The fucked up generation! Unable to distinguish right from wrong from the latest episode of game of thrones and the latest PBS rewriting of history. Sweet boys who missed out on a manly right of passage into adulthood. Perpetually diffident ever angry harpies clinically anatomically bestowed with vaginas but absolutely no idea of gender or the purpose for using them. Ever ready to act out another Antifa supplied fantasy of world revolution bestowed upon them by so many Jew funded NGO’s. Summoning their storehouse of knowledge from an unending number studies classes that only taught them to hate others as well as themselves. To genuflect to social distancing from their families while embracing the dregs of the recalcitrant ethnic minorities. Pawns in the hands of Leftist ideologues working to gain power for their own with the hopes of exterminating these fools the moment that they are no longer useful as shields. Going home each night with their masters degrees in social work and psychology to live in their parent’s basements or above their carports. Some are angry, most are board, whatever they are they provide good cover for the privileged class of ghetto looters that when not padding their pockets with government handouts and hands up’s. At the first sign of an organized racial event they go straight to the nearest Walmart or Target and clean it out! What is to love when your a brain addled money sponge helping the once well to do White Middle Class to become extinct so their Jewish ‘neighbors‘ feel more safe? That’s why the noble sons of Antifa have all but practically been Bar Mitsvahed! The revolutionary spirit of getting away with giving other people Hell in order to make your own SJW bound ego’s feel good. In the Zionist patois, we used to call them Nazi’s! But the reality may be more accurately suggested that many had distant relatives back home in Bolshevik Russia pressing the triggers at the nape of the necks of millions of unfortunate Kulak Middle Class there. Like great-grandfather’s like sons! The new right of passage for white males is tearing down their own culture while obsessively kissing ghetto ass! It make one feel good to run around dressed all in black to humiliate their own families by adopting that mindset and proving that they can be just as degenerate as the unfortunate minorities that continue to despise them. Just think of what they will safe when they get home in the wee hours of the morning and find that their brothers in arms just burned and looted their family’s business? “Oop! Mom and Pop!” “I guess getting the money from you to buy the latest Atari games console from Amazon is out of the question now?“
Most people would prefer that someone would wash their hands before taking a pee. I know I would! But Rodrigo was the sort of person had a higher regard for himself and he valued his penis as a violinist might treasure a Stradivarius. Though his equipment might have been said to be less spectacular than most, his notion was that since he would be afforded only one of same then he would take special care of it. And perhaps was the false sense of strength that led to his eventual undoing? The conceit of it being his own form of sacrament that should be guarded from those others less sacrosanct in their ways with their own respective architectures. The reserve accompanying this attitude leading to a decided lack of its possible employment both socially and in the case of marriage, in earnest. He would have preferred it be stung by some desert insect rather than risk it to the clutches of some scabby old two legged lizard’s lingering tongue.
His baby sister Marietta, on the other hand, couldn’t leave well enough alone. Her fingers always disappearing surreptitiously under her skirts to scratch, pick and explore. That was if not under direct adult supervision. Something being hypnotic to her about this strange device so perfectly hidden betwixt her legs and secreted from view. Unlike her brother she was often prone to allow third party observation both by prior tentative agreement as well as be frequent accident. The sort of practice that she had the good judgment to keep to herself and far away from the prying eyes of any nearby adults. Leaving one to note that her popularity among members of the opposite gender at an early age was great indeed. A fact that was annoying to her brother during those times when he was required to ferry her around the neighborhood as mandated by their parents to the hoots and wolf whistles of those little rat faced boys hanging around his neighborhood that he thought might one day be his friends.
A sense of maturity and adult decorum entering into the picture for both of them over time. The transition bringing no significant changes of respective attitudes beyond that certain marked strategy of employ. Promiscuity in passing temporal friendships for one and a lingering social drought for the other. The etherial lure of bearing children considered from their different poles of perspective, surprisingly similarly and perfectly aligned. Perhaps the common expression of a prevelant family trait for the extreme members of the litter. The middle two totally conventional in their outlook and engaged in marriage at an early age bearing fruit to entrench the family name for future eras. Perhaps these two miscreants where destined for a solipsistic solitary existences.
The constant patter of rain against the lounge window had lost its charm. Being housebound had a distinctively irritating quality to it. “You like french fries, I like french fries, we all like french fries!” You’re going to die! I’m going to die! We’re all going to die! I guess I have lost all my personal empathy for others since my parents stepped down from their thrones on Mt. Olympus and having become mortal summarily died. A random anonymous distant voice from far below says a distant “Fuck You!” in a heavy Spanish accent. Now all of a sudden it is sunny and two days later and we are on the couch. Mutually exclusive to each other. Old worn threadbare furniture far past an appointment with the trash. So much having gone on upon it over intervening the years. Thank God for cool clean fresh air and blue skies. We get that so infrequently now.
The televison’s incessant monologue carries on within the room unattended. Old and new saggingly familiar faces of those barely acknowledged save for the clint of each of their familiar smiles and scowls delivered to respective teleprompters. They don’t have to wonder where the money comes from to pay the basic bills ensuring a roof over their heads or food on the table! They are of a class that has been given the golden plate opportunity to sell out for the big dollars. How many other bodies left in the dust of their wake being of no concern to them. They go out each night to each other’s abodes and carry on uninterrupted with expensive refrigerators full of ice cream in all the best flavors. Sex for them is seeing their image up high for a moment projected on Times square.
