You scrape the veneer ever so slightly and then you find the truth. You were the weak vessel! There was never anyone to come back to. There was never anyone to begin with. It was all pure illusion. A manifestation of creation by a team of artful others. Those experienced in telling beautiful sweet lies for the sake of those who cannot live without them. Coming back to what? What exactly? Someone who depends on you when you are undependable? Someone who takes care of you when you need to be taken care of? Someone that would rather be happy for an instant or two rather than continue being sad. A person that doesn’t really need you but has nowhere else to go. That’s sad! That’s very sad.
Yeah, I’m angry! I’m damn angry. I’m always angry. Just scratch the surface and find that anger. Everyone does, therefore I’m a pariah. Trouble! Someone that no one wants to encounter. One to stay far far from. A conspicuous wart on a face. I carry it in my being. It’s plain to see. I am that thing that they all hate. The outsider. That nagging suspicion. That perilous voice that will not stop its harangue. That will not give anyone a moment’s peace. An alarm bell ringing ceaselessly warning everyone of their better self by showing them their worse incarnation.
“Oh woe is thee!“, petty human. Who gave thee that right? For I am on the scene and will not be assuaged. Will not be parlayed or bargained with. For I cannot tell the truth without recalling the lie that is fundamental to that fantasy that we all live within and too often embody. Therefore thou, I have become a mealy prophet, a pretender. Someone who needed to excel to soar but that has landed soundly upon hard ground. As close to the Sun as he dared get but didn’t. Just had to fall all the more distance back. How sad and magnificent these ramblings of those who would be to another trumped. But this can no longer be. How distant and out of touch one can be with the obviousness of their own simple truth. I have lost and will not gain it back for a long, long time. Perhaps maybe never. I have lost and that is my price and my penalty for being alive.
Why? The problem seems to be that I expected so much more of life. A Hollywood dream of adventure, romance and happy endings all come to pass by the end of the film’s final reel. How foolish those to make such things and then only to disappoint their audience? To have to see the light of day have to judge that time is short and have to see to it that those who do not abide the simple rules of human existence must bide the the time in suffering. This suffering is a silent cause. Something that only a few are fool enough to properly indulge in. People have learned to stay quiet and appear to be noble in defense of protecting their own self-duplicitous cause of virtue signaling their never surrendering. And not wanting to know that which they really have so in-graciously surrendered. That is humility! That is the acceptance of one’s fate of being mortally alive and vulnerable to those ceaseless winds of chaos. To make that decision to come back to stay when one believes that something good could happen. But knows that it’s impossible to believe otherwise because it won’t. The dragon-like continence that will confound every attempt to find a sort of happiness that will last as longer than a single instant.
How sad! And how magnificent that we are told that is the hero’s cause. Or so we are told. That is what we all must live with for there is no ending. No anything. Nothing! Naught but the sound of those words alone. And we must make the best of it. And keep our lives in check and in good order. For this is how we exist with chaos. To remain in good order, ever ready and ever-present against the possibilities of one day accidentally fulfilling our dreams.
Thrown away in the desert of a failing imagination. Dreams of fitful imaginings cluttered with doubts. Images projected in general. Elements that have to be reassembled. Such is the state of one’s own vanity in the dead of empty early morning. Take the original and duplicate the layer within. Put another element in there and mask out the second layer appropriately. No matter what you provide, are you getting this right? Are you caught in the dawning of an essential mistake?
Awake, Awake again as if unsettled by the external Klang of metal upon metal. The thread of mental impressions caught in that waking providing an unsettling perspective to someone alone and anonymous in slow fade chronologically from this material existence. Is Hell nothing more than being trapped in the solitary cell of your own consciousness? Exhausting all the keys on this qwerty keyboard in what is now fast becoming an arcane language of a rapidly passing time! Who after all would want to be recognized for their notoriety in this present day rotten cake slice pretending culture? There are no more heroes offering virtue. Only murderous clowns that entertain the public prurient interests through the institutional retelling of the depravity of their mayhem. One’s own personal Hell would be eternally safer by comparison. When you are young you want to reinforce the notion of a connection with your immortality. When you get old you just wait for it to be over.
The billionaires now use their muscle to furiously trying to topple national governments through the auspices of the monster organizations that they daily dictate to. This wolf masquerading in a different variation of sheep’s clothing. A live ride into to town on the green line train through the ever-present insanity of the B’-ghetto. Singular escalators into the trash compactor. Pongo lines of young Japanese business men bouncing into pedestrians descending on the staircase designated “up”.
