little, too late, or none at all. That hope for a quick temporal salvation faded quickly back into distant memory leaving naught but the incontrovertible conclusion of one’s paradise now eternally lost. There are so many far removed tomorrow’s to be discovered in this run up in long lists of recent passing’s. Reviews of recollections pertaining to each that might have been shared for at least one more time together. But for the sake of the convenience of the momentary expediency or a desperate reluctance of just not wanting to feel uneasy in heated conversation, were unfortunately not. If Christmas is a time of renewal for the young it is equally a readjustment through the acknowledgement of farewells in too many, ‘what might have been’s’, by the rest of us.
The magic of a human breath. It is amazing to consider that through the course of one;s existence, that ones cycle of breath and heartbeat are rarely if ever interrupted. Certainly not for a span of time to consider it more than the brief interruption of a hiccup. That equates to the span of there years with all its events and pauses being accompanied by a generally consistent bowing of the lungs to the downbeat of the heart. In the most extraordinary human example of same the chorus continuing for ninety plus years up past a hundred annum of inhale and exhale. The characteristic normally in an undetectable level of sound of which pervades their vicinity. As once might find a single errand suture remaining long lost from the commencement of infancy within one’s navel in later life so might one consider the cumulative repository above midriff containing the restless winds of part eras and generations. Their uncountable events lived through over the course of life making up in some sort of atomic dust ridden sense of same all having been taken in at some time or another and on deposit within like rare baubles in a chest of treasure.
It is only when one finds themselves bereft of the subtle wheeze or snore does a fatal sort of silence wear upon the mind making one aware of the keen absence of that individual. Painful at this point to ponder in the stillness all the sleepless night when the rhythm of that other’s infernal engine comforted all around in the fact of knowing that there was someone else’s camaraderie to assure one’s self with. But then, in equal measure, how fatally devastating to consider that the initial repository of all those uttered words and noises voiced over the extended notion of time is now forever silenced. The finality of that last ever unexpected death rattle with the accompanying amazement that such an event could have ever transpired. One overpowered ever after by quiescence, as if privy to that ironic crescendo lurking within the hush of dust dragging aimlessly upon a bare floor. The only possibility of encountering something similar once again in the release from bated breath of one’s own lungs into a long and pensive wistful sigh.
Christmas is an anathema to those combined forces that intercede to rule over the mob and would treat them like cattle and most certainly sheep. Experience of the mass media in recent years has seen the traditional presentation of the core symbology of traditional elements bespeaking same watered down to a play of colors, commercially co-opted melodies, and non-associative generic symbols more reminiscent of northern hemisphere weather patterns than the holiday itself. These ‘forces’ having unilaterally installed the popular taboo of victimhood as their most preferred bulwark to combat vocal resistance by groups who hold other opinions. The tyranny of the illusion of mass consensus-based outing being a ready sword to wield against any who even call into the question their link to these practices. Marshall McLuhan’s massage has become their ‘crack cocaine’ to hawk to the fools who will tremble at the prospect of even calling a proverbial spade a ‘spade’.
Once again in this world, Christian ethics must go underground for upholding the notion that the few don’t have any special right to enslave the many with their stilted dogmas. The ills of the current world all seem to be in so many ways connected to that conspicuously Europeanized portion of the Middle East ever contentious section of the planet. And not without accident but by design. A host of lampreys are sucking the last vitality from the framework of what was once known as commonwealth and is replacing it with the forked tongue of self-serving deceit. Steel and stone temples are continually being built out of dwindling funds from the public trust to celebrate events that have no foundation in truthful records. The passions of people are purposefully inflamed to create institutionally based deceptions of excess and violence.
Only other foreign tyrants and petty dictators have the boldface temerity to publicly call a halt to this process through veiled threat of violent reprisal. The annual message of rebirth has been deposed in favor of hedonistic rituals or vicarious destruction, Never has there been a better time to disconnect the television and discard all one’s Hollywood paraphernalia and of course throw the current set of ruling oligarchs out of their current positions of responsibility. One doesn’t have to look far back into history to see why this type of solution has been repeatedly done in the past. The courage to close one’s ears and open one’s eyes seems daunting but then so does the extinction of the continued continuity symbolized by a kinder more forgiving mentality that comes officially only once a year comes to us in an ever smaller sense of same. The true spirit of Christmas is to put one’s head in control of one’s heart and strenuously push back to protect its survival.
