Morality plays become irritatingly popular when that hand basket to Hell is parked outside waiting. The barb of a historical “I told you so!” dispiriting not for its own sake but because it seems so insubstantial. The ‘de’ and the ‘libation’ repossessed for non payment of lip service to the moral. Te moral being taken back to the old Roman cautionary “caveat emptier.” So in a universe of scapegoats who can one blame?
Let’s start with Sigmund Freud’s nephew, Edward ‘Jacob/James’ Bernays. Freud was said to have shared his tribal trait as one extremely self-conscious and insecure by his confidant and contemporary Breuer (Studies in Hysteria). Someone highly sensitive to social rejection as a rural Jew in the temporal peaceful interlude of a nineteenth-century post/pre revolutionary era. ‘Someone who harbored ideas of obtaining personal compensation through enacting imaginary marshaling submerged hatred of his his own sublimated impotence to exact revenge upon the social engine of a more dominant European based civilization‘. Bernays acting as a un-credited handmaiden to Freud’s subsequent legitimizing influence. Bernays being from Freud’s wife’s side who took from the ideas of phrenologist Gustave LeBon and Wilfred Trotter to an ultimate functional fruition in a world that would be run by manufactured consensus.
LeBon who had some interesting theories that expressed the opinion that the female brain was inferior to that of the male based upon a physical disparity in size. Expressing that “magnetic influence given out by the crowd or from some other cause of which we are ignorant” that transmutes every individual’s behavior until it becomes governed by the ‘group mind’.” The English contemporary Trotter further stating in a popular book of the time, “group psychology and the ability of large numbers of people to be swayed by innate tendency.” The creation of a new field cinder as group dynamics leading to quasi government focus in institutes like Tavistock in England involved in studying and implementing principles of group persuasion. Bernays consider the father of modern advertising wrote “If we understand the mechanism and motives of the group mind, is it not possible to control and regiment the masses according to our will without their knowing about it?” Bernay’s early competitor, Ivy Lee who championed the notion of ‘modern crisis communications’ on behalf of clients like tyrannical mogul J.D. Rockefeller all illustrating that same ‘garden path‘ that successive world populations have been led down to destruction in both war and peace. The notion of lifestyle collapsing in the face of the real incentive being too obsessed with what the the local neighborhood Joneses’ are up to. The notion of an inherent American trait of rugged individualism a myth gone stale some hundred and fifty years earlier in a pre-industrial eon of the untamed American West. But one that those ever occupied with creating group think ideologies have never been shy about applying to catch the overstuffed egos of the vast populations of sleeping sheep upon the sticky sweet flypaper of every kind of useless non-essential product offered commercially. And in almost every candidate offered politically. If one cares to invoke the logic of a county prosecutor of matching motives to the means and then spotlighting elitist factions that have been long engaged in enacting them, then one obtains a pretty good insight of why these current times are so messed up!
Baby cart trundling down down the stairs hopping the steps at an ever increasing speed. Ancient mariner his ocean dried up gripping right but not sure what to hold onto anymore. Unable to clearly read the fictions of the past. Diogenes his lamp and sandals stolen making his way to breakfast hoping to arrive before dark. Where is all that youthful hubris now? The grassy plain extends to the yellow wheat of Nebraska. Interrupted by auto graveyards and empty VFW halls full of stale beer smells. Where can one find a place to safely lay their madness down? The world as once known is but a soap bubble. A wiggling flaccid thing that no longer taps to the beat of future expectations but lingers only in the now. You have all seen them somewhere. Floating up to the heavens at odd hours of the day. Hopes and dreams from times before that no one seems to recall. How ever can one count upon a decent meal if they can not longer recall their profession because it was snatched out of them. Chasing success in a rain storm. That’s a Jewish thing. No one has time to look deeply into the sunset. That is a game for paupers. Can you lend me a cigarette? I want to signal home.
The definition of the concept of justice as executed by Western social governmental units demands that those who are wronged do not have the right to directly initiate a personal process to directly claim their own justice through physical repatriation of the item taken but are required to petition the system through its often overly bureaucratic methodology to act as the official dispassionate interlocutor on their behalf. Thus the burden of proof established proving the crime by the person wronged so as the system is itself being fair in approaching the designated perpetrator and imposing a solution be it value for value based upon the market or being remanded into confinement that depending upon their documented demonstrated history of committing such acts theoretically then determines if the incarceration is a penalty to deter or if extended incarceration should be imposed to protect the larger social fabric. The demand by all parties being that the system is set up to accommodate all segments of the society with equal fairness. Thus those who try to waylay the notion of justice by redefining it are essentially anti-social to the point of being considered brigands trying to pervert the process so it favors their own interests at the expense of any other. SJW’s are a perfect example. Though most are agnostic they forever point to a higher sense of intangible standards that are not necessarily the same core beliefs of the general population for which the institutional justice system as loosely described above works. Claiming the moral authority of an extraordinary spiritual commerce with a higher power does not functionally excuse errant antisocial behavior by either the party initially abused or the ones that were the abuser! Blood money (i.e. reparations) expected by any given group as a singular party from the reigning ‘body politique’ over what is claimed to be a longstanding injury wrought by ancestors of the the dominant collection of cultures whose forebears were responsible for setting up the current system in force is equally unfair. Claims of victimization by virtue of past diaspora’s or by a group being held in bondage as part of the recorded history of a previous social order of the past does not sanctify designating their descendants as liable or automatically guilty of an injustice. That is of course if the present system truly upholds their administration on a fair reading of the facts and provable sense of realities associated with the incident in question. Thus the theories behind the demand for public support of Holocaust museums, racially based reparations, unequal benefits provided by the public trust or stated preferences for a given group based upon gender, race, religion, (etc.) mandated upon those conducting business in the public fall apart and are destructive to the larger society over the long hall.