The process of self-expression is climb upon the same old monkey bars of the efforts of others. The words come canned with habitual meanings and the author re-configures their collective nuance, if he is clever. But given there are so many other foreign tongues, some related, some not, Then in that case devotion to this nuance can have an adverse quite opposite effect. The analogy of a strict seven year old reading level as the most easily translate-able another form of correspondence. Consider the current hurtle of the public access of online assets ceded by large service providers. Purposefully arcane but increasingly unforgiving of all but their own conception of exemplary performance. All in the name of the public good. All with the expressed goal of re-envisioning society their way and their way only.
The flame thrower in the carnival becomes a soldier burning the enemy with an equivalent weapon of war. Amazing in the circle of the street and unforgivingly deadly on the fields of war. You get what you deserve in the end based upon the path that you follow. Feather trimmed by the unexpected.
It seems that those that embrace the world of following the impulse to foster their own personal sense of aesthetic self-expression doom themselves to perish alone as wholly unrecognized for any of the superlative achievements. That relative degree of recognition for which they strive always elusive and too often conferred posthumously based upon a false sense of prestige that has nothing to do with the intent of the artist’s inspiration int he first place. And perhaps those that are most ready to dismiss it out of a fear and a kindred sense of egotism that makes them a natural rival of the artist.
I seem to also be someone whose past periodically catches up with me at poignant intervals during rocky points of existence. Big dreams reverting to nightmares. Empty places that I fill with Déjà vu mixed with unconscious despair. But not being the crying kind, deferring to those proclivities of that once famous oeuvre of an Arthur J. Prufock. I would prefer to scuttle about my own private ocean bed in a blissful solitude. This dust barely settled from the last century being inevitably stirred up again by the conservation of its old stone edifices to serve as beards for the anarchy of repetitive structural postmodern monotony. The old being freely supplanted by youthfully ignorant echoes of this same trite scheme. And I being stricken now caught in a moldering frame with the curse of youth still vibrantly in force within.
Modern A-B-C’s of sine-wave modulation standing in for song lyrics. An anonymous machine-like mechanical chorus completely usurping the libretto of the singer who become a mere accompanist to his own star billing. Perhaps no one knows how to really draw or sing anymore and they must cover their tracks? They by rightful destiny that I so scrupulously avoided, might be an audience composed of my grandchildren traipsing about with the misapprehensions only successive decades of hard life experience can resolve and decisively put to rest. This hiatus suffered on the fringe of a roundabout of change for change’s sake posing as inspiration a reminder of so many of my own past confusions. And defeats.
Chicago, as that city on the lakefront. The main drag border of culture and commerce supporting occasional leftover halls of ivory and stained glass ceilings that by happenstance alone still serve to convey a lost era when architecture was imbued with civic personality and the soul of a future vision. The ebb and flow of errant humanity collectively motivated by common deceit to travel daily through ruts and familiar linear beelines being wholly ignorant of such purpose. Though their own previous namesakes long ago erased as a species. Something that might have served as a foundation stone for building their own personal identities now long ago been wiped out. This stasis of absolute conformity operating smoothy within an immovable continuum. Something all too obvious to the objective observer who connects with stark regularity the predictable quirks of commercial avatars too easily counted. All manner of vermin bustling about their immediate surroundings with similar missions in mind. The common behavior shared by all of deflecting all potential rivals in near vicinity at any cost.
Community now a vague descriptor left over from a bygone era out of date before computers and phone machines perverted the nature of time. Before cell phones robbed humanity of the ability to take int he muse of their surroundings at leisure and be overwhelmed with the majesty of the natural universe. Powered enclosed wagons and that natural friction come of portable interior spaces now far removed from the passing terrain outside. The palpable fictional illusion of a group identity carrying moral envy to illogical extremes fostering conversations with total strangers based upon brand names and socially supervised interests. The contingent all to happy to abandon their awkward individualisms in favor of the semiotics of outward appearances as governed in the moment by the latest styles commercially pushed by the corporate drugged culture of the most recent trend. A pantomime more likely a coverup to exhibit a silent strength in numbers as opposed to a pleading cry of weakness. A fatal irony cast by this plastic mentality that all will eventually decline into an amorphous approximate.
