“I got a job north of the river by the center of the city. But to get there I had to walk through a bad neighborhood on foot and so I carried a pistol in my back pocket. But I knew, even within this dream that if I got caught with it I would be in store for some big fines and maybe even incarceration. Yet I had to go to work at what turned out to be a public K12 school. When I got there I found some clear plastic bags in a stack that served to partially obscure the pistol after I had wrapped it up. Nervous, I hid it on a small shelf under the desk for a while but then transferred it to the back of a computer. I subsequently found a discard box and put the bundle inside taping the whole thing up. My newly met compatriot of the time and I, all the time having a discussion across the room. She busily preparing a chart for the class she would soon be off to. Somewhat later at recess, going back outside to take in the presence o a little squirrel that was a community pet. The squirrel jumping upon my shoulder at the point I was just going back inside again. Tolerant of the creatures’ antics as it twisted about upon me as its perch I went about my business meeting another new associate in the hall. The squirrel then jumping to his shoulder.”
The dead are risen once again. Come back from the underworld of dreams. Nightmares of inhuman proportions foisted upon humanity at large. The promise of destruction once again. Plague versus famine a slow drawn out affair. If not established in fact then by different degrees of a centralized ruling elite who fashions the world it supervises into a social panopticon. An all seeing eye connected to the threat of a pair of boots that are their to stop on all humanity forever. A terminally persistent parasite that claims a longstanding pedigree that has projected its curse into a way of life. One that has convinced all others of a dark paradise where their place is to superficially assist this rule in Hell as honorary captains. This is the fodder raked over in waking that must be managed in the fitful intervals of night.
Yes, there are a lot of frightening things in this world! And part of the task of being assured that you are not going to lose your mind by becoming terminally depressed is to attempt to sort truth from the tissue based construction of politically useful fantasies. A task that is pretty damn hard to accomplish these days because the uni-polar sense of civilization in rule by a hegemony of mega-corporate multinational barons collectively rule by the consent of longstanding dynasties of the past. Artificial organs of various societies across the planet that have persisted over the many millennia of history that has been revealed to the masses both true and false. The latest assemblages of the same seeming to be conspiring at a murderous pace over the last hundred or more years to strip those that they rule of those God given rights of an independent form of existence. Top heavy cartels that have found their way into the public sphere through motivating by fear to encourage the dismembering of everyday existence into raw nerve based guilt counterpoised with dutifully repressed animal fury. The result being that nightmare are not an unfamiliar part of ones life. Constant acts of manufactured psychic violence perpetrated upon all. In the author’s case . . . ? The evidence of this stated mindset making things clear. Paranoia some say! But then they tell your to go back to bed and continue to dream away your waking realities. A dismal sort of proposition leaving one with a dismal sort of weariness in the face of that which one dares not admit being also terrible. But one cannot escape it! No hope beyond eventual sadness and trauma come of the statistical approach to creating the latest all new and improved iteration of the perfect worker’s paradise.
Walk into any commercial gathering spot and one is likely to be under siege of Third World jibber jabber infecting all its public space. Mind dulling underclass ramblings barely resembling art beyond the loose reference of a continuously trite beat. Repetitive rhythm vouchsafing its political correct legitimacy standing in for a semblance of something referred to as music.The main feature being endless repetition driving a spike into one’s conscious mind. Preparation for rot of any independent impulse from those unfortunate enough to be in earshot. The cheap wallpaper of thinly veiled machination of the totalitarian mentality. Destroy by implanting negative dogma into freshly tilled minds. Multicultural diversity only serving to dissolve by demoting personal experience of life into approximations of the same as convenient demographics to exploit for profit and gain. The pneumatic’s of technology ever vigilant to police language electronically by robotic intrusion. Guilt by association of terms of speech interpreted according to the latest agenda. A rhapsody in the ever-present reign of a universal prison mentality. The notion of a Chinese prison guard walking from his workplace back into a larger prison of his society. The slippery slope identity of the male now spray coated with the notion of the dominance of the female. Dangerous because all the meanest and most unruly of the real prisoners are likely to escape to be empowered as the rightful inheritors of contemporary society. The job of keeping them safely rounded up to those singled out as the most egregious irritants to this whole process. The one’s now most likely to take the rap if those others institutionally irresponsible make an escape. To which scenario betwixt day and night am I waking up to?