My name is Samuel, and they took away my dreams of a future. And then with this virus thing come down around everybody’s shoulders. They took away my routine. There wasn’t much left after five years of being outed, down and out, the future promise of all that was left after there wasn’t really much more to expect after everything else had become a bad cliche. The half-hearted attempt as a daily routine was the last thing that made any sense. But now nothing made any sense save to sit still and wait to die. “Bird, bird, bird, bird is the word, ba, ba, ba, ba, bird bird bird, bird is the word!” No pressure! No victims. No pain. No regret! Nothing.
When I was young I though myself a rich kid. I didn’t think that anything could hurt me. Occasionally, I pulled a dumb self-serving stunt. Not burning down a building or sticking my fingers in a cash register when nobody was looking, or anything. But living for a short time in places that even a rat would think twice about staying in. Just to see how it was! Knowing that Daddy or Mommy, or somebody would pull me out of there, and rescue me with a check for plane fare back home. But now I then I had gotten my deep down secret wish. I was poverty bound with no hope of ever getting back to any semblence of unearned prosperity. Sinking ever further into the mud of my own indifference. What did I care? I’d been there so many times before!
Water has a way of seeking it’s own level! Check the toilet if you are in doubt. Now I have the rest of the whole world to keep me company floating about in the shitter! Their better’s pulling the plug on the whole bunch of us all at the same instant. We are all fucked from this day forth. The past is now a bad dream merely there to get in the way of surviving what is evidently our fear ridden future. No job, no money, no where to live, no food, no car, no clothes, no nothing. But hey, that was already said! Anger in a man is something always self-indulgent. When you let it out of the cage, it immediately gets out of hand. Too soon it turns out to be the predictive programmed version of a bad movie Hollywood probably made some thirty years earlier.
Yet something, little things tell one if they are on the right path going somewhere else? That it makes no difference that I didn’t know to that to begin with. Never would know! How could I know? Funny little clues kept popping up. Unexpected items and actions of some person or a thing that might have something very noticeable or eccentric in view, or maybe just hit me the wrong way? Then later, as if sensitized by that prior peripheral contact, I might see that exact same thing or have that generally same experience occur before me? And I could pick it out of the rest of the day’s otherwise routine of less than no routine. It would be like a Cheshire cat, or a Bugs Bunny with a big cartoon mallet that would hit me over the head. It would remind me that I was off on to some fatal epic journey that was meant just for me, and only me alone. Not some generic superhero muscle bound over-marketed robot avatar made up from every characteristic that had been baked into me long before by the persistent viewing of television, and the movies, or the Internet and definitely the phone. Something else or someone else was talking to me?
Heroine or heroin, what was the difference over the long term, when it came down to it? Sunsets like pumpkin colored old liver spot beset flesh rotting away to black upon a paper mache horizon. Glib fantasies, most of which one has picked up along the way, tumbling out of my spare ear like a pair of loaded dice. I became nothing. I was invisible. The fact of a lifetime existence where no one sees me, or gets to know that I am there. A perfect situation of absolute clarity by way of all possible choices long past over leading to the absolute same conclusion. If could be considered sane, then by all other reasonable conclusions, I would have to judge all else to be insanity. I have now have nothing to distract me from thinking otherwise. But at least Rodrigo has his almighty prick to keep him company. And Marietta her very well visited insatiable hot snatch. And that means that they are going nowhere as well. The scariest thing one can thing that one can imagine is to find one’s self alone without anything at hand to divert them from taking up all their time to become aware of themselves.
The, this is really, not really, same thing, other thing, on a merry go round, round and round, on the merry go round. But no yet brass ring? No never! Something making one feel not very good, not knowing how much longer there is for this empty farce to go on? Maybe better to be flying around some long forgotten Pacific atolls doing sales calls trying to strategize something new? A third of the way here and halfway gone from another place, embracing a strange love affair that calls itself intense. Trying to make them part tense. Putting the right people on the right plane, but then not getting on myself. Then having to fly to Sydney, Australia, while they fly off to somewhere else. Chaos, and organized passions! And waking up hungry while the other ‘we’ all have their siesta.
So, after seventy years bing banging around like a ping pong ball, being shot down one alleyway only to bang into a bumper, bing, bong, bang, cling, cling, cling! Trying to score some points but just ending up going down the chute, running out of balls. I discover that the whole thing was about my gonads. “Find he right girl!” “Fifty-Two-Forty or fight!“, and have some kids! Simon, not Samuel sez, carry on the family name when you bite the dust. It’s the family name, I misinterpreted, as if it had something to do with me? And something, anything, that I could create on my own was in reality, was much easier than to live with the constant smell of my own piss. The smell of a life just pissed away! And much more difficult, at the same time, than getting all those ducks of mine in a row, putting together the universe on a spreadsheet while trying to set up the equation, so as to prove my own theorem. All to serve the only fit occupation justifying existence! That being to find your own and protect it.
Why do I always feel guilty about talking about such things, yet compelled to continue doing so? Not like I really care at this point what anyone thinks. But say the word “Jew” out loud in public and then let it linger and see a stony silence spread out from its epicenter like a bomb had just dropped. And why as a topic of discussion does that particular mutually exclusive little group always seem to rise to the surface where there is controversy or trouble? An insoluble haiku of our modern times? Or something much, much more?
