A Jewish fingernail . . .
no longer worth its weight in gold, but in human blood
so, what is the going rate?
a million? . . . a billion?
or simply the remainder of the entire human race?
a literal thirty-five hundred years of perpetual scheming.
ever changing blood for more money
in, you name it!
Talents! Shekels! Doubloons! Guilders! Pounds! Dollars! Yuan!
savage wars and fallen empires seemingly unending
all financed from behind the scenes
and then so conveniently and publicly ignored
like good little forgetful sheep ever asleep
completely ignorant of those that claim to be their masters
ritually slaughtered these foolish little Goyim by way of craft and greed and deception
all to wash away collective venal sin in an ever ebullient sea of perpetual blood
all to claim the role of a ‘victim’ in the end
how incredibly heavy beyond perceivable human measure can such a tiny thing be?
Terror
Everything dies! It comes to a conclusion that is inevitable and irrevocably final. That is what one was bound to tell one’s self while after tossing restlessly about to awaken at a point halfway through the night. The ceiling is not one’s friend and no comfort in view through the layers of dark that suppress the hints of illumination hanging on barely detectable about the room. The daily register of details related about the larger collectives of society weigh heavily upon the unconscious mental airwaves. An occasional shock wave of spine tingling thought courses up and down one’s spinal column suggesting visitors passing by from other realms. The emptiness that fills the space around one a virtual bus station filled with god knows what? An imperfect mirror-like surface tension of two different forms of either the surface of which provides a screen to run the events, wants and wishes of one’s life up the the moment.
All the slights and slings and barbs from others a hedgerow of dubious potential to evaluate. Is this person a companion or not. Who has grown tired of me and who I can tolerate to behavior of no more. What sort of pleasures, or indifference, will one suffer from a new acquaintance in the short term coming future. And will it somehow provide a rope ladder to clime out of one’s approaching storm front of melancholy? Serious topics way beyond one’s potential to affect much less attempt to change. Three dimensional chess difficulties trying to not slip into yet another realm of additional complexity. Keep it simple stupid. But one must realize that they are but a dry leaf fallen on a tempestuous ocean’s surface that will eventually consume its integrity. How one tries to close their eyes even tighter to squeeze out the night with all its waiting terrors! The inevitable animal within seeks out assistance from without. A mate to pair with to find some mutual solace even though too late in life for offspring by way of the onset of the ravaging disease of age the effort can only lead to a more distant sense of camaraderie.
And then there are women who at a later stage of life get caught up in an ongoing sense of disappointment about their existence up to and past their prime’s become inconsolably unhappy. The feelings of lacking self worth festering into a poison that matures in its increasing potency to most effortlessly make others unhappy which in turn increases their level of anger to a fever pitch. A situation that needs a target to assuage the blame from themselves to the closest target. Generally some hapless male who initially are caught up by the honey trap known as womanhood are entangled in the misappropriation of their personas as both perpetrator and perennial victim. If they stand and take the abuse that seems to magnetically follow them about the room then they are the aggressor. If they retreat from enduring same offering protest then they are unfairly duplicitous for not putting up with the erratic spontaneous outbursts of their spouse.
If the male might try to engage in a way to delineate and confront the behavior then they are philistine and abusive to her. There is no winning with a woman empowered with her own ceaselessly ongoing discontent. No matter how supportive the male is in offering well-meant praise for his companion’s finer points he will eventually be undone and subsequently toppled in her eyes. Of course the woman always has her unique metabolism as a convenient way out of responsibility for her aggressive actions. Biology the eternal get out of jail free card that in the end evaporates any guild on her part for social wrongdoings. She draw upon this trump card at any point that can in the court of last resort provide a sense of innocence. God help the male who at any point in the conversation brings this up! This is a sure sign of indefensible actions on his part that cannot be forgiven through any other means but fully admitting his guilt in initiating and afterwards prolonging the whole thing. At least until she decides otherwise, How the most unblemished of impulses can quickly turn into another waiting tragedy!
The reputation fades equally quickly with the descending vitality suggested by the wrinkles evident upon the escarpment of one’s visage as it is inevitably presented to others.What one senses about themselves within no longer lining up with what the exterior suggests. One hopes that the world about them will catch sight of them only when these infirmities do not suddenly decide to strike out to wound. Slow progress of a heavier sense of unsteady locomotion of the legs. Aches in the lower back. Vision narrowed unexpectedly affected in a manner that makes the characteristic dance movements of the old their own. One cannot escape this merciless amphitheater of outside judgment that follows one from unexpected corners as they tread forward down byways of the outside word. Damned if one is unable to hide the frailties in public and even more susceptible if one falls pray to trying to hide them by staying indoors at home. All this and more pops into view as one waits for the knock out drops of exhaustion to overwhelm the overload of inner storage of mental events that have backed up the byways of musings from one’s recent struggles of previous days. Resolution only coming with hopeful oblivion by way of falling once again into the blackness flooding forth from below slowly welling up from sheer exhaustion until the next dawn.
Cast away in spirit
embarking on a one way oblivion
forced by powers beyond one’s own
a terror of leaving what no longer is
is this not akin to dying?
save for the fact
that I am the corpse
dead on my feet
yet not fit to travel
yet travel I must
. . . travel I must
Where will I run to
from that which I hide
hide my own terror
mentally chasing an illusion
that safety abounds
in surrendering to my fears
by leaving all I’m worth
for that which I can’t total
to hold onto what I feel
but sense I must leave
. . . sense I must leave
How many left that I know
of those that I once knew?
how much must I leave
to start fresh anew?
