Hello all you traitors to your own kind! You will get what is coming to you. What you have strived and connived for all along. No holiday will mark your victory. No statue will be erected to your fame. They will all be gone torn down in the beautiful impossible dystopia that you have built with ash and rock fragments of the one that you so righteously ripped apart. The work of millennia erased because it did not fit with the trend of the day proclaimed on your I-phones. I hope that you rot in the universe that you are hell bound to create in your self-righteous fervor. You are working hard to deserve it. A master hand from behind the scenes is evident. Whites betray themselves. Defile their own kith and kin. They would rather be slaves to a false ideals. Than fight for their own kind. Than defend their own cause for survival. Blinded, brainwashed, by an embedded enemy that pretends to be a friend. But that is obsessed in wearing the crown of thorns of another. Obsessed by the tale of one of their own that they murdered so very long ago. A band of common cutthroats. Pretenders to the thrown. A deceitful scheming ever restless insurgent bent only by a hatred of the human race. That squats over the moral high ground like a jealous hen. It summons its minions fanning the hot flames in what is worse in them. Turning them into a pack of wild dogs. You can hear the pack barking in midday. No longer simply a nuisance at night. Those subverted by the sham of governing sit idly by shivering in their hutches like lesser hens. Concerned only with protecting their own nests. Of squatting indifferently while they fail their oaths of office with complete indifference. The will not survive. But de-evolve. Blacks cannot change! They still are enslaved. And prefer to remain so because, “da pikin’s is always good!” Shiftless beggars deserving of zero respect. They can never pull themselves up out o the pig pen poverty the so richly enjoy. What fun to exert their mercurial mindless violence and get away with it. The sick twisted mentality of getting what’s coming. The will. But it will be their end. They will be gone after the whites are. Hordes of barbarians babble in their graveyard tongues. Uncaring of anything but what is deemed as wealth. Come from afar to sack and pulverize all that they do not understand. Cannot understand. Were never meant to by the strictures of the lands that they were raised in. That they left. They are merely hatchling’s wrought of former guilt of those that they have come to consume. To cannibalize. Amazing how frugal and effective this unseen hand works! Turning one against another. Blood must be shed to bring all to their senses. But then it will be too late. The world will move on and civil society will lay in shards. In its place a hostile workhouse that will slowly replace humanity by the clock. Commodities only from cradle to grave. Genetically modified to not even care. To be happy like a mindless idiot. To be ready to serve and serve and serve at the push of a button. Robots in name. And worth nothing. Amazing how well decadence works. A lesson passed down from the universe to the lions of old. The hyenas will eat you. The roaches will devour the rest. The seven plaques of Egypt revisited. The same old story brought to you by the same old culprits. Go ahead and laugh! It’s your funeral.
“The Reve Mal” It forever seem odd that of all mankind’s devices stories of one kind or another remain the most potent part of human existence. Not necessarily good stories or long familiar ones that have been repeated over and over so many times that they seem etched in the back of one’s brain. Stories that suggest an odd unexpected conclusion that border on the temporal quality of clever. Bundle them all up and you have the motivating force behind society begging along the way of course for it to include those of your own. Case in point of those fed to you by your unconscious in the collective realm of dreams. The current era being overwhelming leaving one a phantom padding about within their own personal museum of ultimate obsolescence. That adage of utilizing a fraction of brain capacity coming down in so many ways to a base level of time spent on contemplation.
“The house was filled with a collection of reptiles. The most notable being alligators and their crocodile cousins that congregated int he middle of the room snapping their jaws as one passes. It seemed a good time for a departure and my aged mother stood at the door to the hallway ready to exist down the short flight of stairs. I met her just outside and bundled her into the Lincoln Town Car onto the front seat. Then it seemed that her older sister also was in the back seat.”
At this point it is useful to stop to tell one and all that this is but simple illusion as it cannot be substantiated by any physicality in the current waking world. And as many have pointed out so plainly when one extrapolates under the bright Sun of midday. So many easy explanations existing presenting existential arguments defying that experience as if it was planted only within one’s head by a more earthly random experience. Yet from the insider perspective of within that single head that inspired it the waking world despite all its easy camaraderie cannot disprove it noting nothing more than a frequency of same. Offering only ones daily return to habit in believing that palpable reality need be proven by the simple fact of its continual intervals of repetition. This becoming a particular delirious dilemma for those types afflicted with an acute form of solitary aloneness that has not strict the convention easily at hand to derail it from being a positive belief.
