Too often many prefer their head severed from the body as an ultimate prize to be severed from an otherwise bothersome so much baser throne. A signature of all those who would supervise the heavens upon a strict timetable barring any unexpected interruption. The incongruity of the two embodied in that unsettling liaison between man and woman with no possible middle ground of the appearance of offspring. These larger infants plagued with contradictions before the bond between them has been finally reached. That poorly hidden desire for connection never winning out save by some overwhelming circumstance of cruelly applied fate. The bond between inner self and flesh has since become beyond burdensome. Any connections with others equally beset even being more loathsome. The guide to one’s existence is too often by way of too many irksome feelings from that brooding animal deep within. The uselessness of a cloud barring an otherwise sunny landscape turned too often into a stormy sea offering only a constant threat of chaos. The balance of one’s daily attempt at industry ever counter-posed with angst making one wonder if their efforts are somehow misguided from the start or simply misplaced? Ruthlessness of will to overcome one’s own nature and reign supreme over every other ever on display! The candle burning brighter and too often finds illumination only from one’s solitude. The daily market rate of exchange gathering only fools. And of course, those who would keep them so. Belief sold as instrumentation to continued care free existence. But being at the end of the day only a net cast forth communally to finally snag all. And at their own expense! Society defined earnestly as a daily jungle of the mind where the innocent become grist for the mill that will grind the wheat for all the rest. Slow witted hungry cannibals that are secretly fore sworn to ancient temple idols. Those few that are cloistered in the shadows and too often call out to be washed in a constant supply of human blood. That beast known as society very short on compassion but flowing in the continuous release of bottled up excess. Those lesser animals making up the mob ever destructive to their own cause.
It was an instant or two before three forty-five AM. Three forty-four AM! Harry had risen, constipated, from a dream that barely held his attention. Some strange set of circumstances, as usual! An enigma of a sort? Someone employing him to get involved with some scheme. One that had very inconsequential consequences. He sat there staring at the clock’s digital readout glowing in the midst of night. It seemed frozen as he waited for its numerals to advance ever slowly to that all too familiar infernal fatal time. That was the moment in time that his late father had issued his last mortal breath on this earth some nine years previous on a Sunday morning. Almost nine, he mentally corrected himself, as that sad anniversary was still two months ahead plus a day away. So many times when he arose in the midst night he found that his own spirit seemed always to be propelled out of any particular dream of the moment so as to face the approach of that exact same time. It had become a benchmark of his own ongoing existence. He would normally carry forth to the ‘loo’ relieving his animal distress. Then stand there at the crossroads of the bedroom and lounge and ponder the decision as to what he should do next. Go back to bed? Turn on the tele’ to catch the rest of a movie, its plot stuck halfway along in his VCR? Maybe even peel and orange in slices?
His feet automatically making a play for the kitchen in slow motion while the rest of the baggage posed up top visualized a half consumed bottle of mineral water in the fridge. He turning his head away and blindly rummaging for the bottle’s neck as it’s door released its storehouse of illumination. Light was the Rubicon! A determining factor in terms of how long it would take him to surrender from his current inconstant muse into that too often distant territory of sound sleep. He’d padded back over to the main lounge settee with water bottle in hand observing a slow careful ceremony of avoidance of the feint outlines of barely detectable obstacles cloaked by a sea of impenetrable absence of light. The room was small and he had to step even more carefully through the narrow channels keeping his balance. Something which these days had suffered along with the rest of his kind in not being quite adequate to the task the way they once were. He looked around in the dark and saw his keyboard. He saw the television and certainly the window. It was dead in there somewhat like a tomb. He decided to open up the window which brought the sound of the ever-present birds as they finished up their mating rituals of this year’s endless Spring. His own attempts at mating . . . well . . . had been half-hearted at best. He had a tendency to want to make things epic but in reality he was not an epic person. There were notebooks on the temple. Once again he fore swore turning on a light. He didn’t to break the muse. He didn’t want to spoil the current atmosphere of the internal flooding over to the external in real time. Real time was the way of putting things. Was it more ‘real’ to be awake than to be asleep? There were those who favored waking that could answer that question in the affirmative.
