Late Passings, A Side Door To Immortality Or More Preferably Lasting Oblivion

On the approach of the eighth anniversary of his late father’s passing from the familiar realm of the everyday material and irrevocably off into the unknown, a strange yet less than startling dreams occupied his time. So vivid and visceral in impression that he became convinced that he was wearing an old pair of light cotton lounging trousers. So assured was he that he swore that he could clearly see their dark blue on light plaid pattern! An accompanying degree of embarrassment when he subsequently approached his own closet in daylight hours much later to find this same pair upon a hanger completely undisturbed,

The portion of the dream that had left the strongest impression on him had him tailing a small party of some six or seven upper middle class individuals. A smartly dressed set who were wholly occupied with remaining together as a fast traveling group while quickly entering a side door of a theater. A moment’s hesitation on his own part passing quickly, easily dispelled by simply just falling into step behind the last of their party. The lure of walking into another more modern version of a nineteen-fifties chrome and wood grain Formica decor being too attractive a proposition for his first impulse to pass up. The shiny brass easels located about the lobby holding up placards announcing the coming attraction of many former classic movie productions of the past suggesting to him that he might had somehow traveled back into a once well-recalled former era?

The party that he was chasing to keep up with to safely stay incognito diverting his attention back to that task. He was convinced that whatever auditorium he might be led into would have a selection that he had previously seen before. But the adventure of his impromptu travel was to solve the mystery of where the small expedition would eventually end up. A sort of personal anthropological exercise to find out a little more about a class of people that he might have formerly had interest in that he himself might have had some inclination to have wanted to join. What then was the keynote element behind their ease in ever obtaining success and his own bumpkin-like status of missing it’s mark?

Quite curiously, his biggest concern being that one of the group at that point of them all reaching their ultimate destination might ferret him out by the fact of his wearing those blue lounging trousers? The notion that his momentary concern with this element of his appearance was in itself a ‘tell‘ directed at revealing his unearthly status than the artifact itself. How odd that this detail remained in mind for the balance of the day long after waking. Existence in general seemed to be taking on a number of extraordinary cues as of late that one could reliably accept were prescient of imminent future events. An experience not too different than that a detective embroiled in some random theatrical mystery drama might also enjoy. The primary thought in his mind being what was driving the combination of these mini-episodes and to what ultimate purpose? Was this a test in fully exploring the full capabilities of his own latent intuition? Or some acknowledgement of the identity of the universe that had previously birthed him now revealing its own existence in March hare fashion? “How odd?“, he found himself repeatedly reciting to himself aloud.

So much about his own smaller surrounding universe was as well? The picture puzzle fit of the constant interaction of his fellow travelers in the larger tribe of humanity for instance. How odd that one could not reconcile within themselves a close fraternization with certain types without soon becoming uncomfortable, or even annoyed? The major social engines of normalization that impacted large segments of humanity as with those previous years of local public school attendance or the barracks centered life of a short stretch serving in the military not truly affecting one’s old natural preference. There was a certain kind of person that he liked and a particular type of female that he could quickly become attracted to, or even fall in love with. How could it truly be explained beyond the same old tired trite often repeated excuses? These cliches could not explain why the particular parts of a given female might send him into the frenzy of desire while a vaguely similar configuration transposed on another chassis might summon scorn or derision? Or maybe even a sense of horror!

Yet here he supposedly was in an ethereal situation, bucking the system while trying to seamlessly infiltrate another remote strata of human society just for the Hell of it! Not really having anything lasting to gain from the experience save for realizing that he had come to the party inappropriately dressed? “How odd?“, he mouthed to himself again, indeed! This interlocking enigma of existentialism in the formal sense of implicit boundary versus taking the chance to enjoy further freedom. But only at a cost! Risking discovery and embarrassment from the threat of humiliation that like an inflexible penalty would surely ensue. Something as inevitable as the over-dramatized influence of civil or criminal statutes that if you were caught would demote you to a perpetually damaged status in the figurative ‘eyes of society’. Yet in the waking world of modern urban existence, these chances had to be faced everyday with the hope of proverbially getting ahead?