The package of arguments might come with a warning label for all those who take up this question on the order of, “OPEN UP DISCUSSIONS ON THIS TOPIC AT YOUR OWN RISK!” For all those who are of a couple generations beyond freshly indoctrinated by the Liberal chess pool of public education realize that something is not quite right about individuals and organizations that proclaim membership with this brand name identity.
None dare criticize, nor make general observations about them lest they risk being outed from the larger society. Why? Are we speaking about some celestial species of human being whose actions both singular and collective are perpetually beyond reproach? Whenever the plural phrasing of their ilk is put forth in public it seems to have a long tail of discontent expressed by other cultures with their kind? The type of discontent that has led to them being ejected as a group from over a hundred and a half different societies. Why is this topic a ‘no, no’, to voice?
“Oh, that’s right! Because of the Nazi’s!”
Because in the last century, the Germans elected Adolf Hitler to be their leader and he tried to exterminate them! And it follows that all people designated as of European descent cannot be trusted because they might one day do the same? These people are to be referred to as ‘White‘ from here on out and not be trusted by any other group because they are the source of everything bad!
Do I bother looking up what happened at that time on the Internet or at the library to read about what happened in that time? NOT IF IT CONFLICTS WITH THE LATEST OFFICIAL VERSION! Otherwise that might be construed as HATE SPEECH.
I feel like expressing my intellect in absurdities these days because innocent conventional discourse in public is about as dead as the proverbial dodo bird. All discourse has a political twinge to it. Consider any festive party of intellectuals as set in the GDR during in the early eighties. Dare to say what you wish but don’t expect to come home to the same set of circumstances the next mooring that you had left the previous afternoon.
The only aspect of public civic life still operative is building high rises. Building higher, bigger and more industrially minded. Places of containment, places of demarcation, places to just find one’s self lost within wearing VR goggles. How does one make sense of rapidly destabilizing times of constant change, change, change, where the masses are urged ever on to make a difference. All hail the great revolutionary experiment of Liberalism. Something that in the last century might have been quickly tossed off as more than a bit Bolshevik.
Oak Park Illinois is a strange place rife with longstanding anachronisms amidst an ever brooding atmosphere of constant cultural conflict. A place to be privileged within if by chance you hold a little ‘ethnic‘ blood, along with other amenities, in the realm of the of the well to do. BUT WATCH YOUR STEP OTHERWISE!
Two odd places theoretically tied at the hip in some strange way might be singled out, Oak Park and Skokie. Rich Jew and poor Jew? I lived for a significant period of time within both. The erudite Jew as sleeper cell agent biding their time quietly going about the landscape preparing it for the next coming revolution by their kind?
In Orson Welle’s movie, “The Stranger“, this same phenomena is at work, except of course the polar identities are projected oppositely for the audience by the producers of the film. The rote meaning of the term Nazi being like many other popularly identifiable politically useful terms, a vehicle devised by extremist Left Wing Communist German authors of the past. Something coined not for simple description but for defaming.
Our current American culture constantly produces scapegoats. Some person or some group that by virtue of a single act in the present or at a distant time in the past past that has revealed themselves to be at odds with the current dogma of the hour. The sort of reaction one might have expected from the prewar Stalinist regime when simply not clapping one’s hand in applause for a long enough period would have given you a one way ticket to the Gulag the very next moment.
Somewhere between Orwell and Kafka. The Jew had managed eons ago to wangle the franchise for the administration of humanity from the Gods. The one provision in the agreement being that they could only administer indirectly from an oblique direction. Of course, try as they might over many generations, the humans they subtended could not make sense of these efforts as they resembled a form of endless chaos as opposed to civil administration. Jews seem to float like corks through hurricanes of political adversity that sink all others?
In a recent impromptu conversation with a person that turned out to have been born in Israel but residing for a long time here, the following topics were offered by him:
The Dreyfus affair, Satanism, financial inequity as a positive motive for increasing taxation upon the ‘rich’, public education’s rightful hold on Middle Class taxpayers as perpetual hostages, public school teachers as being unrepentant egoists, unrepentant display of his Israeli citizenship, a placid ignorance of common underclass illiteracy in the USA, loudly voicing the danger to the system and its teachers as posed by urban students, to name a few.
Every divisive Popular Leftist Liberal opinion that guards public discussion like a wounded tiger mom.
Who would have ever thought the end of the world as we have known it would sound exactly like a balloon frantically rubbing between the thighs of an overly frenzied discontent teenager?
You’ve seen it in the movies for the last forty years! You’ve heard the incessant bing bang rattle pop of TV screen throughout the night of first person shooter games for nearly as long. Schools turned into high security prisons and their students, your children, now treated like inmates from cradle to adulthood. Your kindergarteners routinely taught the finer points of how to engage in anal sex. The zombie cult of horror has produced some very unsettling genres permanently lodged within the consciousness of your offspring. Who are the zombies and what are the authorities doing about them? AIDs, SIDs, Ebola, and ever unstoppable influenza epidemics, and now unprotected borders? The breakdown of civil society! Poop maps and double the demand of sex obsessed self empowered egomaniac strangers of all genders and classes over-tasking public spaces and conveniences. No jobs any longer available that will pay a living wage. Food prices skyrocketing without a stop. Ethnic violence against regular citizens ignored or justified by overpowering Liberal rhetoric. The enfranchisement of guilt simply by association of one’s race. The rule of law enforcement misapplied to rattle the cages of the law abiding while letting the offenders both small and huge carry on. All hurtling at a fast pace level of ever increasing taxpayer expense.
