The modern Jacobin seeks nothing more than to destroy! Any excuse to tear down what exists provides a cover for their deep state sanctioned activities. The notion of revolution being an aphrodisiac to those of little conventional education and a lumpen mentality fueled by perpetual idleness of the human spirit. Those schooled only in ideology as their central religion and raison d’etre for fundamental existence. The reasons for this growth not coming from above so much from conspiracy above as a laziness of ethics of those common citizens that expect everything to be done for them by an interlocutor. The irony that the most rabid examples of those acting out these vainglorious scenarios do so against their own kind ignoring the fact that they are effectively pulling the rug out from under their own feet. Take a look at the most representative members of this clan and find those most affected by sloth, an unmindfulness of appearance, and underachievement as a way of life. Unrepentant about what they don’t know and unwilling to hear anything but the dogma spewed from their own sources. What do they contribute to general society but their ire.
Concertizing. The crowd within this marbled mausoleum bubbles above silence humming before anticipation. The new entries work hard to avoid eye contact. The young lean against the walls, eyes searching eyes evaluating the nature of the older society in its hive-like incomprehensible melody. An exceptional artifact replaces the usual house grand piano. All in keeping with the upcoming flavor of old European Baroque. The that restlessly mills about searching from a safe protracted distance for anyone notable that might be useful to bump egos with! The monthly animal odor of young females arrives in near proximity. Who tips the balance of polite society here? A default Jewish society influenced superficiality by the trend popular with the current apprehension of the times. Faggot elegant self-satisfaction masquerading as acceptable gentiles politeness as one is appreciated, all others fielding a health distance. The high tone nasal lisp of authority put into place. The current iterations placing a bite in veiled acrimony. The performers are ushered onto the stage by applause. A funeral black that is customary with a paucity of breasts in evidence. The music commence. String based counterpoint of cello and viola, the violin singing improvisationally higher above. A munchkin’s tiny voice slightly interruptive until the mother drags the source of same out of range past the oblong colonnade. Late comer’s arriving assessing the seating, and then making their move.
A certain erasability come of impatience. Passions beyond the occasional, expended a very long time ago. Inside all fellow audience members, the theoretically resting a soul of individual qualities, yet sublimated by a group dynamic that is lorded over by the conventions formally imposed by the manner of performance. Absolute quiet, no talking or restless stirring about! Applause only at the proper break in selections. A certain improvisation aire between the ensemble’s tuning and the rigor of its musically scored selections. The soundtrack of courtly manners passed forward to the present. The best recollection of a fictionally posed sense of traditional civility accessible to this ‘here and now’! That point in the performance when one’s own frailties are addressed. Stiffness and soreness borne over the decades relegated by the synchrony of sonorous string melodies sighing forth. Their volumes slowly rising forth and then gradually sinking like mighty ocean waves. The drama unseen by some but detectable by its uncharacteristic slowness. Silence, a missing, but very potent instrument key to the play of these compositions. A notable absence of disorganized repetitive chaos of sound absent. This disparity the source of a degree of charm. The mongoose charms the snake! Let the mind fall away into fancies of the past long ago laid to rest. A final repose.
Status signified by costume and task. The imposture of a pipe organ in compliment. Its central focus being the source complimenting the static restless suppressed exultation of regular human behavior. One riff organized over the borrowed motifs of other composers more recognized. A note changed here or there’s to simulate more improvisation posing as the same then bringing a response. The surface of the sea, the vessel as a whole incapable of a swift wind. The synthesis of efforts making the incongruities so physically apparent and challenging an errant dog within to bark. I recall segments from my childhood within which I found myself seeking out hidden portions of a domicile. Fantastic places where I could travel to long abandoned spaces and climb down passageways into dark corridors. All long forgotten by regular society by those in positions of ownership. The beat of one’s heart quickens just to imagine such places. In some ways like a rope tugging one back and forth between the risk of being lost in the oblivion of a macabre spirit world or retreating before I am invested not quite that far along. Just the thought of progressing forwards down into the darkness providing an almost perverse sense of sexual pleasure. Odd how fear can be so unpredictable as to cause one to call upon unlikely emotions to dilute its effect.