Thus those afflicted went about their daily routine with a feeling that influenced their appreciation for the their immediate circumstances that could not be verified by actual experience. A distinct disadvantage in dealing with strangers and distant acquaintances, who of course were never privy to the eccentricities of the dreamer. How this all played out in the midst of so many faceless masses only a matter of importance to the one who experienced it. What weight could such a thing have in a sea of indifferent humanity? “For after all . . “, one might easily recite, “. . .what is one man’s opinion against the sea of the many?”
To consider the difference in the opinions of widely disparate eras forever seemingly obsessed with contrasting poverty with plenty it might be appropriate to reflect upon the differences of former times in terms of general popular attitudes. Those particular ones spotted in the from a distant past offering the promise of success gained by the experience of the amalgam of both experiences. Ones that surpass in blatant symbiosis the more contemporary ones which by comparison seem near to impossible to ever actually achieve. Freely available work almost on demand as livable wages for example. The talented being able to cut more favorable deals in terms of wages and benefits based on verbal performance. “Closer’s” versus “talker’s!” The newest most latest form of sensibility being to run general society like a meat packing house where nothing gets wasted despite any potential risk to the public health.
A more polite form of acknowledgement offered exclusively to those from other lands. As those with strange customs strangling the conventional experience of others considered indigenous. You’ll be solicited along the way by vague entities that routinely pass themselves off as just plain regular personable folk. The dreamy image posed in a few well-composed pictures set in a pleasing locale dressed in appropriately stylish outfits that are carefully configured to strike a positive chord with you as their prospective consumer and eventual targeted rival. The closet thing to this composite identifying label possibly being referred to as, “THE TEAM.” A very determined stratagem of lack of identity identifying that same old corporate firewall virtually protecting the company from any need for their accountability to customers for their services. Everyone and everything treated simply like a commodity.
I went to see Christopher Nolan’s “Dunkirk” yesterday. Not because I was personally interested to do so. But because my last remaining relatives expressed an interest of seeing it. We as the children of those that were part of that struggle that the media at large has incessantly drilled in our heads was the greatest. World War Two. The ‘greatest‘ as in Mohammed Ali who initially proclaimed himself so, unlike my father, and because he suited the times as a spokesman of the prevailing agenda of normalizing human society was built by the media into a legend. What did Ali do? He beat people up and made an obscene amount of money doing it while strutting around trumpeting his own greatness. Again, something my father who served in the Marines landing on Okinawa at barely eighteen years old fighting to stay alive for the next four months during the most viscous fight of World War Two. I never heard him call himself the ‘greatest’ on that account?
“Dunkirk“, the big budget blockbuster movie, that its producers and investor are hoping it will be, is actively being compared to what they and their fellow industry pundits have deified as the ‘greatest’ war movie of all time, “Saving Private Ryan.” At face view, the benchmark does share a similar setting for what is always mentioned in its own hype as the most talked about. The two movies begin by recounting as story of a beach. And against the backdrop of that setting, they both share another facet that seems key to their movie industry admirers of being about the senseless slaughter of young white post adolescent men of European descent. Given the incessantly fractious nature of the times that the larger ‘WE’ live in, this is something that I personally was not desirous of seeing. Not before the viewing, nor certainly in hindsight after. In fact, having once been an excessively voracious movies goer who has turned that corner over the past decade and a half of falling out of love with Hollywood’s obsessive penchant for interweaving social justice themes within what they now term as ‘franchise‘ films. In this penchant, all the major studios have outweighed their welcome and my active viewing participation.
Christopher Nolan has been provided with the crown by both hacks and movie critics as the current reigning challenger for the ‘greatest‘ contemporary filmmaker around. His predecessor in this position among several others being Steven Spielberg who gained a similar status some decades previous directing a fanciful politically propagandized big budget film, “Schindler’s List“, once again about people being killed off. In this case, by the estimation of some, the killing of the spirit of white Europeans with the aura of guilt for incidents that to some opinions were willfully misinterpreted as being fact when in point of fact it turned out that they were not. In another sense, Spielberg had graduated to his position based upon his ability to manipulate generations of mass audiences to believe something that at face value had validity. But in the underlying inference that the movie touted as a whole had nothing to do with history but more to do with brainwashing the opinions within people’s minds. Following this tact along in a larger sense over the long haul of the history of movie industry, any director that can foster a specific lasting sentiment within the minds of an enter generation is the ‘greatest’ director of his time. And depending of course on how this influence changes the thinking of a nation, and perhaps the entire world, of all time.
