The morning was becoming another in a series of unpromising days that inevitably were caught in a perpetual gray haze. A time of year one could have easily tossed it off. Perhaps more nefarious? Considering the pernicious demeanor of mankind and its penchant for its most favored toy known as technology. Coming from that sense of ever unrequited promise. Of that, “never again” sense of utopia that one was always on the edge of achieving but never ever realizing. The promise without the punch. Or, perhaps maybe with the same? A rabbit punch applied stealthily from an unexpected direction. The effects of age were beginning to become entrenched.
Why was it that in this land people were so moved by appearance as the price of not being able to assess the inner substance within? The varnish and the fake metallic enamel plate convincing whereas the cumulative evidence of achievement however deviant of the inertia of a center channel course being indifferently ignored. The modicum of everyday lives of underlying stress and strain from an unworkable state of affairs as imposed from on high only relivable by the artifice of performers releasing some glimmer of their own inner capacity to fake strong releasing empathetic emotions of sorrow and joy sending chills throughout their audiences? Hollywood having another form of truly pornographic capabilities in its repertoire to offer along with the other long list of other transgressions that can be credited to its ignoble existence.
Walking down a midway of a country fair unable to notice the signs that are high above. Someone’s former daughter’s voice unexpectedly ringing out to call out each name on the passing signs. The window! Judgment by tract of personality versus cult affiliation motivation to accept anyone or deny them based on social programming cues. Go down the list. Dress, body language, verbal interactions, Marxism versus primal ethics. Propagated propaganda propagation dishwater dissolution pollution Socialist viewpoint Communist Bonesman Zionist review. A plethora of constant crackpot crap of mental fantasy land spouted to a broken little toy type ‘cradle to grave’ paranoid lower level of consciousness. Those passing before the window outside feeling naked to view? The rules of the game being not to acknowledge it. Siddartha upon Michigan Avenue. This cemetery of old ideas. Liberal hot spot mental dislocation prevalent in the Lemming zone. Social action Soviet inspired personality dissolution. Constant! Everyday! The march backwards in time to serfs and landlords. Anonymous stars in one’s ongoing personal epic. Black Panther versus Enter The Dragon. Sugar caffeine amplification. Then versus now.
Death says his book’s cover. Heady topic! Windy a breeze passing behind one’s head. A slight hint of a soul in transit. One that once was! The irascible one sitting down just ahead offering many complaints. As usual! Different forms of fawning in diffidence to the first amount of direct attention that she has received for decades. Sad! Irresolution out of proportion. The man across the aisle having a profile resembling a bomb’s shock wave. Save for the nose that classes him with a Semitic/Jew/Sephardic. This irony being the great revealer. Who runs the show? The poor piano accompanist looking positively worn out by the demands of years at her art. The dragon sitting to the left rising to catch the eye of her fleeing companion. A deadpan dismissive expression making one glad once again that they had not broken the silence to seek her opinions out. We are all stuck with the faces pasted upon us at birth. And must daily deal with too many exterior assumptions about what is the fault. That real time viper with the Aunt Bea face lights up with the passing of an undisclosed supernumerary. The new announcer take the microphone in hand and gushes out in Gay sibilance. Just here to become another sad type in the catalogue of those on their way out to make sufficient room for more.
Repetition is the spice of strife. One’s persistent longing does not reveal any innate capacity to be loved. Intimacy may bespeak immediacy? But then commands a hope for the possibility of some small degree of lingering sharable empathy. One cannot truly be in love until they themselves are willing to step aside. Emptiness in its lack does not constitute a human existence. To expect one’s self to be known despite the high walls that are erected around them is to maintain a fiction of geniality of false security of an irresolute presence.
