“It is what it is! I am what I am! And Popeye rules this earth! I found myself chided for what I had unconsciously dropped between the chair and the wall. The rest was a bundle of claptrap that didn’t make a bit of sense. Mist over everything both inside and out. Not what one could call an auspicious end to a years that had offered no hope out of a three year slump. It felt as if it was almost planned that way? Maybe it was! People didn’t behave the same in a way that I was considered useful . . .”
From that point on the rambling script on the pages was illegible. The small journal having sat too long in a puddle of rye found by the body soaking away subsequent thoughts for the duration of the night. Two slugs from behind after the front door was forced. The guy never knew what hit him. His brains splattered all over the television’s fractured screen. Whoever did the hit was good at their job. Get in, ‘pop pop‘ and then get out. Probably walking down the hall with a scarf pulled up around their head so no one could make him out through the gauntlet of peep holes leading to the stairwell. In any case they had plenty of time to make their escape during the twenty minutes time it took for the cops to arrive. I guess they weren’t in too much of a hurry as this building had a local reputation for punitive domestic goings on and noisy neighbors. It sure didn’t help that poor slob tipped over face forward with half a head. But then help for him was no longer an issue.
The police muscled past the broken door past the two ambulance attendance and their bailey. Someone else living on the premises had obviously braved sneaking out for a moment to take a peek and then called an ambulance before these officials had arrived. Maybe the three officers felt a bit outstaged? But their lack of haste in performing their duty didn’t show it. Professional detachment being demonstrated in going through the motions of collecting evidence and dispassionately documenting this crime scene. The neighbors on the floor were all standing behin their doors listening. Those unspecified eyes lurking anonymous behind eyelets inset into doors trying to find out more gory details about the homicide. Some wondering how all this fit in with a tenant that they had passed in the hallway exchanging customary greetings with. Someone who seemed incline to go out of his way to open doors and sometimes engage in polite conversation for a moment or two. Dead? Murdered? How could this be! Yet to roll the clock back before the recent New Years celebration the answer was obvious.
So he was a son of a bitch. You could see if in every woman’s eyes that he ran into. The trouble was that he knew it. And worse yet at heart he really wasn’t a stinker. Maybe it would have been better if he had been one. Hearts being tough as nails these days he wasn’t going anywhere that he hadn’t been all along. All the good she’s were ago long forgotten in the dust. He had more than his share for a while. But after a busted marriage some twenty years too late it really didn’t matter. If women were booze he could easily swear off them. But deep within a shell was a molten core that hadn’t quite cooled. The band played its foxtrot Negro inspired rhythms throughout the night. It was new years eve any year! Or maybe, no year. One that seemed to go on and on with little or no hope of change. At least the building would be buzzing with some tasty morsels of gossip to spread. The speculation about the past of the deceased would grow and confident theories about the true nature of the victim’s existence would grow from the seeming bedrock of sheer fantasy. A poor reflection of trite Hollywood narrative currently playing on the screen
Society as it had descended provided the answer. All the potent signs were there in a final end that was coming and was terrifyingly imminent! The rebirth of a new Weimar sense of Democratic Sachlichheit favoring any and all things divisive, offbeat or dysfunctional was upon them. A second coming of industrially manufactured decadence descending down hard upon them all. This morally helpless generation that was born into uselessness institutionally learning nothing from the past. And being directed by ideologically minded criminals whose only ethic was the robbery for its own sake from these same faceless masses in absconding with more and more and more! An underlying cynical vindictiveness passed down upon the children of the former masters in a demented world view wreaking vengeance for the sake of superficial identities created out of this venom alone. It was easy to see why his apartment was the most logical target amidst all the others what would soon provide a similar opportunity!
Considering the constant reprise of past nightmares of Utopian societies subsumed by two-legged parasites naturally banding together to inspire perpetual havoc? Taking all the worst qualities of mankind refined over thousands of years of an insect based hive directed life and then see it infect a new host generation that has managed to struggle to some new peak of initiative beset by these age old poisons. The stilted hegemony crashing the system with a frightening regularity only allowing a small portion of humanity to remain to struggle up from the ashes once again to find some new further unexpected epitome. The essence of human life demeaned to cattle and transposed to machines with every detail surveyed, recorded and inculcated into lifeless technologically inspired inventions that at best could only imitate life but never be truly alive. The rote procedures of the Police were completely outside the province of determining the true cause of the murder. The motive had been one of the oldest in the book. The law of the jungle! Kill all rival thoughts! Or be killed by them.
The evening had descended upon his biology several hours earlier than expected. The year’s end. It was as normal one could suppose. Way too normal to him. Sufficient warmth, a full belly and a roof over his head yet the reliable stillness engendered emptiness. And while this was not inordinately disturbing it had a nagging quality that required some diversion to keep him from pondering it obsessively. Old movies, Internet or oblivion. The outside at five-thirty in the afternoon more aptly resembled nine o’clock at night. There hadn’t been an evening in the last two weeks that he had stayed awake past seven. A degree of embarrassment in not being able to last past ten. But what was the use? No one was around to disappoint. No one to embarrass. No one to hide how empty his current existence was. It had not always been so. The night was long and maybe much longer than was bearable at this point. What had happened to that far away bygone memory of a world of happiness and someone there to be in love with? Did it ever exist to begin with?
He had been living on a merry go round for as long as he could recall. The notion of fame and glamor as industrially presented throughout his life keeping him in limbo of constant expectation near to fruition. Yet without ever attaining anything of substance. Things that seemed to be touchstones for use to find instant success were found soon as naught to simply become successive waves of empty useless junk. The vacuity that they inspired was ever too obvious to others who felt that his priorities were ever elsewhere. His innocence lost in ceaseless ambition.for his own personal conception of the brass ring gleaming ever more golden at every pass yet ever out of reach. And now he had to live with the fact that this quest had ruined him for the very world that he had desired. That it had all past by him as a result of his own gullibility and foolishness. But why? Something that he might have asked himself many years back without hope of receiving a fit reply. But now approaching the other side of the mountain the answer to explain it had become all too clear. He was a fool. A fool with a lifetime of hard won knowledge come of the hard knocks endured and stowed deep down below out of sight to stew and fester away until today. That was why he realized that going through the motions of an empty dream could no longer provide any sense of piece.
