Sitting on the main thoroughfare in front of a little bar. Two dollar bottles of beer on a pleasant weekday afternoon in an otherwise six dollar world. Could I have been thrust back three decades or maybe more? Bottle one, three quarters downed. Everything in this world stands out looking pretty in this afternoon Summer light despite the fact that all those young unknowingly to themselves will eventually grow old and ugly and die. Those fatally youthful within stay within and I sit outside. A gratuitous compromise that is if they are lucky. So I sit here by the highway where my personal river flows. And old Siddhartha counting heads and distressed truck logos as they whisk by. Counting out humanities’ folly as I recollect my own. It could have been any number of decades held in one hand dispatched from a deck of unpromising cards. In olden days before television and radio were born people sang songs in bars. Sang out like they often might sing at work before factories cropped up like weeds to hold un-Godly sway. No hurry for the tortoise far off and alone on some distant beach’s crafty sands. No haste for the tiny reptile inert within the remotest desert full of same. We all share this sense of peace as equals. Perhaps wondering where our next meal will come from in the back of our minds? But pleasantly satisfied none the less! Better off than this societies phalanxes of whining cuck’s! ME? A sailor on the beach. No fucking TV babysitters to tell me the time. Thank you very much! How nice to think that I have forgotten my own name yet once again. Just be what I had in childhood. Just be! Solving puzzles with my eyes unfolding miraculous dilemmas of the mundane summoning cooked up magic from them. Magnificence in a single penny! Drinking always a matter of balance in quality versus quantity. And as usual, a steady paycheck in this world will always get you out of Hell!
The perennial stark guest of fictional personages that emulate people that were actually once alive. A giant of a man extremely powerful and impossibly large. Almost up to the limit of what people in general think is humanly possible. Someone with a temper but also intense pride. An another who was his rival. The two were always on the edge of fighting making nearby bystanders very wary of getting caught around them lest they get injured or worse in the heat of the former’s capacity for unchecked rage. People that he encountered generally played verbal softball with him so as not to inadvertently anger him. Quite frankly, the less they said the better chance for personal survival the would possess. But inevitably, peaked by this rival the contest would start soon on the basis of the bad blood accumulating between them. He would tear up the furniture and threaten others with mortal harm for the most minor infraction of his pride. Some fully aware of the consequence of such a meeting some neighbors had already evacuated the area going into hiding fearing the continuation of wrath that might ensue if he won the battle. Though no one would voice it out loud the smaller less powerful looking David vanquished the mean spirited Goliath making everyone who was still physically weaker to keep their joy to themselves. The nervous exhaustion of such an all out showdown had left him incapacitated which eliminated this possibility from occurring. So beaten down was the giant that some couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of empathy for the totality of his total defeat. His spirit had been permanently crushed by losing the title of the meanest and strongest bully around.
The final confrontation had been held in the yard of the house nest door. The owner had sent his wife to her mother and was going to sequester himself in his basement having turned off the lights and locked all the doors of his abode. The fight kicked off before he could get from his garage to the back door and he had to hide behind an overturned metal lounge chair. He knew that if the giant got a cross the fence that he would be toast. He might have been able to reach his own door but was stopped by a strange compulsion that told him it wouldn’t be right to abandon his neighbor if things would go against him. As mentioned, the severe beating that had been doled out had left the former bully with a degree of silent reserve that he had never before exhibited in the past. The man even demonstrating a degree of unaccustomed humility to the local neighborhood royalty, such as it was, in his midst. A displaced countess enjoying the pleasure of being the first. The giant seem to settle for the personality of a gracious loser quite opposite to that of his former self. Being very vocally apologetic for the violent deeds resulting from his past anger he soon became part of the group. Everyone glad that they no longer had to fear seeing anymore examples of spontaneous mayhem. Equally glad that the few having previously demonstrated mixed loyalties would not be hunted down and treated like a traitor.