Human relations of every description are organized by society from cradle to grave if by nothing else through the threat of constant peer pressure. The interlocking dogmas of religion, state and custom serve to narrow the trajectory of the path that one travels. Those occasional outsiders that do not remain within these boundaries by not enthusiastically abiding in them are eventually extinguished by a disappearance of possibilities to advance their lives due to a lack of access to the larger institutional network. Much in a virus-like fashion the co-opting of the larger conventions by the artful guise of constant deceit by counter cultures creates a similar sense of ingrained despair in the regular population as those conventions that typical guide their lives are overturned both virtually and otherwise in the faux reality of the completely artificial realm of contemporary mass media. Those in the ‘majority’ of the conventionally minded soon find themselves feeling outed and searching for new direct alliances with others who having grown to maturity outside customary boundaries of what is considered ‘normal’ behavior who are as a result not as easily affected by the prevailing sense of dislocation from conventionality. The diaphanous apparitions of a similar shared sense of discontent manufactured and egged on by professional deceivers constantly touting ‘change’ creates the illusion of common interests. But the fact remains that when the larger level of social angst is reduced for these common folk they are more than likely to discover that the gulf of common experience temporarily enjoyed with their recent allies to once more be utterly uncrossable. The fact of same being another argument used by their common insurgent foe as ready ammunition for further dissolution.
Brief but failed romances provide the highest heights and lows as the basic personalities of the participants are quickly thwarted by the respective long years of opposite doctrinaire viewpoints. The grass that seems always greener in that adjacent yard can very quickly yellow and provide ready fuel for incendiary conflicts of opinion. Common human values of tolerance and respect will at best have their boundaries dramatically tested by the play out of these associations. Temporary sanctuaries of expedient opinion soon become uninhabitable after the duress that occasioned their use has dissipated. Thus the deceptive mentality of ‘flight versus fight’ within the mental confusion of one’s realistic possibilities is an unsupportable position. The integrity to stand one’s ground no matter the ultimate cost will always eclipse any honeyed mental construct of escape to a self-inscribed notion of utopia. The carrot must be dismissed and the stick countered with a ready staff of one’s on determination to remain to the core who they have become. Conflict in larger more compressed populations ever remaining inevitable.
What topic is one the best expert upon? A base of experience based knowledge that is ingrained what produces reliable information concerning same without really having to conduct research? One’s family and the era of their interaction with same, say a lot about generations that now have recently past that the official publicly broadcast doctrinaire versions pretending complete knowledge of same completely ignore as needlessly inconsequential or not useful to their own ultimate goals. The recent final physical absence of the last of my own parents leaves me ensconced in their last place of residence chock full of their most valued and trivial of artifacts. An environment that has since been emotionally transfigured for me into a family museum by virtue of the gulf of their physical presence. The experience of currently residing here leaving me with some unexpected conclusions that I could have never come to while they were still living. Boxes of buttons, knick-knacks, junk jewelry, and dusty gifts in glass cabinets all speaking in a language that is now exceedingly hard to decipher. Little anecdotes about same that were routinely voiced by them over the years about such and such object and the story about how it came into their possession now in quarantine within my waking consciousness. Yet the fresh look at these same collections from a newly found perch far from their existence now viewed more dispassionately in light of my own present point of view far removed from their daily narrative.
The oozing love songs of strictly sentimental crooners of their eras that were the object of my own immature derision now in context as balm for their own uncertain times. Their world from childhood through young adulthood wrought with loneliness occasioned by the total disruption of their world for the sake of objectionable aims of the destruction of other civilizations. The dubious rationales of national patriotism coming fast after hard years of institutional social indifference driving people inward into a preoccupation with distant loved ones. The emotions behind which never being fully quenched even after their everyday existence was uplifted by the new prosperity come of the nation being preeminently victorious. The topic and translation being, “Love, Love Love”, and of course unashamed loneliness and longing at being far removed from same. Those distant technicolor ‘rainbows’ of old times now spanning the heavens overhead never quite to be believed in as really more than just another hopeful illusion. The lurking void within never quite filled as promised, their emotional baggage still containing an old threadbare suit needing mending.
No day was wasted in their lives when the focus of their time was based upon each other. True love affairs as close as they could run to the Hollywood motion picture model. Those multitudes of endless photographs artlessly posed with each of them hand in hand smiling simply without guile. Maddening to the pampered sentiments of their children who in the absence of any significant struggle within a model childhood of endless plenty had nothing of their own to squawk about. The vacuous lack of identity afforded by a sheltered suburban existence taking away any hope of authenticity in understanding and conveying any awareness of life’s hard pan realities. Thus affording the current ‘spiderweb’-based cults of this current modern to gain a lasting foothold that can only claim to tout the prevalence of adrenalin and emotional despair. The dissolution of the ‘boomers’ now reconciled in the absence of that cocoon of a model childhood that their own children have no possibility of forming an accurate idea of. The immaterial world of close connection with those you love morphed into relationships of self-serving expedience and solipsistic greed. What seemed silly in childhood being in light of my own dwindling era come around to amazingly profound.