Cold. Nice boots and new jeans. Bad hair. “Just being me!“, she might have said to herself as she strode up to the counter. Silently passing under the gaze of older men. The art hanging about the walls bespeaking black rubber worms ‘cacked’ forth from abundantly large vulcanized assholes. A quiet little student of her cell phone’s daily musings sitting int he armor of her cheap floor length winter coat. Alone. She sits at the table just ahead. A semblance in a way from the scribbles on the glass facing outside. Individual offerings in wax pencil barely legible yet very human by design. What have I to offer life from my own play set of bankrupt toys! Save perhaps the ability to avoid danger? To avoid the living embodiment of the existence of life. Though we all exist within the jaws of a trap slowly sprung. The expressions of joy signifying arrival by errant ‘femmes‘ so vulnerable and in total emotional disarmament.
If any seek discovery in these words then they are mistaken. Weight distributed on two legs. The exclusively internal conversation without the blank page a room for of youthful strangers. The sustenance by the fiction that wisdom comes naturally with impressionable youth who are relieved from the pressures of life by leisure. Life is a chess game for some of those who consider themselves outsiders. The occasional expected ritual involving consumption of the sacrificial offering of flesh. “And my reaction was!“, she did not say, mumbling instead a colloquial “like“. The residue of the ever mounting atrophy of spoken English vocabulary further despoiled. “As I always say . . .“, inferring an inability to think differently over an indeterminate period of time. “Huh?“, an exclamation rather than a question. A grunt rather than an intelligent groan.
The reality for those being distant from all and not just from their own kind. The currently acceptable spark of individuality coming in well-tatooed meat. Armed with an eight pack of toilet tissues under the arm, it fully and firmly secured. Take creatures, white Masai and just about as aloof. Sensitivity within sensual areas more simply an itch to be scratched. Symbolic leisure wear well within the set of faux riding boots loudly proclaiming a desired caste to be judged by. Does one accept this silent declaration at face value? The stars from the heavens above are merely bright reflections upon the white enamel of the coffee cup of track lighting. A thick wad of paper snatched ceremoniously from the pocket assuming respect in the repeatable transactional ritual of coming out.
I am left speechless. What else of worth is there to talk about? There is no hope in continuing in the way that you are used to. The way you once did when everything seemed so easy and available within reach. The way of life that you have grown up in the tradition of. There is no future beyond a worse form of unrelenting compound interest fiat currency based debt slavery. This world empire is going to every soon self-destruct. The coils of this python is around you. Do you feel the squeeze? The primary product of the current formulation of this society comes in the form of self-deluding fantasies that are industrially conjured by an elite group of power mad sociopaths who are only motivated by the prospect of increasing their power over the general population. If you believe otherwise then you are living under their spell. Their solution is to let society fall into chaos. Let the useless animals kill each other off. Your solution? Kill the rich. Kill the rich, for they are out to kill you! One facade after another must fall to pieces in this unreal environment of self-destructive behavior. Don’t be brainwashed anymore! Don’t wish for a savior! Save yourself! Sell off everything that you don’t need! Don’t use credit! Cut up the cards. Forget brand name merchandise. Buy locally! Trade or barter. Don’t pay landlords! Pay cash for everything if you must. If you don’t have the wealth to buy then don’t! Don’t give these demons the power to destroy you.
Now that the sheep’s clothing has been thrown off and the ‘wolves‘ of Wall Street are running wild in an open attack upon anything Caucasian, I feel that it is high time to unburden myself about a few things that have bothered me. Things that for too many of you that you still won’t touch like why the cartel that has always run Hollywood was so insistent that a full moon could turn a man into a wolf. As if such superstitious fantasies that could be attributed to some modern day underlying reality. The once grievous terminology that is now part of contemporary patois being mind fuck. Their mighty sword to inflict “great vengeance and furious anger” (Ezekial 25:17) against the enemies of Israel. This can literally be embodied in their products released for general viewing over the years that salved their white European audiences into complacency while tricking them into self-destructive viewpoints through artful shorelines using ethnic shills. Considering that in the classic modus operandi of the modern detective one looks for both motive and opportunity their are plentiful examples connected with the inception of same. The cult of the magus that goes back to Darius the Great, who as in the words of he old Negro spiritual “literally let their people go” in 519 BC, is synonymous with entrancing other peoples so as to take their treasure and ultimately destroy them. A cycle that has been repeating itself without interruption over all the years in-between. The true birthplace of the notion of Hollywood being to capture ones attention, confuse, and instill false thoughts being the basis of the practice of magic. Can anything explain better why the entire population of every other modern society on this planet seems beset by such inner turmoil? Who could have imagined two decades back that the most valued possession in ones inventory of material objects would be one that they could hold in their hand and daily capture their entire focus of life? The older technology being that honey trap of the old grand Baroque movie palaces of the nineteen-thirties when the national money supply was ‘mysteriously’ contracted forcing most into economic want of the dime or dollar to get in? The power of the motion picture and those singular products released at pivotal points in history precluding larger world events equally unfathomable. That is of course if one dares to directly take a probing unflinching look!