As he sat there he knew he was all bound up. Maybe from some unsuspected condition of attention deficit syndrome? A hapless hypodermic int he hands of a long gone practitioner of voodoo medical science having poked him as an infant with a strange brew causing an unsuspected perpetual condition of having to continue forth each hour of the day engaged in constant manic activity. A form of doom carelessly plugged into flabby baby flesh. He wasn’t one who in adulthood frequented the medical trade. But of course, in infancy once could only wonder what type of Dr. Mengele or Baron Frankenstein had sway over your entire being? What sort of legacy in the ‘real’ world after birth up to before death could one be carrying around from their inadvertent jab? He breathed harder now. He didn’t feel old. His body contradicted that internal conversation with symptomatic limits that he had never experienced before. Once again his mind bounced its sonar about the room looking for some form of diversion. He went over to pull the cover off the keyboard, turned it on, turned on the speakers, and began to dial in the sound patches that he wanted to play. He wasn’t a pianist but his fingers had some awareness of the keys and the proper intervals. So sometimes the music seemed tonal, and other times, quite the opposite. That having become a bore he moved back to the notebooks. And initially again, lost to the dark, opened one up to a blank page as best he could determine and began scribbling. Little by little losing all sense of symmetry and purpose on the page eventually finishing up with strokes from a magic marker. His marks barely visible enough to determine if he had created a somewhat human effigy. Still hesitant to put on a light he closed the notebook and replaced it on the table. He would revisit it in the morning to see if anything extraordinary had transpired. A quick view of his smart phone revealing only one disparaging message. Someone’s bitter irony commenting on his actions the previous day. A spot of jealousy inspired by rivalry, perhaps?
In any case he found himself back by his own bedside in he exact same place. Still counting off the mental instants of infinitive space between the persistent ‘four’ and the expected numeral ‘five’. Three forty-five . . . now finally arrived! Now back in the bed with his head buried in a pillow looking for whatever warmth to be found within. If he was lonely then it was the same sort of solitude that fugitives or lighthouse keepers endured. Like the same piece of furniture set out on the curbside waiting to be picked up to be sent to the ‘tip’. That constant feeling of always having to be in action far ahead of one’s judgment never being able to provide details of what was next. In the four corners of this room one always felt otherwise. Laying atop the bed was no longer ‘fun’. He pulled the covers over in a haphazard manner smoothing out the rumples one arm at a time. A silent narrative telling himself that he was properly placed evenly set upon his back. A minute before a cool draft of air had inspired an unexpected sense of lust in recalling a sensation of expectant vulnerability. It was replaced now by a dull comforting warmth. He weighed the wisdom of pulling off his bedclothes and summoning up the demon. Something to bring on a feeling of calm by defeating his restless sense of energy by summoning up some anima with which to have a brutal form of coitus. Something that he feared. He feared himself and the devils that he had created. He feared those demons that how held hands in a dark circle at the edge of the clearing by his consciousness. Fearing to fall into it a separable creature in a big round robin. Their fire pit somewhere in the dark, dark woods. Some place where he was afeared as he had been in childhood of becoming the next one sacrificed. Torn apart in that circle. And at the same time wanting to enjoy in the feast of the next victim. His jaws bloody with morsels of their flesh. So he lay there he continued contemplating removing his garments. The awareness of his animal self building within. Thinking about how he might howl under the cold moonlight and be himself. Perhaps the realization of a profligate in the cohort of DeSade seeing himself strapped tight and naked to the torment of the whip. His entire being pulsating stretching forth under his bonds to escape the inevitable. Knowing that in the end he would have to accede to the fact of his helplessness and surrender to his lot in life.
All day I have dragged my ass about the confines of my two bedroom abode. The events of the last weeks both enraging and depressing me. My country under fire from an insurgent force determined to topple it from within. A great disappointment with generations that have been crippled by that pseudonym loosely termed ‘Education‘ which is little more than Marxist claptrap instructing them that they must go along to get along as they are warehoused in anticipation of being demeaned as useful cogs in a cynical inhuman hegemony. Public officials that have done everything in their power to violate their oaths of office to keep this land and its people safe. All for the sake of those special favors of wealth and status. And those under the burden of those commands being attacked from both sides to the point that too many have stood the brunt no longer having faith in a system that has betrayed them. The canon of history evidencing similar insurgencies in other locales that have led to national collapse. Decades of genocidal murder and unnecessary world wars drummed up only on the basis of a privileged few to pursue an agenda of garnering ever increasing wealth and power. And here we all are allowing it to happen again! All for the genuflecting for false ideals that few really believe in advanced by psychopaths that care not either way. Demons with two legs that have de-evolved into animals celebrating the slaughter that their handlers in high places guarantee will not lead to the appropriate stern consequences they so richly deserve to suffer.