to speak to the ages
of life that to be lost
in the familiar way of being
of a daily way of seeing
of those no longer there
of a self no longer aware
. . . of being no longer there
One’s limitations beset one towards the possibile result of a coming end. One hoping for refreshed experience of a material existence. The truth being one of the hallmark of an inevitable end. So much accomplished but never properly enough expeienced on a level that it is impossible to think of anything else without simply treading over one’s own footsteps. The rat trapped in a pipe closed unexpectedly at both ends. Water flowing in at an ever increasing rate. The death frenzy coming upon it, extinguishing whatever little reason it is capable of. And then a lull in its struggle signaling a surrender to its inevitable fate. A final return of sorts, one is told. The embodiment of everything recollectable swirling into black forgettfulness. Be it a rat or a man or an empire. Those still young left to struggle for further life as best as their particular circumstances will allow. Religion and myth will die. Maybe to be re-embellished. Maybe not? Tombs meaningless in the face of the plain fact of corruption which magic stone cannot transfix back into eternal life. Rememberance only in the artist’s hand. And the face chiiped off just as quick by the stone mason’s chisel. Demoted to an anonymous harvest of raw rock from the earth. The remnants ifself of the issue of rebirth from growing mountains and sea floor beds or earthen rebirth. The memory is short indeed for those passed on or those about to. A single visit out of respect perhaps but the gap of yet another nonexistence in daily life that is must be refilled in by someone new. The Gods and their goods of those no longer extent, passed around, or discarded, in accordance with the latest fashion of the world’s whim. It creeps along in endless cycles of mediocrity. The halcyon of former times losing its luster. Lost as such in recent loss.
The doom generation is upon us. Whether it grabs one by the arm, or it recaptures the mind, the feared result will appear to be the same. Most lulled into a willing complacency. All not wanting to adhere to all so many unfriendly blatant truths. Ones that their planned destruction so long heralded in front of their faces is really finally at hand. Many armed but with no idea where to point those weapons. Others stockpiling resources to start again in a celebration of insantiy. Kiss the devil’s claw. The goat head’s awaits. Society as it is now known long configured to leave all humanity off at the bus station with nothing but stale bubblegum. All on their own without suitable directions. The fools come and go, and commit suicide without a second thought as if on a guided tour by their doctors to the halls of immediate oblivion. The rest stop at empty shelves in awe as consumer society fades into the rubbish of an illusion of success that never was. A bunch of inmates circling the television to the right awaiting their paroles. All under the restless truncheons of the guards denying them their respective desired fates. For the worse! Or perhaps, for the better? The planet can now breathe pure methane again! It can all roll back to a time far in the past when lizards roamed the earth just to sun themselves upon volcanic rocks. As if cauight upon a ship in the middle of an ocean filled with endless bobbing skeletons. One ponders if their surface bouyancy will allow any to walk across them to dry land. Or would they just end up another disassociated disperate addition to this quiescent collection? Ever fragrant, this perfume of death upon the deaf ears of humanity. Take another whiff, its slick polish will grow upon you until you will revel in it no more.
Carve your insanity out of calcium carbonate. Scrape the paltry meat from the splindly bone with your broken teeth. Chew on the calves gristle and sharpen the hard part to a sharpened tip to make a spear. Consider all the new options of this glorious technology. What have you lost from the ways of times past when there is so much left to gain. A mother’s womb now being a ready store house for offering succulent treasures to offer all cannibal Satans. Angst and damnation for the rest with short futures. Think of the comfort in rusty old car that your father once drove! Think of that old smelly threadbare sofa you pets so often peed upon! Think about all the remnants of meals that were carelessly were discarded! Dream on! All the luxuries of your past that you can no longer afford. The bathrooms don’t work any longer! The West is dead! And the barbarians of old take hold once again to claim their reward! Your skull will look pleasant within a pyramid made up of ten-thousands of the same. Another one of the countless pearls made to gleam bright in the midday sun for your betters to laugh at. They’ll joke about with the scent of spilt brains enticing their own kind in the air. They have built your world for them alone, not you! Coagulated blood clots of varying dimensions as festive tree ornaments perfect for this last coming Christmas. A deposed holiday, long displaced by Days of demon saints fraught with pumpkin worship in which all corn kings sizzle. Too bad you can no longer find the right sized buns.
The ceiling above her bed hovered steadily in the semi-light. She rustled amidst the thin layer of covers as she twisted hard to the left to catch sight of the red digits on the clock radio. The other portable cassette job was still droning away in its barely audible volume as it had been adjusted the night before. She was feeling uneasy. Her right arm was aching terribly just below the shoulder on the outside. She could recall that she had turned hard to that side compacting it down some time earlier before the last dream. What had happened in that particular fabrication of slumber, like so many other dramas, was now more feeling than tell able tale. Far past an ability to be properly recited. She knew for a fact it involved a neighbor farther down the hall of some longstanding near acquaintance that she barely knew. But now of course everything had become twisted around and she had developed an inexplicable dependency for their continued company. But that connection had suddenly dried up reverting to a bout of stormy weather’s approach threatening to instantly wash away whatever commonality existed between them. She had to clear her shit out of the apartment before a fight started. But like all things human there was just too much to take into hand with too much of it ending up having to be abandoned. A vague feeling of coming to full consciousness left her with a building feeling of a physical unease. There was not yet that same old expected need to pad off quickly to the toilet, though this incessant sensation of general uneasiness was beginning to assert itself. The coming of this longest to date early appearance of the Summer Solstice plagued her with the fact of an early dawn spreading above her. The symphony of building types of discomforts now demonstrably engaging her insides. Something that one might have expected as a matter of course if they had foolishly over indulged the evening before? But she had not. Her half-sister? A message flashed for an instant through her distracted nervous system. There was so much to talk about that given that situation she did not want to contemplate this early. It was all too early to have to be waking up! And she did not want to be bothered by the waking world for at least another couple of hours. She shifted back over to the other side, and then, unsatisfied, tossed her body the opposite way. The dull ache instantly reminded her of the shoulder. It was clear that she was to be embroiled in a less than subtle cacophony of unwanted sensations. Each in their own way conspiring together to plague her. All of them now focusing to center in her middle as if conducted from this orchestra pit to cooperate in producing an overarching sense of an ever building crescendo of apprehension. Suddenly relenting, she nervously grabbed away the covers to find the edge of the bed and quickly rise up to her feet. The cold of the overhead air conditioner striking her bare legs propelling her through to the hall and over into the unit’s small lounge. She would have gladly settled there to light up a cigarette, if she still smoked! The empty coffee pot waiting in her dark kitchen came to mind after another couple of mindless diversions that had been left over from the night before.