Ahoy! Two self-solipsistic land whales! One palavering away non-stop in the guise of the world’s greatest expert on all topics. Mundane, and mundane! Close by an electronically attached Queeg Queeg plays the role of the modern whale hunter. Gesticulating motions around their horn as he eventually makes his departure. Back in the coffee shop. Scrivener’s corner of this meeting place. The count being three. Two old male fossils and one smart phone connected female chronicler. The solipsistic universe of those in fatal discontent ringing out nothing but vitriol. Publicly venting frustrations. An errant stoic silent sentinel at the periphery with his attentions slowly swiveling from time to time like a gun emplacement. The young servers experience in this line of work determined by the shape and status of their physical form. A lithe sense of youth in shapely loins and active brisket suggesting the state in the circumstances being merely temporary. Maybe the attire, or lack of form suggested by the same, being a policy statement as well? Most of the women electing to take a table, some being overweight and ungainly, while a few are willowy and winsome creatures on temporary parole from their upcoming college class.
General humanity at bay! Some nice, some not! I am the newly designated ogre of this forced Global society. Young women 0f my own breed turn away when they encounter me. Just walking down a street passing opposite, how odd? Society really does not cotton to exceptionalism. That is all over with! Mundane and mediocre seems to with the greatest accolades. The confident act of some boldly performing young men is not diminished by this for a moment. They strut along self-confident with the audience of a skinny nerdy sidekick. Traveling safely in pairs, their corollaries in music branded and distributed as art. So little by little, the world I am accustomed to dies before me with no suitable replacement in view. This current world is a puzzle that demands endless solutions in terms of the proper words to open the right conversations with the right people. A smile today so quickly becomes a frown. Or worse, a blank stare of indifference. Whether in waking, or caught in a dream, a demoralizing start! Neil Diamond dirty dog dung blues cast in its theatrical Broadway versed commemorative avalanches of implied commercial discontent. The paper cup world has taken over! So bad that it must be said time and time again that external conquest of an empire comes from internal rot within. The deed enacted by born perpetrators from parasitic cultures that latch onto the mainstream and use every means at hand to disarm and dissemble it into complete helplessness.
Healthy young men in uniforms future that belie a future of dwelling within it for good. Something that will eventually deform them into twisted creatures possessing only an inner emptiness. Price versus quality will out being the mantra of this value diminished society. No hope of some imminent savior landing tomorrow in a flying saucer robed in sheepskins placing everyone on the installment plan to defer the continuing Hell of ever inflating prices! An earthly plan well executed by those who would invite over their thousands to eat everyone else on the planet out of house and home while making another attempt to ingratiate themselves further with Beelzebub by making another sale. What a rare privilege it is to instruct others with meaningless advice! Being able to say, “Before your time!“, to mean spirited little female nerds irradiating the very path they walk on making it poison. Comrade Stalin recounting that, “While one might consider executing the lyricist by firing squad with impunity, the composer must always be given a second chance!” I currently being at the conclusion that no matter how much one believes to the contrary, this is sound advice! Words will never be read, reread or heeded as the mortal being of the lyricist or author may hope to expect!
Then if I am to be universally considered a wrathful God prone as a matter of course to enacting heinous acts of routine violent destruction, then let me share the same level of lasting respect with the more venerable Chronos! Old Gods may fade in time and the stony images be wall-papered over with new posters featuring upstarts and pretenders, but this new covering eventually peels away to reveal that older baser original firmament. I travel amidst a changed world of arbitrary shake and bake corporate symbolism’s and tattoo significations that are supposed mean something universal. Icons and social badges that fuels the engines of ego bound motivated commerce to enhance pyramidal power. All at the expense of one’s soul traded for the latest kapok coat selling consensus over comfort. Better to run with the youthful herd that to be exorcised from it! How many young women strutting about too ready to ride that merry go round? How many old well-fixed balding males with paunches and spare duck tails buying the rides? How many young Wonder women too ready to play the youthful cavalier? And traveling about the periphery like zombies are so many once extraordinary vigorous now humbled with age? Caught in ignoble stages of inevitable rot turned into pathetic creatures trying every day to find the energy to limp on to find an accurate calendar properly predicting the final expected conclusion. Old birds enraptured in romantic disgust gripping yellowing pages of digest sized literary porn engaged in recycling snippets of their own previous emotional artifices of old into tailor made pretenses of the definition of real love. All pumped out industrially by female hacks so as to speed yet another morning load upon the throne of the porcelain goddess with a another few pages! My own rose colored glasses so obviously broken now and beyond any repair to see this world as being anything otherwise! I twitch my best along with them in this paisley clad gorilla happy jungle. A flounder now dying taken permanently from his watery element and laid upon the dry ground. In near proximity the intended gallop of cantering Lippizzan stallions and mares haltered in tight restraint trying to break free of the master’s uncompromising rhythm. Ersatz melodies from generations past smelling up the place like burnt chicory made of corn. Perhaps, ‘mission accomplished’, but not in a very creative way.