As part of the majority culture termed white many members of same realize that they have more to lose if they violate the implicit law that they are not enabled to take justice into their own hands because they will risk breaking the law in a manner as egregious as the perpetrator of responsible for their. So they lose their proverbial manhood by deferring collecting their due immediately in the false conceptual universe of popular archetypes as distributed by the ceaseless engine of that contentious minority culture that preferentially dominates the universally enjoyed medium of the mass media as a mechanism to take advantages by instilling counterproductive stereotypes that primarily benefit the narrow interests of their exclusive cult at the expense of any other. Thus to exchange this sense of what justice is or is not as demonstrated by the latest graphic portrayal of times past based upon the vagaries of a very stilted narrative does not qualify as having the right to derail the existing system when verifiably blind in terms of of the fairness of its operation. If one does not share these values then why would they want to be living here save to be an active insurgent come simply to despoil it so as to take advantage of its inherent benefits of stealing prosperity? This is exactly why those who do not believe in the foundations of a system cannot be allowed to have a commanding influence over it. How dare the vested interests of a tiny minority force the majority of a given longstanding culture to change their proprieties in terms of the toilet or what is considered reasonable public display of their being. If one is to be outed by having their reputation destroyed in the appallingly slanted reality show morality aka lynch mob fervor of the modern press then that medium is terrorist mechanism that does not serve the public trust. This is a truth more solid than anything scribbled upon parchment in a public rotunda located in some esoteric temple of elitist power due East.
The patterns of life in the longterm are marked by the observance of habits that one picks up over their own lifetime. These may come from the happenstance of a personal experience or the intercession of an institutional mechanism designed to keep the totality of the ‘body politique’ in line. Engraved somewhere within are personal likes and dislikes harbored from daily interactions with the many flavors of cults and unwitting culturalism’s with the tissue of the rotting fabric of that artificially manufactured false pretense of genteel society. If one were to account this to the analogy of a zoo. Something that is currently highly discouraged in the wake of such disturbing literary classics of the past foremost amidst the most egregious offenders in this regard, George Orwell’s, “Animal Farm!” I old use some unpolitical correct examples from my own personal lexicon of lower life forms as examples of this sort of variation on the theme of universal man. Or should I say, in the manner of the currency of the present era the gender confused homosapien. There is a longstanding clique that routinely diverts the organizations of other larger clans into chaos much in the way of the Ophiocordyceps genus. They are socially above reproach of course though they work their magic in plain view they rely on those that they infect to provide the potential of an ever present threat if this subversion is publicly exposed. Despite this much as been documented and remains around the extreme fringes of public social discourse as part of what is officially demised as the cult of a tinfoil hat accoutered fraternity.
The constant decay of social norms towards the ever increasing serfdom to corporate manipulations a good example how the false banner on the current marquee labeled by the misappropriated term, “diversity”, has not simply gone awry but is naught but a sweet smelling scent to draw the fly into the inner recesses of a fatal form of Venus. Cultures institutionally dissembled are cultures fully disarmed. All this being what it is one still has to ask a much larger question that draws upon a much larger concept most probably beyond the capability of human understanding? In this selfish vanity of institutionally inspired dogma of homosapien as the rightful inheritor of universal dominance after only three thousand solar cycles around a relatively minor star in a medium sized galaxy, is there a much more significant order for which this species is naught but a very minor appendage? The epistemology of morality ever at the heels of political constructs that tirelessly work to overturn same defining this desire for clarification as but a historical obsession that is to be considered obsolete by a more modern and enlightened society. Consider that the notion of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ by the read of the official consensus of higher institutions of study came about only twenty-five centuries ago with the appearance of the ‘uncreated spirit’ of Ahura Mazda’s evil twin of Angra Mainyu. The dueling banjo’s of cosmologies of ages past forcing the argument into a notion that the heavens control all. Anathema to the rule of the greater kinder and more civil society as ever promised, but never coming to fruition, by those anonymous few at the top of there own self-inspired pyramid. There ultimate ability to persuade by any means at hand inhibited by disclosure of their tree being finally seen amidst the mental projection of others in the unceasingly distributed mental environment of a visual forest. They have been historically linked to the planet Saturn in itself a curiously ringed entity that in ancient times past was referred to as the Dark Sun.