The world was a lonely place because he had not taken the effort to find someone to share it with. To follow what was the normal course of personal evolution of a growing bond of love as found in producing offspring and gaining happiness as well as enduring sadness. But doing so together. It seemed clear to him now. Yet to say so aloud was not possible as it might sound like a voice other than his own pronouncing sentence on one condemned. What did it matter to a society of others if his view of things as they really were held some degree of meaning or influence? It was just a vanity come of a sense of latent insecurity that needed proof of his worth in a contest with phantoms that in the end mattered little now that he had conquered his curiosity about such things. They had turned out in the end to be fictions that dissolved into further unrealities that ultimately led to the consequence of misguided actions. Something a trained bear might sense in its cage hearing the far off melody of other things wild and free. All it could do now far removed is growl and slobber laying listless head upon its paws. Stare out at the world beyond those bars and try to find a way to thank those bars for keeping him safe for what he was no longer fit or able enough to survive.
It was still dark. The tangle of dreams lodged like wheat paste inside the porch of his consciousness demanding a sort before the entire contents was removed to someplace unknown. Were there any pearls of wisdom to be had in his own mental chest of drawers? He could recall the presence of his long departed parents with him. The conversation being something about cleaning out the remaining items somewhere up on a higher floor of the old house built in the nineteen twenties that they had held as income property when he himself was a very young man. The confusion of fading recall that quietly beset him suggesting to his waking mind a conversation centered upon items of his that he had left there long ago, Having been overindulgent in his youth in over coddling him thoughout most of it, not to mention a portion of his adulthood, they had unhesitatingly taken on the task. When he realized that his musing within the nocturnal cloud of wispy presence that these aged spirits had taken on the task merely at his conjuring the thought alone he ran up to the upper level and found the apartment completely cleared out, A bare red rug freshly vacuumed and all other evidence of his former habitation completely removed. This stunning surprise having been relieved of so many half forgotten things classified and logged in vague memory now impossible to recall beyond the fact of their disappearance. He gazed out the back porch window but could find no evidence of anything waiting for pickup by the gate to the alley.Apparently the ledger book in some strange way had been completely cleared?
The sky sitting out beyond the open blinds was not yielding more than an occasional twinkle from far off distant fireflies waiting for clearance from the airport. All was stillness and calm aside from the quiet brushing sound of cars passing over a thin layer of snow that had descended lightly. A new day predicating another new dawning had bustled up against the indeterminate time since slumber had carried him away the evening previous. The number of colorful tiny lights glowing upon the land seemed diminished. Sunday was upon all as the rumble of a nearby car motor struggled to shake off the coldness from its engine block with its growling pistons. The proposition of another day was slowly being discussed in the actions of a few others who had already come to a definite conclusion. The question for himself now being could he shake himself out of the grip of all things past now that he had a sign that it had been cleared away for him? The engine without suddenly fell silent. The cavern of near silence that it left in its wake seemed to demand something definitive from him. A whole new line of thought that was completely unfamiliar. Maybe even intimidating! How to pick up stakes from all things long gone and move on without looking back. It seemed to him sitting there that the first step had already been taken for him.
It had been some four years plus since anyone had lived here beyond him. Fifteen hundred rise and falls of the Sun on the horizon slowly forgetting his previous daily existence. A long time to become detached from the kin that had previously been the rightful owners of this living space. A small section of floor space on a larger plan in a middle floor of a mid century high rise on the edge of a larger metropolis. Though forced to make daily forays out into the world for work and food he had slowly lost touch with it. Things had been made worse by his losing his daily employ and having to depend on the state to supply him a stipend to purchase foodstuffs. As he sat upon the last remaining two-seater sofa in the lounge he contemplated the dark horizon as embers seemed to gather in the distance readying themselves to once again meet the first light of the sun. Where he wondered was the illumination to light a path out of his every descending dilemma of skating eternal darkness. No expression upon his face as he sat silently low in the saddle of the old broke back couch. The portraits around the room no longer stared out with a plausible familiarity that claimed a actual human entity as the physical source of their being. He looked over to the pinpoints upon the faux tree-like manifestation of the end of the year holidays and felt no fondness or connection with it. Whatever memories within hum had become sterile like the bits and pieces of the residual recollection of his fragmentary youth. What had steadily been preserved over nearly all of a human life was a constant mistrust of his fellow creatures. The slow procession of which that had marched through his life now remembered for their unique qualities of kindness so much as the same story of eventual indifference to him. All those that he came to know in the intervening decades had eventually trailed away in another direction despite his strenuous efforts to dissuade them otherwise. He was thus pronounced a perpetual loner.
There had been a mighty struggle going on within him throughout the successive intervening years since childhood. One where every attempt to accommodate the meandering course of public conventionality’s subsided into a new enigmatic puzzle that seemed to offer no fit solution as to how to navigate. A damned if you do and damned if you don’t continuum of hopeful overtures that too quickly subsided into false starts. Friendships, brief romantic affairs, and even a star-crossed stint at marriage all failing miserably for reasons unknown to him despite his best efforts to bend and satisfy. The world seemed to finally descend upon him as if it had become a mighty leaden cloud full of an eventually lethal menace that might sooner or later take even this sparse form of existence away. There was too much evidence of others that shared the same dilemma in far off cities that barely existed in far of urban districts far to the West. Every day had been a bit more grim than the collection of same that had dissolved into a nothingness without promise or exception. There might have been something tragic about this had their been at least another solitary soul in his company to appreciate the insoluble dilemma that beset him. Yet he himself felt no despair or self pity on his own account. He was struck by the fact of how persistent and unrelenting was his own condition of life. But had no sympathy for himself and occasionally some degree of maudlin emotion for anonymous others that theoretically shared a similar experience to his circumstance. This appreciation of same coming from teleplays and cinematic narratives that seemed to corral the emotions of the surrounding population in general. It might have officially been called consensus in the daily declaration of events and socially acceptable notions that were sold as appropriate. He sat in his lounge upon the old threadbare saddle alone in his lounge. The gravity of this unrelenting condition of solitude descending upon his consciousness finally collapsing any fantasy to the contrary.
The soccer field seemed twice the size as he could remember it. He recalled that he had played soccer in high school during gym class and had been anything but stellar. Now he seemed enlisted as a coach in a Summer time program at a nearby park district. The ball was served from the center of the field and immediately shot over his head towards the boundary of one of the streets that served as the ultimate boundary of the park. One of the players at that far end booting it back once again overhead until it seemed in a position relatively equivalent but in the opposite direction. Something within him sank like a flag being pulled down in early surrender. He had doubts that this job would last more than the afternoon given the fact that his present level of physicality was obviously no match for the youthful leg strength of those that had been put in his charge to mind. The other coach now running in a lateral direction towards the side of the field he felt his rubbery legs wobble as he made his own pathetic attempt to catch up to the orb. The other younger fellow’s lack of speed a sign of the man’s sarcasm in the fact of the pathetic lack of performance of his older rival. Seeing this for what it meant the older scorned pair of legs picked up speed as if they now had a life separate to the body and head that bobbled about atop them. Their distant rival in the younger coach resuming his normal vitality and stepping up his pace as a result of this display and easily reaching the ball first to boot it far away back towards center field out of reach of his older rival’s renewed efforts. The impossbility of the situation fell upon the deposed sexagenarian like a wet woolen blanket.