Life is a strange set of ever changing circumstances. And one’s success is measured in how they are able to keep up with them. Fall behind far enough and you will be exiled into that unhallowed ground of inescapable failure. Existence can be handled by almost anyone.
Who could have ever imagined that I would still be alive in this backward age of all things future? Especially when the world that I know has failed to survive longer than me? Enfranchised examples of despair everywhere and no one to love you more than you must come to love them. Dangerous territory for those still possessing emotions. Criticism seems bound to fail beyond the animal need to share one’s angst. A growl or a hiss might do? Constant dull sensations of pain a ready alternative to emptiness. The absence of thought required in every daily task has one forgetting their age. Little trite role plays in approach of the proximity of strangers reminding one of older more portent inconsequential encounters. Some regaining their sense of self by a quiet pretense of perpetual indifference to every outside entreaty to act human. The low slung mish mash of bar conversations voiced in cases where more effort than is required to convince otherwise. Monkeys on a chain hitched up to another round of cheap sheep dip bought by the house.
A career of minding one’s own business to keep safe from further disappointments. There is a little bit of Raymond Chandler in all of us. Worthless women invading the regular ranks of cheerleaders. Nothing to offer but endless mediocrity as if that was some great gift to the world. That good time girl facade always ready to pull up stakes and head “Westward Ho!” after the first free drink from a stranger. No conveyance for dirty unfulfilled male dreams that have soiled the pillows. A big, “Who Cares!” to the ritual of daily reciting oaths and promises to support more arbitrary change that no one has any idea of the meaning of. Stick in the ear buds to clean the wax out of your ears. Women won’t betray the chaos of their inner selves that seems to be ever in search of another reliable dim witted anchor. Only more babies to drop in the ash can by the third trimester. That totally trivial but ever-fascinating female conversation that one comes to enjoy from the perspective of too many years piled on. There is no future in getting your head bitten off in offering an opinion lest you are into playing the part of a ‘Mr’ Preying Mantis.
A couple down the way disappearing giving new meaning to the “Mile High Club” some five thousand feet lower back down on earth. The ultimate aphrodisiac! Women might be great authors if they would let loose with novels that are not focused on potential “Sugar Daddies!” Don’t bother trying to save anyone in the water just beyond the wake of the disappearing Titanic! Who wants to demean their own role in life by becoming a salt water soaked meal ticket? Another “glug, glug, glug” down at the other end of perdition. The devil is counting match heads. Most of the guests burned out of their minds or soon to be. That is after all how the alcohol is supposed to work. Too bad they stopped allowing cigarettes to help speed up the process? Flea bag sensibilities in the next port ahead. Just make sure to bring your own storm instead of honing in on that of another! “Hey Tartuffe! “Bring me over another bucket of beers!”, the table by the window begins and ends.
Back from the bar, solitary existence paying off amidst the chaos of lumpen reality. Broke for much of the month and then nigger rich for the beginning of the next month. Working my way sown the ladder of success with much help from animal husbandry and the hegemony that controls such things. I could be mean and say a lot of things about a lot of people. Some of them true, no doubt. But the solitude is wrapped around my ears like two seat cushions. Blame the three-quarter six pack that I am not used to drinking. Blame the comely young female serving at the bar that I hardly pay attention to to lure her over to be straight with me. I am an old sot that scribbles. Upsetting the social order of career sports fan couch potatoes that make a reliable profit each game seasons for the owners. Tough shit if you can get it! And if you can get it don’t you lie! At least not the the IRS! That is if you know what is good for you!