One high priest of the tinfoil cult suggesting that this phenomena substantiates another ancient notion far out of contemporary currency but still represented occasionally in major effects driven Hollywood fantasy epics that good and evil are sired on a planetary scale by the larger organisms of heavenly bodies. The evidence of these rings, unique in this solar system, in evidencing a constant bombardment of negative messaging to its transposed earthly minions to cause other souls to ceaselessly suffer so as to provide a bounteous amount of adrenaline rich nectar in the form of sanguine human sacrifice to the man made epitome of brazen bull gods and snarling stone dragons. The organization of the most arcane forms of secret societies inscribed with ever ebullient symbols and references to ongoing devotion this planetary entity. The inference that those who are obsessed with this arcane worship either by habit inspired by their cult or by conscious practice are the gadfly to a much larger less aware body of institutionally de-evolved segment of a species that are their distant relatives. This of course is a quantum leap of the imagination the ankles of which are immediately shackled that the sky above is merely a passing light show when the haze wrought by modern society is occasionally abated. The future as imagined for its properly seatbelt buckled citizens of all being guided through every single event in their respective lives held by the hand of a technological big nanny state as ready interlocutor. Those stars mentioned by Shakespeare alluding to destiny completely derailed per a ever persistent undefeatable philosophical spellcheck. The classical theme of a battle for the soul once so popular in the heyday of Dante and his artful well-mapped expository on Christian beliefs. The children of Saturn having devoted all their energies over the last several hundred years to swing back the pendulum to return the world of man to one of constant sacrifice over an entire lifetime as cattle and cow to a distant and aggressively hostile distant entity. An infection if you will as mentioned earlier by the material manifestation of fungi that eat the host’s brained creating tiny chimneys organically interjected deep in the skull of their current prey to launch their spores to attach to new hosts to corrupt in a similar fashion. Something to think about? That is if your own brain hasn’t already been inadvertently farmed out to a very distant Baal.
Considering the usefulness of the dual nature of terminology I noticed that when the entire room of us were being processed by the two security agents that a couple had unauthorized devices that the were desirous to retain. We all sat compliant in rows next tow each other at the long tables. A room of thirty to forty men dressed primarily in business suits. The request was that we were to present both personal communication devices and two credit cards to the agent on hand who went one on one before each subject of evaluation asking them pertinent details about themselves and filling out a dossier on each. It was grueling work and given the influx of people into the land in recent years private contractors had to be hired to attempt to keep up with the flow. As metal detectors though useful had been found to be inadequate given the cleverness of the warring insurgent groups the need for a more comprehensive form of vetting on a one to one basis was instituted. It was not uncommon to see the same agents being contractors at multiple events as such was the case that was noticed here. In a curt respectful whisper, this point was offered to the customary professional indifference of one of the male interrogators who was taking a moment’s respite between clients. It was anybody’s guess what he made of this in that remote corner of his own private opinions. They were strictly bound to rules of protocol as rigidly as the people that they interviewed. It was a matter of both pride and survival that they performed their task both efficiently and with respectful decorum. The average tone of conversation outside of the normal round of questioning being an almost over polite whisper. This was partly out of the necessity maintain privacy of their clients most of which though under constant vetting traveling from place to place in their daily existence could go through the same process on the basis of a spur of the moment demand as many times as three or four times before they returned home to their designated home living spaces. The state had set up standards that insured the maximum standards of social privacy balanced carefully with absolute accuracy in determining who posed a danger to the social order of the community. That was why anyone who carried instruments of communication that had been ‘hepped up’ to perform in a manner that far exceeded their quota of their expected bandwidth or access with ferreted out and subject to penalty. The hypocrisy of past overreaches by the governing bodies had been expunged and the current social order while confining on personal freedoms was scrupulously moral in its operation. The borders around the homeland being tight and secure through the application of the newest technologies that were ceaselessly upgrades made it unnecessary to employ elected officials to revise the statutes by which all were bound. As all living within this social construct were now in actual fact equal under the law in evaluation with no exceptions made the era of social unrest had come to an end. Focus groups actively engaged in evaluating every possible topic governing human endeavor made the necessary adjustments. All the common citizen had to do was marshal all their energies on their own particular life and no longer be concerned how the culture would be run. Civility and a sense of security that rivaled the womb was now the norm. There were still aggravating practices that slightly rankled when one was sequestered in one of these exercises. A new contractor might for example use a stapler to affix one’s credit cards to their forms. Within the limits of decorum a soft comment pointing this lapse out could at times be met with an unresponsive bureaucratic lack of observance of the possible damage caused and an equal potential for creating minor havoc due to having to go through the procedures with a corporate body to get the units replaced. The protocols of proper demeanor favoring the immediate show of respect for the process at hand and official apologies offered by third parties after the fact for any inconveniences caused. No one tolerated outbursts of extreme emotion that might upset other citizens in close proximity. That type os selfishness performed by a lone individual had been bred out as unproductive and destabilizing to the general well-being. The assurance of the larger system in play being that it was sincere in its ceaseless efforts to treat all both fairly and promptly to the letter of the current statute. Thus the Utopian ideal of total lasting civil democracy in both promise and actual administration was insured.