He was in heavily occupied enemy territory in some place within South East Asia. Japanese soldiers were everywhere. The presence of the group scouting them was on the verge of being discovered by a garrison of the same traveling on sampan river boats. The few native militia members with the small contingent of British was barely adequate. Too often these ‘militias’ were neutral. Their loyalties bound to shift with to stronger of the two invaders. The native boys that we had were told to play dumb and stay away from any direct contact. But to no avail as the the Japs treated those that they encountered like escapees from the colonial rule and encouraged them to defect with gifts to find out what they could.
Someone had driven a school bus onto an ice rink and was attempting to perform tight circles causing the bus to start to slip around. The absurdity of this situation being that this very same event was taking place in deepest darkest Africa.
The old Jewish guy who owned the big warehouse had it filled top to bottom with aisle after aisle of junk. Stuff that had been picked up on the road or traded for in bulk. Too much of it appeared by virtue of its dilapidated condition that it wouldn’t travel much further than the scrapyard. Rows and rows of it piled high to the ceiling. Somehow the many had been conscripted along with a few other unfortunates to work for him. The man had a terrible temper and a bad habit of riding everyone without stopping. God knows, you didn’t dare cross him. The look of his constant beady eyed scowl telegraphing the message that you couldn’t tell what he was capable of in terms of unexpectedly pulling out a gun and shooting you. Not to mention that he was tied up with the wrong crowd. The sort that too often literally got away with murder. At least that was the backstory. The young guy made sure to butter him up as best as was possible to try to escape some small measure of verbal abuse. The guy playing a little game with him diverting his wrath by keeping him talking about trivial business matters. At the end of the day when the boss wanted to dive the man and another companion somewhere last minute at quitting time his battleaxe wife showed up. The old harpy was worse than he was with a shrill voice that over a short period of time could drive anyone insane. The companion talked to his fellow worker quipping, “Oh great, the old bastard is going to get all pissed off now and take it out on us!” “The shit will definitely hit the fan!”, the other man replied.
A little while later the two assistants were alone in the bosses’ automobile on a mission to get gas for the old S.O.B. One of them attempting to park out of the way of a gas station’s car wash exit. His partner getting out to use the restroom. The partner returned and standing on the far side beyond the rear view mirrors of it giving bum instructions. The other one attempting to park had to half back it out slowly to pull further over in order to get the car’s rear end out of the way from blocking exiting vehicles. The ‘traffic cop’ friend kept attempting to direct the driver while getting in the way preventing any positive progress. Two other guys from the station walked over and to the would be traffic cop companion and gave him a stern lecture. “Look!“, one of them spat out, “You got to let this guy back out of the other lane and let him proceed the fuck out of here!” Having been given the opportunity to finally pull aside without interference from his friend the exhausted driver went to the Car Wash’s men’s room. He was aghast when he opened the stall door to find the commode covered in shit. The man grabbed some paper towels from a dispenser to try to clean it off the best he could without choking from being sickened. “It’s no fun being a slave to someone else’s bad behavior!“, he said aloud, “But that is how this f’in life is.“
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.
Sitting at a small table of the local Viennese cafe. Or at least what had once been styled after an offshoot of the same somewhere far off across an ocean in former times. All old world charm had long ago departed leached off by the ‘bottom line‘ of overwhelming Corporate Socialist mindset that now lay heavily across all agendas like a dark cloud spreading inkily across the land. A sense of raw incompleteness come heavily home in one’s former expectations remaining wholly unsatisfied. As if the young of this era could not know any better. Or care! Those grandchildren that had never been produced in a lasting emotional union. Or in some cases, or great-grandchildren that one could never expect to claim to have affected now traveling blind in that same distorted Soviet mindset pervasively erasing individuality in us all. Life transacted in a lackluster Lumpen fishbowl franchise sized world regulating fatigue in the same old regurgitated experiences. Diminishing expectations one after the other following closely on the heels of each other like watery potato soup reliably growing thinner and weaker in a Siberian gulag hut. Uncultivated cogs and other assorted categories of those ‘going nowhere’s‘. All this and more one before one symbolized on a silver plated tray. Absent of all those former special touches belaying attention to tender nuance. The cubes of brown sugar now long absented from barely filled caddies containing a paucity of small paper sacks of their nondescript substitutes. Now wholly disappeared the vicinity as are personally inscribed custom restaurant logos napkins to cushion the harsh sound of cup upon saucer. Only a tiny modicum of real cream afforded with no repeat visitations to provide a refill by the room’s solitary supposedly overtaxed waitress. This latest iteration of the current of the ‘modern’ American social mill now having abraded all things past down to the level of complete nonexistence.
