It is dawn of the last day of the year. The lame duck Christmas tree is lit. Things are mostly quiet save for the blower on the heater that sounds like a distant shower head at work. The unit clicks off and the clock chimes. My own ears buzz with an awareness of a constant chirp of something electric possibly WIFI. Where has the world that I once knew gone to? The artifacts of previous times stand out in an otherwise empty room like museum pieces. The people responsible and the world that they once know are long past. My sense of it irrecoverable. I am left with the thin soup of my own much diminished sense of self. Nothing to cry about certainly because somewhere swimming around within is a particle or two of that personality that I could claim as my own. “Funny that?” as a Brit might say. The staggering shift of the perspectives of this country are undeniable. Some have said that the old United States is gone. And in its place is some souped up Hollywood mentality driven post Apocalyptic movie set filled with people that have no clue what parts they are about to play in the coming drama.
The heritage of my age group is on its way out. We belong to those strange enigmatic times of Disco and Vietnam and Dolby cassette technology. That dubious gift of Rock and Roll a fading religion that has become so archaic to the point that beyond small cults of hanger’s on it can only be celebrated as sampled lifts for the new epitomes of country influenced hip hop. My own radio silent now for a decade or more. I listen at these quiet times to the constant rumble of passenger jets taking off from the distant airport. The interval of tick and tock from my own clock in sympathy with my heart. Memory is an inconstant friend that comes around to remind me about those initial thoughts of childhood where I saw another someone not too unlike myself caught up at this very stage of existence. My impressions at that time much less kind and understanding. Perhaps human existence is plied upon a carousel where you are propelled round and around morphing from things young and fresh to old and exhausted?
The saga of existence is necessarily one of an ultimate surrender. One’s greatest works are all destined to sit on a shelf somewhere gathering dust if you are lucky. If you are not they will only be accompanied back to the ether with all those other great inspirations experienced but never acted upon. And that is how it should be. God forbid if any would have followed through with any and all ‘bright ideas‘ at any given time. It may be that it is the one or two that you come back to that possess sufficient worth to merit a glance or two by another somewhere some time. The great ‘WE‘ just want to continue to chase the dangling juicy carrot with an impression that they are getting ever closer to their prize. Perhaps only those who’s business it is to sail the oceans realize that a good day on earth is maintaining constant steam for a unspecified multiple of dozen miles or so. I for one retain my place on the bridge or an otherwise shabby tug. My many analogies merely letter-sized paper hats set forth upon the waves each soon soaking into a crumble with some joining the myriad of bottle caps dancing restlessly upon an eternally restless surface betwixt water and air.
Two more days left in this year. In a manner of speaking it could be said that a year has been compressed down into a day. In another sense of same I could also say that my experience of life has gone through yet another kind of transformation. In the popular sense we are all poked and prodded about our existence by the word, ‘change’. That infers a state of being that is in restless inertial motion. But ‘transformation’, means that you have arrived. Arrived to a conclusion that something is indeed different. A successful passage. In my own case it is a temporal shelter from the lifelong sense of angst. A year plus of being by my lonesome has done wonders. Having to live with the restless monster within and watching him wind down to find out just how little important he really is to everyone else has a strange quality of freedom to it. Odd as it seems I am suddenly struck with how much I had loved my long ago wife without a sense of immediate recrimination for our overlap of follies. I must admits this was due to a combination of happenstance in which a youthful surrogate of two people of similar demeanor’s upon the stage of the Internet recall the behaviors down to the relative verbosity and the respective lack of it. It showed me something that I have lacked since that time nearly half an adult lifetime ago. How it felt to be loved by someone else.