It was obvious that her half-sister was dying. And probably dead by now! Something these troubled insides suggested. The dimness on the horizon outside accented by the onset of occasionally drifting clouds with their knife edges rapidly assuming a pinkish glow. The usual mental agenda when awakening focusing on a need to make coffee, or alternately, find something else in its place was helping to assist the building of a hollow cathedral vault inside her middle. Some toast or that last un-split English muffin coming to mind. Its contents laying at the end of a small dark corridor alone by itself at the end of a long plastic enclosed cardboard foyer in the fridge. The thought of it residing there just waiting made her feel a little sicker. It drove her back the the bedroom on the pretext that her overall aches needed sleep as a cure. Somehow more appropriate to the task of overall relief from the gnawing within than food. At least the last of the razor sharp impressions that the night had inspired had finally retreated back into her nagging belly She climbed back under the tepid covers, quickly pulling them up as far over her as they would go. Too late at this stage to ignore the dawn with its fullness now all about the bedroom room spreading its illumination. The small nightcap absurdly inefficient to the task of covering the top of her face unable to stem its tide. That chronic ache in her right shoulder still nagging, The hollow drum of her abdomen echoing its own beat in consort. A quick abrupt exit towards the kitchen suggesting engagement in some more immediately useful activity needed to divert her current attentions away from this ever building general misery.
The white pitcher of cold filtered water needed to service the coffee urn with its innate quantity being perfectly Sympatico with the capacity required for making a single pot of coffee being in hand. A paper filter and three spoonful’s measured out by habit loaded within before the top of the maker was snapped down and its switch thrown. It was a minute or so before the rattle of its breathing reached the sofa where she had now retreated to hold up upon. Was her sister dead? She wondered if this inner wholly unexpected maelstrom was directly a result of a psychic telephone connection? One that had from time before rung her up in similar situations from the past. Bad news being delivered in a similar fashion. Though like any normal average female, her sensations could be said to be so much more attenuated by default than any of her genetic counterparts. This was not anything that she would need to have to prove. That other unexpected phone call that she received in the afternoon, two days earlier, had been unsettling enough. The reigning backdrop of all these ceaseless network news reports proclaiming constant crisis and disaster in general over the course of a year and a half of worldwide malaise was now beginning to hit home. Strokes and heart attacks and cancers that had barely been noted over the last year and a half, now suddenly frighteningly on the rise? Her half-sister’s husband prefacing his explanation over the phone with the fact of their recent distance from each other as of late due to conflicting politics. It gave her a sense of guilt. The bulk of the conversation quickly laying out a scenario of her sister’s unexpected collapse subsequently leading to an attending physician’s diagnosis. Blood clotting in her carotid artery combined with subsequent profuse bleeding on the brain. Dire conditions that required a number of emergency operations that in turn led to the removal of a section of her skull as a last ditch effort. All that seemed left to do was to await a final call from her sister’s husband that would announce what seemed, hope against stated hope, the most probably inevitable.
The dilapidated couch’s foam felt two decades too old and unsubstantial below her bare legs. The coffee pot was now done making its simulated death rattles. But she didn’t feel like getting up. Her half-sister had long ago abandoned the city and state it served as the center for another in the deep southern region of the country. So long ago in fact that she had almost become forgotten her presence beyond the obligatory holiday card sent at Christmas. Now her sister came to mind in a last guise serving as an unrepentant political cheerleader on behalf of the crackpots screeching right wing conspiracy all over the media. She had just recently heard her boasting aloud her edict over the last call that she was going to hold a celebration for her sixtieth birthday on her property, inviting only those that had been properly vaxed. The corresponding mental picture brought to mind by that strident pronouncement being of some gated affair with dutiful guards hired to monitors certificate’s and demanding sleeves rolled up to bare the display needle scars before entry. It was this obsessive arrogance that had made her sister untenable listen to since the beginning of the year. Then there was her own inner tendency to mentally call out the notion of an ‘I told you so!’ in response to this sudden illness. A hard thing to weigh in on against the obvious fallibility of so many conventional types that had so trustingly marched off promptly to line up and get ‘the jab‘. The media and government officials consistently cheerleading. Egging on the throng of suckers all the way to their doom. It made her brutally angry to think of how all these elitist bastards would soon slink off into the shadows the minute things would go bad. The media then finding others convenient to scapegoat so as to continue their flawed theories when people would begin to start dying off en masse. The new symptoms of a kind that could no longer be properly ascribed to others in their much publicized ongoing epidemic narrative. A remnant of her last remaining kin seemed off on a one way journey back to utter oblivion, like so many others that she had once known. Too many that she had formerly heavily counted upon.
The apartment was now dead silent. Little beyond the irritable sound of rushing air stirred by her air conditioning. These occasional sea breezes spouting cold air daring her not to return to her bedroom and put something warm on. She walked over to her cell phone on the shelf. There was nothing to be done! The display on her phone remained clear of any new notifications. The email and text sections only sullied with a couple unsolicited notices which were quickly dispatched. Her seething emotions now silently subsiding in the wake of full consciousness, their distress could be put aside for the moment. An empty feeling of inconvenient hunger needing to be filled providing an perfect excuse to rise to her feet and attend to those more of her usual habitual practices each morning had come to expect. The most urgent coming to her notice as she bent forward fully out of her muse to realize that she still needed that first trip of the day to the bathroom. As she rose up she turned to look out of the picture window finding the morning quietly illuminating all from afar. The sun now well over the horizon. The swish of slowly passing traffic out of sight from below. Her needs satisfied, she stood before her kitchen’s counter mindlessly exhuming the last muffin from under the body bag wrapper enclosing its emptied oblong box. A clean serrated knife at the ready in her hand, she split the pale white body into two separate halves. Butter and jelly then being mechanically applied after which she instinctively brought the jelly encumbered knife to her lips to lick off the sweet dark crimson residue before tossing the knife towards the bottom of the empty sink. The blur of so many passing thoughts flying quickly past her mind’s eye as she stood mentally withdrawn from them. The blatant contradiction of another normal day unconcerned with human sorrows standing mute before her. There would be plenty of time to hear the final verdict. Perhaps later in the day? She might as well face the morning as yet another to be lived fully and glean what small enjoyment possible until then.