The fact of noting upon waking that the leggings that had been so clearly noticeably familiar turned out to be a set of sweat pants a vicarious slightly disturbing realization of the close affinity of the two closely adjacent realms of dreams and waking life. One wondered with the fact of such realizations, was it possible to circumvent them by using this awareness to discover a ‘side door‘ to some yet undiscovered realm? And then, would one have the chutzpah to attempt it? Would one get caught up in the vagaries of some Jules Verne type of saga drilling down their progress in the direction of the center of the earth only to be spit out unceremoniously back where they originally started from? It sounded to him a lot like that enigma that most people tagged with the word Karma. A cosmic pinball machine where he like other equivalent players were forced to enjoy the status of a shiny steel ball routinely put through it’s paces in an active energetic environment. But equally incapable of escaping that particular game.

Was the limit of his own imagination and his capacity to recall some of its machinations the fundamental contributing factors to the operation of the game that he found himself daily immersed within? All these damn questions stifling experience! Robbing it of any chance of enjoying the unexpected. Soon it would be time to go to sleep. And then to surrender again the the possibility of another scenario that at face value would make little if any sense. Time was getting late and he was getting tired. The bed cover pulled back exposing rumpled linen that had not been dealt with for weeks. He climbed in and set his head high up upon the mountain of pillows pulling the flap of over-layered sheet and cover back over him like a sailboat’s hatch. A toss and seconds later a turn and a twist or two and nothing but random thoughts and postulations running over the rocks of his conscious mind. Sleep an elusive proposition as it had been for some weeks now.

The dreams such as they might possibly be still a spectral pinata swinging incrementally overhead just out of reach. Funny how one’s bones could ache from little pains rising to the surface here and there. Time at a standstill for what seemed like hours on end and still no sleep unsettled by the raging tide of incessant thoughts. One could rarely if ever summon that point when the transition was made into that formless undefined space where the residuals of your past existence actively lurk. It was only at the point of or after that one really had any true awareness that this realm had no earthly gravity. The scene was set somewhere filled with characters from someplace. In the dim light of some older rooms his father stood silent somewhat aware of his presence but not stepping forward or offering any special recognition. Whatever drama that was going on seemed not to involve either of them. They were both there simply standing in place waiting to find out what their part was in this scenario, if any? The overwhelming hues of blue overpowering everything.

It was morning again. A rude awakening. The light coming from outside stating that it was too much earlier than what he would have wished for. The blankets urgently tossed off and his legs rolling up in an arc landing in haste upon the dirty carpet beside the bed. That annoying need to visit toilet in his bathroom the most reliable of alarm clocks. How disappointing to find that the growing incapacity of his internals had transgressed his own personal definition from youthful immortality into the slow rot of that all too mortal waiting room of progressively incremental dissipation known as old age. Eight years closer to his father’s final age with eighteen more to travel if he made it that far? That sonorous violin prone melody of life had descended to the sound of mosquitoes buzzing randomly about. Life had accompanied it into a simple waiting game of day to day monotonous existence. The big tasks to be performed in life had been left behind in the dust some where?

The most monumental personage of his past no longer bothered to treat their latest most significant anniversaries with former respect. Showing up alright, but unmotivated to even bother to offer a word. A dusty road alright. But then nothing in current existence could vindicate that anything within his total existence had been right to begin with. The circumstances as of yet unexplained of why he was made to become ‘he‘ and what mortal purpose could there be in collecting persistent memories of somewhat meaningless events diminished by the slow progression of time that collectively served as the key to the mystery of his real identity. Just who the fuck was he anyway? As a kid he seemed to drift towards the persona of an immortal god-like status. One that was here visiting under the guise of an assumed name that the two actors playing his parents had agreed to name him. How could it be that the elemental playthings like emotions and intuition could so easily be overturned in the larger scheme of things to return him to that crystal clear awareness of insufferable vulnerability defeating his will in every action?

The side door had to be somewhere close his sense of futility suggested. In the thoughts of any younger man such a thought would never occur. It becomes hard at a certain point to tell them apart. Yet in youth there was that overpowering instinct to spawn. The attentions of a female to furiously peck at your neck or about your chin looking for completion of that ritual of essential connection. Something that had long gone cold within him. For a young man the promise of this was too much to leave behind. After all it was the dream of every weak man unsure of himself in daily life to stand exposed in the middle of the street armed to the teeth to take on all those that in long term waking reality he had to kiss the ass of. To win the prize of the devotion of another who would gratefully bear his children, ensure the future of his name, and live happily ever after with in an immeasurable inexhaustible state of perpetual bliss. The same script that all the minions of Hollywood had been passing off as an alternate portal in dark auditoriums everywhere for generations.