Is it any wonder to find out that the first Academy Award Oscar for best picture was given to a big budget silent era production about young white men being transfixed by the horrors of loss suffered in World War One? Or that the award for best actor was given to a pre-eminent German actor of that era for his portrayal of a Russian general of a deposed white society who is ultimately humbled and crushed by his ultimate fate of being cast as a Hollywood extra reliving his greatest failure? All these films and directors, thus far mentioned, examples of the heralding of failure of the values and impetus of Western European civilization in some way. All completely different in fact to what was for its time in the post World War Two era of nineteen-sixty two, and equally grueling portrayal of young men suffering and dying. The major blockbuster big budget film that was in fact a collaboration of the directorial talent of six different well-seasoned Hollywood directors of the time. This film being set on Normandy beaches some thirty four years earlier than “Saving Private Ryan” yet equally pervasive in its on viewing generations, “The Longest Day.” The major difference being that this film celebrated the bravery and sacrifice of white Europeans not their defeat.
In light of this trend consider that the underlying messaging that one is strongly left with after viewing “Dunkirk” is one of being a defeated empire. Yet not so much so that one’s sacrifice and effort to survive goes unappreciated. The entire length of one hundred and six minutes of cinematic narrative cast not accidentally in the format of a ‘first person shooter‘ computer games point of view. The audience follows along in the guise of several avatars going through the perils of the immediate landscape. No judgment is offered in the cinematic outlay of action that suggests good or bad or even evil. It is completely ‘moral relative’. The major emotions summoned being those of intervening scenarios of horror juxtapose with an aficionado’s viewpoint of the inside terrain and implements of that historical time and incident. Any audience empathy wasted upon a series of characters that are summarily introduced and then unexpectedly killed off or deposed into the anonymity of the larger throng of those summarily ‘rescued’. Their historical adversary never shown or even really identified beyond the term, “enemy” as if everyone can fill in the blanks without he official politically correct contemporary agreed upon conclusions as to, “who“, “what“, “why“, and given the failure of our educational establishment maybe even, “where?” Consider that the equivalent corollary of our very defective modern journalism does exactly the same in ceding their responsibility through daily artful innuendoes where the reader is also expected by the journalist to answer these same questions by referring to socially sanitized online texts. The effect of the experience of this epic event being more important than any insight that can be intellectually assayed!
If this film was more in line with the current canon of comic book corporation franchise film production then “Dunkirk” might be deemed in a similar manner a historical ‘thrill ride’ by the well paid cheerleaders once know as critics. For those who, after seeing same, are left with the film’s final very esoteric image of a burning ‘bird‘ that all too clearly suggests an Illuminati phoenix in the initial stages of total meltdown, it is evidently clear that the intent of the film is to convince audiences that the legacy of that era is at a final end. Moreover those populations that treat upon that sense of ‘greatness‘ have like the films biggest name star destroyed their own heroic legacy and now are to be remanded to an uncertain fate at the hands of a shadowy hostile enemy for all his trouble. Hollywood as a vehicle to the governing mercantile powers that provide the context of our daily lives telling us is essence that any sense of elf identity outside its prevail is in the words of the current neocon mayor of the safe sanctuary of the ‘murder paradise’ of Chicago, “Dead, dead, dead!“
NOTE: The following impressions and provisos were gleaned from a seminar held at the University of Chicago writer’s event covering the topic of promoting your work to get your book published. Three panels composed entirely of women, with the exception of one extremely ‘gyno-centric’ male, provided their own personal takes on the current publishing market. The viewpoints were exclusively focused on the liberal leaning market aesthetic behind the Chicago art scene. The percentage of males in attendance within the audience was on the level of ten to one. Much of the paraphrased ‘advice’ seen below was taken directly from the experiences shared and advice given by panelists.