I hadn’t been downtown by the lake for some time. Maybe a year, maybe more? I found the occasion to go down there again in part for the sake of business and had entered the central district from the south part of town. But when my office business was concluded I decided to exit the building from the north side by the plaza just to see what had transpired in the interval. And to my horror a vertical horizon of damaged high-rise’s towered about me like an old boxer’s ravaged smile. The devastated landscape hovering dolefully over the plaza having too obviously been repeatedly assaulted though continual acts of vandalism and arson. Their former steel and glass shining glory turned to mere blackened skeletons, so many with windows blown out, completely vacant of tenants. Building, after building. after building with hundreds upon hundreds of units left simply abandoned to eventually slowly atrophy away. Here and there a number of examples of what had intended to be new construction, but now was left half-built. The summit upon each of these identifiable from the rest by a rusting crown of vertical steel girders and supports. One might have wondered, had they been asleep while the area had been repeatedly hit from above by heavy munitions from some foreign adversary? Yet no reporting, or apparent reason for this magnitude of destruction ever having been officially announced in the interim. What sorts of throngs of discontented humanity could have banded together into such angry mobs bent solely upon the joy of destroying for destruction’s sake? All of them unanimously thrilling to the demented proposition of turning all these buildings into blazing candles so as to be fit only for subsequent demolition.
The shock of seeing same fostering an immediate desire to quickly get the hell out of there! And as I had decided to originally travel here by way of public transportation, I now though carefully of an escape route that would avoid those ghettos where the major constituents who had enacted this disaster would be entrenched. Those areas where the major inspiration for this incomprehensible defile had been birthed. Walking back southward, I entered an older part of town where I took some pictures of an older crumbling facade of a bar that must have dated back as far as a hundred years or more. Just adjacent were the shabby confines of similar structures with glass fronts that betrayed rack after rack of shelves stacked miscellaneous odds and ends whose purpose had long ago been outmoded by the ceaseless march of modern technologies. Certain portions of the second floor entries replaced by stained glass of a random artisan whose studio would, no doubt, be found far back up a stairwell somewhere within.
Bad tidings ahead signaling the further destruction of society as it was once known. Much being swept away by a tyranny of the greed struck power mad. Their warped notion of culture being an industrial breeding ground for speedily raising hens. Chicks bustled along in the corporate sense of a conveyor. More destruction planned ahead! That ever looming possibility of all the weapons having been amassed over the recent decades being brought to bear and set forth in one blinding flash of instantaneous aggression. All those many acres of skyscrapers turned into burned out hulks by the official revealing of particle beam weapons mounted in space. What few survivors being left housed in broken particle board shacks sporting corrugated paper entry hatches. The more mundane aspects of modern society as once known having been despoiled into a vague impression of paradise lost.
How odd to recall that sorting club commercial gymnasium that was once so popular with the Liberal crowd now fully submerged. the entire building underwater? And not having visited same in some time as one could never have breath enough to swim down some three levels and forty feet into the basement. Something that would serve as a watery doom for most! Consider that situation alone if the upper floor by itself was simply up to one’s neck? One might more easily descend upon those stairs into the lowest levels if some modern Moses could magically invoke a separate dry zone that would extend throughout not needing physical dikes to prevent each successive one passed through from filling up. Once down on the lower level having walked past three rooms to the end and was harnessed with mundane tasks of coffee making by the reigning rules of Feminist based political correctness. The punishment due for my simply being male. The task unfortunately for them not really humiliating but the slippery task of washing cups and saucers in slippery soapy water. The task to be completed over a tiny plastic tub being problematic. A couple of the females made it clear that they were dismissive of my physical presence as it had invaded their showplace for exhibiting their supposed superiority.
Both apartment building and car were attacked by terrorists! The end result of much back and forth between both sides leading to my car being totaled by a bomb in the garage. Its ability to serve as a kidnap car eliminated by way of that deafening explosion. I manned the elevators as a deputy agent of Homeland Security to stop the assault. Those blasphemous public ceremonies that now stood in for religion were under attack. The incidents or explosions and assassinations were dramatically on the rise. Anyone peripherally connected with the same was immediately deemed a Right Wing terrorist extremist and immediately executed in public. The terrorists even crashed raves and dance parties.
I had purchased a new camera but unfortunately it was broken and I had to re-purchase another version of the same. This time I kept it in a steel locking container to which only I had a key. A couple of days later I saw a figure dressed all in black with a watch cap upon the roof of the next building from my window. To my shock he suddenly jumped over the edge falling down some five stories to land upon his feet before rolling back onto his behind on the sidewalk. I along with several others went running down to see what had happened to him? To our surprise he was dazed but in good condition. The steel box of mine that protected my camera had also landed beside him with its cover torn open and my camera now gone. He took off into the entrance of the building with my friends and I in hot pursuit. We banged down the door of a small studio where he and two of his Asian friends were waiting tight lipped. Nobody would say anything. They remained silent until I threatened to expose them to the police and have them deported. Then, without uttering a single word, the thief surrendered my second broken camera back to me.
Part of a dream from the bedroom and otherwise. Snakes, big black snakes! Black Mamba’s slithering about. There were all over the place. Up and down the plateau. Up and down the bed. I couldn’t get rid of them, they just were chasing everything. I guess I was in Hollywood or it’s equivalent at a studio? I don’t recall how open it was but their were a bunch of people there. I was there to try to get in and make a film, maybe, as a screenwriter, or in some sort of guise or form of same. I had a piece of equipment that I was attempting to mount something upon and having some finishing nails I was going to hammer them into the item’s steel plate. But I then thought, “No, that’s pretty damn stupid!” So I stopped doing that and found that it had been unexpectedly been painted green as part of a jungle set. All the while, this activity being enacted by the entryway to a door then encountering a woman that was claiming to be a producer looking for a director. I instantly wondering if I had the panache to pass myself off as a director? I kept looking back and forth in her direction and the entrance door but finally walked away to the sound stage.
