Birthdays at some point are like tolling of the church bells. The first one’s peel off in joyful celebration. The one’s nearing the end become more doleful reminding one that time grows ever shorter. The gatherings at such occasions become ever smaller and less attended. Until one day, one finds one’s self alone in the company of ghosts. Shadows and shades of milestones long past both joyful. And all too often full of lament. Empty spaces at the table where one would have expected seeing all those same old familiar faces now excused. The pall of silence one creates within a crowded room of strangers with the simplest of one’s thoughts. Musings of what once had transpired and all those things that one hoped for that just didn’t work out. So much for that cup of melancholy! All one is left with is a hunger inside. That incorrigible taste of things that are still fresh to the tongue. The flash in the minds eye of a fragrance or a face. The look and emotion that still remains afresh in a sidelong glance. No one at this empty table is allowed to leave broken hearted. That is the sort of impermissible random occurrence that all can ill afford. No longer tolerate. Take heart in that which has come before and wish for another better day. A day when the Sun shines anew as it has long been remembered to have many times done so long ago. For what does one have but these solitary moments to share over a lifetime? How beautiful and bounteous they are.
He awoke with a start thrust back from the pseudo nightmare into the dark room. His bedroom. The thought police were at it again! The back of his neck felt like a dry piece of discarded shark cartilage. His head pounded and the rest of him was cold with the recent evaporation of thin layer of sweat. They would have to do better than this! The Frankenstein scenario starring a rubbery version of his late father did not have an authentic ring to it. There was no rhyme or reason to his giving compliance to a scenario where his own late father would have come back from the dead twice in a row to stride angrily about from the closet to bed post menacing him with malice in its eyes. There had been too many impromptu replays of various cardboard character animations and bad actors in latex rubber gear loosely posing as entertainment over the years. The comparison of current CG to same from past decades was not even worth any mental assay. They had taken away his job that day. Whatever informal back door initiative that had been enacted considering the way things now worked in this Orwellian age of incessant drone surveillance thick with Internet EMF, it was all too obvious that this was another feint to demoralize? He could still taste the aerosol within the apartment’s atmosphere wafting throughout his tiny dwelling. Some form of psychotropic spray that had a weak masking aroma suggesting a cheap variety of cigarette fumes acting as a cover. It was anybodies guess in terms of where exactly it might have been injected into his living space? Paranoia wasn’t really his thing. But the recent attempts to officially truncate sections of the dwindling free web now labeled as dark had provided a plethora of information in that regard. His own feeble contribution as a doubter of the official story line of the many re-tailored general history rewrites by NGO’s had been taken note of. Though, from experiences like the one demonstrated from this current evening, were less than efficient. The program of nocturnal signal to skull terror was still not fully developed being plucked to readily from its prototype stages. The general public outcry against the incessant mischief enacted by the reigning Globalist cartel having pushed it into rapid implementation. The final result as he had mentioned was more comic rather than psychologically stultifying.
No doubt, the world had changed! Gone was the fiction of ongoing indefinite commercial driven consumer security. He as well as too many others were too accustomed to the superficialities of these endlessly recycling cliches. Stratagems too often employed to allow one fall prey so easily into their ploys. The only remaining mystery seeming to be incongruous as to why they dallied with him at all? A simple discreet early morning visit employing a little brute force along with the right chemical compound and death by apparent heart attack would go unquestioned. No that was not their way of doing business of course. Like some old once fearsome alley cat now found nearly toothless, they preferred to play with their prey before finally crushing its skull within their jaws. This mentality of petty depravity so characteristically apparent in each and every one of this group’s staged affairs that they all resembled some poorly staged form of vaudeville harping upon past scenarios as marked more by tiresome repetition rather than any valid attempt to universally deceive. The mark left by same no doubt exposing unstable mentalities too vainglorious and self-congradulating to realize that all this falderal only made it easier to detect their usual pattern of lethal mischief. The shopworn scenario of lone gunman assassin perpetrating school shooting as nationally publicized by the embedded yellow dog press too blatantly obvious as yet another deep state mercenary hit squad plying their trade routinely assisted by local law enforcement assets. Some of the same regional players having an ongoing record of playing the same old key roles in directing similar incidents over recent years. The attempt at traumatizing the general population into surrendering their weapons as well as their fates to these ruffians failing miserably. The decades spent in de-evolulving community spirit by the application of mind numbing mass media like television and major motion pictures falling far short of deterring the current popular ire at being ceaselessly manipulated. The universal yoke of the current worldwide Ponzi scheme infernally sucking all wealth from the local economies through progressionally mounting compound interest as administered in the return of worthless fiat currency for one’s labors was coming to a close. The scrupulously decentralized world marketplace that had been put into place over the last decades was now shown up for the ruse that it was. A vain mean spirited attempt to disable all cultures from their former independence and identities by the ever power hungry bank driven octopus. Its juggernaut interrupted for too long by the free flow of unauthorized damning information into the reservoir of the general public consciousness. Something that had been so grievous that no one seemed surprised anymore by the implementation of the usual bag of these lethal tricks. Their world pyramid was beginning to crumble!