I am damned! And one day, you’ll be dammed too! Why you may ask would anyone make such a statement? My answer is simply, my age. I am in the age bracket described most succinctly described by that withering tag, ‘old’. Old like your parents! For some of you old in that sense pertaining to your view of your grandparents. In the general age bracket of that same guy running for President that so many are prone to dislike primarily because the official word on Twitter and Facebook and the NYT is that he is uncool. What is his problem one might ask and then look at a guy like me. Ouch! Suspected of being so far out of touch with current present tense social media realities. Possibly a nag in terms of the context of many of my written thoughts. Perplexed by the unending cornucopia of fine print legalize upon the Dragon’s teeth of ever fertile new Internet stratagems for social regulation. That ever expanding gas cloud wrought by the instantaneous big bang of the universal evolution of the modern institution of the blog. So what do I know? What are my own personal fatal flaws. Let me demonstrate by the form of the use of a few words in a sentence. I still am well-acquainted with that bygone familiarity of face to face verbal communication. Look down in your hand and see your smart phone and thing of another verbal mystery, the horse and buggy. My own ‘year zero‘ of easy cultural familiarity encompasses not only the roots of so many longstanding contemporary literary and cinematic franchises. So often offering analogies that are so arcane that even many of my own peers have no idea of what the heck I am talking about. I realize sometimes that this chronic condition might be likened to loosing the ability to communicate to the point of being seen by some of the younger’s as babbling to a point of near to drooling Alzheimer’s. But enough about the all too favorite topic of ‘ME’.
Consider of what will occur when this condition spreads. And spread it will! What will happen it you are found to be in this same type of situation. Oh, I know that being young and dynamic and well-informed beyond anyone else that has ever been in a society like this ever before. The torch of enlightenment of the Internet. The world will be endless potential explored by your kind just like the promise of those Apple ads. You have or will have children and you will aisle them to be perfect examples of all the things that you believe are important so as not to fall victim to all the pitfalls of someone like yourself. The world will be more beautiful by that time and cleaner and healthier and more universally cooperative. And at this juncture it would be in keeping with someone like myself to give the old proverbial, “wait and see” speech. Wait and see where the world ends up in a completely different and possibly very underwhelming place that your generation thought it would be. Then you might be tempted to go back to the place that you mentally reside today and consider how it was such a Utopia by comparison? But there is another facet that is even more damning and that is the acceleration of the disappearance of valued family members and friends that just drop away from your experience like dead leaves. When that part of you that is prone to occasionally ask the big questions in life looks in the mirror one day, you will see a total stranger. Someone foreign to your life’s experience that has taken the place of who you would relate to as that person that you really are. That biological banner of outward appearance so long disciplined and chastened to continue to proclaim who you really are. Replaced, it seems, by that of what you inevitably have become by no fault of your own. Old.
Something I saw on another person’s blog. A woman that had responded to my most recent article I posted on my own has made me see something that I never expected to. The woman handwritten her own post completely independent of my own to other women who were addressed in the manner of intimate confidants expressing her heartsick regret that she could not in all conscience vote for Hillary as President. It dawned on me that given this woman’s age and cultural orientation she had been taught most probably in her education that Clinton was exemplary as a role model to be followed. And now a right wing baby boomer alpha male was leading the charge to defame someone who was most probably one of her personal role models bringing to light so many unthinkable grievances that cast her idol in the light of a villain. Worse yet the whole scenario had cast the credibility of women in general back to that stone age of the 19th century where their sentiments based on earnest intuition had colored their judgment making them seem like unreliable weak vessels. The appearance of the whole situation intimating much to many Liberal female’s horror that they did not possess the dispassionate reliable common sense about poetics that men have always claimed was their exclusive territory. For many of these women what was to have been a affirmation of the potency of women in having one of their own as President of the most powerful nation in the world has descended into an ongoing nightmare that has damaged their own sense of themselves. Naturally, they are now even more angry at males. Especially those women that have been taught to abhor them in their most unadulterated unsullied state of maleness. A single, “I told you so!”, potentially able to cancel the possibility of the ‘reward’ of sex for months or become the final deal breaker for the unceremonious conclusion on yet another unsatisfying relationship.