The failure felt in one scenario seemed to bring on contemplation of yet another. One calling into focus a dismal area bordering a place outside of town by a main railroad trunk line. A no man’s land evidencing decades of toxic and careless dumping of castoffs that had the relative appearance of destruction one would have quickly associated with the worst sites of world war carnage. It was here that the man found himself newly arrived standing on the gravel by the rails. The only cited goal still clearly posed in his being was to traverse this area before he would be spotted by hostile parties. This inhospitable region having its own indigenous residents that as one might expect were as unwanted and disgruntled as himself. His presence in this lawless section presenting a convenient scapegoat for them to enact his revenge. His traverse of the many gullies fraught with sucking empty bucket covered tar pits that he barely found passage to skirt around disconcerting as the pressure of unseen eyes bore down upon him. Rapid tiptoes across rotting planks to shifting sandy ridges that softly gave way under his feet threatening to cant him forward in a manner that my lead to a tumble into the muck of a pit of uncertain composition. Whole sections of savaged walls of residential building including banks of wooden sash segmented of window glass stood as partitions blocking rapid progress. The notion of him being followed by hordes not far behind him growing ever evident. The possible luxury of taking an instant to stop in mid course to turn about and view the situation in that direction too wasteful of the slight chance that he might still outdistance them. On and forward he stumbled and slipped irregardless of his mounting conviction that all this effort would still result in his being easily being overtaken. Gone were the self inscribed fantasies of the inadvertent hero that he felt himself innately capable of being. His own vulnerability so painfully apparent in a likening to that of a field mouse being pursued by an owl. The growing flutter of his own heart within his chest now impossible to discern from feathers softly beating rapidly and hard just above yet not quite further back.
The chimes of the wall clock rang with their usual annoying precision. Another artifact that he had refused to disturb from the storehouse of family possessions that stood in for otherwise long lost traditions. His neck cracked a bit as the tight muscles surrounding his spine propelled his mighty cranium slowly forward and upright. The room was still dark but by the reckoning of the dim glow from outside several hours might have past. His sojourn to that other unstable ever changing world of dreams had as usual been unexpected and rocky. He rotated his head about a bit in both directions and stretched both arms upwards into a diagonal V to stretch out the kinks in his back still otherwise at rest slouched upon the sofa’s brace of pillows. Though the darkness of the room was only occasionally interrupted by tiny pinpoints of random LED’s as well as vertical glimpses of the The notion of the solitude ensconced within the limbo of a formless remote universe being challenged by sensations of cold drafty air and the rush of its warmer rival issuing from vents at ceiling height dispensing with same. Leaning forward out of his static repose he shifted his view to the murky horizon peeking up over the bottom sash of the window. Existence such as it was still remained. Only the accompanying dismal circumstance of the fear that it associated with was gone. He was in a state of neutral unencumbered being his usual troubles and concerns put to rest. His body as a singular instrument very aware of the exact position within the knowable universe of man. The question of hierarchy now a secondary matter. He was still very much alive and that was all that mattered.
It was obvious. And maybe painfully so? Obvious that my era and the perspective of the gender description that went along with it in terms of the critical theory that went along with its description was not in vogue. Rounding the corner into the classroom where I had been allowed to sit in was fraught with the usual combative possibilities of being set upon by both student and professor in consort who might at any point declare the zone safe by demanding the immediate exclusion of my presence. I imagine that just the act of opening my mouth aloud with a simple question no matter how politically correct or innocent was potential dynamite. So I sat through the lecture portion in silent bright eyed attentiveness seemingly accepting of any and all propositions offered. I showing no evidence of any hostile inner suffering in silence due to propositions advanced that quite expectedly demeaned my own sex as the price of the current currency of identity politics based truth. The room itself set up as if some great round table empty centered arrangement now where my position by the room entrance looked diagonally far across what instantaneously into an extremely large mattress with tightly pulled white sheets. My ideological adversary peering back at me with an inert emotionless as if prepared to be nonplussed by and of the expected responses that my outward cliche would no doubt attempt to pass off by way of awkward attempts of guile. Instead, I offered a full uncompromising acceptance of all the points of her lecture with the caveat that I pose a line of questioning about defining my own dilemma as an artist. Since the resultant silence seemed to suggest that there was no outward objection to this as it was assumed that I would hang myself anyway with the same old hierarchical male prejudices I began voicing my inquiry.
Considering that all art was functionally equivalent despite any sophistication of technique and reducible to the expression of the previous personal experience of uncounted numbers of those that had come before the notion of Post-Modernism’s ad hominum’s in service of a general group based dimension overshadowed the importance of the creator of the same. Did not this create a crisis bound situation with the ego of the artist that took on an ideological dimension that could not help reflect a negative individual based political reality that was too often predatory in disparaging a minority due to ingrained prejudices? Given this being a reality how was a given male individual able to offer their body of work as valid in the face of being seen as a potential insurgent to the grand sceme of a society that was attempting to adjust for the past ideological biases? Should I as an artist abandon my own progression as being same for the fact of this undeniable truth? The silence that my carefully posed question floated upon in slow motion making it across the wide gap of white damask lingered for a while. I imagined at one point that there may have been no intention of addressing it though it was obvious that it had been carefully posed in the context of the current politically Leftist perspective. Yet after a pregnant pause of what seemed a number of minutes of indifference my mistresses words in respose came back towards my direction. Though not kind to me directly as an individual in the sense of acknowledging my own individual stake in the conversation there was a larger narrative posed that took on a proposition that suggested a universality of purpose as being a predicate. A litmus test of values where self expression by myself was permissible if it acknowledged the source of my efforts intent as being respectful and no more important than the efforts of any other artist. That as long as I fully surrendered title to any dominance as a white European male showing deference before other group identities that my kind had proven a history of creatively overwhelming then what I offered could be considered as an acceptable artistic expression.