Take for example the year 1947 two years after the conclusion of the complete destruction of their avowed enemy, the German people, many events that magically occurred at the same time had a certain synchronicity not unlike so many modern ones day. On Nov. 29, 1947, the United Nations General Assembly passed a resolution calling for Palestine to be partitioned at the expense of indigenous Arabs and Christians for European Jews, allowing for the formation of the Jewish state of Israel. The National Security Act of 1947 enacted a major restructuring of the United States government’s military and intelligence agencies. And, seemingly far less noteworthy, MGM released the movie, A Gentleman’s Agreement, based on Laura Z. Hobson’s best selling novel. A storyline plot in which (white) Christian a journalist played by Gregory Peck poses as a Jew to research an exposé on antisemitism in New York City. The picture went on to be nominated for eight different Oscars and won three. How convenient! So egregious was its release at the pivotal time when the Jewish inspired doctrine of Soviet Communism was actually found to be directly entrenched within the highest offices of the USA that it upset the House Un-American Activities Committee as it was considered a tactic of interference with the investigation of some of its key creators. Elia Kazan, Darryl Zanuck, John Garfield, and Anne Revere all being called to testify before the same committee. The author not un-coincidentally being the ‘first female director’ of Time magazine and birthed by radical Socialist Russian Jewish parents in part behind The Jewish Daily Forward. A politically focused publication in its own right today now stripped down to the title Forward. Her book publisher another Jewish mega-influencer of his day, Richard L. Simon of Simon & Schuster, a company that dominated publishing. Birds of a feather having a marked similarity as of old in sticking together?
One might suggest that the placement of these and other events were instrumental in paving the way in terms of softening public opinion in the USA for supporting the implantation of the long standing project of a Jewish state in Palestine. The culmination of the payoff by the Triple Entente for twice bringing the United States out of isolationism to defeat the rising economic dominance of turn of the century Germany. One violating the greatest invention of modern World Jewry, the burned, but seemingly never singed, offering of that ongoing modern myth and money-making proposition termed the Holocaust. Forget the facts, this is Hollywood! And not ironically, this is the current state immoral of the world where most who are electronically plugged in the grid believe in space aliens and contentious generations of women that can easily physically best all men rather than partner with them. A global financial based society that thrives of the deception that its controllers are routinely allowed to charge obscene levels of compound interest just for their printing of paper alone. The notion of continuously producing that same old magic of shifting public opinion now currently singled out as ‘fake news’ and box office tanking socially immoral culturally toxic blockbusters. How odd that so many of these enterprises routinely trip themselves up under direct scrutiny in terms of pervasive violence, sexual perversion and misquoting the facts. The notion of collective guilt and self-destructive powerlessness always foisted upon white culture by the end of each presentation. Is it any wonder that the indoctrination of successive generations has led to false notions that will simply enslave them in the employ of destroying their own kind? It is too bad that the book burning of the twenty-first century goes on silently in the developed preference easily manipulated electronic media as opposed to very quickly disappearing conflictory paper.
“And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.” Ezekial 25:17 (a key portion of the Hebrew Pentateuch, AKA Torah/old testament)
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?