So anonymous at last! A passing act in the waking Hell of the eternal misplaced promise. Better to be unseen and fit in with the background rather than stand out and be an easy target solely responsible for their own highs and lows. Life eventually defaulting to a bitter brew of cheap beverage. A developed disdain for orally exercised distastes. Maybe the worst pricks in the world are the best judges of human nature? So many people want someone else to write their script so their tale comes out as a happy ending. But at this point even if they had $100,000,000.00 they would still end up swilling two-dollar beers. This era rankles at the sound of the truth being told and covers its ears until the comfort of the most specious nonsensical fiction drowns that out. So be it!
Hard being a ghost retreading former territory that once so long ago I, along with so many long gone faceless others had hoped to have to tread about like terrible dinosaurs. But we like so many countless others became errant memories barely whispered of if ever acknowledged. Our dust intermingles now, blowing through the particles of long lost ancient temples from forgotten kingdoms and other societies that have collapsed without a peep. Those that we never knew or could hardly have imagined. The possibility of their existence having taken up this same space as deep to the mind as the pre-diluvian plains that now stretch out in every direction on the ocean’s floor. This irresponsible present no shelter to provide the eternal muse of those that dream themselves as perpetually immortal. The very ones that harbor their fragile cleverness in an arrogance that supposes that they could ever know anything more finite than the cold indifferent wind blowing through the centuries. What fools we were in youth to allow ourselves to be fooled!
So when did the race addictive penchant for mob violence against one’s own become the latest popular fad? To take a pick axe to virtues completely incomprehensible to those raised to be part of a herd. Card carrying fellow travelers raised by a system impregnated by antipodal minded Marxists to snap to attention when the Red Orchestra plays its old tired calamitous tune of “Monkey See, Monkey Do!” To so easily go along without a single question or speak up on your own behalf in maybe even whispering under one’s breath a single unrepentant, “No!” To allow one’s self to be led around by the nose with a ring of specious political diatribes undermining one’s own bedrock values from under their own feet. All the while believing that such recreation in this atavistic minded sensibility will not change their own particular situation one iota. For those too jaded by the sanctity of security afforded by the smokescreen of their Middle Class self-hating lifestyles with those smug attitude of nothing will change for them so soon to shatter their own suburban plate glass picture window in a hail of pavement stones that they have encouraged their own dear youngsters to throw. Nothing in that sense ever does really change. A fool is ever a fool’s own undoing.
So put one’s own neck in that ready noose that is casually offered by the current fashion of the times. But don’t cry when it is suddenly yanked tight and you choke! The lambs being guided on the way to their eventual slaughter having all along been the ultimate master plan. For regime change is a notion that begins at home only when practiced by cadres of artful foreign deceivers brought too readily into the bosom of one’s land. Dumb livestock may bleat in protest within the slaughterhouse pens on the way to their own demise. But at least they haven’t been guilty of shutting their senses to the inevitable fact of it now operating in full gear. Much less intelligent still are those who deny their own reality and defer judgment in their own defense without a peep because it might offend. The ultimate tyranny being the notion that speech of any type is too intolerable to be publicly heard. The fallacy of willfully plunging one’s head in the sands of indifference while being steadily co-opted into acceptance of yet another patent lie that has been sold as for the good of all.
The challenge of contemporary existence beyond the necessary basics of animal sustenance is one and their viewpoint of all others of their kind. Questions arising periodically of how one fits into the social hierarchy daily pondered perhaps not so much intellectually but definitely based upon an emotional shading of connecting one’s own personal acceptable habits with the relative rewards that have been obtained. Evaluating every day milestones to determine if one is holding one’s own or falling behind. Perhaps this self-automated process seems not so evident in early adulthood as it blatantly becomes further on down the line? The assessment of one’s self versus how prepared and potentially successful one can hope to be in surmounting the undecipherable challenges that lurk around about the world outside of singular consciousness being an ever-present necessity as vital as any other animal concerns.
Most people strive to live within an expansive consensus that they feel embodies habits and behaviors that are in line and beneficial to their own existence. They are not comfortable with accommodating or accepting other systems of the same that conflict or confuse this daily pattern. The conflicts caused by the amelioration of opposing points of view in terms of content and point of views that radically differ now at the forefront of the everyday tectonic collision of cultures that fills the pages of official news distribution sources. The conflict at ground level of the individual self is whether to let thing stand as they are in normal habitual existence or to allow the pressure from the outside to let them fall and in some cases repudiate them. The constant shift of the larger narrative having so many feel that they are losing control over their daily existences and becoming possible fatally vulnerable to some unexpected outside force.