What had drawn him to that particular door to follow those anonymous others to begin with? The answer was simple. It was that persistent waking dream that all were indoctrinated with since infancy to believe in. That notion that this society was the only valid experience worth following that would reward some and keep others guessing. The side door it offered being blocked with stone along with those of so many ancient Egyptian tombs and temples. It was the idea of same that was offered and not the actual possibility of finding same. All directions leading back quite expectedly to the same point each morning sufficiently rested and ready to sacrifice another eight to tens hours of living to the communal cause of keeping the rat trap going. His door was his own, not their’s. He would have to try to remember next time to discard expectation and not so easily fall prey to following along.

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The Tragedy Of A Man Who Didn’t Realize That He Hated Women

The thunder storm was fast approaching. Yet, there was no apparent sign of the same? But it had been foretold by Doppler radar over this day’s news scheduled to arrive promptly at six that evening. The topic of the afternoon in the meantime was the proper identification of the stages of the opening of some unknown woman’s cervix. A tiny pate with a baseball sized little brain with a skull fragile an eggshell caught short in its breach. The attitude of stainless steel pincers inserted one by one into the tight sides of the peripheral maw. And the results after a few tugs laid crosswise in salad tong style. Six hours of this tedious narrative reviving every gory detail and then reviewing it for the sake of ceaselessly vouchsafing the Utopian future of every hopeful future generation. The starting point of all humanity being through some version of that hoary little stinky hole in question.

And he with this damnable laptop across his thighs like some overly mouthy unwanted companion holding him down as if a bossy female lover demanding to be saddled upon him up high. A failing will to enforce his own desires now a fading proposition that once had some teeth in it. But now long over since those little recalled bygone days lost in the long ago past. The only bearable means of string and tin can communication afforded to the outside world being through this latest gold standard of corporate technology via a pirated laptop and its accompanying I-Phone parrot that was nested upon the shoulder. A process of mining the wealth of his experience addled mind for mere peanuts. Six hours plus of the electronic transverse of ceaseless petty facts and nagging circular arguments while he was required to piano key tap out a Pavlovian mousey tune. He like any other easy lab rat animal prey caught within poverty’s maze and simply looking for another corn kernel. Struggling to find an eventual way out of his perpetual present tense financial dilemma. The underlying elements of this dilemma centering on a withering usefulness to that inflexible standard of useful relative worth in current society’s eyes.

Being flat broke for months on end never an attractive form of sexy cologne for soliciting random females as a band aid to heal the festering scratch of those big unanswerable questions like why he fucked up his own life in the first place! Other storms that came and went and were forgotten. And here he still was with a roof over his head and a few phone numbers left to call when the shadow of his own emptiness floating in the sky overhead threatened to fall in. That fickle nature of the universe to consistently overturn his logic behind every careless act of the moment. Abstinence and hesitation being the only reliable wolf bane to stave off more unexpected losses. Life being a school of hard knocks based only upon the application of relentless punishment for minor offenses. Women, in general, attractive women, being the highest form of danger. His heart like a moth always seeking their heat to fly towards. The hope of burning bright and brighter, and brighter still with no stopping till the resultant flames engulfed all. And he hated it!

His kind of born sucker arriving fifty-nine seconds earlier than all the rest! A favored plaything of the wrong type of woman that looked to transfer her own pain of the past to the first unlucky chump to show up. He always becoming number one at the top of  that list. What sort of a strange unholy sense of worship had grown up within him over those ensuing years of uninterrupted solitude interceded only by the knife sharpness of irreconcilable romantic affairs? Those twin steel edges from love’s ‘gladius‘ held within expert hands. Each stab instilling both a desire to enslave the offender and then be enslaved. Those Eve Kendall’s of the world traveling by train North by Northwest versus the other types of solitary Maxine’s who were ready to book for some far off show lounge in Texas to mend their perpetually broken hearts. A solid indifference now detected in the midst of absorbing the throws of kneaded mortal flesh despoiling the perfect illusion of the chase with one’s elusive catch too easily now in hand. Only the one’s ever elusive having any chance to tame that eventual restlessness of his to quickly move out and move on! The worse kind of moth whose wings had been burned too many times before to ever be affected again.