Cold, wet and rainy, now on a platform viewing rooftops high above! A nothing ventured and a nothing to be gained situation in terms of the portents of proceeding through the rest of the day. Those empty husks of what had been attempted thus far amidst this weather providing a stern warning. The contents of anything expected from here on out more than likely descending down into further blandness in fighting off lackluster random reflection on the former glories of what had now been so obviously lost. Former gold standards of proper behavior and expected customs once inviolable all but forgotten and fallen into dust by the wayside. The essence of what it had taken centuries to acquire in order to be fully alive. Replaced it seems by a city of ‘sleepwalkers’ trailing oblivious two generations hence. Nursemaided along by a plethora of mobile devices errantly floating hypnotically within the palm of their hands. Lotus Eaters! Those who never went out of their way to question. Who did exactly as they were told. Removed from possibility of wielding real power through securely ‘firewalled’ portals by authorities who ceaselessly tampered with the definition of ‘why‘ and ‘wherefore‘ in daily existences. Just leaving it at that! The patent loss of that older vernacular. When people were given both value and respect in their individual daily pursuit of fulfilling lives. The appreciation of these mixed circumstances affording slim reinforcement to latent impressions of the past brought to the surface by a re-visitation of former ‘hunting grounds‘. Olden memories instantaneously renewed like stacks of dated magazines in an abandoned garage. Their moldering covers bringing it all back to mind of the many past encounters and forgotten dramas. There shining brilliantly then falling back dimly in a heartbeat eclipsed by the current reality of unexpected dimensions of these same places now long ago transformed forth. The former flesh and blood recalling in salty spit a hard indifferent waxy venom that makes one’s flesh crawl. Emotions stung by the pitiful loss of what was once was extent. And an inconvenient out of date dinosaur feeling in still expecting things to be the way that they once commonly were.
This ever self-satisfied perfectly ‘correct’ modern cacophony of a society now mechanically de-evolved into a contest of daily awe in newer and newer technologies available on credit card. Existence a toy tiring feedback loop where time and personal wealth barely sufficient to survive was meticulously offered to replace virtual mental trinkets that were newly posing as necessary accessories for the latest versions of the ‘industry’s’ most cherished physical devices of the current hour. Citizens of this new world inmates working hard at maximum capacity busily producing thin air to pay for these implicit chains. Inherent intelligence ground down to pathetic levels by age six. Reconfigured by the factory into expertly honed into the inflexible iron of consensus based ‘group think’. The man, falling back into waking conscientiousness from his perceived nightmare, now found swaying upon his feet. Tightly clutching at a railing within an elevated electric rail car as it passes slowly through a jealously clinging fog. Half concealing distant surroundings as they pass indefinable on either side. Tall weedy residential towers fading in and out. Myopically defining distant places where only empty space once held free sway. A psychological claustrophobia in the cylindrical force of that maelstrom now known as society. Furiously building pens to keep up with the demand to house an industrial overabundance of unwanted offspring. Endless sets of windows anonymously stacked one upon the other rising up skyward along with their accompanying balconies to challenge the gray miasma of what are now considered clouds. Yet, for all this curiously, no evidence of obvious habitation anywhere in sight to be found? The otherwise vacant streets sporting only metal beetles gathering momentarily at intersections then down roadways. Humanity invisible! Presences that never seem to appear outside this same overloaded car plowing through the thick of this unearthly weather. A dark and withering dream. Adding to the suggestion that life had long ago departed several generations previous with no one noticing. Passengers descending, on and off, at each stop sporting obnoxious combinations of dour crabbiness. Cheap commercial perfume fragrances competing to cover up any potential recognition that something smelly and animal might be in the vicinity. Something wrong? The cars rocking upon a lariat about a loop cincture’d around the cities’ center. Tall crumbling concrete edifices of bygone vertical window inset cliffs. Their voluminous insides re-tasked successive times into cheap meaner more efficient veneers dedicated to motivating new crowds of shoppers and burned out bureaucrats. Nothing left to the imagination of the individual. Save a constant warning to escape into the middle ground of the common. Or risk imminent social peril! Deposing and deporting. Consumers. Born to be carefully conscientiously tended perennial losers. Only. To die quickly upon command. Only. To obey. All without being aware that they were ultimately complicit in their own demise.