As I watched her in my own respectful earnest silence I could not help but feel a certain degree of worshipful eroticism coming forth from within. Something ad odds with her outward physical semiotics of dyed pussy hat pink faded coloring of her hair or the ‘uber’ hip resale store glad rags. Something that by the fact of her terse somewhat extended long response to my own carefully chosen words suggested some inquisitive curiosity. A characteristic unconscious animal attraction come of being petted and despite being naturally hostile to the owner of the hand doing so enjoying the nature of the verbal transaction. It seemed equally curious that her outer third wave Feminist demeanor that previous to this situation could have only been expressed in a dynamic of being lesbian now seemed indescribably softer. As she continued the classroom slowly transformed. The center portion of the room being a boudoir and the two of us now locked in a sort of coitus not so much expressed in the physical as a common didactic that was locked together within the sheets of this grand central mattress. Time like wine getting away from us both the two of us finding ourselves in a verbally compromised morning after of trying to silently reconcile to ourselves what we had respectively given up as opposed to what we had come to share. Thanking fate that the student body previously about the classroom had graciously disappeared before we became engaged thus in such intellectual intimacy. How odd it seemed that such ideologically diametric opponents could come to share such explosively joyous intimacy. Yet, that was, after all, the wonderful timeless magic of animal human nature.
The turkey dinner stunk. He sat in the easy chair finally relieved to be sitting. The marathon of two days had come to a climax. Early perhaps, but all the same exhausted. The drill was to be some sort of sentimental ritual of fond holiday remembrance. Recollection of times past when Christmas dinner was a regular event. An event that sometimes felt like the experience was becoming overly trite. But in light of the passing of a decade and a half had returned to the status of beyond extraordinary. Unfortunately, the noble attempt had been a failure. Not a total failure though. The turkey report four days previous stated the possibility of an outbreak if Salmonella ridden turkeys. And so he had put in the freezer when the frig seemed to have a slight off odor. Later it was apparent that the smell was from a poorly chopped red onion. The result was a certain level of insecurity as to whether his efforts to thaw in twelve hours before that after testing various scenarios from washing in tepid water and chipping away ice from the interior he was risking a waterlogged bird with all the natural juices removed. It seemed at that point it couldn’t cook right. But miraculously with a liberal transfusion of butter and thyme with a few rosemary sprigs and lime interposed apple slices in its chassis.
Where he went wrong was his timing. The two Pyrex dishes of bread dressing being perfectly cooked and set upon the burners on the stove. But to his mind needing to stay warm until the point of serving when he came back from a prearranged brunch. The minutes ticking down, he dumped the two of them back in the oven with the turkey. All the way there he knew he had made a mistake. Little did he expect that the contents of both pans would turn black as a cinder! Things seemed to go downhill from there. By the time he had everything in control enough to serve himself half of it was barely edible. The subsequent cleanup of the many greasy pots, pans, utensils as well as dishes of all sizes was prophetic in scale. Now of course that world had all been restored to a former sense of prior order. One that had been in force as set by the original owner of the utensils. He had tried their use and had found a new respect for the quiet dilemma shared each year by his dear departed mother. Her expertise had been honed to razor sharpness at that point when the small family had been installed in its first new house. A one story mid-century suburban property that sat tabla raza in a brand new subdivision that had been carved from a tract of former farmer’s field. The center of town persisting to declare itself as remaining part of a bygone era when Cyrus McCormick had them among his best customers in the heyday of bountiful crops corn or wheat. Now it served as a canvas for all their dreams to erase the hopelessness of an terrible economic depression and the war that had been waged in part to defeat it.
Some of these current utensils served as important artifacts in the entertainment rituals that his two parents put forth to attract the envy and admiration of other’s of their own generation. Siblings of my mother and my father’s mother, stepfather and half sister. Those few good years when they were allowed to demonstrate their coming success that less than a half decade would elude them. One by one these sets of merry making holiday tools were deposed to storage in the back of cupboards or redefined into more mundane uses for carrying on everyday existence. Some had been handed over by his maternal grandparents and provided lasting utility as a backup for others more modern but of a lesser quality. Thus many had earned a certain nobility in his mind as veterans from former eras of celebrations that were now nothing more than the inference of old phantoms, His weariness had led him to retire not very long after the setting of the Sun on the far horizon past the apartment’s vertical blinds. He had fallen into a stupor barely able to keep his balance as he staggered to the bedroom with the intent to turn in early. The fast erratic heartbeat of drum synthesizing the aura of amplified electric bass suddenly shaking his chambers. Somewhere below or above voices were now raised in unrestrained joyfulness. Some of them perhaps as foolishly careless and free as those of his own parents had been in their heyday. The cycle of the hopefulness of life was playing itself out once again in his vicinity just out of reach yet clearly evident.
The silence about the bedroom woke him up gently to the somber droning of the melancholy of some Middle European symphony composed in the latter half of the previous century when the horrors of the second great war were still fresh. The booming music conducted by the concrete and its sudden choruses of ebullient joyfulness now gone as if they had merely a passing folly of his imagination. The impressions currently leaking from his rising consciousness telling of a solitary old codger that had joined the party. But the party had been transposed to another place and time in an appreciation of the world as it might have been nearly a hundred years back. The joyfulness of a candy emporium or bakery with fresh newly baked odors and muslin banners and tapestry’s declaring the imminence of a new year. Smiling female faces ripe for the play of mind boggling word games and the reward for the right guess in decorative party favors. Celebration and unbounded happiness having no reason beyond its appearance in the moment. His own white whiskered bald pate’d avatar pointing to the ceiling with an impish grin declaring to the entire party,”What is another name for cupcake?” His consciousness now regained within these opposing symphonies playing each in their respective low volume and he laying cat-like and rested beneath the coverlet diagonal upon his bed. Had it all been a dream he wondered as his eyes rolled slowly towards the passage door of the bedroom. The dim glow of Christmas resting warm upon it dimly reflected by relay from that still illumined effigy within the next room. The faux armature of a small tree packed with all its old family trinkets casting its still brilliant old burning memories forth from this passage of another Christmas. It’s heritage now resplendent in the first hours of the commencement of a new day soon to come to pass.
Somehow it didn’t feel like Christmas? He sat by himself in the recliner staring forth at the warm glow that the multi-colored filaments cast from their spiral wrap about the figment of the imagination called a tree. The old familiar prints lay silent and immobile upon the wall ahead in the dimness. The inside of each of their frameworks suggesting something familiar and recognizable. A cast of unrevealed characters resting below them on the deep shelf just below where a forest of pictures and artifacts played hide and seek with the eye. He nodded to himself ensconced in the hum from the two decade old refrigerator working hard in the apartment’s small kitchen. The silence recused further by the infernal pedantic precision of the old pendulum swinging wall clock. A small knock from the larger presence of the two and then the timepiece had won the battle and he could only hear it and himself. What was there to worry about? Though it was hard to conceive of it his child had outlasted many an adult? Another distant family member had just bit the dust the week before. And he was a decade and a half younger! Health in its most relative of forms was his curse. Sure there were plenty of small annoying conditions pasted upon his physical being like a collage. But their sum total was still inconsequential. In any case the prospect of his own demise was not what concerned him. The immersion into a growing abyss of loneliness did.