The eternal guise of the femme fatale. One that all modern women seem to aspire to live up to frequenting fully stocked store shelves for bargain prices. The goal to emulate that cardboard illusion, downloadable from online movie screens everywhere. Ridiculously trite, but amazingly effective! The faux facade of always wanting to play house ad perpetuum . And yet, there were always those other shadowy phantoms whose dimly illuminated presence long left off and unresolved somewhere back in memory along the way. The ones that sat somewhere along the wrong fork in the road still waiting. The same ones that the angry beast within him fantasized about tearing limb from limb. Or at least shackling naked indefinitely within an Arab tent. An embodiment of the combination of all the dreadfully amassed personal fantasies of his life. The more endurable parts cobbled into a hybrid female form of lasting perfection. Those symphonic aspirations of this muse of a greater love dispelled by the incessant staccato ghetto downbeat that repeated meaningless phrases only suggesting the possibility of perfect love. Who among them could lay a greater claim to the level of desire required for the this impossible form of fulfillment demanding by his definition of ‘affection’? At the end of the day despite this unanswerable impulse, he remained persistently drawn to all of them.

How savage can this general sense of universal repression be, as favored by society, in stilling hands and turning away lips to cut off connections that might cure the parts lacking that exist within all? What sort of natural grace is there to turn incurable angst created by a society demented by an endless quest for securing emotion through pursuing monetized wealth? Those innumerable females since time immemorial that had taken advantage of his incurable awe of their animal power as with other young solitary fools just like him. Flirting to their own advantage in so many ways to suggest a lasting felicity at the price of a ‘few small favors‘. But only to obtain whatever they felt they absolutely ‘needed‘ from the relationship in the moment. A movie from far back in his youth describing this pattern where he would be a protagonist equally as heedless of the real world and any common sense. Those current shallow buried sentiments of cynical distrust now unearthed by too many rotten apples spoiling the barrel for other young willing femmes of a type that he never seemed able to attract. He stood out as a sucker to be quickly snatched up by those others that stepped up to the front of the line.

And now there he was, caught up in latter years of late bloom and knowing better to abstain from all delights in the garden of all things formerly attractive. Suspicious of both young and old, plain and beautiful, giving and eventually taking the view that anything feminine was naught but a corollary of the worst of his own. Little difference between them beyond the annoying intercession of that swinging part of his own anatomy. The other half of the species not as vigorous in application of brute force strength, yet ever superior in the application of guile. How easily this new edition of mentally reordered priorities favored the interests of the numerically superior biological progenitors of society! The same ones that had defined his kind as replaceable, dispensable, and easily disposable. Any waning sense of animal attraction detectable within him reserved only for their cinematic avatars. The same one that his own older now lost generation found to be rapidly disappearing. The effect of the current crop of same safely beyond unbreakable plate glass of dead emotion. The relative condition of the fragility of the patchwork of his own broken heart now longer in question. The long years of intervening solitude having reconditioned it into a stale state of immunity.
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What did it matter? His kind was soon to die out anyhow! Their inability to rise above all this Bridett O’Shaunessy Maltese Falcon ‘tom foolery‘ being society’s own fatal flaw. And though their kind might persist for a few generations more they would slowly disappear as with the issue of the uterus being now under-taxed by any further male intervention. An institutional sense of nagging emptiness part of the toolkit of basic emotions. Recognized as the most significant unavoidable factor of social necessity in furthering the view of modern life. This sort of modified human species not to be remembered too long save for having been too smart for its own good.

Playing A Tired Old God With One’s Own Details

When at the end of the late nineteen-seventies at a time when he had owned that beat up copper and white dodge commercial van he once became so drunk and contentious that he had climbed upon its roof while his girlfriend of the time drove off down a short distance on the highway. Thankfully, she pulling off the road after a block into a small parking lot before any damage had been done to him. She was not taking his prank in the same spirit it had been offered. Demanding that he immediately get down off the van’s roof and back into the passenger seat. To which he reluctantly complied. This acting out in such a careless carefree manner merely his own expression of the buoyant nature of those times.

Now forty years later he sat alone within the semi-darkness of yet another forgettable Sunday morning by himself complacently living out the last embers of existence. Asleep like a parrot in a cage where the canvas cover of night was barely removed anymore. Reliably falling asleep whenever the light was low and his belly was once again full, or sometimes not. All the possible chances for change in his life now used up. The blinds were still drawn shut and he slowly tugged upon the chain to open the vertical slats so as to let the light of day in. That monotone gray that shuffled in instead seeming an affront to his senses.