Sound familiar . . . ?
So WTF are you going to do about it? Throw up your hands style, “What can I do?“, no longer allowing an escape route. Killer robots from DARPA Boston Dynamics. Visual recognition of your facial dynamics a standard feature. Autonomous bounty hunters let loose to track you down, and eliminate you. No joke! If the government at hand wants to round your kind up, wants to take your firearms away? These humanoid units can operate any weapon that has human ergonometric’s. Do you think that the sort of mind that is actively obsessed with creating such monstrosities will ever hesitate to employ them if allowed to? Guess again, once more! Go to your workplace and check out the DHS 1502’s and see the abject falsehoods that you are required to accept and to parrot if you wish to work. Hear that set of jack boots stomping down the hall in your direction, How many fingers at the end of the day will the state allow you to keep? To imbibe? Victory gin comrade! Don’t worry, our robots will do all the fighting! But against whom? Surrender to our set of UNCESO approved city planners that will soon design your next environmentally friendly hovel. The plans are on their drawing board right now that will compress you and yours like a can of tuna or maybe sardines and possibly anchovies. “Save the planet!“, by getting your kind of demographic safely localized in cantons and compressed in your VR face masks for a fantasy filled night of subliminal brain washing entertainment. For the day. And most probably, forever! Depending of course on the degree of shelf life that your brand will be allowed. The public airwaves completely ignoring the fact of your presence beyond constantly denigrating both you and your kind for being the problem and not the solution. All those that dream of a handcrafted casket to honor their memory can dream on as your remains will be dissolved and flushed down the pipes to the recycling center to extract whatever useful compounds are present. In the meantime you will be drinking your own piss and eating your own excrement. Recovered and reprocessed of course. The fresh water is needed for industry. They can pay, but you can’t! You won’t have money as whatever wealth coefficient that you are assigned will be something that you will never be aware of. The only thing that you can be assured of is that if don’t keep working at a breakneck level of performance with a big toothy smile you will be demoted. Get demoted too many times and you will disappear and no one will ever hear from you again. Think that you have somewhere to run to? Guess again! The land surrounding the massive concentration camp megaplex of U.N. designated urban areas will be off-limits. The journey their will be next to impossible at best as the checkpoints beyond the roadways that ring the habitation zones will be under the surveillance of DHS and its coterie of lethal toys. No one gets out without clearance and that sort of privilege will not be afford to you. Sounds like some hackneyed Dystopian poppycock, eh? Don’t be too sure that many of those permanently out of your reach towards the top of the executive suite are not nor right now busily rationalizing all this as they dream each night. Don’t think that the next echelon down isn’t equally occupied making excuses for why this barbarism is a necessity that makes total sense in the larger scheme of the scientific progression of the modern evolution of mankind. And don’t bother to wonder why the class of the militarized apparatchiks supporting these tiers have any qualms about blowing you and your family away like some annoying poop contaminated pidgin feather. Accept your fate! Or maybe raise up a little finger to do something to combat against it.
There are unbelievers in the pool! There is algae left from the Muslims.
Hearken to the call for civil war. Hasten to the music of the pogrom!
Immigrants, their pilgrimage. Your crusade!
Filthy garments for the cause. The perversity of men’s minds!
The arrogance of straight women. Those two-legged stewing bacteria bags!
A tenacious virus of hate.
There is only one true God. All others must believe in the Federal Reserve!
All Goyim need to be killed. More free money to the Poor!
Fuck the rich. Feed the aged poor old stale donuts!
I exist, so that you don’t have to. Your just a another useless eater!
Just do it. Your continued form of pain, is my gain!
A salacious symphony of unrequited love.
It’s all good. Abolish white supremacy and worship Allah!
Hate has no home here. Hang up your own goddamn dirty laundry out to dry!
Fuck Trump and love Israel! Shh, your latent antisemitism is showing!
Stick your fingers in their layer cake. But anal sex is good!
Honor all new pronouns by the gross. Be a guest on the Disney channel
Utopia produces that most eternal bond of mind sucking patriotism.
Most of you have to die so that the rest of us can truly live. Burma shave!
Self-destruction is a noble cause! Get your corpse out of my town by six o’clock!
You forgot your smelly underwear. See the latest details on the five-thirty news!
Develop new interesting relationships. I left my car keys in your poop!
Temerity is just another form of positive Feminism. Set fire to his nut sack!
Sex is just another form of evolutionary inevitability for total strangers.
Money is the only physical reality. All paper must be promptly recycled!
The whole world runs on plastics. God is still your only true love doll!
Your daughter is a Lesbian at six. Your fifty-year old son sleeps in my basement!
Love your neighbor, but totally despise yourself. The number six is in the book!
Help save the bottle cap ocean. Further existence by your kind is futile!
Humanity is just another variety of blight upon this agnostic soulless universe.
Tell your husband to go to Hell. Have children fix their own goddamn breakfast!
Where did you leave my car keys. My victimization as a woman is never ending!
“I din du nuttin.“-“I don’t mean to do your bank account no harm.” Reparations!
Don’t listen to a Republican. Let them drink from the toilet!
Nostalgia is the pits. Where have all the good one’s gone?
The only valid socially advantageous choice left is what’s on TV tonight.