It dawned upon him that he too had slipped down to sink into that lack of status his dossier stamped, “Underachiever.” All electrical potential fully drained way like a long forgotten junkyard crankcase. No longer capable of rubbing elbows with the ‘big machers’ save in his mind. Toasting life with the high rollers that had long ago gone to the grave. That was, after all, now just a myth. Something as artificial and fabricated as the current mental fictions that tramped about echoing within the caverns of his vacant consciousness. This indefinable nightmare beast now considered as ‘SUCCESS‘ incompatible with present circumstance.
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.
The mechanical beast is more important than any simple human being in the reigning autocracy of a democracy of unbounded profit. That landlord who gleefully invites all the peasants in and then puts bars on the windows and doors after hoisting up the drawbridge to lock them in his castle keep. Modern democracy is just another reference to slavery by the hands of the attrition caused by the division of the wealth of the public trust ceded over to feudal elites. The peasants can work for dirty straw endlessly bending their backs and wasting their strength over the years to build the mental fallacy of a ‘great land’. All so that those mountebanks can infect the seats of power and corrupt its leaders in order to claim ownership by worthless paper and self-serving writ. Where is the backbone of society when every aspect of it is handed to those who are unable to create but only know ‘but’ and ‘sell’? But unable to afford any respect for all the rest who have build those fortresses literally upon their backs by ceaseless labor at constant risk of incessant plunder? This mechanical beast has quickly devoured all the arts of mind and eye that took many millennia to create and define. All to enclose everyone who now have no alternative at the peril of losing any public forum. What fools we all have been over this last twenty years to not see this coming! And now not devote ourselves to not allowing it to continue!
The previous week had gone by characterized unconsciously by a certain amount of obsession about the itinerary of the upcoming Wednesday. A lecture at the prestigious antiquities museum. The passage of life, from work day to no work day had been hyper attenuated by having been unceremoniously ‘let go‘ without any reasonable explanation. One that might confront that longstanding covert little inner dialogue. The same one that taken over long before adolescence had petered out. An event. Something implicitly of intangible worth to involve one’s self within. An opportunity to experience a heretofore unimaginable situation that masked an unknowable mysterious potential. One that might lead to some unexpected twist or turn in the current linear set of occurrences. Socially? Intellectually? A cheap way of banging on destiny’s door to see who might be at home. And, of course, building up an electrical charge along the way to produce some excitement in an otherwise humdrum day after day routine. The thoughts predictably revived within his head as if spinning sympathetically around the dial with the minute hand of the wall clock chiming each hour on the hour. The mental assay of the potentials of this circumstance ending up with exactly the same conclusions a day later. As if some recognition, and possibly a reward, was implicit by its own right for making a cause for the potential of external mental discourse. The flavor of contemporary topics being considered to be young and hip naught but constant demonstrations of an innate sense of personal prowess in quickly deciphering what was routinely passed off as the latest trend. How odd that this latest personal obsession of his own in filling a calendar with interesting and extraordinary events sought a similar refuge? But in the exact opposite direction of deciphering some overlooked hidden details within what was already universally known and considered as indisputable fact. Maybe the underlying motivation behind this impulse was exactly the same? Who could tell?