I am an emotional moral coward that has deserted his own life.
I get so many visits now within my dreams of the underworld.
Barney my dog now long dead appeared and ran up and down the right most aisles towards the stage ascending the short stairs during the performance. No one seemed to mind or notice. On the left every animal was now a human dressed in tuxedos.
Walking along with a group of students through a campus and mall within low architecture. The students telling me how they were going to Paris. And I feeling left out. The group of them entering a great low rotunda while I consciously avoiding took the path around it.
I ran a bagnio with a least one young woman as my thrall. I shot her cat up a thousand feet into the air within a large rocket using an RC control to trigger a parachute.
We ate armies. We ate paths worrying about how to fill up the compliment along the river with a full compliment. Seeing my father again coming back having been deposed. Deposed by death. I a bad son because in my mind I wondered, “Will he make money again and help me out?” “Since I am poor?” The battle. The event that I helped stage by the back of the dock. Where I laid my money on the floor. Profits from what I had been paid. In the meanwhile someone, one of the guests traveling outside into the night under the viaduct. Onto the street, I chasing after them to see if they were OK. All this in a bad neighborhood. Where I was surrounded by five or six. Who were going to intimidate before they attacked. And I managed with two steel styluses, one stuck in each ear of two of my potential assailants. So they backed off. And I got back to the location and found that the head mobster . . ! Some mealy mouthed little thing in a cheap silk suit had taken my money. The son of a bitch! Thinking somehow there was no past. There was no future. There was only the present. And wondering how I could synthesize one to regain the other somehow in a material way?
[version 1] Struggle, struggle, struggle! The earth, mankind fell into chaos through contention. And the result, The earth was flooded. And all tried to hide in the sea. But mankind was wiped out. Their souls has to go into limn to wait. And the fish dominated. Later on, somebody who was a ‘big macher’ in the area whee Cameo tower was died and they made all these memorializations. And I kept thinking why didn’t my father get the same honors?
[version 2] I travel to alternate residences contemplated in times past where I search for artifacts from my past. Walking in urban neighborhoods after hours or just past daybreak to places of old but passing familiarity. All to no avail because it has been re-rented. A great chaos visited upon the earth. It’s surface beset by uncountable tons of water sever thousand feet above what was once land. Aquatic species diving further down while humans now subsumed being resolved to be made wait while their souls remain resigned to limbo for the next eternity to arrive within which to be born into the material once again.
Someone of importance dying at Cameo tower and the local city fathers wrack their brains as to how to honor him. And I return to the edifice and wonder how they all could have forgotten how once not so long ago my own father was much more instrumental? My mother once again by my side in a large public complex of carpeted stairs with a wire pushcart. Her overstuffed arthritic frame struggling just ahead of me. Ambling unsteadily down the steps at what was for her a breakneck pace. Catching herself once along the way. Then a second time to my horror falling a flight to land on her back upon the treads. I running in a frenzy to her. Instinctively embracing her and picking her up after she had risen. Her body completely limp. The life-force having permanently departed. My tears unquenchable while I cried out for assistance hugging her lifeless body.
Today was a truly terrible day for me. Perhaps I have had worse ones? It started out with my recollection of a dream. Terrible events of earthly flooding of all that is known. The death of my mother re-portrayed before me. Helpless embracing her lifeless form. The awareness throughout the day that I have become incidental. My existence trivial. Unneeded, unwanted, and trivial. No one in the future shall know the great pains I have gone through to record my existence. Who care after all? How I turned every possibility of the past into folly. I have been a terrible fool throughout my entire existence. Maybe it is better that no one knows? Something that I can now look back on with total conviction. Hard now to visit the same old places and not be tempted to draw a tear from that well. I don’t own those places anymore. They seem to own me. Own my tears. Too much death in times misspent. Nothing one can retrieve in a photographic image. My hieroglyphs equally arcane as those of the Egyptians of old.