My boiler has been cold since that time. Sure my restless animal made its long and tediously terrible journey both before and after through the wasteland of the lack that I found in others and of course within myself. I entered into a life as a result that I never would have known had I not encountered the great disappointment of myself and tried to overcome it. It has taken a quarter century to arrive here. In so many ways like an inmate having been set back out in society on parole. I can only hope the selfishness and meanness that I held within my heart is now past. For whatever this assembly of man and womankind has spun I cannot say that it has destroyed me as someone who is incapable of having those feelings. Of saying I’m sorry for never voicing them within that long cold interim of betwixt and between. And even if it did not work in a way that I believe that both my wife and I truly would have wanted it we can both excuse where the fate behind our respective personalities have left us. I would not want her to think I ever really hated her. And let her know that I can only say that I am sorry for the lack of those qualities that led me to a bitter decision to call it a day.
If human existence is some strange boarding school for errant souls of unimaginable entities where we all must in our own way suffer lessons that refuse to be ignored until they are thoroughly learned then despite everything that might have been so much better I am content. So the penitent is somewhere between a recidivise’d ex-con and a master’s student hoping for his doctorate. At least that I would hope? For the lessons will go on. Endlessly I hope. For if that is the incomplete but positive answer to life’s big question of, “Why“, then at least their is a definable purpose to it. Something to wake up to in the morning beyond the sag and wrinkles of the exterior of quickly fading fiction of youth. It would appear the person inside cannot ever be considered old so much as tired and defeated at times. Perhaps then, physical death in this material world is simply a time out to reconsider and perhaps take the next step to something else wherever and whatever that may mysteriously be. I can only say that as a traveler so ignorant of the light switch that I may find connection with those that I have scraped up against in this stretch of enigmatic time. As far as I am concerned I am still here and no one can permanently hurt me. And that is a lot in just being able to say that alone.
Hah! Winter. Frost, ice underfoot. Cars speeding by. Emptiness, loneliness, recollections of Summer, of Spring, of company, of someone to go home to. All vacant like the season. The demonstration of emptiness that is nature. And yet, there is the power of a young woman’s smile. Spontaneously offered to an older someone too far over that line of age to matter. How that warms the heart and brings hope. At least for the moment.
Should I be surprised at this empty wasteland of Winter? With no more of those I once knew are wont to inhabit. Soon the be found of ultimately remembered. This place with bare trees and sidewalks not shoveled present a hazard to more completely embracing fonder former memories. Must I live in this cold inhospitable land of solitary existence? Or like a ghost wander off into oblivion? My thoughts about this life and the eventual comeuppance based upon the sum total of one’s actions. And the accumulation of so many oversights by fact of momentary ignorance of what was formerly so plainly observable. But equally was too close to see before that plain nose upon my own face. Now it yields the fruit of a deep inner discord by the obviousness of the former’s absence.
The moon’s light comes from the Sun. It is merely a reflection. Isn’t that Plato’s cave? The big ‘WE’ of society is firmly planted in its delusion of the everyday rationality of everyone. That is your ‘fellow’ in society who is based upon reasonable assumptions which in turn is based in the fickle currents of authority. Whether this is true or not is merely another argument of that type that has been heard time and again. Or for some with their heads in the sand, just recently come out of the blue. The observable phenomena that one notes around one seems incidental to this argument. Something that is not even noticed until something extraordinary occurs. These minor scenes are based upon the actions that seem observable about one’s self. Each a similar conclusion suggesting two different distinct entities within. One a sensation of feelings versus its opposite of acute mental awareness of being a uniquely defined self.
The way one can differentiate between the two is that feeling appear spontaneously. While the rational part of one’s awareness will try to explain them away. In most cases merely out of long habit? Yet there are other times when the ‘animal‘ is unrepentant within one’s midst and that which one claim as their selves is far distant. Or is this just a bill of goods? Some say that the entirety of the earthly experience of being alive is but mere illusion. A waking dream that serves as a mask for phantom pleasures on the behalf of more complex arcane entities? Yet one tends to believe that their own experience encompasses the entire universe? So go the snowflakes.