Summer equals hot. Hotter than you may like, colder than you can stand. The ritual that all may wish to contemplate. The facade of paraphernalia in surround of the simulation of what you think you’re due. You’re animated, motivated, fired up! You know every thing about everyone else! At least you are supposed to. After all you saw it remote. You believed it because those around your vicinity appear to be convinced. You go through the motions everyday never quite completely convinced at times. Refreshed by the fact that everyone that you encounter outside your own walls doesn’t give it a second thought. Animal desire aside, what is there in it for you? That repressed sense of self that you are expected to suppress in public. Pour it into a convenient role play ritual that aligns with the hierarchy of a distant usefulness. Get caught up in this round robin and lose your essential self. Mistake a collection of useful useless things set up to cover the walls around you and engage in a silent dead conversation with your past impulses. Summon from them times past and the dim recollection of those now long gone that once hung around.
Your body is cold but that little tension lurking inside that never seems to go away always battles with your latency. Is that life? You sometimes have to have someone to detest. Not hate perhaps but be assured that the other fool is a little bit farther off the mark than you. False assurance. No one knows that you are alive anymore, or cares. You starve emotionally encased in a block of gelatin. The old world is passe! You are part of it. Your entire existence barely an instant in geologic time, but too long by the current standards of modern man. Why don’t you die already! Make some room for those that you failed to replace with offspring of your own. After all, you’re the one that failed! And this earth doesn’t need any more failures!
The earth turns on its axis with precision in its offbeat spinning sort of way. Most of the conventional world refers to this as the sun rising. Maybe to get themselves out of bed? “Leve toi!” Lazy cabbages! You would dress and be off if there was a destination to plod off to. But the only destinations that you are aware of are those that you once knew. Not there anymore. So you sit up in your chair wide awake at five. It’s all about energy and you have too much! You are not willing to die no matter how hard they make it! That’s not what you promised your clan. You might not have been much to speak about when you started out? But you’re not going to break your promises now at this late date.It’s up to you because there is no one else left. You’ve turned off the television long ago. The Internet has begun to lose its charm. Everyone no longer speaks as they have little time to spend away from their phones. Where does all that empty time go to?
The weight of your fate diminishing rests heavy upon your shoulders. Where are you going to go when they throw you out of here? Its hard to imagine being homeless? Having no place other than the one that you lost long ago to recall. Move along! One spot is as good as the other in the weeds. Morning always cold, bones always achy, outlook forever grim. That’s what society does to you when you are forced to live on the edge. How much easier to survive a violent rainstorm if the goddamn lightning would just hit you already instead of leaving you just cold wet and shivering on your own. Safely removed from the sight of others whose inevitable ignorance exiled you here in the first place. The most you can hope for is to regain a tiny slice of a roof once you have been properly shorn of your past and re-educated by the prevailing trends of the moment. Maybe if you are lucky you can get a job sweeping the floor somewhere?
Those occasional castles in the clouds come at dawn and lost once again at dusk your home. The home that you dreamed of as a child safe in your mother’s arms. That place where you lay down to finally rest, your armor and shield now too heavy to carry into the field. The cycle of life repeats each morning and each time you are reborn in that instant no matter what your waking reality demands, no matter what your dreams say. The beauty of this world is in your eye alone! Not in the cold implements that surround you even though you put them there by some whim of long ago. You remain the king and creator of this world even though it beats and bats you about daily with an indifferent eye. All the games devised by your rival mannequin others cannot beat that. No one can truly hate you if you can begin to try to love yourself.
“You are defeated only if you believe that you are!” That’s what some guy said anyhow,sometime, somewhere? Or some guy would have wanted to, if he had been on the ball. “No matter what others tell you. No matter that they be those that operate the floodgates of destiny. You are your own man!” Such kind and noble words! Yet, what a bunch of horseshit! Phony tough courage, straight from the local cinema’s big screen playing sixty years ago! Out of the mouths of a John Wayne or Henry Fonda or Robert Mitchum? Remember when Mom and Dad used to bundle you up and put you in the back seat and go to the movies? The Drive-Ins with those old silver metal car speaker that you hung on the rolled down windows half way up the hump of one of those dirt mounds. The stinky smell of years of overfilled garbage cans by the blockhouse in he middle of the lot that served as projection room and concession stand?
Males are the most emotionally vulnerable of the two sex’s as it seems they are cultivated from birth to naturally sacrifice themselves for their mate. The same with little girls is not the case at all. Though society casts the female as the weaker more vulnerable of the two, it is obvious in everyday waking existential actual realty, when push comes to shove, men are just totally expendable. Perhaps that is why it is harder for a male to want to really know his father on the same level of being totally conversant in everything he is capable of knowing about his mother. He dares not! Not at least until is father is safely dead and buried. Only then can he make him his hero, blameless and invulnerable not unlike the first generation of gods that were retired in their time back to a Valhalla.
The is not to say that men are victims of women! But they can be victims of their own foolish attraction to women for anything supporting a fantasy foolish based. Women are ruthless in their materialism. Certainly so by the time that the are well into middle age. The seem to work by a schedule that assures them that they are not missing anything that they had originally planned. They seem to despise those men who are dreamers but do not have ready means of support for these fantasies immediately at hand. They love to play at being all giving all nurturing icons, but in truth of fact they require constant watering and attention or they quickly become morose.