RULES OF THE GLEACHER: Anything that is considered MALE and especially WHITE is most cursed by a mass hysterical reservation at this university seminar! Why is it that the more ‘Elitist’ and ‘Liberal’ any person might be, the more unfriendly if not absolutely hostile they become? If you want to have your books distributed and sold in the conventional literary market domestically or in the West then you had better have Jewish relatives and be a female obsessed with third wave feminism! Rich ones from the North Shore are even better! The panel announces the fact at the beginning of their segment that they are “the gatekeepers!” A prerequisite of any viable genre or subject matter that this block considers viable in the market place despoils men to the benefit of women. This ramps the stakes if that character is part of a sanctified ethnic minority that engages in deviant sexual practices within the Lesbian agenda. The presence of mind to use proper most currently correct terminology assiduously adhering to the latest set of up to the moment conventions or face the penalty of expulsion! Try the strategy of masking your elitist friendly patriotism serving the cause of floundering PR by offering a stilted counter story of a safe powerless minority that you can provide emotional bandaids to. That same tried and true SJW pattern of exhibiting virtue signaling ceremonies that though they don’t last long enough to have any effect in reality always look good in print. on the page. The bleeding heart Liberal tradition to whip the perpetually guilt assuaged tax paying population into a defensive mode so that they don’t scream foul when even more of their ever mounting tax dollars are extorted for the replenishment of of munitions within the Jewish Utopia of the ‘holely land’ or built yet another Holocaust memorial on American turf. That will make sure that the publishing houses which are almost all directly under control of these kissing cousins will look kindly on your next project.
SUGGESTED THEMES FOR SUCCESS: Make a modern version of a post-war melodrama that references the Holocaust in some form to stay in with the ‘in crowd’ or NYT best seller reviewable potential ‘best sellers’. Stick to the appropriate dual dialogue where all your more significant characters are women disgruntled with me to the point of taking all their power and life-force from them by the end of the last chapter. Cloak your text in classic nineteenth century terms from female authors like Jane Austin or at least more modern equivalents as with Virginia Wolf. Make sure to parallel the action of your characters to some current black studies/women studies approved national social justice issue that are currently entrancing the nation as a whole in further fruitless insoluble divisions. Make sure to denigrate European history or achievement by scenarios where the strew source of achievement is found to be a female or a select ethnic minority. Anything Afro-American Black is always good! Play softball when dealing in the land of the Goyim. Give no mention to any unique and enthralling qualities of characters of that description but find them lacking in courage and integrity at every turn. Remember that the term “gravity” refers to the great farmlands stocked with sleepy eyed suburban sheep! Don’t go too far beyond the well-established programs of educationally enforced guilt tripping that their children are daily indoctrinated with. Any unexpected criticism is to be absorbed and digested but not addressed!
TOPICS NOT TO BE ADDRESSED: Self-publishing is not to be given any legitimacy, period. This does not include any agent connected, contest driven, boutique enterprise that must treat equitably with the ‘legitimate’ publishing distributors who can impose rules similar to those already mentioned. Gynocentric, LGBT, race centered epics to be considered the most marketable and traditional mystery and science fiction tolerated to a reasonable degree as long as the thematics remain hostile to the male. Much like the stockyards of the century before, university trained authors are to be guided along int he process through the rigid system of query letters and infinite patience to be eventually contacted with approved agents and editors, preferably female. Any other demographic of those who write that have not gone through the university system are to be discredited. All hiring within publishing houses is to be geared specifically to this demographic. The most catastrophic situation that needs to be avoided is a Tsunami of ‘net neutral’ outlets or chains of interlocking networks that compete for dollars with the conventional system of big box retailers and specialty book distributors. All acceptable media must reflect the tenets of moral relativity while casting doubt on what was once considered conventional mainstream history! Make all authors feel that they need ‘permission’ to write! That they can only be creative when they have reached the point when they sense that they are ‘safe’ from any criticism or censure as if in their mother’s arms. Stress that ‘SUCCESS’ is only possible by following these proscribed limits.
EPILOGUE: My own demographic was understandably considered hostile within this assembly and my mere presence was met with a mutually observed ‘cold shoulder’ as if I was in the midst of crashing a woman oriented event. This being due not simply to my gender but my age and of course racial demographic. Considering the seismic shift currently underway in politics, entertainment and journalism the focus of publishing and the intellectual pretext that is vigorously supported by elite universities seems a form of institutional Seppuku. The arrogance of Globalist corporations in fostering and nursing this hostile position by exiling criticism, emptying the libraries of volumes embodying conflicting viewpoints, and promoting nonsensical positively schizophrenic politically correct dogmas will be met with a definitive backlash. In the authors opinion, not bloody soon enough!