Running down the line of an endlessly complex list of external beliefs and practices that attempt to change or modify long held individual habitual perspectives of the self there seems the possibility that much of this is arbitrary and chaotic in terms of the patent irrationality of human society itself. The tradition of rational leadership and socially acceptable conservative institutions tasked with keeping society on a steady course through careful management on the chopping block by virtue of this global shift of social constructs egged on by diametric viewpoints. The self then posed with the possible necessity to go into hiding by sublimating itself and giving lip service to the threat of ongoing chaos from without. A tug of war between the historic legacy of what each individual self has grown up with and the demands of a re-congealed overwhelming power base that seeks to physically re-imagine the entire human world in its own divergent self-image. Somewhat in the classic sense of out and out warfare.
The illusion of a larger universal consensus when fractured causes the members of the different society to adopt a paranoid attitude as their confidence in their own longstanding habits and efforts have been mettled with from the outside. Change too much in too quickly a time and watch that house of cards known as society tumble to the ground. Modern society having been consciously constructed to minimize the effects of outside influences through corollaries of physical structures based upon unwavering standards is inherent within the everyday landscapes. The modern high-rise or office building within a city center versus a traditional small town neighborhood an example of a gradual shift to normalizing behaviors of the residents of society. This trend utilizing systems of mass communication to influence through the proclivity of human beings to be greatly influenced by artificially assembled imagery suggesting consensus and acceptable social norms.
The most pervasive forms of the same utilizing paid actors to embody what is inferred as fully rational accepted truths that the citizenry should adapt and embody in their daily existences. The need to manipulate sections of society embrace influencing them by a dual application of producing fear versus the possibility of reward. A game that if played properly provides a false overall sense of reality. The game becoming too convoluted or unable to be understood causing unpredictable social disruption. The self becoming lost and angst ridden in the larger context of surroundings that it can no longer relate to in terms of an amenable consensus that is comfortable to conventional experience. The individual then becomes unable to discern what it considers fact from manufactured fiction. Having been placed in a world construct that is equally artificially manufactured from birth the individual quickly becomes defensively antisocial. The confusion created breaking down all regular habits and forcing the self to live on a fundamental animal level of intuitive experience bereft of any socially acceptable consensus.
Females of the species tending to switch loyalties to the most dominant trends that offer a sense of stability. Males simultaneously entrenched in a defensive sense of attempting to preserve the illusions that once were considered socially vital but now have fallen into disrepute. The modern Utopia of one articulate world culture seeing homogeneity as the key element to be worked for in producing a tolerant governed species that it can achieve its solipsistic aims with. The context of one plan or identity versus another completely immaterial when considering this ultimate result. The creation of a universal hive versus an individual family home and all citizens made equal by the destruction of all individual tendencies to deviate from a single golden universal norm. The final goal being world Socialism.
As a writer I am still perfectly allowed to have an opinion. Even if it is one that is not supported by facts. But then what are facts these days? Merely a well advertised collection of the opinions of strangers trying to pose as recognized truthful sources of information? The facts have become as appropriate as a designer label on your otherwise East Asian sweatshop produced jeans. Just the way that style and status have simply seemed to de-evolve into a matter of price tag and designated precious heavy metals. As one hops from lily pad to lily pad metaphorically via Internet V-log site what is offered but an air of absolute plausibility. In what is rapidly becoming (allegedly) the stupidest country in the world, who can trust anyone’s judgment in terms of analyzing fact from fiction. Those organization fielding an advanced level of story-telling sophistication can and do absolutely convince the reader of nearly every absurd contradictory proposition conceivable. The magic talisman in all this? The mojo resting in the palm of your hand of course. You pay for your foolishness! Literally! And of course for the privilege of bearing your electronic chains for the sake of the state. Another somewhat un-provable but expert assisted logically deduced proposition. Take any major crisis of the day for instance. String the successive reports and opinions together with the thread of underlying inference from a consistent perspective somewhat like Summer moon bugs. Then find the air lit up by the continuing pattern of all the previous most likely suppositions to the contrary.
The persistent chaos of well-orchestrated confusion in a mental bucket brigade running back and fro spilling out logic and reason trying to put out falsehoods. The telling feature most likely beyond the authors offering their own unique version of schtick for support being the Bantu land come lately of the destruction large news and information gathering organizations that the former civilization that had assembled over a couple centuries. Much like every other trans-modern occupation the worker has been professionally disadvantaged as a homeworker forced to rely on what purports to be commonly agreeably accurate data assembled by who knows whom? When I am asked after this why my own slant of patent absurdity should be considered credible in light of this I would quickly answer that the evolution of implicit coral reefs of propaganda resting sharp toothed just under the surface are now centralized posing as exactly as what they are not. Consequently information as such it tainted by the cynical imposition of a psychological game of routinely offering absurdities on an industrial level then polling segments to compile data to refine techniques of mass persuasion. As such, my own cervical drooling’s can by this standard of performance be now worse or less accurate. My own mooned a banana stand no worse than the big box store that has national resources to deliver fresh fruit to your doorstep.