The trouble a man has from a woman doesn’t come from her but from his own persistence in believing an impossible fantasy about her that he simply won’t let go of. How odd that someone’s thought should proceed their life experience as opposed to the other way around? Perhaps those caught up in a dictatorial society are long conditioned to live in reverse? Always waiting for some command on high to react to immediate set of circumstances instead of be powered up simply by their own initiative. One major failing that so many fall into is protecting the families’ collective sense of guilt and making their shame an altar by never ever bringing it up or allowing questions to be asked about it. A shibboleth that remains sacrosanct all the way from childhood through to the grave.
Youth, now formally past, with insecure women, the topic of beauty and remaining so, being paramount. Walking alone now in the dark in one’s own corridors as if it is a part of an ongoing daily ritual. As if the goal was not to disturb the life going on outside by giving it reason to suspect that it is waning here within. Someone long past willing to be loved or to put up with more titillating horseshit. Working hard over the intervening years to kill one’s own passions. A convenient Savonarola! The movies never disclose the reality of the need for accountability for one’s actions past two hours and fifteen minutes of tiresome repetitive dialogue. No matter at this point that wherever one might be they will still be the same empty lonely mindful individual treading about that same dark room alone. The fraud of tender emotions being but a water stain upon the base of another wall left by strangers.
Some men as they grow old get a kind of crazy. Antsy and always needing to always be doing something. To never stop doing something, almost as if they stop, they will never be able to start again. And just drop dead. Some men can’t wait for their fathers to die so they don’t have to see them grow old. They secretly can’t wait till that point when the old man is long dead and buried now a distant memory. And then they can pull them out of the closet and remember only the good things and make him a saint or a God that never did any wrong. But then something starts making the son start wondering who in the Hell this old man really was as a man like himself? And then he won’t let that spirit rest calling on his ghost again and again to fess up. But he knows deep down that he can’t take the truth that his father was simply no less human than he is. And he knows that the smaller his old man becomes to him that he will be so much less than he is.
But then, remembering all the times he played Biff to his Willie in that infamous restaurant scene. So then what questions could he ask his old man that he hasn’t been able to ask himself over all these years? That the failure wasn’t the families’, or even his old man. It was his alone. Not simply because of anything he did, or didn’t do. Because there was plenty of that to convict him! But because that is what being a man is all about. Taking responsibility when no one else would dream to, or no one else should. You can look down on all those hundreds of houses below one stretching out towards the horizon as far as anyone can see and know that there is a world of hurt lurking in every one of them. But there is only one man there to take up that slack. Someone who has learned hard lessons of how to take it day after day and not say a word. Because that is what one is supposed to do for those that he loves.
Those that imagine their existence being caught up strictly within the confines of popular society are more likely to be intolerant of those many other strangers not participating in that same tiny universe. It’s a stinking rotten world if you want to have some love but come up dry! Don’t go looking for any acclaim when it’s ten minutes past your last success! Everything is negotiation and how much dough you have in your pocket in the moment. Nothing else seems to count. Certainly not good intentions. For in God we trust and all others get a damn bank account and keep your credit card balance paid up! If you don’t like that then just go live in your car, and be another LOSER!
Long ago in ancient days when many mortals upon the earth heeded the omens of the stars it was said that some were fated to be in opposition in a manner much like the counterposed orbits of comets elliptically encountering planets. How like that would there be in my case with one Lady Barbara. An ever impressive solitary body hurtling the heavens possessing an attraction that far outclassed my own energetic elliptical abilities to bring it into my own circle. Our previous encounters some twenty years previous proving disastrous to both. My own psyche driven by some inexplicable desire to possess her live but ever fearful of being found inadequate and wanting of being exposed for the fool that I felt to be inside. My left foot every in conflict with my right as to where it should have been that like a bull in a China shop I could ever rely on saying or doing the exactly wrong thing in her presence. But like the ever ready moth prepared to singe my wings at any opportunity to tempt a fate that I knew was hopeless in my case.
Barbara you see was from a blue blood sort of stock. A product of the southern tip of an adjoining state where success in all things was not a matter of accident but long and careful breeding. Her manner always holding to a decorum that silently declared itself to be one of royal bloodline. Her own father no doubt a terrible and efficient monarch of the extended family for whom wealth and standing was a natural spring bound fountain who merely had to walk forth to bring forth a brook of prosperity. And Barbara herself her own kind of watch spring tightly wound form of erudite precision in feminine beauty in terms of heredity and immediate presence. Much like a Circe she could charm and entrance mortal man into swine with a simple glance. Most terrifying was the fact that whatever she tried her hand at she seemed accomplished at. Perhaps a curse in a stilted world of rich entrepreneurial minded suitors? One of whom that she had married and had a male child with.
My initial encounter with her own orbit being strictly egregious and out of sync in disrupting her standing as the head of an arts organization run by another who we had both respect and affection for. The next pass being more agreeable a year or two later when I had returned from another drama that had sent me half way around the globe in pursuit of another failed romantic quest. While I sun about at my limits far away she was violently crashed about by the loss of her husband to some unspecified infidelity. One that left their marks of his angry clenched fists upon her diminutive frame for a while after. The turn of events sending her tumbling into an unstable past to encounter another minstrel and to my view mountebank. An egotistical self-centered musician that was in my own myopic view of things a deadly rival to my growing desire to have her.