He didn’t know how hit had come to this point? How could it be that his own sense of morality had become so ‘off’? This sort of twisted enjoyment that was in itself a secret club for dedicated practitioners to celebrate their own physical annihilation. All for a sexual thrill. An electric libidinal high. The ‘dog’ lay curled up at his feet licking its own hind end looking up occasionally at him as if to query the prevailing dynamics of its master. It seemed happy enough naked on the floor. He could beat it or pet it as long as he fed it. On all fours unashamed her face ‘smooshed‘ in the bowl. Nothing could be more twisted than that considering that something that was once theoretically wild and free lay shackled by its stainless steel collar with a loop around its jaws. That is, whenever he he had the heart to take ‘it’ outside in public. Society could not tolerate anything beyond total ever jealous subservience in those that it encompassed. This spectacle laid out before him was was obviously her final reply.
Who after all was the victim in this arrangement? Certainly not matching one’s first conclusion. The constancy of reality has a way of despoiling illusion. That safe room of the eager imagination better left in the perpetual dark. Humanity ever looked for the exit door for escape. Even if it left when outside the capsule without an air hose in outer space. That after all was one of the primary ‘toys‘. Withdrawal of the most fundamental resources so that it could be proven that there was no need. No need for any of it. No need for the lifelong messages that plagued one leaving them ever at the edge of regret. There was nothing to concern herself now. It was all his problem. He had to be clever and she did not. In that she DID count on his basic level of excitement to constantly reinvent perversity. To him a simple dumb dog would have been much easier. But he knew as well as she did as she licked his toes impatiently that complacency was not allowed to reside in the rule book. Her latent desire was that of the resilient nature of an ocean bound shark forever swimming forward without concern of what existed upon either side or of what lay behind. Such was the insatiable nature of this beast.
The Great moment. Inescapable but ever elusive. To all those bygone long past moments of brilliant conversation. Time that went nowhere. How can one be expected to write a love story in a land of equally elusive happiness?
Dispensable experience. Walking into the floodwaters of the Kennedy Expressway after a downpour. Leaving an unspecified female friend to fend for her own just opposite the viaduct. Having come from a bed watching a movie and being edged out by a young man inviting coitus with one of two equally tender aged females friends. I leaving the second one on her own.
The left forearm and neck bearing a question mark for which the attendant has no forthcoming answer. “Guess“, she replies. Women in the coffee shop coming in behind me carrying small white bags with monosyllabic purposefully misspelled title that suggest a more persuasive form of elegance by a duality of intelligence inferred by lurking cleverness. In days long past these same floors might have been freshly varnished to the same effect. The wainscoting cleaned regularly and all visibly around made to appear new. “Les femme reconnoiters!” This pursuit in a sea of humanity becomes a play of costumes. The persistent appearance of the Liberal fringe. Old campaigners keeping this myth alive. The ‘Frenchies’ across this moat confined to their self-inspired bubble. A celebration of diffidence subsumed by the inevitable sameness of the moment. Other facades whitewashed upon same simply to soon disappear.
The perfect day for the patriot’s lie. Gille d’Rais. Things oriental and small and though delicate, inconsequential. One’s likes and dislikes having nothing to do with it beyond the accretion of a life of prejudice. What constitutes worth in an individual beyond the viewer’s self-interest? The mop comes out for the first time in what must seems like months. The conversation abeam to the port side turns to a worship of plastic wealth. From the cult that provided the preface, ‘dys’ and attached it to function. A graceful retreat from these auditory clutches by the cliff of the mother and daughter wannabe social climbers.
I am just another pair of defective eyes that counts the flaws in others but thankfully cannot take in my own. I can only sense them in myself. The big ‘WE” are all condemned to be like we have always tend to have been. What after all gives me the right to claim a special sense of awareness? Especially if I am not willing to acknowledge happiness in all its many forms? Good times long past. Have I ever enjoyed them? A voyeur always. Safe in my own folly of eternal distance. Whatever one tends to tell you, the victim always takes center stage. “Smack, smack, smack!“, went the old tuna lipped man. Though I would have been pleased to see my family live on for another number of years I feel ready to put them to rest and search out myself.
