The human race is just that! If you lose it, which is inevitable, then you don’t just die, you become banal. The greatest idea in the world if let to sit too long in the minds of the mob becomes boring to them. That is if they get too used to being aware of it. Old is not valued because like fresh milk it eventuality goes sour. A race of rats! Their tyrants being themselves. And the tyranny being what they are willing to accept. Solitary confinement if it be the virtue of bad situations finds you have no chance or hope of making things better. The limits of what people will suggest or accept being very narrow in tense times. I suppose this makes one a dumb dumb. Desperate little creatures taught cut throat competition from the get go. Who will succeed? Who will fail? Most assuming the slow curve of moderate success that slopes eventually back down into the dirt. “Who loves you, baby”, a call sign for the ignominy of modern life. Rat trap hard and dangerous. Especially when you seek that cup of human kindness. A holy grail to often filled with piss. As if you come across a bottle on the roadside seemingly mostly filled. The perversity of some destroying the trust one might have had in others. “Another razor blade in the Halloween candy, mom!” What is a whore but a member of the oldest tradition in recorded history? Someone who is using the equipment to their best advantage but not considered a producer of the general good. Can you blame them? “It’s a hard knock life, it is!” A phalanx of well-rehearsed synchronous youngsters hitting their marks of perfectly that you don’t immediately notice the artifice. That is the way it is supposed to be!
No one wins in the literature anymore. The hero with a thousand faces has too many in hock. How can you expect to get ahead when each night spent plumbing the ceiling’s depths you can only imagine being left behind? The bridge over your customary route collapsed and the detours jammed up with those who got up in the morning a few minutes earlier than you. And you all fear the mighty clock of course. If you had a grasp of the world that your ancestor’s knew then you might fear that stick plunked in the ground not disclosing its shadow? Crazy, crazy! What an organized group of native peoples will feel required to do when dancing around in a circle with a blazing fire within it. “The Gods require a sacrifice!” Dig deep in your pockets for the upcoming breast cancer drive! Give us your first born! Odd how the demand for money simply grows but the situation remains the same. The conveyor belt is waiting! Hop on and pay your deductible for the benefit of waiting around to have someone in a white coat and stethoscope ask you how you are feeling and then run some tests. “Yup, you’ve got blood in your veins and your heart is still pumping it around!” What else did you expect them to say? That you are well and your malady will never happen again? Of course it will! The malady IS the system! You are the biscuit that the big dog bites and daily consumes. One of the thousand points of light in the little village that is daily ‘taken’ for the sake of eight figure ledgers. What else could you expect?
So who told you that the best things in life are free? Or that the world belongs to everyone? No doubt the cousin of that guy who owns the multinational company who wrings you out your monthly in shekels like an old prayer rag. The little black square on the rockabilly forehead bobbing and a rocking! And you my dears are still int he cradles on that one where you supposedly belong because coffee in made in India and rice in Tibet. Juan Valdez has been dead for three generations having died an early death from too much coca and the constant incursion of the ‘Shining Path’ fucking up his fields. His children now live in Chicago, or is it L.A.? They have jobs while your college bred infants still pad about your dark basement in the wee hours of the night playing video games on the old second generation TV that is exiled there. The same corporate entity driving off the Valkyries to pick up all the would be heroes and interrupting the possibilities of their ever reaching Valhalla. It’s Loki’s favorite day of the year! The killing fields full of old expired H1B visas and the discarded meals ready to eat that the Muslims won’t. “Allah your Akhbar”, dummy! They are all yours now. It’s your kind of place! Enjoy your ‘happy’ meal. “You’ve been had, but still your still too PC and refuse to see it. Goddamn the messenger. And Goddamn it! For the eighth and last time from my cold dead fingers,”Get your hands off me you damn dirty ape!”