The unexpected announcement had come about the rapidly deteriorating medical condition of his last living aunt. Another close relative was evidently now descending that winding staircase of no return into oblivion. The long years of being part of a family was now a distant memory locked up out of sight within the recesses of his head. The stark tableau of an empty desert replacing what had formerly been an everlasting fertile plain of hopeful blooming. Those same skies above outside this day losing all definition beyond a long low metallic highlight following parallel along the line of an unpromising persistent grayness. What could there be left when everyone that he had once known from way back in his childhood was now permanently gone?

So much of his existence had been scrupulously logged upon CD/DVD’s over thirty years since the time that a technology had become available to do so. Letters, emails, images, movies; not to mention all manner of versions of his many attempted enterprises. All stored somewhere upon nearly two and a half thousand plus silver disks. Now it had become obvious that his life as he might have once known it at different various junctures lay hidden in a state of misfiled fragmented confusion. He might sample it here and there searching for a given month or year to possibly find clarity for a vague recollection that was once so meaningful. But those past worlds that he once inhabited long before and after seeing same only  remained fundamentally unchanged in a very superficial distant sense. The facsimile of his own smiling image taken with his parents on the occasion of the last of his birthdays that he would ever spend with them together as a family appearing to be on another stranger’s face.

He had been emotionally betrayed! Looking back at all those past times searching for the dim visages of the many people that he had once known. Some regularly, some intimately! Now, all of them offered in such a piecemeal fashion to an imperfect persistently failing memory. There was no depth of feeling left to be had within him left over from the sea of it enjoyed in those epochs. Evidently barely nothing to be shared with the present. It had all been exhausted to bare remnants by too many passing’s. He felt that he as himself was nearing the point of his own extinction. Feeling so bad at times, but could no longer summon any resources to respond consciously. Though his body by contrast, seemed prone on its own to psychosomatically become wracked by unbearable pain. What hope was there in furthering the possibility of a new future now?

The intervening years of subsequent financial failures had emptied him of desires. Carrying on the fiction for those in public with what might have been mistaken for a normal state of every day behavior. Presenting an opaque bottle whose outer label belied a certain sense of peripheral blandness. The crowds about him, both distant and invisible, within a phantom landscape now scarred by past reminiscences. And that equally strange visage of his own appearing occasionally in sharp focus within the mirror permanently indistinguishable from just another ‘selfie’ derived from that current mass of humanity meandering in his wake.

How pathetic to simply be able to play the part of a voyeur of your own previous existence? That shadowy phantom place that still contained everything that you desired to wish to continue with, but now lacked the ability to assemble in the present ongoing exercise of a monotone life. That eggshell hard emptiness that your knowledge of the past cannot fill nor even begin to crack. What did it matter to try to do anything? He had done it so many times all before. It was simply a case of surrendering one’s self to become another anonymous stranger. Unknown to yourself like any other strange face peering deeply into a cheap empty glass fish bowl serving as your ersatz crystal ball..

That world that had once seemed so wide and generously inviting to travel now collapsed down to his two bedroom overstuffed apartment. Available space filled to the brim with useless worthless artifacts that he still held on to only because they had once served him. But that he had no longer any facility with which to employ. Though perhaps more physically fit than in decades past, now accustomed to scarcity; he was far beyond any ability to take them up in hand beyond contemplation of their possible use in any realistic useful enterprise. The heavy blanket of a malaise of the spirit wetly descending upon the last dying embers of his former identity now withered and gone to ash.

The nagging slim hope in resting off stage in the wings of his own sense of theater, in one day leaving something of meaning behind defiled by the hard reality of that hard experience of continual disappointments. That everything in life, sooner rather than later, loses its vitality and then quickly fades into final mortality. Those many great plans along with the requisite knowledge to employ them having been meticulously amassed over successive decades of uninterrupted effort now gone to rot. And he forever cast as a ‘would be’ Icarus whose wings never were sufficient developed to raise him off the ground even an inch towards the glorious Sun. His final lasting soliloquy embodies in that memory of that old patchwork scratch built roadster of pine and metal scraps. The onc built long ago in the folly of childhood that collapsed instant that it sailed down the driveway and off the curb to fall apart in total collapse.

This current life fraught with its monumentally smaller disappointments ever expected now unaccountable to supposing further starting points that might strive to reach beyond. But to fail in thought before they go anywhere near a raised hand to begin them. The apogee of a surrendered existence embracing fantasy to conveniently overshadow all the best of immediate intentions. That once indefatigable will unable to trick his final destiny into believing that he ever wanted to believe in a larger cliche ridden universe.