And at the root of all this one might ask any of them following the sophistry of the official narrative? A lying skunk of a man that had betrayed his wife on the international stage with an out of wedlock affair at the office with a lowly female page. The same office that was located one floor down from where they very publicly lived. Of course in point of the verifiable facts this hardly described the true personalities of all persons involved. But given the general appearance of a classic scenario what so many younger had been taught was regretfully always lurking in that dangerous mix of the masculine, sexual betrayal. How odd that the sexual revolution of the nineteen sixties with the birth control pill had loosed the lurking beast of patent infidelity. Where women of decades past were rightfully due the security of a good and stable provider that was ever faithful to the bond of family. Now the insatiably sex hound was released from the inner depths to prowl on the sly. Thus the politics of Feminism became attractive to many women along with what seemed the too plausible possibility that the man would at some point betray them and they would have to seek their own independent livelihood by themselves. How many young women and men have grown up raised under the cloud of that self-fulfilling prophecy over subsequent decades? The so called Liberal milestone of individual self discovery through independence ultimately poisoning the any possibility of assuming stability in the most fundamental of human relations playing on the worst fear harbored by the female of the species in being unceremoniously abandoned. Hillary was supposed to be an example of the new independent ever confident modern woman who had made her bones through rising above personal humiliation in that regard to go on to receive the ultimate reward of the confidence of a nation. Instead she has been irrevocably tied to what to them appears to be a cross and thorny crown of well-deserved scorn for seemingly unending categories of deceit and villainous behavior that casts her as seemingly the worst example of her sex. And evidently, like all women everywhere, left with only the option of putting on a brave front before the public as the castigation of a long repressed male viewpoint tears at her like a pack of hungry wolves. Her obvious debilitating health issues gaining her no respite from intense daily criticism. How classic a character could their be in terms of women oriented fiction?
Of course as a male closest in experience to what was once termed to old shoal of that now hated duopoly of man and wife as crafted in the nineteen-fifties, I see only a scurrilous duo of two elitist scammers that have bilked every institution in sight for whatever it was worth. With no significant other in attendance to warn me off from such conclusions with he ever-present invocation of, “If you love me you will . . . “, I ruthlessly tread upon the aforementioned tender sentiments of middle passage Feminists and their millennial Prometheus female offspring! Once again the women are threatened with the age old caveman attitude coming back into coin of, “Shut up you don’t know what the Hell you are talking about!.” How demoralizing this must be for all parties? Without warming the ever simmering pot of the ingredients for geopolitical movements favoring conspiratorial conclusions the subsequent age ushered in by that brief era of a fatally fated King Arthur’s Camelot is looking more like another disastrously false Utopia that may well condemn the entire society to dissolution and usher in other diametrical foreign customs and world views that find women so much worse off as being yet once again, part of the spoils of the conquered civilization. Despite so many efforts to defeat the constraints of biology with the promise of enlightenment through technology it appears that it has all just been another analogous ‘City by the Sea’ ala Edgar Allen Poe. Women are once again in danger of defaulting to customary objectification as a commodity in potentially an even worse station as the alienation created by this failed era has left them on their own. Their male children gelded through a single gender focused social animal husbandry of the fundamental connection of a classic male and female. The few available males left more emotionally sympathetic to the instincts of these potential foreign invaders in finding a sense of vindication for their inner desire for righteous payback enacted for the slight of being demeaned by the official policies of enlightened womanhood for so long. The sense of fear and despair and for many anger that this conclusion must generate being truly epic. A tale of tragedy on a monumental almost biblical scale.
I would imagine that come November there will be some form of cataclysm. So many would be happy to elect Hillary even if she was a corpse to save what little sense of self worth that their broken confidences have been left with. A dominate Neanderthal male cut format he cloth of the past will no doubt dominate the White House once again! Whether in body or in spirit. Men as usual will be pushed further from an ability to understand or respect these sentiments. The politically corrected institutions proclaiming the notion of properly defined traits of female and male will further dissolve into the sand like castles washed away by the waves of the sea. The small elite of perpetual instigators will get their pound of flesh. So many women will have thrown in the towel on the possibility of a Mr. Right plagued by the possibility of being guilty through their own selfish complicity in bringing about their own romantic demise. And all will descend into another dark age of spiritual repression bereft of the possibility of real love. Possibly condemned to an exile providing only the solace of romantic, novels, chocolate and legions of cats? All this due to what should have been by rights for many a simple Presidential election.