One is always tripped up by their own dreams seeming breaching the waking world in fables that one spins as they see them apparently coming to pass. An for a while as someone besotted by their own animal lust I was driven to obsession and a persistent attempt to woo her away. Yet at those times when her path perceived with him seemed to wobble it was I alone who at the last second veered away in trepidation. In fear it seems of being trapped and set upon by the potential of a monumental cosmic farce that would bring me to light not just as a silly fool overstepping their bounds but a dupe. And thus caught up more in my own hesitations I designed the funeral carriage that carried me like a walking corpse to my own eventual rendezvous to an inevitable break. My heart sinking leaden to the cold depths of an ocean of despair wrecked it seemed caught from that point on far below the surface of ever finding common course set to that boundless store of love I felt for her hopelessly remote.
Those otherworldly nightly tides of some two decades hence designing a scenario within which I was thrown up unexpectedly upon her shore once again. She a mistress of her own gallery and established in some safe and anonymous small town practicing her own form of fine art based expression. What seemed innocuous to the understanding of most as a simple series of finely upholstered booths being an analogy most dear to explaining her own sad star crossed inner self. Those unnamed phantom doppelgangers of my past actions accompanying me recklessly displacing the carefully laid cushions as if it mattered naught. A lightning bolt strike of fear coursing up my spine as I saw those old ways between us taking hold. The other artifacts within her museum in danger of similar disregard while I was caught up and helpless in a newly rekindled sense of loving regard. One by one at each station of her cross she providing a brief explanation of the meaning of a new carefully manufactured conundrum. Each in jeopardy of being trammeled in a way so uncannily similar to the very ways she had been in the past.
Dead suitors long ago notwithstanding in abandon of that solitary husband long dead in terms of her own regard. I inquired most awkwardly out of turn with the gravity of the moment as to the whereabouts of her son. That solitary offspring that had formerly been the centerpiece her own emotional conflict. He posed as a fleck of sand exposing her pain in being found wanting as a mother in conflict with the pearl of her own overwhelming ambitions that superceded his needs. The curse of my own folly coming back from the long forgotten shadows to trip me up once again. Saying the wrong thing and doing the wrong thing but worse yet showing a weak form of indecision in the commission of same. The fact of her own susceptibility for being seduced by the next waiting tragedy to burden her never occurring to me. Both of us condemned in our own ways to perpetual martyrdom that was a source of indescribable guilty delight. Her last disclosure of a final work in her hiring an unnamed unwavering assassin to posthumously eliminate all that had sullied with her. The chilly realization on my own part that somewhere down on the bottom of that list was inscribed my own name.
I T. Mordichai Mumsey, fifty-three years young, was a person that was born with a certain awareness of the world at large. Perhaps better said in mentioning a world beyond it. I was also born with an anger that seemed unquenchable. Something that had to do with all things female and being enslaved perhaps too willingly. Early one being forced by some anonymous power to have to forgo happiness for fear. pleasure for sadness and sorrow. A heaviness around the heart that seemed to keep the notion in mind that death and maybe something worse lurked persistently neat just out of sight.
Somehow I had fallen into the circle of the extremely wealthy and ridiculously famous. An internationally celebrated person who at face value lived an extemporaneous lifestyle that was inclusive of many different types of personalities as sidekicks all along for the ride. The singular primary star in their collective universe having chosen them passively without prejudice as to their backgrounds or peculiar quirks. Of course, he didn’t need to because the people in this circle, many of them, were more than happy to oblige him automatically in order to garner his favor to ensure their small part in a very dramatic and exciting lifestyle as part of his entourage. I for one had unexpectedly been inducted into this cadre supposedly by happenstance. Someone who had come by to fulfill a service after the brevity of a passing conversation that at this point could not be summoned to mind. The privilege of hanging about enjoyed by a variety of other people seemingly no different than myself of different stature and status. I knew enough to speak when spoken to and stay on the sidelines of the action but also made sure to be in attendance. One aspect that seemed strange was walking about the halls of the mansion always in the midst to change clothes from my paltry supply of pathetic hand me down glad rags all tattered and frayed that I had initially brought along. I seemed to have to be unexpectedly without trousers as the general chaos about the place made these transitions complex maneuvers around sofas and temporarily deserted hopefully remote hallway corners. Sometimes I would be caught with my pants down. All of this behavior as worse being the butt of some temporal jest but still tacitly accepted by the fact that it was otherwise ignored. Yet these encounters would still hover over me as a reminder that I personally was very very very poor in both wealth and status at the lowest end of the real crowd that could claim proper title to being acceptable. I continued with my act of easy familiarity not pushing myself too conspicuously on my host or the members of his informally royal court. This spoke to me that I along with most of all of the others was on the edge of deceit that disingenuous both to me and my more than gracious host. And I struggled mightily with myself now being under that role. It bothered me. And yet I couldn’t tear myself away and just walk out the door to get away from it. And in time, little by little, I was accepted. Another house pet? My ever generous patron was ever engaged in building the fame of his movie box office persona through action packed blockbuster movies sequels. Though he was aging he was ever more a force of nature in demonstrating a wellspring of physical endurance and dare devil regimen of stunt work that would have paled the complexion of the average army Ranger. Here and there he would deign to hold a short conversation or grant a nod of acknowledgement in a very democratic sense of total awareness of his own immediate surroundings. More and more the little tasks I assigned led to ever greater even more important ones. My status slowly rising within the pecking order of the general melange. The two orders of conversation existed, one being polite that topically concerned the events of that day. And another more salacious and gossip ridden as to who was on the outs or wheedling their way in a little deeper. More and more I was being considered as part and parcel of this scene. The fact of this weighing heavy on my private thoughts leaving me unsettled.