It appeared that while he might have broken a heart or two along the way he had more generally disappoint many more. So much so that his mailbox had dwindled down to an occasional recipient of holiday cheering. His lack of prosperity certainly not inspiring much interest in the female of the species. His few male friends having departed long ago into marriages, children and their own heart attacks. Not many cared to recall his name these days even with the prodding of the holiday season in full swing. So many dim faces bubbled up into his consciousness these days that bid him recall their names. One mystery mentally solved dragging up another visage along with a brief silent scenario of their association long past. The chimes out of sight to the left sounding a ringing three in their singular carillon toppling this interlocking lacy pyramid back into his dense skull. The resultant impotence of absolute silence once again stirred by the pendulum’s measured click. The muffled hum of occasional distant traffic far outside rising for a moment and then driving off leaving him to the empty amphitheater of his thoughts. Aside from the colorful light displays one might have thought it as being as dully resplendent as any other night. His head now self-consciously scanning the ribbon of the horizon outside that his reclining posture on the chair allowed. Nothing but the same old pinpricks of far off twinkling man made light.
The child within him opening his heart to detect what unfathomable presences might be in near proximity beyond the scattered prospects that his eyes registered in surround. Nothing? The sketchy events of the day prior being the only in resolve of his internal visual screen. The failing light of the Winter Sun approaching it apses as he walked in the cold air upon the sidewalk down the seemingly inexhaustible row of mid century ranch houses. One out of three attempting some acknowledgement of the season upon the front lawn or the front window. The whoosh of heat pouring forth suddenly like the spillway of a miniature Grand Coulee dam. There was so much to distract one when the physical body had been stirred from sleep! Unconsciously his fist closed and the tightness that its internal tendons woke him to the fact of their equally dismaying presence. The fine shadows of striations upon his aging skin on the back of the hand and wrist only softening but not fully going away. It was curious but he didn’t feel that old? His gait though not a match for those youngsters of barely twenty still maintaining its own internal peppy clockwork precision. Surely whatever fate was waiting for him as that right leaning bookend shoring up the continuing volumes of daily minutia that made up existence had not come to an end. One might be signaled at least in some prophetic Hollywood fashion by glimpses of a glowing or a holiday sprite if it was?
One again the tiny cat’s claw of his conscious mind scratched lazily at the question of the purpose of his own personal experience of existence. As a recent infant brought to some degree of sentience he had rued the passing of his two progenitor’s one day thinking that he must surely pass on before them. What did he know of such things then beyond a vague broadcast notion of instantaneous cartoon finality? Life seemed an impossible circumstance without them? Now sitting on the other side of the mountain he considered that the crowds of humanity that had intervened along his way had only caused him to be glad that the bulk of them had tread off to their own sense of mortal fate and not dragged him along with them. He bore no grudges that came quickly to mind. The long absence from such daily felicities had softened whatever past frictions that might at a former time been naggingly apparent. Peace on earth and good will to all men! His own unspoken suddenly chimed. The resultant silence that this comment expecting to summon within his thoughts instantly shattered by the external growl on an anonymous V8 growling noisily and grumbling loudly off into the hush of night. His eyes raised them self up to the ceiling but with no apparent desire to signify any evidence of broken respite. The world had so long ago descended into an annoying place that he rarely had to e energy to pay it too much mind. All his own accomplishments along the way having reciprocally been simply as trivial to the outside world’s regard as this unexpected distraction. A pop of a bubble recklessly loosed in a tub of warm soapy water.
Somewhere he fathomed there surely was another that was calling his presence to them? Maybe more than one? The habit of a long irrepressible pipe dream stating that for everyone there would one day be someone. The many potentially possible ‘someone’s’ of his long past by this point safely taking on a cinematic dimension that was indeed safer than the human sort. All plots being theoretically a sequel to the initial ones they served the fancies that would suit the audience as part of the bargain of a continued interest in the next one. What did his ancestors do before such things existed? Count the wizened skulls of long past ancestors tossed about in shadowed corners by a fire lit smokey cave? Such musings leading one back to the static credos of Platonic gospel that stated one could never break their own chains to see more than these shadows. What then was human existence but a play of passing light and shadow upon an uneasy screen? That imitation tree festooned by the many aged family artifacts pretending to recall past joviality a dismal failure. What could be recovered from the ubiquity of the present that could be of utility to one’s unmet desires? You could after all be asleep in so many ways only to wake up to late to the glaring fact of it! the problem was that how could one tell? His head turning slightly as another growling engine just outside again making its escape into the night. The last of the Christmas crowd in his building was making its final farewells and speeding off back to their own abodes.
Another low deep throated startling rumble suddenly deposing this notion. No evidence of earthquake or explosion rocking his habitation bringing him to the conclusion that another plane load of late arrivals was ascending to destinations unknown. What then of him. He was his own Plymouth rock still awaiting a Pilgrim. Some ceremonious delegation long expected upon his shore but found to be running a bit later than he could ever have conceived? The need for positives rattling off such sentiments rather than accept a more lagging conclusion. He felt his neck crackling slightly as he shifted about in his chair. The weariness of the hour was placing its claim upon him. That was the wonder of this thing called consciousness? One never knew if they were the dream or the dreamer? An idle thought indecipherable from one more long-winded supposing gravitas. Which was the more potent version suggesting the most accurate view of things? The body after all had the last word both by its infernal animal impatience and its eventual proclivity to final decline and unavoidable termination. A tough act to attempt to follow with one’s storehouse of accumulated disappointments and exasperation’s. The tree still sat there with its colorful display of pin points setting their glow upon the old familiar shapes in picture frames suggesting old familiar faces upon the wall. The artifacts below them unmoved by the transitory nature of thought in its affinity with a passing thunderstorm. Another holiday would pass and lead of the continued banality of the necessity of everyday concerns mapped out over another coming year. Fate in the end having the say as to when this repeating cycle would come to its ultimate conclusion. Something that the man was already familiar with and in a similar manner continue to come to know. It would be a touch act to follow.
Here I lay in this rumpled bed in the midst of dark unknown like four-hundred million plus little known dots littered across the landscape. My only wish is to not have my final curtain call be despoiled and deemed a failure. For I have burned out it seems like an old light bulb. Something that is inevitable after all considering that humanity is merely a tik and a tok of a swinging arm. One that though seeming tireless must come to a standstill in the end. It is the nature of the universe to give and then take away.