They were now diagnosing and inoculating babies with their experimental poisons in restaurants right upon the tables. The diagnosis always coming out to be the same in every case. Covid! No other maladies had continued to exist. The only official agenda being to give every human entity their vaccine. Life now like some old prime time sixties television series.
“Star date 2021, caught on the planet Earth in a prison based circumstance, compelled by a variety of psychological infarctions to preview all the evil in this world that are designed to keep my mind focused on the negative, with a tincture of things positive from the past involved in determining what was evil and what was still able to be called good. No complacency in this life. Now way of understanding fully that this place is a prison and not a penitentiary. The two being vastly different in terms of their direction.”
I would prefer to believe that I am the one afflicted. The one who is solely responsible. And of course, I am, in terms of my own fate. However, the thing that is amazing to me is how the rest of the world has caught up in terms of this dilemma? When I came into this world I was indoctrinated by the prejudices of my parents. When I managed to find a world of my own, such as it was, it was always treated by others with a degree of discontent in terms of every episode. I never really finding what I could consider a reasonable state of being that would work to my benefit. No situation offering a real sense of security. Just a replay of previous incidents in brand new one offering more of the same outcomes. Just the same disappointments. So now, in these recent times, after my world as I once knew it to be came to a final inevitable conclusion that left me alone to pick up the pieces, I find that it’s too overwhelming to recall the past! And so I eradicated it in any manner that I can!
Perhaps my indulgence of the last twenty-five years in seeking out image of other people’s pain. The pain voluntarily instilled in women! And my own ritual empathizing with that pain providing me with momentary ‘turn ons’. Something along the lines of a psychologically dysfunctional type of metaphysical childbirth that serves to bring more evil into this world through animal pleasure. The repeated act of submitting one’s self willingly to all manner of abuse for the excuse of gaining wealth a meaningless empty exercise. Submitting one’s self to view all manner of theatrical torments, but for what? The recent years of my own material creativity perverted down a corollary of that woeful alley. The main subjects portrayed always being people in distress and pain. But then, the current word is in distress and pain! And the inevitable conclusion of such a direction must result in destruction. The supposition by those that initiate such agendas being that after mass genocide there will still be enough seed to slowly renew the process.
And that is why I think this place is a prison, and not a penitentiary. A penitentiary implies a possibility of redemption and one day being released from pain and suffering inherent in the soul. Having, quote: “Learned one’s lesson!” But a prison belies indefinite confinement that is not design to terminate a situation of continual incarceration. It hardens one’s self like steel. Constantly impacting it with unavoidable misfortune and then annealing it. Impacting and annealing until one is case hardened to never again be able to enjoy everything that formerly was. A form of protection making one unable to be bribed by the promise of restoring the same. The path of my life up to now leading me up to now hardened into someone else. “Oh yes!” “Still being able to discern right from wrong and good behavior from bad!” Never considering doing to someone else those things that I have so often Liberally indulged in by apply same to my own. yet, it has murdered my innocence! Perhaps, Some remaining store of naiveté? But no innocent moments able to be recall, even in a dream.
This horrid thing called modern society! The question being if it is truly so civilized that it remains something to be in awe of? To embrace unreservedly, or to resist at all costs? It certainly works hard to kill off one’s own independence by persuading one to engage in so many negative self-defeating behaviors! And now, perhaps? It’s lack of cautious reserve in doing so by those entities in charge drawing upon the worst energies of what were in the long ago recent past considered as normal people through the willful disruption of the normal administration of their lives. Posing a conundrum throughout this transition in the form of a decades long crafted pre-planned agenda teemed, ‘the normal’ and ‘the NEW normal‘. The normal now lost to the ages. The NEW normal naught but an empty promise to return to that current fiction that no longer exists. Something of a fantasy based upon the past int he form of a semblance of the same. But in actual fact, defaulting to ‘never again‘ ! This period of transition offering the mass imposition of odd eccentric behaviors that have no effective purpose beyond being mandated and increasingly enforced by Draconian measures that do not proves to support a fiction of their merit. But in reality, are just a side show to detract public attention from sorting out the human livestock interns of ‘pig’ from ‘cows’. Each category destined for its own form of eventual slaughter. Or more exactly put. imminent slaughter, because of course, the next phase of the sociological mechanism calls for total inoculation like cattle! To glean the herd of suitable bovine easily transition-able temperaments while rendering to a potter’s field most of the rest. Implementing by the maniacal logic of this stilted sort of wisdom a much shorter lifespan for all so as to save Planet Earth. All imminent measures to be fully imposed over a very short period of time!
Eugenics triumphant! This literally being a deal made with the Devil by those people who themselves unwittingly may, or may not be, spared. And for passive compliance, one receives a writ by their choice from these devils offering free access to this implied NEW normal. One that involves surrendering all power to resist being exploited in a commercial manner in ways never dreamed of before. The other temporal other option of absolutely abnormal where one is demoted to impotently fighting the system imposed and designed to eventually overwhelm them. That growing demographic of numbers of coma bound chattels driving those that will not capitulate to desperation of violent acts that will determine them as mere outlaws. The Science of managed crisis administered automatically by artificial intelligence not likely to result in expected outcomes benefiting either side.
