They say that your pleasures come and go. I say that you only have so many. One has to have a sense of pleasure left to spare. The last one sailed off to parts unknown. Now there are two relentless eyes that scan an empty horizon waiting for its return. Two women were at the house . One that was big and buxom while the other one was lean. I hugged both occasionally, out of felicity. The leaner one wanting me to kiss her. Outre! In from in the dark of night! She stood out there in her shift skirt very alone and miffed. The land had paths that we would all walk. I insisted at one point on going off of same to find a picket fence with little or no edge on its reverse side. As it was next to a barranca the mud slipped freely away. The quality of these materials were as telling as the destination ahead. The party upstairs that I left had been tucked away in the back of my consciousness. It had been both festive and quaint.
The wild salmon was in small cutlets and piled raw to one side. I had opened a few packets by mistake. I must have been so nervous as I was approved to be starting the filming of my school project on the very next day in the lighting studio supposedly upon the fifth. I was mistaken about the number of days between. They being four less than I had reckoned in my scattered mind. The backyard of this expansive mansion was half underground with the other part expressed in crazy quilt disconnected sections above ground. This allowed my access via stairs to a back field where I had an unexpected face off with a very odd kind of family pet. Something of a ceramic Chinese dragon. Though I was not necessarily in jeopardy of mortal danger, it challenged me, head to head. Until, after a series of zigzagging maneuvers I had to place my forehead nearly upon the massive bulk of its own. Only then was it satisfied. I had two older peers that seemed much more like uncles than hosts. Considering the amount of sway they had over me and my travel through this extended estate, I knew that their sensibilities counted heavily in terms of the import of my own actions. My destiny as a future filmmaker seemed somehow to utterly depend upon it.
The smoke from the neighbors was so intense when I had gone back to bed in the morning after having a mostly sleepless night. I dreamed that I drove my car. The one Lincoln that had been towed away to the junkyard. Down said stairs of all things! Taking a left to end up in a small end up in a small room. In a public space, A passing space. For say, the CTA, or some other transit area. And there, lo and behold, in the corner was a man that was the striking image of my grandmother’s step-husband, Tex. There he stood behind a counter of Panatela’s and Dutch Masters smoking a cigar. Completely oblivious to me and everyone else because of course, that was his way. Seeing me, and I seeing him, I asked, “Do you know who Anthony Salvatore is?” And he says, “Yeah, I’m related!” And that was about all I could get out of him before he got up from his stool, When he got up I noticed that the entire display of cigars behind him and in front of him actually an appendage of a . . . how would your say? Something that he wore. It was very odd?
The issue was how to portray the underlying message. It came down to entering symbols of power into the elevator. And making them visually understandable. In a very short almost immediate time. And this dealt with taking a single solid tetrahedron and dividing it in such a way that the component parts would animate telling the whole story. I went through this again and again and again and again. Until . . . I had something that was workable but no one wanted to really give it a chance. They’d already made up their minds. The simple version. Or perhaps their version that had nothing to do with me?
Each night I went to bed feeling scared. So scared that I only had a doubt wish to sleep. A gun close at hand. Each night wondering what would happen if someone broke in? How little time I would have to be able to defend myself to the point that I realized that I wouldn’t survive. That my assailant would basically overcome me. My only choice at that point was to make sure my assailant would come with me. That a definite commitment would be made! That we would both go together. But then I found out after listening to someone else who had really pondered very meticulously in terms of all the great ideas by other men who called themselves philosophers that the assailant that I must have feared was me. The gun in hand was basically my ticket out. And if I was going to fail, I had to use it. Really all I was going to do was use it on me.
A video/voice based version is available at:
There were a bunch of us that found we had somehow awakened within a maze of darkened concrete walled chambers. Perhaps it was exhaustion come of a strain of unending pursuit by some adversary that it was near to impossible to identify? I only knew about myself of course. The others were simply voices bouncing about from other nearby enclosures as all were confined from knowing the truth of our collective situation by the fact of total darkness. There were unlocked doors in what one could easily liken to being some subterrestrial imprisonment. But the unexpected dimension of the heavy breath of felines of monstrous proportions lurking about motivated the phantom presences of our community to quickly choose one of two options. Close the doors and keep your back against it and hope that cat was on the outside rather than in the room with you. Or feel your way down unexplored corridors hoping to find an exist rather than a hungry tiger. Whoever had devised this torment had considered well in providing the maximum amount of unstoppable heart pounding terror. Take your own ultimate fate in your hands and blunder your way to a slim possibility of escape or simply wait entombed with your back against a closed but unlockable door. Fear in its many forms taking you over. The mental image of a hand unexpectedly brushing into a bristle of whiskers as you advance or worse yet back into a beast’s saliva’s spittle ridden jaws. A quick swipe with one of its razor sharp nailed paws and all one could hope for was that it would make the coup de grace quick rather than submit you as its morsel to some gruesome play.