It is safe to speak when there is no one about to hear the different fallacies that one holds onto with dear life. Those things that forgive but never explain. Those things that elucidate but never tempt fate. Yes!, I could have been somebody! But for whom? For that rambling current known as society? Would I be any better off forgotten after my heyday than any other luminary that had been used as a mortal cross to be worshiped for a while and then discarded within a dusty basement. Ah yes, it’s better to lay here amidst the shrouds of tomorrow as they descend from the air so graciously in a billowy chlorine bleached fantasy. One of perfection in clean houses that are a simply matter of a single digit upon a single digit upon the lever of a spray bottle. What else can one hope for? What else can one desire but perfection? Perfection and eternity! However, check with the man upstairs before turning in your over coat ticket to make sure that the proper is doled out in an appropriate fashion.
Believers! What do believe in beyond belief itself? A notion that forms and elite in your imagination. One that you belong to. And perhaps, no one else. A set of preconceived notions? No doubt! Something to act as a bulwark against chaos? Of varied experiences that will surely come to be. How destabilizing to be at the vagaries of other fellow human beings. In the belly of the beast being bustled about. Thinking some how that your diligence and industry is getting you somewhere. When in fact you are the bottom feeder. The dejected class. The group in an affinity that spread like wheat paste is spread thin upon walls papered over with foolish notions. The legacy of the fathers and the sweet harmony of the best wishes of one’s mother all cemented together. All to what end? To what purpose beyond eventual and ultimate futility in a rhythm and rhyme of continued banal fantasy.
A mystery of male and female. The uterus is a house where many times no one is at home. And the fascination of the male seems forever put up to docking at that door. Most time to hear a hollow sound. And to come with the bright idea that his seed alone can fill it. When in reality there are many room storehouse many men’s seed. All to bring out another, possibly, like one’s self. Possibly a male? Or, possibly a female! There is no third party. It is only a delusion of society that can create other genders and try to make them stick. What a worthless useless strange game of let’s see what I can get away with this week! Powerless men seem to want to squeeze and poke and grab. To spread and push and penetrate! But what will they find at the end of the day but a flabbier more fearful sense of themselves. Stalwart, perhaps? Yet ever needy and demanding. “Be careful young man of whom you choose!” For you might get someone as perverse as yourself. And then what? The most immediate mystery of the dual nature of the biped. Who is right and who is wrong? And how can it ever be solved or patched up? That is an ongoing dilemma.
The dullness in the left section of his thorax was slowly subsiding. It had manifested itself suddenly as he had shifted about beneath the covers in the old decor of the apartment’s solitary master bedroom. The bulk of his aging frame now on its side with a hand sticking out in the cold like an exposed turkey leg. The digital display on the clock radio glared back at the surrounding darkness. All that he could glean from the narcotic prose left from this last bout with fitful slumber was that his character was derived from strong European peasant stock. What that had to do with the other remnant that his conscious mind could illuminate was that there must be a reason that he had preferred to quietly descend to the basement steps down to that dank spare room set up with furniture even more out of date than that of the gaudy era that predominated above. He caught the notion that he still had a living relative inhabiting above. But he couldn’t be sure as he still seemed to have one foot in his dream as he made for a second shifting of his bulk one hundred and eighty degrees the other way back under the warm safety of the covers. The sound of mechanically driven air coursing non-stop from the vent above the door impotently suggesting the presence of heat. The last of the fading visions upon that fuzzy panorama of his mind being that the door was locked to the next subterranean chamber. A fact that seemed pertinent as there seemed to be a chorus of distant voices threatening to disclose him from just beyond.
The bag of old organs within his rib cage had normalized and the pain had subsided into the excuse of passing indigestion over that of an impending heart attack from the bachelor combination of food items that had served as sustenance the previous day. From where he was figuratively sitting now in the prone position Christmas was only three days hence. Three days in which another empty space of waking hours would weight heavily upon him and leave him to ponder as on every holiday what served in his own case as the joyous memories of the past. That time when there were such things as Christmas dinners of roast turkey and bread stuffing with butter and brown sugar ridden candy apple yams and cranberry sauce served magically by other loving hands. Something that had died out over the last decade as his family died out and his friends all lost touch. The stillness of the room caught his attention as the only sound was from the pressure of his tinnitus. The heater having subsided as he was busily sampling his muse. Much like in childhood he felt as if he was waiting for the event to arrive over the intervening days and hours so that he could actively do something about it. Much like some ancient navigator of the past rounding a reef lost somewhere on the other side of the planet he was anxious to return to the deeper waters of his own present endless ocean of misspent time. The pit of his stomach seemed reluctant to forage forth from this last impression of the holiday dinner steaming before his mind’s eye on the imaginary table.
Wearily he dragged himself up to the dark tiled closet sized bathroom to hover above the porcelain throne and milk his reluctant bladder of its nightly pressure. How like sex for old people this all too frequent ritual had become. It was still hard for him to consider himself as old despite the fact of a burgeoning hernia that displaced his lower torso and the rapidly fading focus of one of his eyes. Other aches and pains aside, he still felt himself reasonably mobile as the chronic lower back pains still responded favorably to just sitting up straight and not slouching. Some day he would get around to those daily sit-ups! In the meantime he dried himself off with a scrap of tissue and flushed it down running the water briefly over his hands to purify them so as not to spread his germs. An electric blue pinpoint blinking in the distance catching his eye as he turned into his lounge to the chair before the picture window. The happenstance of another soul caught lonely before the ignominy of lawless transgression. This sterile emotionless era insuring that no one would be let off with a warning in light of the coming holiday and its spirit of cheering on the finer sentiments of the season. The motion of worship being a completely secular affair. The old recliner creaked carefully as he settled into it so as not to provide that same degree of unwary strain of his misapplied weight that had broken the other one which he had discarded the year before. It didn’t seem that he was fat for his age? Certainly not the muffin top ridden aging male of the sort whose excess flesh was draped over bar stools skidding about the dimness of the establishment down the street. His age class were by now slowed down versions of perpetually persistent thinkers who still could conceive of themselves caught up in the mental hangover of youth. The flashing light had gone away leaving the space just another repetitive portion of the empty portrait of street lamp lit night.