The seats at the bar where I ended up and sat alone to avoid my last remaining official role were empty by the time I had left. I called an irritating woman fat under my breath when for the second time she intervened when was attempting to ask about my order for food. She heard and knew it was her and left even though I was looking at the reflection of the television humiliating its contestants. Two cerveza’s too many. I didn’t feel like complaining did anyone any good. We all knew that as far as society was concerned we were everyone of us going to be fucked over after all.
Some made ideas to take an old broken TV antenna and place it out in the raging thunderstorm. Catch lightning with an old thick audio cable. Bring it into the Living room where the family is gathered. My hesitation and their protests mean that I missed the storm’s lightning. Inwardly I am glad.
The times offered little prospects for one’s hopes of finding fulfillment within their long held dreams. The Utopian fantasy of a single world empire integrated within a single set of ever-scheming unseen hands.
Why my world and worldview was ripped away from me. Here I sit mentally fit and physically reasonable. Waiting. Waiting for an opportunity. Any opportunity. Something that will never come again. Why? Because my generation who foolishly set the trend to Liberal mentalities were a bunch of fools. We were easily taken in by the notion of Utopia that was slathered upon us by those professional deceives in Hollywood, publishing and the counterfeit coinage of that segment that calls itself the ‘news’ media. Now I sit idle contemplating my imminent demise like some character in Orwell’s, Paradise Cafe. Feverishly monitoring the screen as if I was looking out the window at the planetary geo-engineered weather wondering when if ever I will see the sky and perhaps the stars ever again. Oh yes! My own eyes still experience what goes on around me, or does not. You see I have developed a long memory. Actively worked upon it in these times of unexpected prolonged unwanted leisure. The world as it once was now something that the current stack of techno-babies cannot imagine or possibly confront. They only know faux visual universes that ape insignificant semiotic post-Modernism.s that give an artificial flavor of worlds past. More in the way that prospective worlds of a tainted future all resemble the Socialistic plans for present tense co-opting. The destructive fantasy of equality by complete normalization on the model of the mechanically foolproof doctrine of the Corporate Globalist management of the entire planet. One where human life is an anachronism that must be stamped out from universal molds to offer perfect cogs. Ones deprogrammed of any uniqueness and ready to surrender all individual leanings in return for the occasional prize of some robot fulfilled animal desires. Semen and ovum for the uterus of one’s closed fist and not for the promulgation of an independent family. Mass routine inoculations to limit lifespan and vitality to the absolute baseline minimum or use as a bio-weapon to quell any unforeseen revolt. A core obsession to displace and dispel all Elvira Madigan’s format he planet. Bitter daily pills filled with arsenic. Life as perpetual suicide where each day begins and ends with a wish to finally get it over with and die.
No, I did not imagine this sort of world possible way back when I refused to follow my own father’s lead. Or take his hard won sage advise. Now the current generations are not even guaranteed the possibility of committing that mistake. That vague steel wool superstructure of state supported constant social justice harangue wears down all propositions that were once taken as solid foundations of sanity and successful life. Things like living a childhood exclusively within a home with two parents there to actively raise them. Instead of the modern conventions of constantly being farmed out to nurseries and day care and after school behavior medication by electronic screens. Live constantly with the faux apprehension that the easily available Internet cornucopia of phone accessible factoids does not comprise wisdom. Routinely surrender themselves in the blink of an eye to social media gossip that cannot validate its claims beyond an unconscious sense of perceptual awareness that it must come ultimately from an anonymous overbearing despotic power group in control of that same means of diffusion. The motivation by way of an unspoken fear that they too may be quickly marginalized if they do not go along with the central planning’s latest whim. Mass suicide of the the self by the continued consensus of silence supporting an increasing conformity by total inaction. “Do what you are told!” and squawk about it in private. Blame, blame,blame! But never act in your own behalf by supporting your own family identity against the latest shifting viewpoints. Take on the portmanteau of guilt without question or rage against those who would saddle you with it. Just sink back and surrender. Some form of ongoing unstoppable festering waking nightmare that easily de-trains any of my own unconscious nocturnal leanings no matter how vile or mad or insane they might be. The dreams of former conventionality as once imagined now a future fully and finally erased. “All hail the eternal guinea pig!” Chasing the world upon a screen while they remain perpetually immobile. This are the seeds of the Utopia’s sold to my generation by the evil corporate few come to flourish. I sit here and sip my coffee in the meantime. Looking out over the perpetual gray landscape of civilized futility an no longer dare to dream. Only being able to support just so many nightmares?