Funny how alcohol rots the mind? Something you see in movies everywhere. From the legendary silents down through your grand pappy’s era to the present fantasy ridden hyperbole’s of space opera franchise comics. Who does it suit after all but the people that own your hide from cradles to grave! I think about how all women now are born to be bitches! They think it is not their fault. But the truth is that they are all too lazy! They eat as much of the pizza that they order two sizes too big and take the rest home too feed to the ‘dog‘. The truth being that they have run out of sugar daddy’s and don’t want anyone to know that they are the one’s pigging out. What do I know? I’m just another useless old fart at the bar! Someone too far past it to do more than goose for a free drink if I dare to look at them with the bedroom eyes that I once reserved for my long lost sweetheart. Try getting a drink or a crappy little piece of pizza from their discard pile! Their children will all grow up to be mongoloids or white knight suckers. This world has been converted to an open air prison. But it takes you at least five decades or more to realize it. The young would eat my liver if they thought it wouldn’t take a few years off their lives. But then, I am a rock and you can keep the island!
Under the category of life being what you make it. RELAX!. Twin approximations of the self. Each in conflict with the other. One a villain and the other a hero designate. Who’s controlling these apparitions through the dead of night anyhow?
Waiting!?! Ever a complimentary dish of the side of the Smorgasbord of life. Self narrative attempting to determine who is worth knowing and who to avoid. The crossword puzzle posing too many unanswered questions of existence and what defines it. What indeed is more thrilling at this age? Sticking it in? Or wrapping your arms around it with the hope that it will be reciprocated? Two other old gray beards currently populating this coffee shop’s otherwise empty room totally absorbed in the criss of cross. My own outside melts like candle wax while the inside continues to protest a theory of continuous youth. The space frames keep rising up into the atmosphere. The occupants seemingly congealed out of thin air. I seem guilty of the superficial rigors of advancing age and so a strongly declaim!! The bigger the carat stone int he setting upon the third finger the greater the solemn lifetime promise of needless self-sacrifice offered int he face of endless trivial spousal material whims. Divorce lawyers get ready and on your mark! A short version of a once svelte two-legged trophy now growing older and fatter enters. Features, all beach blond alabaster in dead black glad rags of the latest fashion of the moment covering hips growing as wide as the wide Missouri at flood stage. Timid as a lamb for all this superficial flash. Long coat wrapping those douty hips. How irrevocably human we must all become! I, like Goethe’s Faust, must pay for my wisdom in tiny packets of Hell. Emasculated males feeling the need to chirp out publicly non-stop their endless driveling chatter applying themselves to all topics feminine. Men, hold their tongues. This coffee shops a circus view of humanity on parade from the petting zoo.
“A common enemy”, the counter sweet boy proclaims. That’s how ‘fags’ think! That government ‘big mama‘ Socialism was made especially for them and keep them safe from all comers. What a joke! A quiet measured perfectly well-ordered little life. Toys laid out in practiced rational positions stifling the spontaneity of chaos within. Every little perk required from her handy trick bag at hand. A coward’s path assuring little possibility of longevity past one’s over insulated youth. Oh sure! I look into other faces and see what I want to see. My own convenient little coward’s game of my own making. I’ve worked hard to make a place for myself outside society and humanity as an outsider. The computer is used to normalize through encouraging one’s personal distortions to take root. Music to soothe the beast but not savage enough! Still alive in crumb covered ashes scattered across misbegotten hopes never ever realized. Springboard on bathroom tissue covered trampolines practicing the most reliable self-imposed daily fictions. Reality, the handmaiden of someone else’s life.
Glassy stares traded of nebulous ambitions shared by those for the moment being placed in charge. Artist in waiting for a field of expert endeavor with absolutely no experience beyond hot air bullshitting. And what of the young woman that one day knows that she will be chubby? A little white brother of SJW training embraces his ghetto raised black guide. Phony bullshit traded all around within this P.C torture chamber. The piano player is anorexic. One big skeletal supported matrix of visible muscles dedicated to musical performance. Her art fully adapted a century to late to accompanying silent films in the dime museums of former times. So many ‘Mother may I’s‘ and similar such Novenas currently going on in the wings. All must pay the Karmic price as suggested by the uncountable number of torn holes over kneecap style struck jeans. The black boy in the corner guarding the gap wanting to be loved and demanding hugs from all passing milk toast male ‘incels’. Never asleep for the possibility of getting his big salami sized limp black dick in any female white. So many surrounding these displays wanting to sink into their own fatal patheticness. Old two-legged female toys fussing about like lifetime registered perpetual motion machines. No one to take any of these moral cowards over their knee and hand out a much deserved thorough spanking!
What is there to look forward to after this display beyond Green Line ghetto infested insanity of compulsive acting out practicing insanity before anyone within their sight. “Dynomyte!“, screeching falsetto Negro fags stumbling up and down the aisles laden with mentholated dollar apiece ‘Square’. This faction of perpetually angry blacks demanding obeisance! An equality in enforcing a universal sense of politically dumbed down consensus based ignorance.