Deep in this crowd where I was literally camped out between a coffee table and a sofa with people milling in and out. Some for simple recreation from much larger suites while other going from one end to the other attempting to fulfill the master’s requests. I squatting there in my own form of silent self-loathing. Not liking the fact of an issue with myself and myself. Would I descend to a point like so many others where I would perform? Would I surrender myself to always being fully available? Or would it be more moral to maintain a remote distance? Or best yet, just to just unceremoniously pack up and leave? When evaluating the benefits that I was presently enjoying when weighed against all this what would I finally conclude? But then there was something else about this, a feeling of unease . . . one bordering upon fear. Something repellent and yet just equally attractive. The only analogy that seemed to relate being an animal in a cage whose only desire was wanting to perform for its master for crumbs or maybe a treat. I didn’t like that! I didn’t like the fact that this place and the people in it brought out thoughts like this about myself. But then I wondered if there was another aspect to this situation? That something much larger and more deviously subtle was at play lurking behind this scenario? Something that was beyond my own ability to perceive or easily pick up on. That in some strange unfathomable way my inner depths were being plumbed by an undefinable force and I was being used as a test case of a sort in a clandestine experiment. An undisclosed agency of some sort that was compiling information in terms of the boundaries and limitations of the human personality. That all the rest of the flash and performance was simply a front to set the subjects at ease and keep them unaware. Perhaps a sort of finishing school of a sort indicating that my entire life had been observed and recorded to such a degree that this mysterious ‘they’ could even reveal the identity that I had held in past lives. A thought that was mind numbing to the point of shocking to even consider. I felt like a rat trapped in a metal cage. I wanted to believe that all this mental anguish was simply my own paranoia dome of too many disappointments. That this situation was a positive turning point or at the very least a hiatus from the vagaries of the indifference of an intemperate society that cared little whether I existed or not. That bothered me. Yet to continue this way in this place would dissolve my identity. Something that had always been precariously in question. I wanted to be my own man but yet I also wanted to belong within this lap of apparent luxury that currently surrounded me.
And then, I had to admit that this brought out a Sadistic / Masochistic element in all this. Something that brought out a deeply held secret element from within that my conscious mind had always steered clear of acknowledging. I could only say that at some time in the past, despite sorting through all the experiences and various forms of actions that one customarily goes through in life , those short bouts of errant behavior, that I must have been a slave. Someone that was dramatically abused at will over a period of time. And then alternately pampered? And alternately enjoyed the abuse visited upon them. Enjoyed being humiliated and led around upon a leash. It was very sick! Venal to think that my psyche relished this sort of treatment and wanted to continue to indulge within. Further deep down I felt that I had been afflicted with a poison as if bitten by a snake. It’s venom slowly spreading through my body over the many intervening years. Disconnecting those cables to my independence and chaining me to something dark and unspeakable to be able to cogently imagine.
Hard being a ghost retreading former territory that once so long ago I, along with so many long gone faceless others had hoped to have to tread about like terrible dinosaurs. But we like so many countless others became errant memories barely whispered of if ever acknowledged. Our dust intermingles now, blowing through the particles of long lost ancient temples from forgotten kingdoms and other societies that have collapsed without a peep. Those that we never knew or could hardly have imagined. The possibility of their existence having taken up this same space as deep to the mind as the pre-diluvian plains that now stretch out in every direction on the ocean’s floor. This irresponsible present no shelter to provide the eternal muse of those that dream themselves as perpetually immortal. The very ones that harbor their fragile cleverness in an arrogance that supposes that they could ever know anything more finite than the cold indifferent wind blowing through the centuries. What fools we were in youth to allow ourselves to be fooled!
So when did the race addictive penchant for mob violence against one’s own become the latest popular fad? To take a pick axe to virtues completely incomprehensible to those raised to be part of a herd. Card carrying fellow travelers raised by a system impregnated by antipodal minded Marxists to snap to attention when the Red Orchestra plays its old tired calamitous tune of “Monkey See, Monkey Do!” To so easily go along without a single question or speak up on your own behalf in maybe even whispering under one’s breath a single unrepentant, “No!” To allow one’s self to be led around by the nose with a ring of specious political diatribes undermining one’s own bedrock values from under their own feet. All the while believing that such recreation in this atavistic minded sensibility will not change their own particular situation one iota. For those too jaded by the sanctity of security afforded by the smokescreen of their Middle Class self-hating lifestyles with those smug attitude of nothing will change for them so soon to shatter their own suburban plate glass picture window in a hail of pavement stones that they have encouraged their own dear youngsters to throw. Nothing in that sense ever does really change. A fool is ever a fool’s own undoing.
So put one’s own neck in that ready noose that is casually offered by the current fashion of the times. But don’t cry when it is suddenly yanked tight and you choke! The lambs being guided on the way to their eventual slaughter having all along been the ultimate master plan. For regime change is a notion that begins at home only when practiced by cadres of artful foreign deceivers brought too readily into the bosom of one’s land. Dumb livestock may bleat in protest within the slaughterhouse pens on the way to their own demise. But at least they haven’t been guilty of shutting their senses to the inevitable fact of it now operating in full gear. Much less intelligent still are those who deny their own reality and defer judgment in their own defense without a peep because it might offend. The ultimate tyranny being the notion that speech of any type is too intolerable to be publicly heard. The fallacy of willfully plunging one’s head in the sands of indifference while being steadily co-opted into acceptance of yet another patent lie that has been sold as for the good of all.