The bottle of Maker’s Mark was next to dry. Perhaps a shot left? It’s distinctive aroma certainly wasn’t! He was ever adverse to it. Yet he craved this brand in his Manhattan’s? Maybe that might some up his current attitude about so many things? Life for instance! The whole idea of repeating his mistakes appalled him. And that is what his inner desires seemed to demand? The vow to continued poverty a ruse. That accompanying vow against the continued romantic company with women equally tenuous. Both tenuous propositions over the long term. Yet one still needing the opposite of the other to be enacted. Love was after all no longer a solo performance on a street corner. It needed accompaniment. A good time involving dinner and some drinks at the very least. In this time of feminine liberation it was clear that some things never changed. He inspected the bottle and replaced it on the cart in the corner. Year’s end had as always left him pensive in a seemingly permanent state of solitude.
A late afternoon Winter sun was now preparing to take its leave at barely half past three. The shadows that it cast being a signature of so much now long past. You could look out the window and see the light stir and in the next moment begins its imminent retreat. He felt similarly anxious about his own prospects. The past year had not done him any favors. In fact it might have dealt him a final blow had his outlook have been the same as even four year previous. That might have been when he had given up his recalcitrance for realizing that the future was just another part of the useless game that he’d long been embarked on. The same one that was taught in an all so unsubtle manner in schools. Fame, fortune and family. Winning big without any help from the odds as presented by the state lottery commission. The pendulum of the wall clock neatly ticking off seconds like a bartender methodically shaving orange zest. A drink about right now sounded like a good proposition. The penalties were stiffer than the alcohol however. One drink could find him awakening suddenly several hours after falling asleep with his heart pounding. Not a good sign. Congestive heart failure? The family curse.
He had sure drunk his fill in times past. Enough to fill a railroad car it seems? Not that he was an ‘alky!‘ He could hold his liquor like a camel going for months without a drop. But something else was driving the angst that occasionally my desires ran splashing themselves across. The world was tightening around his neck and more prominently around his temples. A permanent headache! The realization that truth was a tumor to this world. A world that sought to suppress the facts but eliminate anything that has a truthful ring. Another year was threatening with the malice of more of the same old same old except even more so! To question is to engage in thought crime! Completely unacceptable. Then he knew that he was on to something. “Happy New Year!”, he thought to himself.
it was a pleasant sunny day strolling down the sidewalk at the edge of the beach by the water. The adjacent bike path’s traffic was slowly buildings with weekend ‘Tour de France’ aficionados many of whom who seemed to confuse occasional pedestrian traffic crossing their path as some form of momentary personal vendetta. Approaching the meander of the six lane highway to the other side of the ritzier section of the city’s center the Brahman section of the beach came into view. I knew that I was out of my depth strolling down this part of the beach. One that was unofficially reserved by some unspoken fiat for those in full flower of youth and wealth. And here was I nearly four decades past same taking my time at a pace that was annoying to all constituents of that age group! But there were no stanchions along the path to keep the riff raffia out of their zone. And my pittance of tax money was a good as the massive amounts that many of their parents declined to pay so rather than cross over under the tunnel below the big highway to an adjoining side street I rallied forth at the exact same slow maddeningly pace obliviously taking in any and all surrounding me as if it were part of a circus midway. And for someone such as myself, as I have said, being a multiple of three times the age of nearly all those before me nearly in the buff and vainglorious exposing as much well-tanned buff flesh as possible I am sure I was just as problematic. If not in the eyes as problematic as the occasional appearance of one of their parent’s in swimwear that might have exposed all the most unwanted bulges that their well-tanned sensibilities would have been fearfully abhorrent of. The current day’s propriety of this region not tolerant of an Michelin males or Pillsbury dough people.