So many conceptions are routinely voiced in the ongoing one sided dialogue upon the popular airwaves. If you close your eyes and try to imagine the faces of those ‘special’ kids in your English writing or Speech class from grammar school you can consider this diatribe an endless assignment covering their ability to produce hot air in a way that you and the rest of the class could not. The really applicable topics that affect the larger ‘rest of us’ safely kept out of reach from the general public forums like sugar or the cookie can sequestered in a cupboard on high. Wisdom in any sense probably doesn’t exist in these popular realms nor do workable solutions. For the truth is that, aside from the nagging ministrations heard in real time or in memory from your earthly creators, one is truly on their own. Strip away the organized daily distractions and many are forced to pay heed to the banging echoes of the metal drum that surrounds them. Plato’s rocky shadows requiring a similar sort of orchestra. The ancient Pharaohs having been said to create their architecturally wondrous feats in stone with harmonically organized sound power, tricking the masses to ‘synchronistically’ complete his stunning miracles for him. And the baby veal made ever so tender by a lifetime or irritation and outright torture. Put all these concepts together and you get a pretty good description of modern urban existence over the long haul. The down and dirty fact of life that confronts one in the dead of a sleepless 3:00 AM being that the cavalry is not coming and that the best that your wagon train can hope for is to outlast the slings and arrows on your own. I suppose that this illuminated ‘pearl’ rests too comfortably close to that classic “born alone, die alone” adage crowd whose wisdom is touted before and after another failed romance? God knows my own Conestoga’s have long ago gone horseless and uncovered in countless passing’s of the Sun from long ago.
But, there is something in the despair of a Nietsche’s sympathetic angst for all situations equine that makes one feel freer now that they know all that they have to look forward to is the wind and the rain and the sky bereft of an appetite for the residue of petrified horseflesh morsels desiccated upon bleached bones. If that continuous diet of disappointment doesn’t kill you then what else have your got to look forward to to keep you strong? The modern media Great Depression ‘dust bowl’ recounting the techniques of the thirties offering only emotional hard scrabble is a lame toothless mule to hitch up your shovel and pickaxe. There is no gold in those faraway hills, only fool’s gold heavy in Pyrite. Maybe the other set of rag covered savages have a point when they so carelessly shoot another flaming arrow into those hard won pile of previous material dreams come true. The car will rust and break down the day after the warranty expires, the house will need painting and a new roof, the kids clothes and tuition to go to college so that they will hopefully not end up like you. Clever bastards like myself will attempt to sell you on empty quests that lead you away from your own angst to salve their own. Its all a megalithic collection of stone and moss collectively known as human civilization careening wildly down the backside of the mountain towards the cliff over into the raging ocean waves. The only thing to be done being effectively to like another day preparing yourself for future ‘what if’s’ by trying to sleep as sound as you can.
I am fated like the rest of you to live within the ceaseless swing of the pendulum’s stride. All the ‘isms’ concocted defined to keep me dry. Consider all the great ‘ism’s’ of the day! Communism, Zionism, Nationalism, Feminism, Marxism, Socialism, Fascism, Anarchism, Libertarianism, Fanaticism, Creationism, Judaism, Bhuddism, Jainism, Mormonism, Baptism, Impressionism, Realism, (etc.), (etc.), and so forth. Derived by the Greeks (ismos), it can define its preceding elements are defined by their underlying insular exclusivity by virtue of their respective selection of ratified ideas. Quite out of keeping with the publicly espoused (sub)version of the coming lack of allegiances of the ‘Globalized’ world. Most taken by the general population effectively as homonyms yet some being diabolically connected like artfully composed oppositions an editor might engender in simulating public opinion in the local newsprint rag. “Yer either with us or agin us!”, the chief executive is wont to say, but just who indeed is “US”. The dirty bathtub of collective consensus as administered by the witchcraft of popular statistics that uses the mantle of science to suggest that a well-chosen minority of citizens hold exactly the same views as the rest of us reeks of the well-worn ploys of elitism. There is not doubt that the contemporary lyrics of this current age now poised after the ‘year zero’ of the conveniently dead “Greatest Generation” is “The song remains the same!” That bloody well-worn mantle of martyrdom ala Shakespeare’s “Macbeth” routinely brought out of mothballs each decade to reacquaint another formative generation with newly devised terminologies equating to the same old prejudices. The ballista of the mass media ever dedicated to flooding one berry patch with the stones of angst gathered in the adjoining field of the latest group of, “have not’s” squatting there. Easy pickings for those quietly enfranchised elite societies of the publicly anonymous who strive to ancient Greek notions very much alive.