I made a mistake. I’ve certainly made many of them over my life experience. Maybe too many? But the biggest one was trusting in women. Perhaps it’s not their fault? It certainly seems that it cannot be mine. I mean don’t get me wrong! I am not saying that I have done everything right! But even by the law of averages it is impossible after so long a time that I could have done everything wrong. So, what is the point of making this public? Is this a cry for assistance? A warning? A condemnation? I might say that it is merely a troubling statement of fact that has little to do with me personally. I’m past it. No danger of reproducing or being potentially attractive enough to what was once referred to as an opposite sex to have my own discontents shared by new generations. The danger though IS literally inherent in newer generations of young men to whom my sense of alienation is incomprehensible. Their only default experience of life leading them to a certain vacancy. It might be easy and expected to rail on about the this and that citing influential viewpoints, philosophies and beliefs along with all the associated rhetoric? The plain fact of the mater being in the decline in births within the west and the regular situation of single motherhood having become a norm. One that speaks more louder through silence than the most righteous complexities of the war of words with the constant escalation of newly fabricated terminologies. The phenomena of the Teflon styled interactions of modern propriety where every manner of a institutional barrier provided by a rapidly evolving plethora of electronic social media seems designed to permanently interfere with probability of any physical spontaneity involving animal attraction. Suggesting further that the inability to enjoy a plausible relationship that might successfully take hold nearly impossible over the long term beyond a quickly fading sense of animal lust. Perhaps there will soon be commercially available robots to step in to fill this gap by providing perfection to the inflated demands of progressionally increasing list of female needs? The dirty little secret of Mary Shelly’s classic translated to the modern sense is that the female Modern Prometheus can never find a mate that will be fit enough for her. And like the misguided protagonist in the original 19th century novel will be pursued to the ends of the earth driven to their wits end only to share an eternal frozen exile accompanied only by her hellish creation. Consider that those ‘exceptional men’ that do manage to rise to the occasion of near perfection will not long tolerate any woman who has not correspondingly risen to their needs as well! Not in terms of occasionally offering compensation for above average services rendered but in terms of an unceasing reciprocal expectation of a shared sense of ever evolving equality. Something way too Utopian for humanity in general! As repeatedly evidenced by a continual inability of all the best of intentions in the world to overcome the worst impulses of human nature. Except of course in the movies! Hollywood can model all manner of useful socially enhancing examples of the way things need to be using history as a starting point and rewriting it cookie cutter style to suit the latest most fashionable sociological fantasy currently in vogue. But outside of the theater it will ever remain a functional impossibility. One that will only generate dissatisfaction to its most loyal audience that mistakes it for anything more than a pleasant fairy tale. The consumer age may indeed have replaced the necessity of men and women to feel compelled to deal with each other. The business of business is only concerned about inspiring more and more insecurity in order to foster further needs. If a man hears a woman say,”I NEED you too . . .“, then he knows instinctively that he is not personally a party to her unique desire for him alone but potentially subject to evaluation as part of a cattle call. Some have made the case that women only need the service of men due to biological difference in physical strength and that inherent sense of male aggressiveness as bulwark for their protection. That may or may not any longer be true at this point? If the previous generations of men in the transitional era of rising feminism were considered angry misogynists then the current generations of men raised since are simply vacant and empty of that component. They lack the element of that former essential maleness. One that once required an active demonstrable daily desire for females beyond an occasional level assurance in the sense of a maternal archetype that was over the recent decades when they were raised the most influential. Maleness having been ruthlessly demonized to the point of universal marginalization is something to be officially avoided by the current generations of young men that in turn supports a lack of interest in falling into the trap of anything once considered conventional. Flash art humans now abound where their surface camouflage is expected to wordlessly respond for them via semiotics so that the people inside are not encumbered with the need to resort to old style trial and error. The notion of play as supported by the endless corollaries of commercial fantasy franchises offering a safe harbor to adjudicate unassailable roles for the sexes. No ambiguity desired or tolerated outside this ever expanding universe of continual play in accepted fairylands. The fast food mentality of the ceaseless re-branding through newer more hip verbalized metaphors the defining set of the renewal of the “Les règles du jeu ont été excels”
The change of mores of the successive generation had descended upon Michael like the veil of a cataract. His perception dimmed of what current times entailed. Something had told him all along that he should have been a cop or maybe a soldier. Maybe both. He liked guns. As a kid his favorite pastime was to aim his finger at anything that moved and adjust for distance and windage. A natural talent. A natural born talent for reconnoitering any environment that he found himself passing through. A talent that could have been easily adapted to that of a spy or FBI agent. Instead he had taken up the blanket identity of that nebulous term, artist. Not that the two vocations were that much apart. He cringed at the thought of killing anything for real but oppositely could rack up the hit and miss or his own imaginary score card. The guns had come as a reaction to have been physically trounced a couple of times by strangers and robbed at gunpoint. He couldn’t remember the assailant’s face but that 1911 45 ACP was crystal clear in his mind’s eye even fifteen years after the fact. Not that he was scared. He felt somehow that he was bulletproof . Though he might be quickly drained of blood from seven hollow point rounds something within told hem that the person inside was incapable of demise. The spirit was the motivator of the flesh. That was his unacknowledged credo. There was an unacknowledged bond between those who were familiar with the tools. Where those who were never baptized before or behind the barrel, the efficiency of the mechanism was something to be respected but also a source of fascination. If you were to lecture those yet uninitiated he might suggest with much historical weight that it was the advancement in the design and manufacture of weaponry that had modernized society from horse drawn carts into jet engine turbine. That didn’t mean that weapons in their many varieties had become a set of idols to be worshiped. But it was indicative that despite the current shift in political expedience of governing by social indoctrination it was a dark star topic. Something to be left to the modern day Hessians of society who were there to bully the fringes of the social order into tacit acceptance. Maybe that is why he liked cops?