He creaked back slowly into the chair;s furthest setting his head tilted in a manner to catch sight of the static play of light and shadow on the ceiling. The thoughts of that empty holiday’s necessary scheduling coming back into his mind’s eye focus. Late morning on Christmas Day would be brunch with an equally dispossessed old crony for an hour or two. The early morning would be the best time to conjure the elements of the day into a belly filling feast so it would be warming in the oven by the time he returned. This year he would bake a bird! He had avoided the task of cooking for the holiday right up to those few years just before the sufferance of a general decline in holiday spirit that his father’s August passing earlier that year had wrought. The notion of a full spread of cooking a complete turkey and the accompanying items seemed a bit Baroque but could be justified in the old tradition of a number of subsequent days of leftovers. He could palpably feel his hands chopping slippery cold giblets in preparation for immersion of the mush of egg and bread with onion and celery in the family artifact of a big red nineteen-fifties colored glass mixing bowl. The sensation of smells along with tastes like face cards interleaved amidst the different suits in dealing a next hand of poker. Perhaps a whole turkey was a bit too ambitious for service to a solitary diner? But then the customary ritual would be truncated in a manner that would sully the collective experience of the final sense of enjoyment? The turkey was after all the key element! And of course the compliment of the cranberry sauce the can;s of which he couldn’t allow himself to forget. Had some famous nineteenth century author updated his tale of pathetic holiday leanings this scenario might have given some special status as fit inspiration. It was a feat in anticipation of reviving something long lost and irretrievable. But perhaps, he thought the completion of another form of rite of passage as well. The solitary adventurer within him would not at this last moment shy away from another lonely reef far away from anything currently familiar.
The only concern that haunted him was that in this commercially miserly minded era would a turkey be available at this late date? The notion of having to order anything considered out of season by marketing standards a potential monkey wrench in his plans. What if there were no whole turkeys to be had? Then what? The notion crippled the reciprocating recollection cycling in his mind. Was this some unreasonable folly to considered in speculating so demonstrably upon planning a reunion of sorts with his own former era of past existence? His mouth seemed a bit wetter with all these thoughts. There was something tribal about all this almost to the point of a superstition. A feast obviously not only for himself. But as a vehicle to summon long bygone souls from an errant sense of better time past. Would those old scents and flavors however imperfectly reborn send him into a momentary ecstatic state of former homecoming? It was easy to be cynical and toss the whole thing off as some whim of unimportant nonsense. A capricious folly that would at best only yield the benefit of work for otherwise idle hands. Something that several alcoholic drinks worth of self-indulgence might just as easily functionally accomplish. The meal might fill his belly but would it serve to reestablish that lasting gap in his soul? Could he be sure that he would discover an even greater emptiness before a dining table too large overfilled with food that he could not possibly consume in that sitting. It growing equally cold in his stomach as the rest of it waited for guests that could no longer arrive? The angst of those other occasions where a party was expected but no one showed up. That sense of resentful bitterness deeply felt in the pit of his stomach spoiling everything. Would this demonstrative fantasy be enough to simply close one’s eyes and deny the truth of the existential misery of aged solitude. A passing train whistle sang out its lonely wail distracting him. Might it have been some mechanical buoy left by unseen forces to warn him off from this unexpected shoal of doubt. The other factor governing his madness now clearly upon his mind like the settling of a white linen table cloth frozen frame by frame descending airily from heaven. At this point given the situation he had absolutely nothing left to lose.
The question as it had been vociferously posed over the beginning decades of the twenty-first century had been how can we help people? This was posed by those whose privileged existence in the great empire of the West had come to realize that their greatest adversary in future existence might not come from some form of advanced technological menace but the numerical advantage of foes that in a pluralistic society might pose an unstoppable flow of humanity that could overwhelm any of the most deviously destructive technologies designed to annihilate them. General humanities’ taste for slaughter had by that time after two major world wide conflicts been dulled by the conflicting agenda of de-evolving the mob’s animal instincts towards violence. The conundrum of agendas by the unseen pinpoint governing at the top of the hegemony in their quest to maintain control while grasping for ever further more effective ways of indoctrinating the masses into the corollary of the character and consciousness of dumbed down animals becoming problematic. The adoption of the communal mindset of the ideology of Socialism that had evolved from the more direct Draconian methodologies of Communism as it had played out in planned extinction of troublesome strata’s of society could only promise to bring so many so far. Psychology and the appearance of Science that it presented becoming an integral component in dissolving the age old dogmas of thousands of years previous. But the unintended consequences of a financial system based upon the decadence of conspicuous consumption had proven to be too popular an aphrodisiac in instilling the hunger by these same masses for ever new forms of trinkets and indulgences that tended to spoil their useful capacities for exploitation as resources.
The competing levels of diplomacy’s that had formed a contraposed balance of what appeared to be contradictory ideologies but in fact were arms on the same idol spurring on rates of procreation that surpassed the ability to eliminate them through regional conflicts. The business of the manufacture and distribution of arms being a mainline staple that along with the integrated credit based system of international usury had worked well. Yet the human element had once again shifted the course of what had been expected in an unexpected direction. The collection plate of a charity come as a hangover of emotions from the postwar era had spilled over so much that uncontrollable numbers of uncultured masses from the more uncivilized corners of the planet had risen progressionally. A challenge to the ongoing efforts to centralize and contain. The combination of unchecked numbers from ethnic populations of superstitious highly charged animal emotion driven mentalities threatening the neccessary sense of order demanded to insure this new Utopia.
Consequently the complex interlocking stratum of indoctrination was forced to serve yet another core message that conflicted with one that had seemed before to have been effective in avoiding unexpected upheavals by the potential rise of rival groups. The notion of keeping the parrot’s cage covered from possibly distracting popular notions had backfired with the introduction of the Internet. The unforeseen levels of access that occurred as a result throwing many of the longstanding well-planned agendas into a tumult. Fictions of absolute equality of all members of the species that had been safely instilled before the ease of communication had been revolutionalized now too volatile as a universal planet wide expectation had cropped up unexpectedly. As a result a new focus had to be subtly introduced. One that would support the narrative of a well-administered civil society as imagined by those placed high and out of sight of the common citizens. One that would also foster a sense of impending disaster to bind together unrestricted collective effort without the aggravation of an attachment to rational thought. Something that could equally harness a sense of daily despair and an irrational persistent hopefulness from those both cynical and complacent. A useful universal sense of Armageddon.
The current generation of useful idiots intellectually corralled in the mental playground with their schemes of altruistic rationalism unable to grasp the big picture but muddying the waters none the less. Those raised in professional existences demanding the training wheels of statistical facts and figures but never grasping the Kabuki behind their creation and the subsequent illusion that they were designed to convey. The lid of the ‘box’ was still being jostled by other thinkers that found spontaneous careers in opening the topic in such a dangerous way to categorically expose the entire fraud. A push pull tug of war that inferred that all these answers might not in fact be valid! Opposing terminologies were gerrymandering expected meanings that derailed the desired universal Ongoing programs that were falsely considered as unequivocally beneficial to humanity being in fact exercises in eliminating the same. The example of independent thought had to be headed off before it might threaten to topple their well-enfranchised pyramid. Something feared but a chaos that unfortunately had come to fruition.