VIDEO – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KLr_5dQqxTk (Post seminar impressions)
So much for old fables! Let me share that dirty little secret with you. Sleeping beauty wasn’t dead after all. She was just faking it till she was sure that Prince Charming was on the hook. At that point all her cares and woes were behind her. She took the evil witch costume back to the shop the very next morning. From that point on the romance was over. Today’s iteration of women really don’t care about men when the final straw is counted. They just want to feel the security that her special he can provide her. The older they get the less the pretense involved. They always save the last best choice that has the biggest income for ‘the man’ of their dreams. Of course, Hollywood wants to keep the opposite narrative alive. It is better for business that way.
You don’t realize when you are young that you are both equal parts of your mother and your father. Now on the other end of the slope heading downward I realize how very true that is. Yet how does one pass this on when it is too late in terms of an ability to do so. The current era wants to push me into an early grave. They use all their resources to tell me my time is over. But I am not ready to go. In fact I am just getting started. There are two worlds within me. The world my father knew and used as a yardstick that I have not come near to fulfilling. And may never even get close. Yet that gives me a future even though the proposed of world of womanhood does not. It is a cold dead hive of useless vainglorious creatures that have abandoned their best feature in procreation. They think that their appearance is more important than your opinion of them. And yet they have the audacity to ask me to sacrifice to buy them a drink? True love is too long under the bus and I am no longer ready to should the unwarranted responsibility for having driven a stake into its heart. No longer ready to lay down my coat in the puddle’s midst to have to fit in with all the other muddy headed males who seem incapable of any sort of courage beyond that of memorizing the latest sports statistics. And then to be told to wash the dirt off my coat by myself. How sad to watch my own culture die because it was betrayed from within? And all for so many useless piles of paper that you are no longer supposed to carry around in large numbers within your wallet!
The world and the keys to navigating it are in your head. You can let others convince you that only they can turn on the ignition or you can tell them to buzz of and get their own car. Opportunity by way of induced starvation is simply genocide deferred till tomorrow. If you find yourself in that position it means that they really don’t want you on their team. And you are a fool if you want or accept them on your own. It’s not about hate or envy. It is simply about discovering that long absented real you. If you don’t look good to anyone when you are poor and old beyond what you can buy them then forget it! Pass on by! There is always a younger more gullible model down the road, it that is your thing I mean. But why would one want to sleep with snakes? Is the animal sensation that good? Really? Or are you just collecting scalps and STD’s for your lodge polls? Moral equivalency and Socialist Justices only want to hang you cause you’re smart enough to know that number one always counts as first and all else is a distant twenty-six. Mumble that next time you have an intimate interaction. Demand that the secretary new a decent cup of coffee rather than just go down to Starbuck’s! The Federal Government is too busy plotting a coup to care! This land is lost because it let itself be taken over by those who have always dreamed of reinstalling slavery. Those pretenders that cajole others to do their dirty work while wagging their forked tongues. It is time to take the world back! “Do you want to live forever?”
It seemed harder to want to say anything of substance anymore. He was sick of making other people feel good about their lives! Others that may be so full of distress that they need to seek out strangers like him to find escape. Humans when they form into groups are troublesome creatures that must evolve enough over the course of their own lifetime of experience. Crack their way out of their own egg shell of that pretense that society benevolently shelters them. These other souls always failing to cooperate in a positive way on their own behalf unless they are magically coerced into it. It is always the goal of personal self interest lurking in the background that powers these ‘good impulses’. No wonder clever tyrants rule? One only get as good as one is willing to give. These ‘nabobs’ realize that most people are their own worst enemies. “If your life is shit then it is only your own shortcomings that have made it so!“, is ever their knee-jerk response. “If you can’t refrain from making the same old missteps in life then learn to love them!“, he said. They rest of what was penned in his mind was merely a collection of his own solipsistic fantasies from an equally demented unconscious mind as any he could imagine. “I really don’t feel like being clever for its own sake!“, had become the most usable motto.
The light from outside hit him like a shower of glass blinding him at every turn. Stopping short his inertia come of busting open the old oak door that had despite all his previous efforts splintered the old wooden jamb at last. His final physical effort sufficient enough to break free of entombment in that anonymous basement of the long abandoned roadhouse. It was stupid really! Really Stupid! Spelunking in a decrepit property empty of human habitation for a decade or more. A mighty close call at that. One that easily could have cut short his less than steady existence by a week of starvation and theist in a pitch black rat infested hollow. He we in the land that time forgot. When the staircase collapsed under him and he was knocked out cold after falling forward astray down onto the treads. He had awakened dark and dusty spitting blood to a realization that life was at a possible divisive juncture. One where a stupid careless acts of erratic curiosity was providing a real danger of terminating his lifelong complacency in a way that he could never have ever imagined. This seemed kind of odd as he considered his otherwise mundane boring existence invulnerable to such an extreme change.