A cop was someone cursed to grow up with their personalities split down the middle of their being to rest its opposites on each shoulder. There were many that said that good cops had much in common with the career criminals that they encountered daily. Perhaps the epaulets were just reversed? That buzz of adrenaline lurking behind the corner of every dull minute. An elixir of possibility to be involved in something extraordinary as a result of the introduction of something foreign and aberrant. For a criminal it was snagging a prize. Tearing the meat from another set of teeth. For their nemesis it was the taste of the flesh of the thief. The use of the gun more an artful talisman to be successfully fielded only as the threat of an overwhelming limit. Not some Hollywood extravaganza showcasing engagement as a hail of rounds shot off without any hint of control. The gun was a symbol perhaps more potent lodged in its holster than when it was drawn . The former was always in evidence in the eye of the public whenever in near proximity. When the bird was loosed from its nest there was no time for contemplation of it beyond hit or miss. The stale old maxim of God having made man but Samuel Colt had made man equal. That sense of common ground had always struck Michael as a common bond that all men with weapons had shared. Not the movie version of phallic potency by caliber. But the understated fact of the effect of the implement when properly used. As far as he was concerned the ability to repeat strikes at will in a bull’s eye target was as significant as draining the life out of something living. People didn’t just instantly die when they were hit. Most times they struggled at first unable to understand the immediacy of their debilitating wounds. But after a while sinking into unrelenting pain and shock as their damaged organs leached blood both internally and otherwise out upon the street. Some in a frenzy to hang onto life. Others just ready to lay back and ask for the cycle to cease to release them from the earthly torment. It was always such a surprise to the victim how such a little hole could end up snatching away their life? That was the part that he wanted never to have to inflict. But by the fact of his willingness to employ the best technology of the day he was properly equipped to deliver.
The world of the movies and the politics behind them left him indifferent. Politicians were self-aggrandizing crooks kept in check only by the fact of their vulnerability to being voted out. The movies were magazine emptying ‘bangfests’ of pyrotechnic ‘oneupsmanship’. They took all the dignity out of the responsibility that one had to exercise. While one got the impression that simply pulling the trigger as many times as fast as possible after pointing it in the general direction did the trick. The opposite was the fact. Careful steady aim in a practiced method of calm and cool measure fire based upon repetition and training was ever deadly. There might have been a war on guns but never a sincere war on the crime that it was unfairly attached to. Murder and robbery was a state of mind. The tools could vary depending upon whatever was at hand. Those prone to unreasoning violence could kill you just as easily with a steak knife or a chair leg. Why then was the world so uncontrolled? Maybe the focus on the article that best symbolized society precluded the absurdity of having to quantify the impulse to violate society by a tangible system of classification . A guy might be well-acquainted with a pistol and its supposed efficacy as opposed to wielding a large boulder. Though the reality of their use might prove to the opposite. Not may could hope to awaken after suffering a crushed skull. The shady side of things that many of the uninitiated never met or were too well-acquainted with. The politically savvy mass media may have been more responsible for proliferating the mentality of easy violence through a false sense of power. But that lack of limit overcome by the good sense to restrain one from sending others to crossing that fatal river Styx was what it was all about. What was the point? Perhaps nothing? Nothing at all. Just idle ramblings of the mind concerning situations that would never come to pass. But ones that he and a few others of his opinion were well-equipped mentally to possibly overcome.
The coffee had been made in semi-darkness and it was impossible to tell if it had been done right. She was back in bed somewhere snoring away presumably. He was trying not to bang into things as his eyes were not properly in focus yet. His mind drifting back to the previous night when he had been catting about and ended up in a classic old hardware store that had a small model section. That was something that they all copped to. Despite being old enough to have post-toddlers each of them still had an affinity with toys. The box art versus the multiplicity of pieces affixed in a crazy quilt fashion on plastic trees inspired a strange attractiveness. Not like the adolescent attraction once experienced to their cousin’ burgeoning boobies but something more fundamental and lasting. Their ‘Rosebud’ being something shiny and in pieces that they were tasked to complete. He bumped past the edge of the hallway closet on the way to the commode. No sign of snoring yet. What time did she get up? Six? Six-thirty? Funny how she counted upon him for such tiny trivial things. He was an early riser and she was not. Habits being hard to break. He stood with his legs solidly planted on either side of his porcelain conveyance trying to remember the dream that he had just left. Every other thought a PSA to carefully adjust the azimuth and vertical orientation to not splash over the bowl. That was another point of contention between them. Women wanted things just so. A perfect world if you will where both parties responded in kind to the call of yet another shitty little ass needing to be re-diapered and swabbed. He could just imagine how few times the malevolent looking black ladies who had run his nursery had changed his own. Of course, he could only recall that two of them were there at one place his mom had taken both he and his brother for a while before they had landed back without their grandmother after she had recovered from the operation. The thought of it made still made him feel inexplicably nervous. No the ream of the previous evening was a better exercise in recollection. Let’s see where was I he said with his eyes tight and the pressure of his body liquor being gratefully drained.