How then is any transaction possible beyond one of trust me and trust my authority based upon looks alone possible? Someone considered credible for more than mere looks and and the stage show of actions is required. A personal reference wherein the pundit has been viewed and approached in person. It self an unreliable mechanism given the rhetorical prowess of one inducted into a career of public speaking. An alternative approach being totally subjective where one keeps a running tab of deviations and departures by that oracle in terms of how they contradict themselves and the manner that they go about it. Personally speaking though, I prefer an artful well-told tale! For I am convinced that in this day of the hidden world of pyramidal hegemony a miss is as good as a mile. And of course a skunk remains true to its lingering aroma. If the many layers of previous history’s of past victors suggest anything then the same old characters that too frequently turn up in the background at the scene of the crime are the real mountebanks! The credibility of those who appear ever on top of the pile as inviolably sacrosanct are the targets that you might want to prime your muskets to hit. That is if your end up maintaining the iron resolve to hold on to your God given Samuel Colt rights.
A tingly form of exhaustion posing as neuralgia. How much time left until one’s heart give out? The darkness awaits on the horizon. No longer is anything a sure thing. The strength once known in youth is on the wane. You wait in the coming twilight as another day concludes. Perhaps not a happy time but one that is measured with stillness. Do not protest but revel in how really short two thirds of a hundred years seems to be! Choking cigar smoke and heavy perfume making breathing in the space a challenge. Am I speaking about a human being or the passing of a generation?
The malaise suffered inside is totally externalized. A group of organized gremlins that are dedicated to destroying the indigenous because they are taught to hate them. That is the base of their popularity. Of their power. To get one side to revile the other. Their theater and stage being electronic devices that warp the human mind causing a majority to indulge in a perspective of voluntary self-destruction. Decades of consistent demoralization in the wake of a past century of meaningless war and destruction. All planned and engineered by those same organs of society that feed and clothe. A corporate hegemony controlled by an insulated elite commercially that ethnically cleanse people in a similar manner to last years fashions. Ethnic cleansing amenable to those that have been made too stupid by an inflexible pattern of thinking that does not allow any realization that they are merely cutting their own throats by offering the throats of more ‘others’ to this altar.
What happened to being able to coexist with societies of others that are different but no more or less important to them than they should be to those few who have the power to manipulate society with their whims? Maybe if those that would change things out of hand for all the others, be they their rivals or victims, would feel that their divine righteousness would entail surrendering all their possessions to the invading hordes that they wish others to sponsor in their own lands instead? Why must everyone be so ‘modern’? Why must everyone alive be governed by a single set of rules so as to be ruled by those who wish to devise that one single set? Then expect those who have lived before and laid the foundations of the present that stand in the way of those new modern plans to take that full bottle of sleeping pills so as to make space for the rest of the world that will be transshipped to take up the vacated space.
Sorry gang! But it is time to wake up! You are playing with fire and burning down your own housing that you will one day soon not be able to afford. That old model civil society where the police will instantly come to protect you is done! It is over and finished like the dreamer’s dream. The foundation of your financial freedoms are being steadily eroded by thieves in Liberal sheep’s clothing. Societies minions are there only to protect property first and then perhaps maybe pick up your lifeless corpses if it is to clear them out of the way for the next set of owners that the bankers who have collected your goods to resell. That is the dirty little secret of modern life. That is, if you bother to look.
All those names on the doors on all the bureaucracies of the world are not interested in your interests. They are just there to get their share of the piece of the pie by wringing it out of yours. It is called avarice and it is an impulse that is not likely to ever change. Certainly not any time soon! It is only a matter of time till you will too will be moved out against your own similar protests, and then disposed of. If you don’t take care of your own kind first as those ‘others’ that you so passionately defame and those ones that you so devotedly concerned with, then you deserve to be ‘taken care of‘ in a rough similar manner as those ‘others’ that you wish to depose. Lose the consensus of your group identity and then you lose all power. Those who find safety in virtue signaling games will in the end only find ‘feel good’ PC windmills to tilt. That is while they collect errant stranger’s quarters within an empty paper Starbuck’s coffee cup.