One section demanded that all who dare not risk life and limb challenging the eminent domain of the nearby velocipede superhighway had to descend via an old crumbling concrete stairwell to walk amidst the well-heeled Lancome Bienfait buttered bun skinny thong-habited indigene. Granite ‘six pack‘ torsos supporting swollen biceps silently hard at work to garner temporal admiration within the surround of diffident maiden flesh. Their own ample Venus de Milo marbled chassis sporting sparsely covered surgically over-inflated boobies lounging like seals on the expanse of the low waist high sea wall. My own tiny, oft forgotten, ‘Johnson‘ becoming a tad nervously restless at this enfolding spectacle below I courageously descended. An navigational hazard appeared in my peripheral vision sitting somewhat draped on the treads ten steps down. A young man with his physical form lounging Etruscan couch style indifferently taking up a good part of the real estate nearly blocking egress into the teaming youthful morass below. My efforts to be covertly as circuitous as possible bruised by his verbal interjection. “Would you mind giving me a hand?“, the Apollonian face spoke in my direction. As if uttering some obscure stern quip from the more erudite unexplored postings of a lesser know ancient Greek poet. I looked back at him with trepidation as I had managed to circumnavigate his obstruction with what I took to be an extraordinary degree of stealth. What inordinate rule of the Gods had I transgressed to bring forth an utterance. Then I turned a bit and noticed that his lower limbs were quite thin and limp. His sunglasses armed continence directed its fire my way once again “Would you mind giving me a hand?” I stood there dumb as an ox. His appearance was no less than any other of nearby Narcissus. In fact, given the level of vesture and accompanying the Hublot chronometer and Roman Paul neck chain it might have been easily said that his was more than a few rungs above. “A Lift . . . in the literal sense!” Obviously considered an ox by this young man. Something though in my own private conversation informed me that this was a challenge of sorts. Not some saccharine issue of what might have been considered Good Samaritan gesture. But a challenge on the level of laying down a gauntlet with the corresponding probability of a dueling scar or worse. An act of retreat signifying cowardice. I didn’t consider that I might possibly fail to be able to lift him up. Surprisingly, up in the air he went and my back after many years of wear and teas held. I now served as pachyderm.
It was a strange career where though I was publicly scorned and privately invisible my talents at discretion and still adequate arms brought me into unimagined circles as this young gentleman’s man’s man in public. A role that I had once scorned but when actively taken on led to unofficial wealth and access to a portion of the world that I had vaguely heard of but never really knew existed. In some strange way I became the focus of a certain calling within the atmosphere of general decadence that this young gentleman traveled. Perhaps his own perverse nature as a millennial in wanting to be seen carried into venues by an aging ‘baby boomer‘ whetted some inner private fantasy of his own? While perceptibly considerable as ‘Gay’ in tastes to a casual outsider, agnostic to all things overtly sexual in practice focusing more on the regal exercise of power rather than real world participation. The demonstrated example of which led to a certain ranking of young attractive females in the environs approached were likely to approach who were willing to enthusiastically advance their desire to off participation in very forward offers of offbeat sexual gratification. Ones where I was tasked as their centerpiece. For me in those times of my scheduled performance in ceremonial entry and ultimate egress it was like reliving my own licentious young adulthood. A special status that for a while was entertaining but in light of age, stamina and reason soon became too problematic. I found myself comparing the levels of perversity’s engaged in. And to some degree found a fellow traveler in that regard from the behavior of my benefactor who only allowed himself to be engaged in an abbreviated version of some offbeat calling when it involved him ‘riding int he saddle‘ as opposed to serving as the conveyance. Humiliation having been foisted on him by the fact of his physical condition but not by current avocation to continue it through physical lip service. It was odd that like some Vaudeville performer of yore when found off-stage he treated me with a certain silent unspoken respect. An essential to his act that as it seemed to garner the affection of each audience he would not deign to tamper with or defame. The lesson that time and a variety of extraordinary experiences soon providing was that the human race as a single species was indeed a strange animal. And like any other animal in an unsure and chaotic universe had to be unscrupulously tamed and kept under tight control lest it eventually lead to the demise of it’s master.