Welcome To It!

One day within the continuum of your life you will wake up and find that your everyday existence is in grave jeopardy of being permanently ended. Vulnerable to the fact that you have lost or are rapidly losing your place in everyday society. And consequently, will no longer be able to carry on as you have for all the years before. The longstanding illusion of who you are and the importance attached to it now coming to an end.

You may have have some money coming in, but the bills that you are required to pay are slowly becoming much greater than you can afford. Every trip to the grocery store to buy food finds the prices always are creeping up higher. You no longer have the physical space support the valued material possessions that you have amassed over your lifetime and are in critical danger of losing them all.

You find that you have no real friends left as they have all moved on with their lives to somewhere or someone else. Or simply died off. The skills that you have spent a lifetime of effort in mastering are now obsolete and considered no longer useful by current society. The notion of employing a form of barter for trading your services for much needed goods goes nowhere in light of an invasive technological A.I. driven world economy. You try to sell your once valuable possessions but now they are considered worthless. You will slowly starve and grow sick and die hold up in your own hovel. Or worse yet, be quickly be cast out by society onto a street corner with a shopping cart and finally cease to exist as far as the rest of the world is concerned.

This will occur without you realizing it soon enough to be able to take proper steps to change it. The course of marshaling up whatever energies remain to try to prevent it grows less and less probable. You find out too quick that you are not the person you once were. You are at the mercy of fellow humanity who might be sharing these same desperate feelings of fear but see you as competition. But all things eventually must come to an irrevocable final conclusion. There is no guarantee that things will be any better for you no matter what you do.

Your body is not longer in a reasonable state of good physical condition as it once was. Your internals are slowly beginning to fail in a way that directly affects any ability to compete with others who are much younger. And this alone reduces your changes to survive. Your view of the world changes and you find that it is at odds with that of the rest of popular society. And when you voice your concerns it tends to set you at odds with others that bothered to listen. And that drives them away from you and their regard for your well being.  Most of their viewpoint’s tend to follow the latest current trends and viewpoints that see you as a weighing society down.

The greatest danger then comes in surrendering yourself to a state of animal fear and subsequently defaulting to a utter frenzy that might very well of itself accelerate this whole entire process! This realization of your own vulnerability due to inevitably diminishing circumstances becomes utterly devastating. And you feel like an animal that has been suddenly been targeted by a predator and seems to have no possibility of retreating to safety as you once might have expected.

This entire experience of daily life becomes a test of will to be able to survive at all costs! A “Fuck the Past!” and “Move on!” attitude, given to the fact of an uncertain present, now being necessary. You begin the lighten your load of once treasured possessions. Despite feeling your nakedness your resolve is now to survive no matter what. This is your only shield. All illusions, whether external or of your own making, are no longer of any use.

Perhaps, trying to carrying on your former experience of life as a routine existence that you recall from the recent past that was characterized by general indifference? This suggests that there is a greater disaster looming just ahead. A fatal standoff where some great catastrophe that you can’t predict will stop you? Save for your sense of animal intuition? Life up to this point may have been unusually stable and possibly uneventful? But that too will radically change.

A sense of an inescapable building desperation urging you to act you is now what you tend to feel? Yet feeling that there is great danger in acting precipitously, as this reaction could be potentially more dangerous to you than what you fear the most may take place.

Heah! Welcome to old age!

Love Song Verses Of The Enlightened Globalist

There are unbelievers in the pool! There is algae left from the Muslims.
Hearken to the call for civil war. Hasten to the music of the pogrom!
Immigrants, their pilgrimage. Your crusade!
Filthy garments for the cause. The perversity of men’s minds!
The arrogance of straight women. Those two-legged stewing bacteria bags!
A tenacious virus of hate.

There is only one true God. All others must believe in the Federal Reserve!
All Goyim need to be killed. More free money to the Poor!
Fuck the rich. Feed the aged poor old stale donuts!
I exist, so that you don’t have to. Your just a another useless eater!
Just do it. Your continued form of pain, is my gain!
A salacious symphony of unrequited love.

It’s all good. Abolish white supremacy and worship Allah!
Hate has no home here. Hang up your own goddamn dirty laundry out to dry!
Fuck Trump and love Israel! Shh, your latent antisemitism is showing!
Stick your fingers in their layer cake. But anal sex is good!
Honor all new pronouns by the gross. Be a guest on the Disney channel
Utopia produces that most eternal bond of mind sucking patriotism.