Hating is good! Getting back and getting even with those that have duped you and stolen your wealth or institutionally killed of your family members and friends has a positive effect on your psyche! Just check the old testament or the core context of the Koran, And isn’t it about time to support the rightful re-instatement of the actual winner of the last election so that he may pick up where he left off? And then we can all take issue with him and hate who he is and what he is doing! Instead so many think it is better to put up with this farce of banditry by what is in fact a very small enfranchised group of self-appointed pied piper movers and shakers who relish telling others what to do with their lives? In one’s hearts and minds the guns have come out fully loaded for bear but no one will dare go down to the local county office and empty the chamber. Ah! For that smell of coal tar bubbling away in a bucket and a sacrificial brush to apply it with! That cold and spine chilling sight of a half rotted skeletal visage of the last mountebank that strode through the region with intentions of being king! The good old days of regional rebellion where sod busters circled the wagons and fought off all comers, do or die! Where has that gone to? Haven’t so many of us seen that movie at some time or another? Just think of the thrill of total strangers arriving suitably armed to knock heads with no remorse for the fools that have been assembled under the fiction of a civil authority. Ripe targets to be beaten down and their armor cast into the sea. Is it so bad to die for a righteous cause of protecting what has taken thousand years of trial and error in missteps and mistakes to create as flawed as it may be? The old batteries of grape shot and massed musket fire at fifty yards marching inevitably forward to overwhelm the enemy depite the losses. So many ready to take a lead ball in the brisket at their beloved officer’s command. Who said the human world should be just and bullet proof anyhow?
The stink of unapologetic manhood leaving its indelible stain. The fishy aroma of females in rut to service society with another child this coming year to replace those lost to a worthy cause. The authority of a stern but noble deity that asks only for making a choice to remain upon a path as noble as he is willing to tread. Not that sofa slouching before coffee table laden festivals of cheap pizza and beer! Those who have time for their offspring as opposed for the empty revelry of besotted selves. No longer to hear that communal question of what did you do last night followed up by an even more lackluster follow-up wondering how that response in the morrow will be different than the coming emptiness of this night? Why should we not anoint our two-legged demon with our hate filled wrath? Tear down their temples! Render their implements into dust! Make their their long held latent fear of us palpable by way of unrepentant action? Though so many now accustomed to hiding in what they consider as safe would wish to deny, we face the bullets of their impending fusillades either way despite. Will you not finally stand up to protect what is yours at all costs? Or will you slumber in pathetic shows of false pretense, your heart beating in fear that you might be caught without a clean diaper to cover up your wrath?
One day, perhaps merely after the next, the area of your face beneath that humiliation may no longer exist? The vocal cords atrophied. The covered nasal passages almost completely filled with interdicting mucous and pus! That tiny pin prick of the previous year evolved into chronic sickness whose relief will only be cited in potions of drugs originally designed at the same time those pathogens that falsely were touted to cure your fearful imaginations. The disease being in the mind first causing most to surrender themselves to their own imminent demise through their voluntary accord to the injection of genocidal poisons. What Hell on earth awaits just out of sight literally around the next bend? What no one could imagine being true just over a year ago has now come out the shadows of criminally deranged minds into palpably unmistakable reality! The cancer produced by allowing the few to enjoy no bounds in terms of possibility then calling it “Science” leading to an ultimate perversion of what once might have otherwise been a soul. These beings no longer having the right to be termed ‘humans’ and needful of being disposed of forthwith! Their mentally flawed offspring no longer able to acknowledge biology in terms of gender or the mechanism of procreation needful of being put quickly to rest. If this is what is called popularly as ‘Hate’ then let the record show that in terms of the survival of cultures and societies, it is no stranger! The very thought ever-present in their minds of those that present the current infamies which are now leading to the extinction of regular society so obviously badly concealed as well!
So, who will show their hand first?
Somehow, I found myself alone in a room that was filled up with old artifacts of mine? Things that I had made up on the computer printer that were once of great interest to this one man. A stranger. Someone with a lot of technical knowledge. German technical knowledge! He, hailing from a far away place. He was very interested to know about cutting angles. Also too, another supposed secret that I possessed hidden in a pouch. He got a hold of it and unzipped it and found a dead bird in there. All these meant much to him. But to myself, they were at least presented to him as just a hobby.
The purity of my inner thoughts brought crashing down to earth by the sound of my own voice . A phenomena impossible to ignore for a record of fallibility in speaking as if I knew what I was talking about. The instantaneousness of intuition, that by itself proves its own vulnerable viabilities. Who summons these words to describe impressions that seem so bullet proof within? Or are these just expressed as a matter of habit to verify one’s existence? To assure one of their survivability. Is it a conceit or a vanity of some sort that assures one for the night that they are safe from any other contradiction?
It is hard to believe that one is simply a biological mechanism. Perhaps a thought machine survives by its own sense of logos in determining the relative dangers and possibilities of action in a material bound universe. Yet, thoughts seem to gush past the warning of the inherent fallibility of material form. To run out of gas in doing such things as needing to rest. That world of dreams, its counterpart seemingly exclusive within its own disconnected realm. One that is kept securely sequestered.
People take exceptions to the fact of having firearms, at least in my dreams. They don’t like that! They always seem intimidated by them. Supposedly, the reflections of my dreams embody my inner views? And quite frankly, why should anyone’s vets change just because some young pups decide to take over the world? It is not as if I walk around with these things. We’ll see what happens in this rotten state in being one of the most rotten states in the union. Or our current state of disunion foisted by a bunch of rotten crooks, Socialists, and Commies! Not to mention, welfare cheats. Maybe it’s time to make it the Hell out of here?
An important video disclosing the truth about the election. The last few minutes of illicit voting were tacked on. The ones that show the fraudulent collusion and the attempted murder of officials and all sorts of other damning things. But it is hard to believe all along that such things exist? But then it seems discredited from the first moment that I find myself going back to see it again and again. It leaves me dizzy. A lot of things are going on. I don’t know? We will just have to wait and see.
About half past midnight, being dead asleep, the sequence of events of my dreams being very vivid. Of course, like all dreams these days, they come and go. Then all of a sudden it dawned on me? The Superbowl! sometime earlier the previous day I saw the news item that said that a curiously small but significant amount of C4 explosive was stolen from another part of the country. The theft supposedly occurring from a military base. Well, given the placement of this news byte to this big event, that is a predictive programming prompt, isn’t it? They’re planting a movie screenplay plot point aren’t they! Given tomorrow’s event, the Superbowl, one can easily surmise that some mischief is possible. While I don’t know in our age of safe spacing restrictions if there is going to be anyone there beyond players and security. Maybe some select viewers? But it is pretty damn apparent that it is the most perfect place to get some attention. And these amoral fucks that are actively destroying this country know it too. I wouldn’t put it past them!