My mother loved to watch, Gone With The Wind. It was her favorite movie. I can’t say that I ever understood what it meant to her. That was my failing as the perennial ‘late bloomer’. When I have seen it as of late it seems so blatantly obvious now. The frivolous nature of a young desirable girl. A seen of love based upon a foolish seen of infatuation. The fear of being left vulnerable and alone. The building of an inner resolve as a maturing woman to steel herself against any challenge. The opportunity that life provides her to prove her abilities and worth again all odds. Making her own way int he world despite the criticism of society. Discovering the true nature of love and friendship even if it seems too late in the game. And the value of home and the legacy of family that one has come from. All these qualities having their effect upon a young girl looking forward to the transition into womanhood.
She was nineteen when it appeared in theaters in 1940. I have to wonder if she viewed it first in the last preeminent movie palace still extent in the midst of the loop in Chicago? What disappointments and discoveries that lay ahead of her one might wonder if she expected? A world where war stole the possibility of finding a lasting love. The rise of career seeming to interject itself betwixt the chance for finding a home and raising a family. A brief and incidental marriage to a selfish boy that pretended to be a man leading to the disappointment and despair of never achieving the goal of harmony in motherhood. The tragic death of her mother and the subsequent loss of her father due to his grief and despair. And of course my father who in so many ways was a fit stand in for the real man in O’Selznick’s passion play. That special someone who had all the faults but at the core of it loved her and held her as the center of his universe. The most significant big budget extravaganza of her coming of age predicting in so many ways what became the challenges that she faced in the subsequent progress of her later life. How she must have viewed herself against the foil of the drama’s lead character at those many decisive junctures of her existence?
To view the film now is to catch sight of her at that tender age in the flickering darkness of the audience. A sight one rarely finds as a child of a woman that to them seemed the eternal archaic goddess known as ‘mother’. “January 17th, 1940.” To think of the date that she may have stepped into the lobby of some baroque movie palace fresh with anticipation to encounter the fresh celluloid telling her the tale of her future and destiny. How clever in hindsight for the doyens of Hollywood to fashion their plans to come within such clever intrigue. To show how a well-planned world conflict would affect the aspirations of the then contemporary iteration society coming of age and hint at how it would soon be transfigured. And in considering the subsequent ‘strum und drang‘ of this current time deposed. The players in the drama provided with both highs and lows and revealed as heroes or villains by their building legacy of reactions. The controversial aspect of the social incarceration of one and the effect of their inescapable lot in life ever-present as both tool and warning.
I have to wonder at the double edge sword the genius and the diabolical nature of those that power society so frivolously without the art form of painting the prospective progression of human life upon a screen? And then hangs it over the heads of the viewer by a thread for the rest of their existence. The audience aligning their lives to a mass hysterical narrative as opposed to finding their own way unassisted through the tangle wood of everyday chaos? Sitting here alone within the fading limelight of my own passing existence being the sole keeper of the long but now extinct narrative of my own kin I can only wonder further what the true natures of my own local players were? Their true identities reflected by the unspoken hopes and dreams that never were revealed . And somehow remained elusive never to come to pass! And how I might somehow in some small way further get to know them as they really once were.
Like many things that are touched by human hands the most noble of sentiments somehow eventually end up mishandled. End up much farther afield than what was initially intended. Perhaps no concept is portrayed in more of a fallacious manner than the popular movie version of that strange anomaly of nature known as the hero. To see the entity that had grown up in the long evolution of celluloid one would summon to mind images of one ever confident in the immediacy of action magically stepping forth without any hesitation into the worst of circumstances dealing in kind blow for blow with any adversary overfly large or diabolically clever. Someone who seems to have an inexhaustible level of willpower to go easily far beyond their own limited capacities in mortal strength and withstand a level of punishment that would wither those twice their size. All these qualities plus more expected in the midst of public discourse and in relating the qualities of this rare breed on individual that we all seem humbled by in mere proximity of our own measure seemingly so lacking in comparison.