When he was a young man he could recall doing many stupid and crazy things. Self-destructive dangerous things. Going to the middle of a city to a major construction site and removing all his clothing to contemplate sleeping naked in a ready hole in the ground that might easily be bulldozed shut the very next morning. Feeling like a wild animal that civilization was ever at odds with. He would recover his senses before it was too late and sneak away before he was discovered whole or crushed. Where in his mind he had hoped to wander to from this hollow caught amidst the density of vertical human habitation remained insoluble. It was a perpetually unfillable hole in his heart that he could not find salvation for. Some dumb longstanding mythic childhood tale gone amiss in an adult life. It left him in a situation of standing room only in the waiting room of human existence waiting for a result that never was obtainable. The world of his fellow bipeds was merely the same old game of promises.
The young woman had to show him how the grooved sliding double door panels separating the bathroom from the hall worked. Her impromptu demonstration left him feeling old and useless to the present era offering the excuse of being an expert on architecture passe. He had never figured himself to be a charity case but the circumstance of having others foot the bill here and there was becoming tedious for both him and those few others that provided special consideration to him upon the curb of a street. What was expected of him was a unfathomable mystery. He wondered if it was within his powers to simply will his own demise? And if so many around him were silently waiting impatiently for him to make the association and to take that step? He had become useless to anybody else’s scheme. There should have been anger on his part he guessed. But instead there was a tinge of melancholy for those times when his presence had seemed to mean something to others and of course, himself. Yet this was but a dream all in his mind. Something that he had awakened to when night had begun to surrender to day and the dim glow of morning had provided a guide to a way out of his prison.
Each day was now inexplicable in an environment where those few like himself placed their hopes and dreams in this waking world like a sucker bet in a Monte Carlo casino. The culture like a tight glove of no consequence for it seemed that the intangible human spirit yearned to continue proceed despite the stereotyped genetic furniture that cast it in place. If this was madness then each night of fitful sleep were the fetters to restrain one from the completion of the madness. It became clear to him that this emptiness he was seeking to avoid by entering same was but a unique product of his own species of man who preferred to encumber themselves with abstracts than live in the wild amidst the natural chaos. This unquenchable need for complete dominance of their surrounding poisoning the possibility of recalling their own Eden. Hemmed in by unending collections of cleverly concocted material objects that served to divert them from their basic nature into the folly of an industrial fabrication of Utopian perfection that could never find completion until it has consumed all that it could reach. A pyramid of trash in empty tin cans and bottle caps rising upward from earth toward the sun. The ultimate monument to the planned obsolesce of everything. This was what he both feared and was drawn to. This ultimate fate of mankind.
SPONTANEOUS INSIGHT: Despite what they may frequently say in public, most women do not wish to be considered as equal to men in the sense of a Utopian rolled of the absence of the descriptions of gender. They understand that this might mean stepping down from that artificial mental pedestal in men’s minds and a status of a weaker creature with too much venom and no balls to back it up physically forcefully. This act leading inevitably to them having to pay for dinner and drinks and taking out their own garbage while stoically keeping silent.
“DEFINITION: Man spread may palpably defined for the modern millions chastising the male of the species as taking your two tiny little breasts doubling or tripling them in size and weight, then stuffing the pair of them squashed between your upper thighs and of course having to sit comfortably through long lectures about same.”
OK, here I am at Logan Square in Chicago. “Hello Mrs. Depyester!” The historical northern stamping grounds of those Doyen’s and the well-healed more genial environmental batteries of my social betters. People that have more shoes in the closet than I have. And at a higher per pair price tag than I would have paid for the whole lot of my own over the decades. A place where one might breath in and out in a manner not too dissimilar to that of a reptile cooling off somewhere under a rock. Yet way too rarefied for those such as myself the starvation from that unique intellectual oxygen that one might have socially hoped for. None of the expected skull and crossbones warning signs or hobo’s chalk marks outside of the host establishment for all folks not totally absorbed in that milieu to stay clear of. But, and not without some irony, just down the block a former Knight’s Templar headquarters. Itself right across the grand promenade of the wide avenue from a significantly large Mason’s hall. Will wonders never cease considering the odds of that happening so spontaneously? One thing you can be assured of is that this establishment is a monument to male intellectual servitude. A shrine to all things females insuring there is no status level afforded to old white males tolerated. “Your segment and era are invisible sir! Perpetually to be judged in the stilted history of Political Correctness for crimes against Humanity, colonizing the Third World portions of the globe, and mistreating both women, minorities and their tiny little animals!” The same disgusting behavior by male dominated white European civilizations that led to the inequity of wealth that fostered these same independent Liberal elitist attitudes of these female children who stand before me frivolously spending that ill gotten gain. But this is not a fit topic for voicing aloud in this convenient public ‘safe space’ of the literary promotion of the superiority of Liberal fostered diversity at $29.95 a crack.