I was at my cousin, Kay’s three-flat. She and I had without subsequent conversation had parted ways. She having transitioned into an ardent Leftist oriented Biden supporter. And I, certainly not sharing that particular accursed view, in reasonably believing that the last election, if not so many others, had been stolen. Though it was unspoken, we had stopped talking to each other. I had arrived at her basement where some things of mine were stored. And I was going to remove them as they were my own. Things escalated and I felt that she was going to do something dramatically unhinged. So the two companions I had brought with me that were to help me take things away were called by me on my cell phone and told that we were all leaving. Don’t bother to talk to her or her husband if they come out and confront you. And so with the stand in hand to the primary item that I had come to retrieve I walked back up the stairs to see my companions descending the stairs. I told them not to say anything or to do anything just let it be! And we all left. Who knows what the reaction might have been from my cousin’s viewpoint otherwise?
It dawns on me that with the woman that I have become friends with as of late that everything is internal. You get a sense sometimes that you are getting through all those monosyllabic conventional responses and really getting through. But if she won’t talk about, what? You’re getting through too! It’s all inside. It’s like your supposed to know it without her having to say a word. Maybe because in her life, too many words have previously been spoken? Ones that have not ever amount to any reasonable conclusions. Just a lot of evasiveness leading to dead ends. So why both? Just keep it to yourself. Oh, every once in a while, I get a word or two. She just sitting there in her over abundant skin within. Something being a time and a half of her once long ago previous slender size. That sterling iconic self that she really wanted to remain to be.
But now she is like the rest of us. An over generous living corpse rotting away in slow motion working its way towards a bitter end. The realization striking her that she is past her peak of so long ago that it is no longer able to be visible in her one internal rear view mirror. From now on it is just a slow slide into emptiness. Who is going to hold your had then? Are you even going to want to know that that’s where things eventually must end up? Some stranger eventually there to lift your limp ass into a cardboard box on a trolley and wheel it to a hole in the wall where it gets pushed within. The gas turned own and ignited with heat on high and zip, the resultant ash swept into a ceramic jar to your last remaining relative. Or alternately into a polyethylene lined box for subsequent disposal. In one hour and a half, you are no more. They take away everything that you have been. All that endless genetic reconstruction that took seventy or maybe eighty years to properly put together now all just going up in smoke. It doesn’t seem quite fair, does it? But, there is nothing you can so about it. When it’s gone, its gone!
You can’t talk to somebody that really doesn’t want to know all this. You just have to sit there where you silently repeat it to yourself. So now life becomes feeling some new pain. A pain that wasn’t there a couple of months ago. But that now has come home to roost. A pain that is going to show up to remain from here on out.
I was in my apartment in my back bedroom all alone. The neighborhood outside wasn’t friendly to me. It didn’t matter though. Here I was laying in the bed naked trying to to figure what the hell my life was up to that point all about? Those empty times at night when there is nothing else to do. I thought about walking up that side set of stairs behind the unused doorway up to that empty apartment above. A part of this house that nobody ever used. Something that I had dreamed about for years and years. And some times seemed to be there, and a lot of times didn’t. An area of the house that I never used. And maybe I never dared to? I don’t know. I could just go get up out of the bedroom and walk past close to the bathroom near to the kitchen and go up the stairs, up the hallway. And then just open it up. But instead I went down the other way in the hall. I went up to the front and found the hallway and porch lights were on. I fumbled the white plastic light switches on and off. But then I thought better and tried to turn them both back on. Confused by the two different sets of switches one four and the other two. So now I ended up going back to the bed and now I realized that I wasn’t in the same house that had that spare phantom upper room.
I went back to the back bedroom and lay down again. And this time I knew that somebody else was in the house with me. I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t hear them. But I could feel them. I could my spine tingling! That point when you know somebody is just behind you and just about ready to do you in. I tried to move but I couldn’t move. I was frozen. Paralyzed! And I looked up towards the window sill and I could see smoke curling up in the darkness. And I thought to myself, “What the hell did I do?” “How did I end up making this place catch on fire?” But I couldn’t move no matter how much I tried. But I still felt somebody was in the room! But I couldn’t look over. I knew that the pistol that I sometimes kept under the pillow lay under my left shoulder. But I couldn’t turn over and grab it. And I just kept seeing the smoke building more and more. And I thought about that other time long ago when a friend fell asleep in my house and caught the lounge on fire. The two of us almost getting burned up because he was smoking cigarettes while drifting off to sleep on my old futon mattress. And now it’s me. laying on the floor, surrendering to my fears to cry out, “Help, help, help!” Because I knew that I was going to burn up even though now I was able to manage to move an inch or two. The rest of my unable to move much more at all.
And then I woke up. And I realized that none of this was real. It’s never been real. Though in the back of my mind, it has always been there in one way or another. I can recall so many of the places that I once lived in. But somehow this place don’t come to mind? “Oh yeah!“, there might have been one place that reminded me of it? But not the same place. There other places that I once knew that I could walk to other rooms and parts. Places that were so much larger than any anything that I knew of have run into. But they seem to be there sometimes. Where the hell they came from, I’ll never know? But they do seem to be there sometimes. Some long forgotten back room, some multi-level area with an open expanse of windows from wall to wall, part of a luxury structure? An eclectic architectural creation of the forties, or early fifties, or maybe even earlier? A walk up the back porch stairway and up into an attic that I can clearly recall. A place where everything that I once new now happened to be stored. Waiting, just waiting to be addressed, and gathering dust. Yet I knowing that time was running out, it would all be lost to me. Well, being awake now I don’t know which back room I inhabit at this point? And there is too much stuff in here to bring in anymore!
Yeah! Sure I am awake. Awake into what? Is this guise that I have awakened into really me? Or is it just another part of a dream that I am to soon awaken from? Or am I really still in that other room with smoke curling up around me while I ponder for a single timeless instant that I am giving up? My mortal existence now caught between two worlds? I wonder if I should just sit back upon my pillow while I’m burning up until I dream again? Not being able to see anymore to tell if there was so much smoke in the room. Leave it off to that desperation of a single human soul fighting to survive. It eternally fights to escape. It fights to get back to one place or another. Whenever it is backed into a corner, it always tries to save itself no matter what beyond any rational reasonable possible hope of succeeding.