Most of you have to die so that the rest of us can truly live. Burma shave!
Self-destruction is a noble cause! Get your corpse out of my town by six o’clock!
You forgot your smelly underwear. See the latest details on the five-thirty news!
Develop new interesting relationships. I left my car keys in your poop!
Temerity is just another form of positive Feminism. Set fire to his nut sack!
Sex is just another form of evolutionary inevitability for total strangers.

Money is the only physical reality. All paper must be promptly recycled!
The whole world runs on plastics. God is still your only true love doll!
Your daughter is a Lesbian at six. Your fifty-year old son sleeps in my basement!
Love your neighbor, but totally despise yourself. The number six is in the book!
Help save the bottle cap ocean. Further existence by your kind is futile!
Humanity is just another variety of blight upon this agnostic soulless universe.

Tell your husband to go to Hell. Have children fix their own goddamn breakfast!
Where did you leave my car keys. My victimization as a woman is never ending!
“I din du nuttin.“-“I don’t mean to do your bank account no harm.” Reparations!
Don’t listen to a Republican. Let them drink from the toilet!
Nostalgia is the pits. Where have all the good one’s gone?
The only valid socially advantageous choice left is what’s on TV tonight.

Randee Was Angry!

Randee was an angry woman! Randee had been brought up in a time and a country full of angry women. When, if a woman wasn’t angry about something then she wasn’t really a modern well-adjusted properly educated woman! She like all the rest owed it to all those women of the past that were grievously unawares that being a real woman was to be angry about being a woman! If that didn’t make sense to other women, well then, it had to be because they had been abused by men! Men were abusers by nature! Men abused women by making them servants to their endless patriarchal demands! Demands to do the dishes, and clean the shitter, and always assume the missionary position while they needed to stick their dirty little dicks in something. They didn’t cuddle. The bastards. Randee’s husband didn’t do that. He did the dishes! He cuddled! He took care of the kids and had sex only when Randee really wanted it. Thank God that women got the vote! Thank God that women worked now! Fucking men from the nineteenth and twentieth, and all the centuries past! All fucking abusers. It made her angry! Real angry!

Thank God that women made their own money now. Even though it was much less then what men still earned. Randee’s husband worked as a Starbucks barista. Randee worked as a recreational supervisor of her town’s municipal park district. Her husband had been a sales manager of a regional insurance company up until five years after they were married. Then he got laid off when his company was bought up by a larger one. He said that he had heard that they had let most of the men go and then promoted a few of the women below him. Probably because they didn’t have to pay them as much? He would say that! He was, after all, still a man. They didn’t make as much as they used to. He felt bad. Randee’s husband still put in his share of the family expenses. He took care of both their two pre-adolescent children while Randee was away each day at the office. The one that had allowed her only eight weeks maternity leave! She knew it was because of that bitch boss of her’s that ran the county. The slut! Children were trouble, but of course she loved both them! It made her really angry!

Of course, now her hips were a size and a half bigger after her second child, even though she went to the health club, early before work and ate only salads for lunch with an occasional peanut butter cookie. She felt like a fat cow! She hated her biology that she knew must have have been created by a man! Or at least that’s what the church said! She and her husband didn’t go to church. Not even the Unitarians. Goddamn that Adam and his fucking rib! She hated when those construction worker types hooted at younger women. Maybe not out loud? Hooted with those looks in their minds! She knew by the look of them. Sizing up everyone around her. But her. She was old, a mother, and a fat cow! And she hated them, the bastards! She and her husband would never let her children grow up like that! Thank God she had had two little girls! They would never have to endure the slut shaming or lack of opportunity that Randee had to.

The local grammar school was making sure of that. She had to go there alone most time because her husband had to work evenings at the Starbucks. She hated how the other women had husbands that came with. Many of them driving late model Lexus’ or Mercedes. It made her feel like a failure to see their kids next to her own! Fucking men! They were never home. Out there playing golf while her husband had to work nights! Why? Whose fault was it? It wasn’t fair! She had to work. She brought home the lion’s share of the money! They only had a Volvo. The damn companies! Male dominated corporate pissing contests always buying up good solid companies and then laying off the men. Her man! Why couldn’t he be one of these guys making at least one hundred and fifty a year! Angry didn’t cover it! She loved her husband, of course! But why couldn’t he have a better job and then they could drive a new Mercedes? It didn’t make sense.