“La grand ensemble d’famille!” Triplets plus one. Quite a family indeed he mentally observed! And my hips have borne the brunt the mother’s expression seemed to say. The genius was to be found between the notes in the measures and pauses. Something that sparkled propelling those from good past the expectation of excellent. Interval versus dynamics. Do not hurry to then end up late having missed the progression of the whole. It was true that he had no time to consider the relative cost of personal baubles. Accoutrements that suggested wealth and position were far less interesting than the drama of attainment behind their wearing. The immaterial collection of same casual if not blatantly frivolous when weighed against the finality of the inevitable.
One could assess how close to the brink anyone in the room might have felt through the count of so many age spots backhanded. Change known as age crept up on everyone. As if a cloud overhead masking the faux light of night to restart darkness once again to the benefit of a celestial calm. The inevitable fidget of restless youth sounding across the auditorium like cannons blazing. Rustling pages turned bringing out the demons in sympathetic participation from both old and nearly as young. Frustrating? Perhaps? Escape from boredom to the regret of others suffering from their nerves suppressed. An inability from all corners to sublimate the displeasure and conceit. The programs final selection coming off pedantic in contrast.
The motherly bear’s suppressing hug come too late. One of the key sources of communal ire. The name of Mozart attached to it no iron clad guarantee of universal interest by all! My first new car was purchased from Marina Towers. It turned out to be a piece of shit. An albatross that I would have willingly laid to rest. But I was too arrogant and proud and the papers were signed. Never aware enough of have consulted my father who would have known better. Such is the foolishness of youth.
What to believe? What to believe? There is an existence based upon borrowed wisdom of continual third part authorities. But how are they born out beyond a matrix of their own anecdotal mutual support forming a body of opinion. This is the sort of universe of indisputable facts that one might learn in a classroom environment on the order of weights and measures and scientific principles. There is consensual wisdom that in many cases is freely offered by a literal engine wording 24/7 that is supported by the ruling class as promoting an atmosphere conducive to their many overt and well-cloaked ultimate agendas. The average Jane or Joe don’t like to acknowledge any deviation of the later with the former as this might put them at a disadvantage within conventional society. The general attitude being that one can pick and choose the bits that suit them and ignore the rest. There is of course a direct experience of happenstance events that occur before one. How these link up with the other two suggests a curious form of waking authority worship in that many times one goes through a self-administered process of conforming occurrences that deviate from the mainstream in such a manner that they are edited into a share or don’t share and just forget about it sense of reasoning. Very few will endeavor to challenge the popular current mythologies despite having convincing evidence from both eye and ear or a synthesis of authorities that are deemed controversial. Case in point such topics as the insoluble enigma of the physics of building collapse and examples of same against the backdrop of world political events. This being an exercise in managing an entire population to respond against both basic borrowed wisdoms and the accumulated experiences of the physical world directly encountered.
At different periods of one’s life one’s views are modified seemingly in orbit of the ever restless path of the center that has accreted since infancy. The measurable amount of swing to the proverbial ‘right’ or ‘left’ affected by the amount of instability and danger perceived by the individual or the groups that they subscribe to. The tendency of human survival through relative levels of peer group competition versus cooperation is another goal of the centralized state that alternately wields a buggy whip or affords a carrot. The sophistication of technology and the ability to shift the population through archetypes and myths both modern and ancient being key to the amount of success that the rulers achieve in implementing their agenda. The totalitarian society governs equally through the synthesis of fictional entertaining escapes from its own agenda as it does from directly imposing its will. The perfect officer in charge of monitoring the individual on behalf of centralized control being themselves. The ingrained fears self-imagined in most cases rather than vindicated by the direct action of some government apparatus being the most effective way to maintain tight control. This has to be continuously reinforced on all levels creating rock hard attitudes of ‘should’s’ motivating them to the top of the lists of ‘musts’. Daily survival defined as putting the external agendas of the day first during most of one’s waking hours while feeling guilty to supervene same with personal ones. The pecking order from ground level up is a literal house of cards where that which seems infinitely stable in fact is at the mercy of potential chaos in an interruption or complete failure of belief in the transmission of the central canons of state sanctified reasonable thoughts.