The only question I can offer up is, “Why!” Why are people that simply want to follow through on the conduct of regular existence in a civil society such cowards that they will not heed the call and band together to defeat these cowards most of whom hide behind the facade of status and respect to toss lie after lie at the public demanding that the rest of us call it truth, or else! What is there to lose at this point that has not already been taken from us. Our jobs? GONE! Our future prosperity? GONE! Our faith in government to do their job to protect us? GONE! GONE! GONE! And that of our children as free to think for themselves and carve out their own niche? For who can live their lives on handouts and not end up a slave in the end? Is mortal life most valuable than risking it to defend the world that we must live in while we are alive? And if not now, then ever? Not by a schedule of colors or cults that label us but by common interest to devise a stable civil society that does its best to survive tyrants and defeat them whatever stripes they claim to represent. Not by damning the remnants of history from past conflicts by obliterating them from our consciousness by physical destruction that in the end show the ways by exposing both flaws as well as valor where are forbears were connived to take up arms against each other. But only managed to further defeat themselves! The time has come to push back against all those who would destroy us. Whether it be by specious words or covert weaponry. To reject the continuous bombardment of fear and starve off the entities who find it profitable to spread it. For where have we got to go at this point if we do not?
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?“
In the flowering of youth we start out seeking to explore paradise thinking it is eternal and never ending yet not realizing until it is far too late in that well-tempered hell of our own making in the tedium of later life that denying our original impulse to have lingered would eventually become fatal to finding that original sense of untainted happiness.
Better now to throw away that same old inconvenient sense of caution and follow the rabbit hole down to where it inevitably leads. A hole in the clouds expressing blue skies above. Success meets with one’s misfortune at the tunnel’s end. The person you eventually become during that journey is the one that you are left with.
It is not so important to be right but to have convictions that you will not surrender yourself into playing the fool. Rather, better by far to earnestly express one’s self with the full conviction in one’s own belief not playing the part on the ultimate authority on all things of importance, so much as someone who can confidently trust in the continuum of their own sense of awareness.
It is easy to be fooled in a world that devotes so many of its vital resources to do so. But it is unforgivable to surrender your conscious thought to the passing whims of the crowd lest one be unexpectedly found wanting by them. Society has been let loose upon itself by those that would wish to play the role of demons so as to find those powers that they supposed make them no different than gods.
One’s shield against this evil comes in the form of one’s faith in themselves. Not an ego bound journey but a deeper connection with that ever-present mystery within. To encounter that connection is the closest one can ever come to solving their own puzzle.
The middle nineteen-fifties
A little five year old boy dressed in a soldier suit plays with his steel Tonak army truck in the backyard of an old nineteen-thirties bungalow, He drives it along beside him on his hands and knees upon the path of the sidewalk from the small stoop stairs to the passageway next to the wood frame garage. The small yard area is colorfully abloom with all manner of tulips, gladiolas and petunias, the collection of which his jungle. Here and there along the path large polyethylene soldier figures wait on the periphery in ambush. One by one they fall to the presence of another similar army green plastic figure in the back of the army truck is loud given voice by the little boy. “Ratatatat!“, the boy exclaims as he reaches over to knocks them down as he scrambles past pushing the cab of the truck with his other hand. He is stopped by the sound of his mother’s voice, “Willie, its lunchtime!”
The initial twenty-first century twenties
A somewhat overused Ford F-150 pickup truck bumps over part of the curb into the parking lot of a Walmart. Its driver grimacing as his body jerk slightly on its bench seat from the shooting pain of being twisted by the impact. Slightly shaggy gray shaggy temples and a hound dog sagging pattern of wrinkles upon his face suggesting the obvious that he is a middle aged white male edging up just beneath the knife edge precipice of seventy years of age. An identity badge with the same face but in watch cap and heavy overcoat swings violently as the truck hits another pothole.
Willie enters into what seems one of the less prosperous members of the chain.The threshold of electronic detectors that forms the entrance to the left of a long row of checkout counters are crammed with traffic that would shame the average trailer park. He asks one of the greeters standing before same where he might find replacements for his Water Pic. The kindred spirit also in gray locks automatically waves the man past with his painted on smile. Willie enters the warren of aisles traveling in the general direction of an overhead sign half way into the store that says pharmacy. A short line of a couple of customers stands before an counter by a half door. No one is behind the counter. They stand oblivious of each other until Willie walks towards the front counter, then casting angry looks challenging his approach. The general attitude seems dismissive of his presence.