Those who might be some slim chance of a miracle make it to the sight of exits of escape into the light of day forced by circumstances to travail large empty garages where an equally viscous presence was patiently awaiting. The traverse towards the street by most being interrupted by large viscous Rottweiller’s running at top speed eager for the kill. No time to look behind and evaluate one’s options as the beasts were out for blood. A few reaching the sidewalk where for some miraculous reason the four-legged hellions were reluctant to go. The impossibility of this feat shared by almost all of the remaining struck down within the periphery of what appeared to be the exterior of an urban high-rise anonymous within a forest of same. The continuation of escape carried out now on rooftops precariously avoiding the full impact of some inadvertent slip of the foot or the inability of gait to catch hold of a narrow ledge providing a temporal destination as home after an energetically desperate leap. One’s fortitude in such courageous play being finally rewarded by finding one’s self atop one to the taller cadre of old Art Deco towers long forgotten in the ignorance of everyday plain view sight. It was necessary to be doubly sure that one did not vault too far over the front ornamental retaining wall with too much force or risk finding insufficient roof hidden on the opposite side unable to stop one;s inertia. Once firmly seated finding it equally advisable to assist a small group of overly rotund Humpty Dumpty fellows unaware of the dangers of too vigorous a leap lest one blunder into you like a ten pin and bowl the both of you off into empty space over the edge. The task complete all sitting firmly upon their buttocks so quiet as to hear the whistling wind at this advanced altitude and collectively note the unsteadiness of the building’s sway an uneasy communal silence. Unable to escape from the clutches it seemed of some ever vengeful deity and its ceaseless proclivity to draw some new misfortune from an unfathomable bag of tricks.
The contrast of the conventionality of the interior of a top suite of a small penthouse being disturbed by occasional evidence that its illusory firmament being so dilapidate that lower floors were blatantly visible through holes in the oaken floor where the wood had given out. It was impossible ti determine if the unavoidable possibility of escape would recycle one back down in the same set of circumstances as suffered before? This hellish environment encompassing an inescapable set of challenges that seemed designed to wear down one’s resolve to resist the inevitable final end. One might ponder between elevated heartbeats if one had awakened from some lifelong unaccountable dream of blissful escape into the cold reality of an ever stalwart games avatar caught in some artfully coded reciprocating Hell? Condemned by some undetectable universal force of nature to suffer Promethean torment for no accountable reason beyond the chaotic perversity of that same unforgiving inexplicable vengeful nature. The totality of one’s essence designed only for an endless amount of equally unwanted challenges without any possibility of any real eventuality of ultimate escape? The thought entering one’s mind as to whether an earlier surrender to ignominious fate might have been more merciful than following the path of ones own animal survival? Instead finding one’s sell posed as a modern Petrushka that some overbearing unseen society could not take the time out to care a whit about? The only form of continued viable existence was to continue on pursued by the ever sharpened knife edge of an inexhaustible level of fear. What coice was there in human existence after all?
The devastation at contemplating the futility of your own chances of physical survival are staggering when confronted full on. How little one has and how little one finds to share when counterpoised against one’s failures. For human life is designed to fail sooner or later. And all we have is the small amount of dignity that is left to summon when one learns to bear up and take this discovery with some degree of quiet dignity. Being suffers without some degree of affirmation. Whether that comes from some happenstance heaven sent or by the inadvertent praise of someone unknown.
How dare one expect any promise of that increasingly dim memory now long gone. The former reality now a wavering fantasy. But still poignant in the mind’s eye. This person that pads around in a cage. Involvement. Where did it go. The days are short and the energy limited. Why wait for eternity? Maybe it’s not change? Not for you at least. Empathy has a corollary. It is called survival. Anyone who sticks a gun to their head knows that! It’s s fruitless task that brings no decent result save for the fiction of pain relief. Not from the world. But one’s sell! Creating physical danger just in terms of the threat diverts one’s attention. Boredom is the province of the condemned. You can’t get away! You so often ned up coming back.