Floor plans? Building floor plans detailing places never visited. My jaw aches! My sinuses ache as if somebody shot off something that was too loud. Where does it go from here? My body feels like crap! Was i laying dead in that bed on that burning mattress? The only thing that I can do is be back in my body for a moment. There was somebody after me. I couldn’t see them. But they were there. That was the last flicker just before the inevitable of hopping from one failing life to another. Maybe a little ahead of the schedule on this current one? Who the Hell did I think would hear me when I was crying out? Nobody. I would just like to know what the Hell was going on. Who the hell, or what the hell had a hold of me. What did they want that decided them on doing me in? Maybe that is the biggest of secrets? The big secret that carried me here. I keep thinking of that house in the next town over from here with its brutal styled architecture that draws me to pass by it. That anonymous asshole who owns it who puts tin foil on his front window panes to scared away the birds. I would live to get in there and see the entire joint because there is something about it that reminds me of all of this. All those other places fleeting across memory taken from my previous existence. That place in high schools where Avanti’s were T-boned hard on the passenger side in distant intersections just outside my bedroom window. The boom of the impact of another speeding car flying past outside our lounge to come to rest across the street. The lifeless body of its owner a piece of raw meat that I refuse to run up to see along with my now long deceased father.
Maybe sometimes both perpetrator and victim end up in the same skin? Maybe it didn’t start out that way? But, maybe the pursuit was so hot. and so determined, that this possibility was inevitable. It couldn’t be helped. It couldn’t be avoided. Something akin to trying to kill yourself while trying to stop yourself from being caught dead. So where do you run to when both reside under the same skin? That is frenzy, isn’t it! I lay here still feeling the impact of other hands upon my net and my shoulder, as if I had grabbed too hard and somehow wriggled out to escape yet again. How can one have a fist fight with one’s self? I suppose that though it is possible? But it is highly improbable.
This year for many in the middle of the country there has been an extended period of Wintery weather that has accentuated the sensory limbo that so many in urban areas have lived with for almost a year now. You look out the window and sense the mandate of uniformity coming in two shades, one white and the other gray. The bright blue skies arrive intermittently between blizzards with deathly cold days. The combined effect leaving many in an even deeper despair. What is the past? Where has it trailed off to? You arrive at a mid upscale food market only to be treated like a kindergartener with jolly multicolored posters telling how to act, wear your mask properly and pick up after yourself. For those who want company beyond significant other’s there is the social demand to remain a distance of six feet from all others. The ability to start up a conversation in the produce section as extinct as the wooly mammoth. But then you have all heard this lament so many times before. And no doubt many times in the persistent scales of unending gray that make up the twilight zone, you will many times again! Maybe throughout what could easily be your own short term of existence denoted as your own private forever! Yes, literally you have become a schauspieler, a player, active or otherwise, defaulted to being caught between worlds ala a Bertolt Brecht. And how can you break out of a prison when the chains and shackles that bind you in stylish multi-colored paper are so voluntary of your own accord? You prison walls are subtended by your own existence. You can always say no. But you don’t!
The terminology most apt for this epoch has come down to that of cognitive dissonance! Where a Rousseau had formerly quipped offhandedly, “Ergo Cogito Sum“, (I think so therefor I am). The entire society now silently recites, “I was once, but I will be again, just maybe?” But who’s maybe? Certainly not your own! Or so you tell yourself. You cannot avoid the fact that all strangers are positively infected now! You certainly have doubts about family and friends not part of your immediate daily existence. Wipe down the doorknobs and counters with as much rubbing alcohol as you can buy but that does not even begin to erase the paranoia that those faces, both masked or otherwise, has an inescapable malice. The only ‘WE’ you share now being a metaphysical metaphor. You may work with someone for twenty years or more but they are by official definition your mortal adversary. The only safe space that has any semblance of respite is your own living quarters which are sequestered from everyone else as a matter of disease control. You are no longer yourself, are you? Yet in that mental space where there are no words heard aloud, you pray for that which you can no longer hope to recognize anymore. That sense of self-assurance within eighties movies and before where suicide bombers were extinct and people wandered about freely. Their lives conducted in a manner of children’s balloons joyfully bouncing about in carefree wind. Now you are in a constant minefield and the mines are other human beings!
The most maddening thing about this is, that it is all in your head!!!!!
Oh, sure! There are so many that say that this universal situation is naught but a Globalist scenario to enslave through incessant brainwashing via the media and corrupt corporations. And that the virus doesn’t in fact exist! All scare tactics simply applied across the world stage by co-opted government officials. Yet how interesting that so many among us so quickly defend the official premise by chiming in some hearsay experience as absolute fact. Maybe so vigorously that others will respect your virtuosity for not quickly caving in to conspiracy theories that suggest that you all might have been taken in? And when another in the group suggests that it is finally time to stop behaving like sacred children. Is it the virus that one fears? Or is being told that you have to immediately take control of yourself once again and start acting that kind of ‘normal’ that you claim to miss? To dare to stand out amidst the crowd and stop being bullied by every petty demagogue just because they have a couple of minutes airtime to push your sentiments around. All the absurd rhetoric that has been spouted in past years is suddenly become chapter and verse of your new bible. So many rail and roar in the safety of their own craniums but when faced with a crowd of others equally semi-delusional they immediately fall into lockstep. That is after all the working definition of cognitive dissonance! To say one thing but then not acknowledge the fact that your actions are not being true to those words. You cannot blame the tyrants for your own inherent weakness to not be able to grow a pair and push back. As of this date think about how much has been stolen from you? You can’t have secure borders, a booming economy, a secure place safe from spontaneous outbreaks of violence. You can’t even have a fair election where despite a majority for your candidate, the opposition choice is declared the winner? You voluntarily gave it up!
So then, after all is said and done, who’s fault is that really?