Yet, no fanfare of massed trumpets and celebratory showers of rose petals can hope to offer fit homage to so many that would choose to step away from the spotlight and remain silent of those things that needed to be done and resolved themselves to commit to because there was no one else there to fulfill them. The last man standing who could have retreated but chose instead to seek out a fellow incapacitated or perhaps beyond saving. Someone who was challenged by what seemed an insurmountable fear and held fast despite to face it squarely not yielding to the impulse to run. Someone who has suffered the torments of Hell but is resolved to continue on without any hope of a better outcome because it was up to them or no one. Those who could find satisfaction in humble fare and be thankful for it despite its lack. Anonymous individuals not prone to marching rank and file shoulder to shoulder on a specific holiday. Not out of any sense of shame but in knowing that with any society the time for peace must ever outweigh those times regretfully spent in giving battle. Those are the natural inclinations of true heroes. Not the cardboard movie poster cutouts beneath marquees or the cold slippery plastic of effigies molded into the shape of fictional characters that have never existed save within the minds of infants. But in those true veterans that have raised us, loved us, and sacrificed mightily to protect us. God bless them all!
I had just moved to Australia up in mountain country. I wasn’t really sure where things were? I was reliant completely on my skills to be able to create graphics. I got a job with a guy creating some graphics using his Maori . . . ? Or a guy that looked like a Maori for a vendor in terms of creating some portion of it. Like typesetting! We were talking about something like fifty dollars. And the guy wanted the job real quick. But I did my part of it. And of course the vendor said, “Oh, well are you going to pay me?” And I said, “Well. let me do this.” I sez, “I will pay you in the morning if I don’t get him to give me the money right now.” “I was not aware of our situation.” Reluctantly he said OK. And then, I ended up going to the guy and of course he was equally reluctant to give money right away. They always play the ‘thirty days’ bullshit! And uh, I basically got a ride back to my car which of course was in the middle of nowhere. I think it had actually gotten towed or something. It was a total cluster fuck! It was like uh, the ‘usual game’ as they say.
The ceremony at the warehouse. An old photo warehouse. They had vast mostly empty type of supply of old camera equipment. And they had a bunch of people working with 4 x 5’s. Supposedly working in the middle of the dark doing photographic photography. It turns out that was the place that my father . . . not my real father but my father . . . and my brother talked about my father who was a very troubled man who went places and acted out. I know before then there was some kind of destruction. And I had been in the elevator and the building was filling up with dirt. Initially it was just like emptied into the outside. And then all of a sudden started going into the elevator. And I had to keep climbing out of the dirt and ended up again in this warehouse and I was climbing around on the pipes above trying to stay out of sight of everybody on the main floor. (coughing) The pipes were extremely dusty and dirty. Again, trying not to be discovered by all the frenzied people downstairs in the main lobby. The one person I was with could keep their balance and walk (upright). I actually had to lean on another pipe precariously over empty space and side my way down the pipe to the end. Finally I climbed down upon a series of boxes. Then again we had to hide. And it turned out to be the same corner as the photography. And everything all stacked with items from the past that I had once known either at work or the era, or whatever . . . Then in the end I go back to the hotel. The hotel has a center area that is sort of like our . . . it’s even though outside in a patio. It seems like somehow like that’s where we live? And my father’s there and he is some kind of wreck. My brother’s there who I normally don’t speak to. But I know one day I will speak to because my father will be dead. It was interesting because I never had a brother? And in a background is like uh low chorus. “It’s disturbing.” “It’s all disturbing!” “It’s disturbing (louder more dramatic).” “It’s all disturbing!” And so forth. And keeps recycling. And I know that I am going to be chewed out by my father about something or anything because he loves to chew people out. So, again, this terrace is equivalent to the same pattern of the square where to each given section there is a bunch of artifacts that supposedly have meaning. Supposedly you wish to save but in reality are not worth saving. Very odd?
Someplace ancient. Perhaps set in the future? I don’t know? Six or seven maidens that stay in one place. Initially, it’s just Tom Cruise who’s . . . ? Not quite in prison, but not quite free. And his pants are all torn. And he is sitting there pouring wax on the edges of his pants. And it turns out that his legs are all scarred. He is trying to keep is legs from leaking fluid by putting wax on them. Then of course he transitions and transforms into these multiple maidens. They have somewhat similar problems. Supposedly? And now they are statues. One guy who is rich decides that he is going to do the same thing. But he does not know if that there are scarred and famous and everything. But he wants to immortalize them. He likes the way they look sitting in a vast (forum) . . . Sitting in an old Roman style limestone city. And there are, of course, (they are) up on pedestals. The idea is to . . . there are three parts of the process. And I seem to know it but he doesn’t. And of course the whole thing looks like it is going to turn out to be a disaster.