Neuralgia. An aching sinking feeling of the limbs that one cannot escape the uninvited torment of one’s body. What is life all about anyhow? The quick answer is suffering. Suffering the pangs of slings and arrows of unwanted misfortune. But doing it with at least a touch of panache and class! Perhaps one garners a few more arrows in one’s hide for displaying such arrogance in the face of almighty universal chaos? This might tear one in half like an old phone book to think that their is no longer a safe harbor awaiting ahead. Nor ever has been? So one tends to count their blessings small as they have become like they might account leftover grains of wheat. The remnants of last years harvest long consumed they offer but a taste of what once was. And hopefully carry one through to the fond wish for yet at least one more.
Let’s confound society so as to build upon our singular self-enfranchise petty egos. Forget the necessity of some commonality for society as a whole. The Individual paucity of ‘We‘ want to be serviced like some solitary bull in a pasture somewhere. Why? Because ‘We’ are fags! Ooops! Not supposed to say that, right? Why because we are a minority that has been disadvantaged by society. PC CODE WORD: White Christian Protestants (i.e., the majority). So then standing up for being categorized in any the the fifty-eight pronouns that have been shake and baked by some LGBT Nazi’s somewhere is now considered correct. “What!” “Nazi’s you say!?.” Well sure! Naturally Antagonistic Zionist Insurgents! NAZI’s. This being defined as anyone who is an active member of a conglomerate group of those who would demand having their way and getting their imagined opposition to pay for it. The mechanism for support taxes wrenched from those with a job and living on the edge. Why? Well for the sake of assigned guilt! Who assigns the guilt? Well the many Jews that sit in positions of power in society. JEWS!!! Yes, Justly Ecumenical Weaponizing Savants! JEWS! You know, those people whose close relatives seem every to pop up behind every social conflict seemingly orchestrating and egging on some dispute or stridently publicizing same on behalf of some newly discovered downtrodden group discovered somewhere, anywhere, Thank God that someone cares! Whoops! Not supposed to say “God.” (Sorry! No fit acronym allowed by PC for that). The Satanists will feel left out! And that would be hate speech! Because of course Satan hates God! And of course the JEWS hate Christians especially Russian Eastern Orthodox Christians (could they be Satanist’s too? Or just exercising their rights to choose?). But that is OK because they are a self-proclaimed victim group. Perhaps, the biggest self-proclaimed professionally best known victim group. Six million of them were killed on purpose at some time in the past? Let’s see by that reckoning then? Hmmm? CATEGORY – GROUPS OF PEOPLE KILLED – TWENTIETH CENTURY. Eighteen-Forty-Eight? Nineteen-Fourteen? Nineteen-Forty-Five? How’s are math? Well historically, generally over the same period there were if we add up three-million Armenians plus two-hundred million White and other assorted Russian Orthodox Christians and seven twelve-million Ukranian’s and another three hundred million Chinese? Do Asian’s count? Ooops! P.C.! Bon’t forget Pol Pot and the threee-million Cambodians under his Communist Khymer Rouge! But then, who talks about Asians? Well if we count up the number of people slaughtered by regimes where JEWS predominated by being in jey positions of power, historically speaking? But that doesn’t count! That’s ANTISEMETIC! Against Normal’s That Interfere Subverting Matters Energizing Masters! This noble humanitarian work is too important to allow anyone to challenge that! Consecutively! So I hope that you are getting the hang of our little self-important word game?Just sit back and listen and check your White Privilege at the door. In other words, SHUT THE FUCK UP!
There is a very intricate and delicate web in the relations of humanity. A give and take that one has to wonder how far to take things. And then at other times, when to lay off. Relationships always potentially uneasy. But that is the nature of the beast? Expectations are always troublesome but they must in some way be dealt with and hopefully resolved. Tolerance of others within reasonable limits that ever has to also be felicitously negotiated. A walk upon eggshells, more often than not!
The railroad yard just down from the station was a maze of some seventeen or more parallel sets of tracks. The platform for boarding as a passenger one the end of the wide lozenge-like complex that was a horizontal forest of strings of boxcars passing through and innumerable tankers to be loaded. All being re-sorted for further journey accord to the siding of their placement. It was a dark dirty coal smoke ridden place that was impossible to tell day from night. Raw coal ripped from both surface mines and burrows deep into the earth were loaded from tireless conveyors. Hordes of people would clamber across at the sound of the steam engine’s distant whistles. There being no announced schedule to and from this over-developed corner of the countries coal mining section. One might have wondered to see the sight from afar if they were witnessing some displaced valley risen from the fire and brimstone of deep below. So disheartening was the sight of the earth despoiled by the hand of man’s industry.