She knew that he had his good points. That was why she married him while her eggs were still good. They had nice children and a fairly decent house. Though it was small. The woman realtor that had sold it to them had charged too much for the fee. They found out the basement leaked and the roof had to be replaced after only three years. The bitch! Her husband wasn’t really mechanically inclined and they had to hire some foreign workers from Poland to fix things. And they charged and arm and a leg to get things right. Her husband had found two empty beer cans in their rooftop’s gutter. Men! It cut into the funds saved for their vacation plans. Fucking men! Just like that bitch cunt boss of her’s! Always ready to come out on top while getting away with murder because she knew the boss above her and knew how to kiss her ass. It wasn’t fair! If things were really fair then she wouldn’t have to work so hard and her own husband could have his regular job back. But things were not fair! It was always that damn Patriarchy screwing things up!

Lately, Randee had been wondering if her husband was getting a little to friendly at his workplace. She didn’t like the fact he was working with younger women. Some of them college age. That would explain why he seemed sort of distant and lackluster in her presence. She couldn’t recall the last time he wanted to really have sex with her? TOr surprise her unexpectedly and show some excitement. Maybe it was being around those little bitches all night every weekday night? She couldn’t remember the last time that he hadn’t been turned with his back towards her in bed snoring away? It must mean something? Was she that fat of a cow or something? Here she was at the office all day while he was at home with their little one. Maybe they should put her in daycare and he could go back to work and find a real job. What was up with that? Why didn’t he?

What was Randee’s life like? She dreamed that she was going to be a designer when she graduated college. An artist! She had gone to Rome for two weeks when she was eighteen and could have gotten a job there. But she had to finish college. And besides those Italian men however handsome were just a bunch of sexist ass pincher’s. She had seen that movie from the fifties where the heroine complained that her ass was black and blue. The character was a bimbo of course. It was the fifties and women were still slaves to men’s every desire! What had changed in the meantime? They had a sexist ass pinching President now in the White House! Not like that nice African American president that they had both voted for. Just when everything was going good with free healthcare and everyone, like them, was facing up to their white privilege by signing a petition to support reparations to the African American community. Then that white male asshole came along! Those old racist dicks like her fucking father had voted him in! God it made her really damn angry! Just like in twenty-thirteen when her husband had lost his job after his company was restructured to eliminate the fat. Why?

What was going to happen to them if things kept on like this? Who was going to pay for the girls to go to college on only a salary and a half? Why couldn’t modern men step up the challenge like herself and get a decent job like they had before? She loved her husband, of course! But why was he still working at Starbucks with teenagers while she had a good job? What was wrong with him? Where was their marriage going to end up if he was already treating her like an old fat cow at thirty seven? Whose fault was it? Randee tried not to be angry. But she couldn’t help it when she wondered, now and again, if she had married a loser? She loved him, of course! Like she loved the kids. He took care of them, but it wasn’t enough if she had to come home to feel like she had become just another piece of families’ furniture. Where was the spark that both of them seemed to have in the first year of courting when he would still grab her ass? Was it too fat for him now? Was she going to turn out like her mother? If made her blood boil. What kind of world was this anyway? Randee was real, real angry!

Remembrance

The end of day, the end of life. Embers smoldering dying glow. Memories prying space and time. All the old ones purposefully no longer recalled. Too much pain and failure stored. Too much missed opportunity and yet not enough tears to go around to satisfy all. Another hope soon to fall and more of that ancient edifice of rusty thought creaking dangerously ready to fail. Still the day enjoyed just previous making attempts to hang on. Lightning the sky now dimly, lightening the moon as brightly as a pearl set within a failing blue. The nothingness of light’s absence descending leaving only that firefly glow of mankind at its best. Something reminding all that the celestial Sun is still needed. Peach and pear and rosy hued fading glow. As if the light of the world resists this departure. The handover of those ancient keys to the city gates now nearly complete, as the ghostly phantoms of former lamplighters and night watches once again take their posts. Lanterns of warm yellow light dancing and swinging slowly, to and fro, in small arcs like the backsides of nervous fireflies. The wide horizon subtended by persistent static dots slicing the grid in restless headlamps traveling up and down and back and forth in rectilinear patterns. How long will one hang on before sleep an the evening make all memories fade? The old faithful familiar warming glow of the family lamp resting beside one’s shoulder illuminating the keys of this light piano that plays out these symbols forming the impressions supporting these words. A momentary stain of itself in holding cold promise in a lesser illumination of its own.