Let us just say in the most neutral sense of opinion possible that you are dealing with snobs. Ones who will give you very little beyond recent gossip and their ego maniacal points of social climbing points celebrating the material inventory of their banal life’s existence. Something that comes out in tedious length through spoken text at events like these. Ouch! Nobody gives anything to anybody! At least not without an implicit price tag to be paid with a pound of flesh. More or less! Yet here I sit yet again in a den of female authors in a woman’s bookstore, enchanted within the exclusive preserve of all things exclusively female. Sort of like a person burned raw from a sunny bright day at the beach having to endure the rigor of a therapeutic vinegar bath. Something that is supposedly considered to be a healthy experience. But boy does it sting! But, for the sake of practice of attending literary based events in general at some point in the future, I will endure this prickly feeling without making a fuss in public. Real men stay silent and suppress their egos, “Sheesh!” The observations spontaneously offered to the eye however bear a certain resemblance to a zoo. One where many of the participants of this event embody the current ‘creature’ stereotypes of ‘modern Feminism‘. Here they are in various sub-phylums! The overly opinionated Middle Class Jewish heritage queen bees! The man hating young economically privileged millennial female couples persistently showcasing their overt experimentation in the ‘new liberated female elite of modern Lesbianism! Fifty-plus perpetual ingenues bouncing off the brick walls of being too far ‘way past it’ for garnering and significant male attention. And the most pathetic of all! Those vacant forlorn humdrum dressing solitary souls sporting random splashes of garish hued food coloring over the worn out straw of the rapidly graying hair on their heads. All to attract the attention that, like some fairyland Blanch Dubois, they will spurn at the first opportunity. And who can says that I don’t possess both patience and the requisite discipline to endure this menagerie?
So here I sit in the last row further back listening to “Miss So-N-So pontificate while she conscientiously avoids eye contact with me. Cinematic perfection in the art of not looking into a camera lens so as not to spoil the illusion of movie reality. While meantime, in the back row I keep grinning at all the grossly insulting observations she routinely makes about a society ‘in absentia‘ of anything male. Her thesis being that she supports her ramblings in part with the handwritten examples taken from an obscure intellectually castrated feminine male. Continuously pounding nails into the body of wooden thought that contemporary literary absurdity is the perfect anti-venom for the universal tendency of a authors to describe their immediate emotional circumstances. She makes a big display of the fact that she does not care! “Do away with all that claptrap rubbish!“, said the Red Queen, “It irks me!” Well, what the Hell, she doesn’t care about anybody else’s opinions anyhow? She works as an assistant professor at University of Chicago! “WooHoo, Lady!” “I’m impressed!” Actually, I am appalled! Appalled that like some mid-nineteen-eighties space opera this country’s educational system has been fully infiltrated by alien drones with their ‘face huggers‘ that want to spread their virus of self-serving dogmas through mercilessly shoving them down your throat until they finally explode out of your chest. All empathy for the gender that they have corrupted in the process gone leaving a big hole in its stead. Their main body of the audience present that qualify as working adults being creatively brain dead beyond putting their car keys into their Lexus. Or planning their next important purchase for a tea cozy at Bergdorf Goodman. “Flaunt that wealth, Baby!” “Smile and nod your heads, as is anything could take them away from their own little Romanoff Easter egg-like existence. One that is effectively demonstrated by a mint tea blue colored Tiffany box within a Tiffany box, within a Tiffany box, etc., etc., etc.
POSTSCRIPT: There is no fear of being mortally challenged by being eaten alive. For one knows that the meat one has to share is so distasteful to this segment that any bites taken from one by these doctrinaire entities will be promptly spit out.