The sellout sat before his coffee shop cup doling out his own droll subtractive world view to a small collection of camp followers posing temporarily as anything but old white males. Old women the most pejorative sense of same one might have once been able to say without social censure. Proclaiming to this tiny surrounding inbred world his right to life by falsely posing as an icon of reasonability. When in fact all he could muster was a ego rich serving dish of babbling rhetoric that served confidently to his own mind as intelligence. His much deluded these followers so dimly aware of the import of his words! But thankfully approving of the tone of his in which they were being deluded.
On and on he went about superficial trivialities of the day that he had gleaned the night before from the electronically deliver clarion of typically self-serving parsimonious officialdom. These tiny tidbits of useless made-up theatrical events designed at the source to resemble poorly veiled politically Leftist truth bombs applied in a ceaseless daily barrage. One’ s that smacked of that sweet venom to the taste of unthinking agent provocateurs through the well-practiced ips of self-aggrandizing fools like him. “America has changed!” he said with some self-assured arrogant form of gravitas. “America is now multi-cultural! The old group that once controlled it is now in the minority. They are all racist! And their man in charge as the head of the country has done irrevocable harm with his backward thinking ideas. The Democrats have created the best Congress of Representatives yet known to date. And they have six separate bills on the table that could fix things. BUT HE won’t negotiate!”
The spareness of a surrounding audience resounded in emptiness. The smiling scarecrow expression of this two-legged weasel sinking back smugly self-satisfied with his performance to reveal two rows of time ravaged corncob teeth. Here was someone who most obviously a part of the exact same constituency that he was busily condemning. Someone in specific. One that was known within his neighborhood as a literal whore monger and long term useful tool of the region’s underworld establishment. Someone who would unhesitatingly sell out his mother for an extra quarter if it benefit him that day. A classic Norwegian Rat ever prepared to jump to the next ship to happily infect the next one that becomes available. A carrier of that fatal disease of defeatism. A member of that very group that former nationalist leaders of past had doubled down to their own lasting legacy in an attempt to expunge. The experience of seeing this two-legged vermin so blatantly exit from his hole to loudly boldly proclaim this anathema in public without fear telling me how serious the larger question of a full scale national collapse into total anarchy this land had currently fallen prey to. I shudder to think what is next!
The bar was packed that Saturday afternoon. Five miles on foot was no longer as easy as it once seemed. The bar tools were almost all taken up along the narrow passage toward the toilets and gaming machines. Three bars tools remaining open at the gap where the barmaid had exit. A logical place to sit amidst all the purely male grunting and growling at the sports of the moment broadcast high up on the back wall. The patter about the latest contenders in the cyclical round of sports teams wrangling for another temporal privilege to be denoted the best. Best quickly being supplanted by another form of trivial competition that would for the moment be supreme. The Big guy at the bar stuck out his paw at the newest member. Softer old well worn office flesh grinding against working man callous. The palaver offered in unrecognizable rising stars and the coming season’s end competition that would close out the past year’s interest. The young female playing bartender passing through her gap sensing her salutation by way of asking the newcomer’s preference. The man having made sporadic appearances over the previous year answering by pointing to the full bottle in her grip. “The same!”, he added. The small girl halted in mid step she ceded the bottle and returned to the cooler behind her to wrestled out another glass soldier for the other unnamed party whisking by to serve the substitute bottle. Albeit a few seconds late.
Perhaps this old geyser was an oddity and not quite unfamiliar to her curiosity. Indifferent to the televised squabbles portrayed by mouth and tongue of flat screened past their prime former performers. He seemed more entertained by the ceremonies of male worship of large men going down the path towards impotence and little remaining social regard. Their drinking and the wealth of pocket required to continue it a peacock driven display of their manhood. Not so the unnamed stranger. The resident house brute a stool away asking his name. Pleasantries exchanged the conversation now took up the topic of weather. The bridge being a statistical quip noting the irregularity of the expected season for the showdown between the two best teams at the holy of hollies. The felicity of the old man’s staring in return interrupted after an interval as he simultaneously waved a tenner in the air to attract the barmaid to the fact that this one bottle green would be his one and only of the day. She asked, “Just one?” He replying to the effect that one being useful to take the edge off of so many miles on foot. Several miles more than usual no longer being as easily traversed as had once been the case. Adding that his drinking habits had descended into what was once considered reasonable by society of years past. The response breaking the plastic visage of her standard act leading to a momentary stony repose.