The three of them in a hardware store! That was right. Her was bragging to his two best companions that he knew a place where the plastic model kids were beyond cool. A place not far away maybe a block. He was of course doing his best to impress. Something? A strange phenomena when guys got together that each needed to express like the imaginary length of their dicks? Except of course this wasn’t so weird but more fun. Misdirection being what is was, he escorted them out the front door of the hardware store in anticipation of a circuitous route to this most immediate Mecca. The alley bordering the establishment that they had just exited being just north but there was a bar half way down. The though accelerated and he recalled that the attempts of the three to proceed further had not gone further than that alley. The dream had shunted to another episode almost like some invisible switchman had pulled a lever. Now there was the small Harley that he had forgotten was in his section of the garage that he had bought but hadn’t ridden for over a year? The coffee machine gurgled horribly in that usual customary throaty manner signaling that its laborious interaction between water and heated coils had come to the final parting. one more squirt on his short end and he would find the phone? No snoring still? The light from the windows out in the hall had risen to legibility as he staggered more for effect than physical necessity. Boy was he tired he replied to the unspoken question that piqued his conscious mind. He’d rather be on his side now under the covers to see a more continuous solution to the pieces of a dream that he had been left with. Little fragments that like dry ice smoked away as they disappeared so rapidly before you. Kind of like the money in your wallet. Whatever you would start out with the reservoir of your billfold was emptied by morning next and the bank account would have to be emptied a little more before its monthly replenishment. She was still nagging him to use a card instead of cash. But that is why she was always broke! Especially at the holidays when it was invariable that she would ask to borrow a few and of course never pay him back! Ah women. The coffee was weak this morning. He had let the pot fill up too much. Or was he just being a miser with the spoonfuls of coffee from the cardboard container? Ah it didn’t matter! It was hot.
What time was it now? She had said six? Or six-thirty? he took a gulp from his mug. Ah the coffee wasn’t that bad! He could taste its flavor. He could feel some sweet tingle in his gums. A low rumble issued from somewhere distant. The airport? No his stomach. The coffee needed some accompaniment. Toast. Maybe a couple of eggs. But no, it was too early for that. Just toast. He waddled back into the kitchen to the freezer and cozied out plastic package with the remnants of a few pieces of bread within. Another ‘man’ chore! He could still recall without trying how his breakfast would magically appear at grandma’s. His own mother usually frantic and running about trying to prepare for work and get there on time because she had tried to get a few extra minutes of lazing in bed. Women took so much longer then men to get ready? Another side benefit of any relationship. You could sneak back under the covers, if you dared. As long as you had that sixth sense that could tell when they were exiting the bathroom and you would be magically on you feet again having dragged on your shirt and pants ready to drive them to the station without a moment’s delay. he had left his old job and due to the fact that she at that point was making more money in her career, they had both decided that he would take care of the kids. He inserted the butter betwixt the stacked toast to let it melt and took another sip of coffee. Those were good times after all. The electric joy felt of your son tight in your arms nestling in on your shoulder sleepy eyed. Now of course the two of them were too old. In high school and like all adolescents far beyond that bounteous stage of preadolescent affection that they had shown as toddlers. Where was the jelly he automatically phrased internally. He opened the refrigerator door and stuck his head in like a cat ferreting out a mouse for the jar. She had gotten him intuit eh habit of buying jelly not jam. And he hated the continuation of the cat and mouse routine of trying to coax out the remnants onto the pieces of buttered toast with a knife. He always ended up with more than he was willing to bargain for. The coffee had gotten cold and he hear the gruff bark of his insides loosing a little air. Once had to make concessions in a relationship. He was sure that she in turn had her own long list of petty discontents. He carried the combination of hot dry and wet to enjoy that fleeting perfect moment of a bite of sweet in counterpoint with a sip of warm and slightly bitter. The clock on the wall said five-fifty five and he waylaid the ritual in lieu of the necessity of his promise. He went back into the empty bedroom to find his phone call her at her new apartment. It was her turn with the kids and he dare not miss making the call.