Wherein the last millennia the system of rule was posed in terms of a belief of one’s place in the afterlife being determined by their actions in the material world the current age favors a notion of being ‘well’ and being ‘sick’. The issue being one of refocusing the offenders by intensive methods of indoctrination. The penalties for the irredeemable’s committing extremes acts in both epochs being answered in the administering of a sentence of death. The earliest paradigm by the supposed omniscience of a higher power condemning the transgressor to punishment ceaselessly administered in eternal damnation. While it’s successor favoring the institutional destruction of the core personality of the offending individual while completely replacing it with an artificial state approved one. The irony of the practice of torture being converted from imposing unavoidable ceaseless physical pain to gain compliance to one of mental distress scientifically applied to erase any behavior deemed objectionable. The allegiance in the later not being fixed as before to a specific monarchy or patriotic notion of a specific territory of birth but the current context of the whim of state control. This is of course the fundamental nature of totalitarianism that is currently in force across the entire planet of earth. The idea that one can ‘slip through the cracks’ by simply ignoring it or shutting it out of one’s everyday existence being made ultimately vulnerable to it’s mechanisms. In this sense ignorance of these phenomenon’s in contrast for getting a handle of what one’s own actual outlook on life is becomes essential but a matter of the preservation of the unique qualities of that individual.
Wherein the historical struggle of man was often focused on a continual battle with the chaos of nature the contemporary struggle is conducted with the overbearing systemization of one’s fellow human. Consider life in the analogy of a vast corporate farm where most of one’s life is conducted on a slow moving conveyor belt taking one to an inevitable fully defined conclusion. The enforced sense of conventionality keep the successive populations of chicks calm and rationally focused to not try to escape by jumping from the incrementally moving platform. The measured density of the group upon the belt creating an atmosphere of confinement by sheer proximity. The length of travel versus the age of the chick to chicken and its unfamiliarity with exploring the chaotic unknown on either left of right convincing to push together towards the middle. Thus one has an analogy of the basic human dilemma that is manifest on nearly all plateaus of socially based communally administered constructs of existence. The solution of the individual coming in the ultimate antisocial act of non-compliance through a withdrawal of personal commitment to remain involved. The ‘make a difference’ or ‘just do it’ commands falling on categorically deaf ears. One may note that the fate of those denoted ‘homeless’ are endangered by the public facade of casual indifference followed up by the iron clad policies of complete expulsion. The greatest fear within the mainstream being that one might fall into that category and be erased from the role call of regular society and become invisible to it and vulnerable to the result of that indifference. Those who count on a savior from within the system might take note that their beliefs had better conform, or else!
Whatever you do, don’t say Merry Christmas!
So. It is the day before Christmas Eve on another very, very bleak Winter’s day. God knows what the ‘big box’s’ are doing in terms of the number of shoppers but the general area looks like a ghost town. I go into a store and buy a couple of sweet rolls from one of the only remaining one owner small shops still standing. I greet everyone with a “Merry Christmas” and in return I get a “Good Morning”. The person behind the counter is personable enough. She has a pleasant attitude. In the course of the transaction a couple of other femmes exit from the back going about their task busy as bees. After the fourth one appears I wonder if their are any males in the back? Or possibly if they have been stung to death by these female worker bees, (ha ha). Obviously, I keep my idle thoughts to myself being at least four decades past the oldest one. Two are of ethnic backgrounds. Parents from south of the border judging by their natural accents overlaying English. No one is remote or diffident. That is until just before leaving when I say the fatal words again. “Merry Christmas” and then add “Have a “Prospero Ano!” Like a small school of triggered fish they all turn away as if they are dodging a rock dropped in a small pond. One the Hispanic girls tosses a very frigid “Happy Holiday” back at my fleeting form as if to cleanse the atmosphere of the hated Anglo ‘del Norte’ epithet.