She offered a tiny heresy that she didn’t even like beer. The declaration and the manner that sh had delivered it revealing an insight that this was a job that she did for money not any sort of personal relish. The hairy old swollen animals along the length of the bar to the entrance a stool bound raging sea of wild beasts. This establishment a man cave bound lair for mildly voicing the discontents of the day of lives gone sour in the reflection of young men tasked to offer the best of what men were supposedly meant to. Physicality remaining here no where near the aptitude or requisite strength to even partially approach it. More rounds of beers being quickly ordered after attentive angst to slosh away missteps of their televised avatars. The old guy at the end of the bar staring unimpressed like a weed up the backside. A lighting spark of an electric more timeless connection between him and the young girl’s confession leading to an affirmation. The world the way it should be having no place in the modern world of a society gone mad on the perception of its own technical invulnerability. Something changed as evidenced by a silence. The game was revealed like the harpoon ridden back of the often storied white whale of old coming up momentarily. Yet all too soon to sound its hoary evidence of old pain back into the deep again. The heart and matters pertaining to the same getting no public airing lest it demonstrate the vulnerability of some weakness. Weakness an old man’s province. Another bar stool prone old inmate far off a testament to blunted manhood. The conversation concluding with the customary gift of advise against indulgence posed in inverted logic.
The sterling moment past, the old sage drained the dregs and picked up his stakes. His grizzly companion of the moment pressing the flesh hard once again. A tumbling rock bouncing politely past the gauntlet of beefy growlers venting their mild frustrations. Coming to rest before his doppelgänger enthroned at one of the two small tables at the front window. Both offering a wrinkle graced grin-like grimace. The table before him sporing a paper plate slice of pizza and a small plastic picnic bowl of tiny pretzels. Light fare for this old pensioner. The jovial gaoler on his way offering, “Two squares a day and all the beer you can drink!” “What a life!” The other old insect stuck upon a pin of a bar stool answering with an equally jovial nod of appreciation for being acknowledged. The bar’s interloper now outside under the cool blue of afternoon’s fade into beginning of the year’s ecliptic bound darkness. The world would assuredly tip back towards light in the coming months. A sense of assurance appreciated for that young man struggling mightily within the slow decay of another old man’s frame. Despite all the memories past of lives encountered and discarded by time he was still very much alive.
The darkened room contained two souls. Two glasses containing ice clinked somewhere low by a coffee table. One voice cut through the silence while the other became even more conspicuous by its silence. His taciturn facial features suggested in a dim highlight from the grayness of a cloud encumbered sky trailing in from the chamber’s solitary exterior opening.
“Today, I got depressed as I realized full well that things were going down hill from here. I don’t like to admit that I am depressed. Or even think that I can get depressed. People that are thought to be depressed are treated worse than criminals in this country. I’m not a criminal. I”ve played things straight all my life. And yet in this day and age what does that count for?”
The speaker taking a pause to take a sip and let his words sink in.
“I’m in spitting distance of my seventh decade.”, he continued in a voice devoid of emotion. “Eyes going south to the point it is just a matter of time until I won’t be able to drive my car. Unfortunately that spells the end for me! A rope down a hole from which their is no escape.”
His audience seemed to shift slightly as the speaker reached down to the other glass just opposite. A wet glare off his eye offering a tell.
“That hole in my groin is big enough to stick my own fist through it. Yet every day there is a chance of my going into excruciating pain from a bowel blockage. Something that is freely advertised as repairable. Sure! But then don’t promises always exceed the reality of the actual result, do they?”, the lips of the man slowly curled in disgust as he viewed the indifference of his audience.
The solitary voice pausing long in the darkness.
“The moment you let your guard down and give those assholes a license to operate on you is when their excuses begin. Sooner than later you find yourself stuck in worse shape than if you had just left well enough alone. All one has to do and take a good look. Look in that mirror and refresh the painful notion that the grim looking ancient face that is staring back at you is in fact really your own.”, the speaker’s voice trailing off as he turned quickly away from the window’s light. As if his attention was broken in mid thought by away by some unseen distraction.