The next and another of the intervening days would rapidly pass without any distinction from the other. Each one long past becoming instantly forgettable. A vague awareness of the implicit fit of his personality immediately departing with them to the near proximity of ones past recollections. The salient details floating somewhere nearby in the mental fog. But equally hard to recover on command for use as a simple guideline to direct the inertia of one’s conduct in waking life. Any hint of abstraction based upon unexpected frictions encountered along the way from previous experiences, some possibly pleasurable or some disturbing, quickly expunged. Keeping one’s daily activities unchanged. And all significant vectors of action linear when charted. One’s general attitude sublimated wholly to the same routine. Putting on one pair of pants after the other. Attempting to suit the feelings of the moment to match the changing demands of the immediate situation at hand. These little things, like bumps in an untended roadway, being considered the most efficient and potentially deadly in the misdirection of one’s efforts. Something that occasionally achieved some reasonable degree of self awareness. Those nightly dreams fitfully conjured being especially cogent in the playground of dreamland adding an animal sensation of mystery behind an otherwise lacking daily commentary . Yet completely forgettable by the time one had risen to meet the blinding rays of dawn while visiting the loo. The further one seemingly traveled in that direction, the less one could recall having experienced anything? Passion and inspiration having been set down at some forgotten at the crossroads sometime long ago. Was any omen to be considered less accurate for the fact that the number sequence displayed upon a blinking digital table radio in the bedroom might have been several minutes off? Embarrassment setting in as one queried just exactly they had to offer? As if a hole in the corner of a shoulder mounted ruck sack has unexpectedly split and emptied all the seed corn behind one as they walked so many empty miles. The body beneath one moving forth down this path oblivious of the loss employing all those same old familiar motions. The present tense? The sensation of moving along as if one were poised too comfortably upon a cradle that itself sported a set of unexpected wheels slowly moving the sleeper along. All the buttons denoting some degree of mental awareness pushed but jammed.
That special day now approaching, day by day, coming nearer and nearer. The passage of mere minutes taken for granted, as it might be with a machine that depended solely upon its own gears driving sprockets for guidance. Not need for acute consciousness in gathering thoughts that might be needed to ensure real progress. But those things that were seemingly so far ahead and distantly approaching unexpectedly flying past. Quickly outdistancing present tense awareness to find one’s self now unexpectedly engaged in contemplating the aftermath of the event in the last fleeting minutes of the same. And then wondering why they had considered it so important to begin with? The ongoing inner dialogue being near to undetectable. Occurring at varying levels of insignificant volume. Only the intensity of associated wants and desire daring to spill over into awareness. Yet, even then, superseding the phenomena experienced immediately before it. This presaged conclusion leading to another strange circumstance. The date for the heralded event, having been so obsessed over, now turning out to be the one that had not been expected. But in point of fact a week ahead of the same! So now the reverent was found to be duly prepared for immediate departure at the appropriate hour on the mistaken date deprived of any destination. How could this be? Was one’s mind still fully intact? Who really was in control of this show?