So. The gasoline prices have taken a sudden spike into nosebleed. Customers in this holiday season are as far and few in-between as Mastodons. And of course given the marked paucity of lawns empty of holiday decorations Christmas is somehow out of style? Given my age and the generation that it dates from I find this equation somewhat curious in light of my own experience. Indulging in the equally dreaded, “When I was young . . .” style of commentary, I must say that Christmastime whatever it was or was not stood for a time when at year’s end, bygones were bygones. The time when all the Dickensonian Scrooge-like characters were invoked to abandon their usual emotional parsimony and give a little just for the Hell of it as far as making an attempt to share in the spirit of the holiday. If one continuously chimed “Merry Christmas” back and forth it was out of a feeling of the better parts of human nature of dropping one’s usual prejudices and wishing other’s well. Maybe going out of ones way a bit to ‘present’ those one associated with a little something special.
Now of course, the end of the year has been transformed into something vague and almost completely commercial. A duty akin to paying taxes to the viscous and vengeful ‘Nanny state” of mind that youngsters are ceaselessly indoctrinated with from the point that they are surrendered by their career conscious parents. One gets the impression that Santa is only tolerated for his color ‘Red’ which of course is emblematic of Marxism that in turn is the core doctrine behind the congealed sense of stagnant air of Globalism that pervades the country. Consider what someone means in the term “Happy Holidays?” How many holidays outside of an equally European custom of the bringing in the New Year at the end of the month could there be. There is of course the officially Roman church date designated birth of their main representative Jesus Christ on the 25th of the month. The ‘de rigor’ of that celebration demanding that the faithful show up at Midnight to celebrate three wiser souls that the rest to bring gifts to the ‘fatherless’ child. Some thing that ironically fits too well with current modern day society in these parts. The idea being of course to renew one’s acceptance of the New Testament that in its unadulterated form has some positive notions of how to get along in live with everyone else.
There are the eight days of the Saturn worshiping prone Jews of the biblical Old Testament referred to as the ‘festival of lights‘. The major symbol of the menorah which that despite political rhetoric of our outgoing President has been allowed to displace the usual Christmas tree on the White House lawn if noting else by virtue of location and particularly overt public visibility. The basis of this celebration like all its other yearly equivalents being to celebrate an event of crushing their opponents in a sanguine revolution, this time against the ancient post Alexander the Great era Greeks who wanted to make them stop draining blood all over their altars. Something that had a similar sense of public outrage in that time with our own mixed appreciation of the current ‘Pizzagate’. A whole lot of spin leading to Gimel and leading to the inevitable “Gimme!” The other two major competing celebrations that might be referred to in the ‘Holiday’ part being literally spiritually Satanic involving the symbolically Kabbalah friendly worship Winter Solstice and its ‘shake and bake’ BLM politically correct exclusive holiday for American blacks, Kwanzaa. The reigning Wiki article scrupulously avoiding the part that blows the cover of this event as being African and International as opposed to an invention of a nineteen-sixties black radical and FBI stooge by the name of Karenga. The odd part of this amalgam of holidays other than Christmas is they all seem to be based upon exclusivity of the group celebrating them. Each a ‘private party’ where others are not really invited but merely tolerated.
So the original most historically publicly celebrated holiday in this neck of the woods AKA “Merry Christmas” is now considered on the level of insult if mentioned in the public discourse as well-wishing and greeting? Something no doubt part of the elementary indoctrination in lieu of useful education that paints the history of this nation as something to be despised if congealed by anything termed, “White.” I would say given the sad state of the world around us all that we need a little more public worship of the overall Christmas spirit and a lot less of fear driven PC based respect for all the amorphous others. So with that let me wish all a “Merry Christmas!“