Slowly he turned back to the silhouette of the other’s face locked in deeply in shadow. The continence of the other implacable figure still sitting with head and shoulders inert and upright staring forward, “Of course, the one thing that advancing age has left you with despite all the struggles you were faced with along the way is the knowledge that things never really change. You are still gonna be you at the end of the day. Then you know that your chances that might have been tenuous are less than none. A simple mosquito bite from out of nowhere might get you? And then you’ll get laid out in your coffin in just a matter of a day or two. Not a case of an ‘if’ at this point but rather a ‘When’, and maybe if you become really morose, ‘How’?”
The ice tinkled against the inside of the speaker’s glass again as he raised it. But this time a tad bit little wetter.
The speakers hand rose up and raked his own chin in thought. The sketchy light’s parsimonious nimbus hard upon his moving eyeballs as they were shifted upward more directly into its luminous reach for a moment . He began once again, “And then there’s that sense of impatience. Something impending? You don’t know what? Something that drives you along unconsciously to believe that you have missed out on something important along the way. But you can’t figure out just what that ‘something’ might be? Yet its urgency does not subside but finds little hollows in your head to hide within to waits until the next moment to nag you a bit little later once again. Maybe some misplaced opportunity that got left at the station so long ago that you dare not mention it aloud?”, the speaker leaning forward, “Then you might realize that it’s all been a hopeless situation all along for a lot longer than you ever dared think. You missed the bus long ago and are now just reliving an old memory from long ago in a more hopeful light. You’re just going through the motions now, that’s all.”
His voice rose up the words trembling, “The worst of knowing that now from this point onward you are old and will simply get older until you disappear completely. And along with your passing, everything else!.” His hand instinctively reaching forward to unconsciously form a fist to pound the air before his solitary companion. The stunned silence immediately following these impassioned words slowly dissolving them away into the room’s surrounding absolute oblivion of impenetrable shadow.
The speaker’s voice now fully emptied of the previous emotion continued on, “Years later I became unexpectedly reacquainted with an elusive lost ideal of my young adulthood. My long displaced old emotions evoking others not experienced since times long past. It was as if each section of my head was a instrument was reactivated by the signature of the keys of a piano of another. The melodies recalling feeling long abandoned. Reawakened in a vivid recollection of that same formative time unexpectedly in the dead of night. Wondering where that fire of youthful expectation of great things just ahead had permanently departed. All my emotions momentarily awash in a reunion with that subtle tenderness of one’s innocent expression of love. A sense of commitment one has for another intermingled with their love and commitment for me. And aware too of the pending tragedy of my own current dissipated existence where such things have long descended into the theoretical. As one might expect to encounter in a personal story turned indefinite myth about one’s the past.”, the speaker stopped again. His audience leaning ever so slightly more towards him yet otherwise unmoving.
The speaker’s eyes glowered across at his unmoved audience as he paused to take possession of some new thoughts, “Part of me has grown hard like some thick marbled armor of a turtle’s shell. The barrier refuting that such things no longer exist or could be made possible again. Certainly not in the present tense of this universe as I know it now! That’s the signature of a real loser I guess? But despite all that, someone who has not the slightest glimmer of some hope loses the possibility of ever finding their way back onto that former path that they had so long ago abandoned. Everything seems possible while sitting alone in this dark empty room devoid of everything but the dead of night.”
Without warning the same form that had been so solidly planted across from the speaker during his rambling soliloquy suddenly sank forward then rolled heavily down on its side amidst the shadows covering the carpet. A knife stuck out of its back. One that had been obscured all the while when it had been immobile in death and propped up into a sitting position.
The speaker’s eyes gleamed again as he leaned forward to view the body. “Jostled about upon the storm tossed endless ocean of rational thought as posed so often by the words of others.” he chuckled coldly in a faux Shakespearean tone of voice, ” And feeling inadequate to offer whatever wisdom of one’s own that may lay untapped within.”
The assassin rose up with gravitas and stretched out his hand as if dramatically offering it to a larger unseen invisible audience, “Too unwilling to unsheath one’s own dagger and cut any other argument to the quick with those unhesitating silent slightly posed insights. My own existence lost within this grateful prison of a perpetual muse in contemplation of that dark phenomena of an empty surrounding universe. The question ever-present on the mind being what is the limit of one’s own ability to conjer up this reality?”
The deadly speaker then stepping from the semi-light of the crime scene into total darkness. His voice fading with distance to the accompaniment of new leather soles on concrete, “Can this question ever be answered? And to what end?”