The man had thrown away his cell phone. Or so he had thought! The morning had broken through the windows as described and, despite that an old red cotton watch cap was strewn tightly shielding his eyes, the first light of day had promptly done its work stirring him from the inner distance of a dream. The affair experienced in that inner realm now completely faded from mind and now suddenly returned to an immediacy of a waking world that compelled him to struggle with his habit harnessed mind. Unable to cross back over its misty barrier to recover any portion of that elusive scenario. He could only recall having grappled the bed covers away from him and subsequently duly rewarded by the cold bite of early Winter’s morning. The pernicious air quickly drafting down across the entire expanse of his naked body. He had decided that previous evening to uncharacteristically sleep, ‘French’. What ever the lingering impressions of other identities that might have been reprised in this intervening moment reduced to residue. Once again driven back into the hard basalt of waking consciousness. The best that they could provide him with being presented from the unconscious to the waking mind as a tiny pinhole from which to broadcast their arcane yet useful meaning. But now, in light of all these frustrating circumstances, merely being slightly annoying. He let out a long mournful belch that emanated rudely from far down below within the seat of his own ‘plumbing‘. The event’s commencement was [NOW] nearly a week ahead. Those same old fever pitches fully shunted off his mainline a week back renewed. The recent completion of so many necessary tasks in preparation presenting the briefest of shelf lives. Their importance to him in this unlikely moment quickly fading away nearly as fast as his dream. Lost within rows of stacks in the larger scheme of the virtual library of his own mythic continuum along with every other instance of ever indecipherable sparing with unnamed enigmatic phantoms that collectively chided him throughout each waking day. Habitual repetition allied with a level of industrial duty forgetfulness that together inevitably led to a larger burden of personal mystery. The inability to be conversant in same leaving him without any particular point or purpose in the greater scheme of things.
He looked about his own rooms now sympathetically sleepy-eyed. Noticing, with some alacrity, that his right hand had automatically palmed his own smart phone. And with the rapid flick of a nervous thumb had switched it on. The other forefinger unaccountably responding as if an automaton by entering the requisite pass code? “How odd?“, he thought as he sat staring into its bright light while ensconced upon his regal white enameled throne. There it was! As if it had grown legs of its own and then hopped handily up into his palm. The lasting impressions of this cartoon scenario teasing his mental alertness. Another round of flirtatious recollection to taunt him in the struggle to revive logos. This thought then instantly erased by the neat appearance of a small phalanx of colorful screen icons that glowed across the face of the enigmatic instrument that lay within his hand. Free will being born as an artifice defying the present. One that could now be defined as being able to confidently disbelieve any of one’s own automatic actions as being anything more than vaguely significant of something trivial? This was the exact same type of barrier he now realized that had long ago been inserted between ‘ourselves and ourselves’ since birth. A gross interruption of the natural world deflecting those incorrigible works of the phantom presence loosely referred to as an almighty God. But, perhaps itself, another key function in an intricate psychologically mental trap sprung by those that had hatched humanity into a worldly framework of constant unending Byzantine deceptions?
When one stopped to realize that in all of human history man’s greatest achievement was not the building of mighty empires but in their complete destruction. Tearing them down along with all their own greatest works in brief fits of unexpected passion. It was now impossible for him not to see that all types of wars, both internal and external, were useless and futile ventures in personal vanity! Only designed to make that ever lurking anonymous community of the few ever more obscenely wealthy by stealing the power of rational decision from the hapless. This trickery enacted on a regularly scheduled basis. All that brass plate artifice of eternal glory quickly dissipated by this fact. A mindset leaving its unwilling participants with an awareness that all those overblown phony demonstrations of patriotism along with false rationalizations supposedly made for the sake of survival were naught but an empty pack of the same old lies. The recounting of human history an eclectic topic of failures in plain view conspiracies that ultimately led to similar conclusions of the same old mistakes created by deliberate mismanagement. Those ceded the public trust becoming morally corrupt in exercising control and always feeling self-empowered to grab everything in sight. As if they alone had exclusive title it alone! All too often forgetting the hard lessons endured by previous generations of their ancestors that they did not. No omniscient celestial presence around to influence them otherwise? Life for everyone in this waking world being about struggle and a personal sense of relative endurance. Ultimately futility! How long within the ongoing play of the most adverse scenarios could one last? One might not ever get to those places that they thought they deserved. But hopefully finding peace within one’s that were earnestly tried. All these actors by virtue of their acting showing one only what they wanted to see. All these innocuous hired guns daily broadcasting a path to what they wanted all others to travel. And the sleeper playing the repetitive role of a proverbial fish stuck in the same old barrel without pants.