The solution that had been arrived at being a mass hysterical flight of fantasy promising a transfer of humanity to another distant planet. Something that would infer an equality of outcome but would deliver a form of insurance to its most influential elites. The third generation of professional ‘do-gooders’ who had been blinded by their own relative degree of privilege to allow on more than the lifeboat could handle having to rationalize their expectations by the fact of the impossibility of the task. The ruse then suggesting that sanity would eventually propose survival of a well-educated few as a palatable solution to the destruction of the many and the subsequent destruction of the entire species. The game had to be reconfigured by instilling the magic of impossible hopes as the most avatar of every single human being on the planet.
How convenient to convince through art propositions that were merely the fictions of a devious mind?
History as it is taught is a fiction that serves society by providing a stable platform for ideas conducive to furthering the goals of those that are charged with imagining its future. Some elements are factual as they are based upon monuments and narratives that having been agreeably deciphered in both literal and figurative meanings are incontrovertible in terms of their universally understandable message. The massive pictograph of Ramses II on the pylons of Karnak as a message demonstrate both policy and goals of the hierarchy of Egypt in force some four thousand years ago. The current age focused upon the world empire may be more complex as it works through many allied mediums but the underlying collective message is equally loud and clear. Men and their associations that inspire a spirit of individuality and the possibility of competitiveness are on the way out! The presupposition behind this being that the traditional family structure based upon extended generations is somehow a divisive destructive force that is an impediment to the notion of a Utopian hegemony that wishes to refashion a world society that values consensus and homogeneity. One that cannot tolerate individual motives or goals as that might interrupt a community that values universal inclusiveness based upon possible utility to the running of the state as a whole. Some have referred to such a system in the past as Communism and in more recent times as Socialism but in terms of the actual issue of human potential is a well-tested form of enslavement.
The history of competing empires that encompasses that ability to colonize the New World of the Western Hemisphere five hundred years previously using available human resources as fodder can be easily characterized as an exercise in a mass form collateral damage to gain a large expansive unilateral sense of empire based upon world commerce. The polyphony of cultural traditions from hundreds of separate cultures being weeded out to support a more unencumbered unified mode of consumer based existence. One where the social compact with individual humanity is ultimately one of a voluntary subsistence based mentality by the same. The time honored carrot and stick based political dramas that have been enacted since the last century speak more of a behind the scenes extravagant level of singular orchestration in service of this goal. A powerful elite slowly gaining title to all land and daily work product as well as offspring in both a regulatory and moral sense. Self-monitoring financially convertible units that can be traded on an international market exchange to provide resources to the benefit of an unseen hegemony that controls their outlook from cradle to grave. A perfect form of animal husbanding that is based upon breeding out all undesirable characteristics that might challenge this world order. The most effective means of exerting this agenda being to control the mentality of the female in terms of reproduction.
It is interesting that despite the willful inaccuracies of recorded history over thousands of years that are designed to benefit the victors human nature has been persistently troublesome in terms of behavior by males and females in terms of the two prime directives of survival and procreation. The modern age of entertainment media up to the end of the last century has made much of this in characterizing it as fatal or impossible love. This new millennia has radicalized the expression of same in heavily interjecting the notion of dynamics race, gender and exploitation suggesting that which was once considered as normal and desirable is male tyranny. The lessons come of implementing totalitarian measures in the three great Socialist experiments of the last century that resulted in the instituting of state policies of impoverishment over billions leading to the genocide of hundreds of millions has highly evolved the age old Machiavellian strategy of instituting a group based consciousness where factions can be set up in perpetual opposition to each other and thus easily manipulated. How easy is it to play upon the individual fears of what has been characterized as the ‘weaker sex‘ by insisting that some form of insidious underlying agenda of enslavement is inherent in the biological mating with their opposite! To direct the general discussion of society towards notions of total equality and then suggest that any differences are not irreconcilable between them as a matter of an intangible undefinable interchange but stipulate that is simply bad programming. To erase differences between individuals being a matter of customary inclusion where the most dominant institutionally prevalent world view unconsciously persuades based upon a false sense of value based notions of success.
Myths and ancient tales from the many cultures forcefully included within larger political exercises in military power to gain resources and treasure reworked to serve a unified distortion that proffers the illusion of individual freedom through decadent excess of encouraging solipsistic solitary pastimes of engagement.Worlds of simulation and repetitive cycles of feast and the threat of famine occupying the masses and keeping them attentive to the whims of elites directing them from positions of safety ensconced in total anonymity. Women who see sexual adventurism with many partners, both male and female, as a normal part of exploring their power. Males locked into a childish mentality of deferring to the authority of a mother in absence of direction from a mentally stable father figure. A society where the standard division of labor is determined by demographics and quotas as determined by the politics of the moment and not the efficient forward thinking benefits to both sexes as a whole. A tyranny daily enacted at ground level by those that are the ones ground down by it. The notion of freedom of expressing inconvenient ideas in public or private as patently intolerable to the whole isolating everyone and stripping them from any possibility of suggesting an alternative consensus. And the keystone over which the fulcrum is placed to topple the past being the false of idol of Feminism. Women forever being the most vulnerable to danger not merely by the inherent disparity in physicality with their mates but by an equal propensity to choose security over fidelity in always running to the side of the strongest so as to vouchsafe their future security. The dominant most powerful very Transexual ‘male’ in this case being the hegemony of the corporate controlled state.
Perhaps, the forgotten cultures of the past whose existence resides only in persistent myths hero’s being thwarted from immortality and morality by way of the insidiousness of the female in this regard speak just as loudly today as they did to the now extinct culture that they reference. To remove the delicate balance wrought over eons by biology cannot be functionally replaced by the creation of a mechanical species sporting the notion of absolute reliability as the call to the implementation of artificial Intelligence suggests. To create an Eden where the serpent turns the female into an agent of his own agenda is of course not a new tale. Knowledge that resides outside immediate experience is authority that must be ever suspect in terms of its veracity and possible underlying hidden aims. To stop the longstanding farce of millennium of the human race being ever susceptible to its own weaknesses and proven int he time honored sense to be fools tripped up by their own vanities will lead to the total meltdown and destruction of another iteration of society as it has time and again. The elite’s rise from the ashes like their well-publicized Phoenix birds will continue uninterrupted as it has so many times in the past unless a constituent number of the sexes recover their wits and aggressively bring this perpetual cycle of deceit to a conclusion by taking back control of their outlooks on life. The hopefulness of society of that cinematic conjuring of the elusive promise within the myth of Camelot that died with the murder of the current empires young king needs to be reinvigorated again or all the remnants of it still remaining with be totally lost.