Their was fair and there was not. In the jungle of man if one let another creature get away with something. Something like a deal unmet or simply constantly avoided. Then something had to be done. A bad something! Kurt was a burly lad that had never felt lesser for the fact that some might have said he had been born to overalls and would probably be put to rest in a pair. Rough and tumble from his mother’s breast he could raise men twice his girth up over his head and toss them four times further. Something that had not gone unnoticed from detection from the off corner of the town less savory section. A job of keeping an eye on things and making sure that no one who was present in this small lesser used section of this trunk of the yard had reason to stay there unless invited. It was said that dark dealings occurred in the vicinity of the aging line shacks. Some beyond those of the daily ‘look left and right’ transactions of stolen merchandise for quick recompense. And others where a few bucks offered to those normally on patrol in the other parts of the yard gong a long way to helping them keep their mouths shut.
Kurt held sway from the onset of the sun’s passing over the low range of mountains to the hour just before dusk. He kept his eyes focused on the small depot ever alert for a friendly high sign or the other possibility of bringing for that heavy leather bound sap to employ its hidden gift of a stack of heavy steel washers against an intruder’s temples. The resultant baggage to be carried off by a lesser pair of thugs resting further down on the bosses’ totem pole. Their baggage deposited in some untoward spot rarely discovered. At occasional moments within the unrelenting darkness also serving as silent well-behaved sore losers who grunted grudgingly at each poker hand upended by straights or flushes. Kurt had a habit of announcing his displeasure about his hand being challenged with a mighty sound of ceremoniously cracking the knuckles of his two hammock sized paws stretched overhead. Then in a mock show of feigned exhaustion bringing the knit together mass of same down hard on the table. All this supposedly absentmindedly. The two other rubes would shirk away from presenting a trump card and more than not throw their hands back in the discards. All the while his thin fiction circumvented by a certain cock of the head suggesting that like any good junkyard dog he was ever on patrol even in the midst of these infrequent rests.
The envy of his ‘helpmates‘ did not encourage them to any loyalty. In fact the case was just the opposite. They waited like jackals on the periphery for some slip up on Kurt’s part so that they might provide reason to replace him. Fatal or not. No one could figure how many nights were spent speculating and making plans? But they were all talk at least when they were far from earshot. But Kurt’s deeds were beginning to garner notoriety farther afield some of the families of his victims were party to the fact of the perpetrator of their loved one’s demise. Though some lived upon the heights above the surrounding valley in what would be termed in advantageous sense of affluence they weren’t adverse to coming down with their sleeves rolled up to get their fists a little bloody. A little water and soap did wonders when the need to avenge a fellow family member was involved. Something as old as the hills that the railroad country had driven it’s presence through. That is why one morning when Kurt’s body was discovered with his skull cracked open having been split neatly in two from the blow of a crowbar that parties unknown had generously left quite purposefully beside the body. A calling card of some anonymous designate of the community at large. Few if any seemed surprised at all. Some people deserve what they get?
The basic sense of balance within any community once challenged is ever likely to call down forces that even those who proclaim themselves as the strongest need to heed. Lest those who make a career of transgressing again the wishes of the majority come to find out so fatally too late. That final lesson that their hubris has only bought them a one way trip to the boneyard via the river Styx.
Some people literally never grow up? If you have children or are around them in their world for part of the day then go out on the highways or in public venues you will soon find out. That doesn’t mean that the grownups are not more experienced or smart! Whatever that means in itself. But a lot of minds are made up as to the outlook on life at an early age. Some say that they are little carbon copies of their parents given the situations that they are confronted with? Perhaps? But then at a certain point in life one realizes that they are sitting back in their old seat in third grade? You think you know the rules and you see one of the others push against them but then you see someone else that you like. But she doesn’t experience the same moral dilemma of push or be pushed. The only problem is that the teacher is no longer there in those latter portions of later life to lay down the law. You are your own teacher. Or on the other hand, that old tired teacher has long ago left you completely on your own. That is moral relativity. The trouble with any sort of relativity, theoretical or otherwise, is it doesn’t do a thing about mitigating a final judgement? And one thing is certain. For all the finagling of earthly imagination and scientific application the same end always seems to await. That ultimate conclusion, but then all those transitions in-between experienced at different points in your life as well. The many types of you that have long been left behind and totally forgotten. The strange characters in old images that resemble you but that is where the similarity seems to end in the ‘older and wiser category’. Supposedly? So maybe one might conclude that if they are lucky enough to have some offspring you have an unexpected inadvertent teacher by virtue of some raw unvarnished example in those familiar personalities of the little lives that they have once again initiated for you? Just a thought?