A low voice purposefully sharp above a whisper spitting out, “Those damn ‘boomer’ try to get away with everything!” Willie looks over the counter and sees some activity in the back between the shelves of drugs. His “Miss, miss!“, getting no response. “Miss, I just want to know where the dental product are?“, again getting no reaction. He looks around past the restless crowd and sees a young Hispanic stocking another aisle next to the pharmacy area. He walks over and asks the young man who as he sees him coming turns tail and walks over to another customer. He walks about trying to find the brushes but only finds a complete unit. He picks up a box and goes back to the line which is not two people longer and gets in behind. After fifteen minutes, his turn comes up and a very blase unaffected woman in a white lab coat tells him that they don’t sell refills. After forty minutes of futility he leaves without his prize. Trodding back to his vehicle in the cold feeling the particles stuck in his dental,s permanently taking up residence.
A TV announcing virus epidemic blaring nonstop with alacricy within his trailer. The announcer stressing the point that the virus seems to be fatal to the baby boomer generation. A mass panic ensues by toilet paper counters across the nation and after a couple of weeks after being raided the supermarket shelves are left bare. He managing to navigate the nervous throng and snag some foodstuffs just before the last of same disappear. The usual routines now absented by the disconnection of all in public that was not so long ago taken for granted. Things that made up the fabric cloaking his sense of self leaving him naked to the cold winds of chaos. Gangs of rotten kids now patrolling his neighborhood at night looking for adverse opportunity. All the worst circumstances formerly on record sneaking back from history past. One anonymous group conspiring to rock his trailer to and fro unexpectedly in the dead of night chanting ‘boomer remover’. No police available during the day to investigate. Just leave the details on our hotline and we will make a note of the incident and call you back. And, of course, no call back!
An old forty-five! Blunt cold steel instrument, heavy in his hand, yet compact. Seven reasons why the outside world should think twice about messing with him. Never fired in anger, at least by him. Comforting to know and much to the surprise of parties yet known that he will be taking a few of them with him if they continue their pursuit into the confines of his humble home. The tick of the wall clock in time with his aged heart passing the early morning shadowy darkness. The cold enveloping his bundled form and those same few thoughts within. What will one of his dwindling supply of tomorrows bring that will prove to be different that the long lost inventory of former today’s? The emptiness of streets of now day to the specification of night. Something to give pause as being remarkable as if the sun as he once knew it was a myth and a light switch just suddenly summoned the light of day and at some point recalled the night. The day maturing in the distance by itself no longer accompanied by visible humankind. The possibility of knowing another no longer alive.
A tap, tap, tap breaking the momentum of his thoughts hidden in the shadows betwixt the streetlights from outside through cotton curtains streaming in. No reason for it and no evidence the next morning found. Just something more to keep him on edge and rob him of more sleep. No rest for the wicked or comfort for the sane. Just that nagging soul of his furiously reminding him again that things would never be the same. The picture postcard style of reminiscences all scattered about to bring him an interlude of peace. Who had he loved? Cough. Where had they first met? Cough. An absent mind purposely unawares, Cough, cough, cough! Where does it go from here? The virus tickling the bad of his sore throat toying with him? His hand automatically to his forehead seeking an unsuspected storehouse of heat. Cough . . , cough . . , cough . . ., cough, cough! This physical exclamation coming in a distended Morse code. Can you believe it? He calls out into the dark. What in this solitary world could have stolen in when my mind was absent and bestowed such an unwanted gift. A momentary flash of the instant where the lights of his tiny realm suddenly go out and the entire world is pitch black dark. Followed at great length of a few palpable seconds with the dynamo hum of the refrigerator coming back on, The streetlamps without visible once again.
His heartbeat restored as he thinks back turning from the previous instant to recall a time when he last dared to spend money. To walk across a strange parking lot after securing services from some state compliant faceless entity to secure his health. His health might be better served had it been replaced in the fertile soil of simply a few years back. Oh how one takes for granted those times that somehow are forever now lost. Grim reminders in old movies from times before he was born that his parents once knew. What did the make of them in their own times he wondered? All those deep moments of hidden meaning inferred by their actions in life that he would never have an inkling of or come to know? Ahem! Another squelched cough-like exclamation. The response of his body in natural rejection of something unwanted plaguing his throat. “Tick tock!”, said the clock! Time is running short says his head. Where could it end up but in some unpresupposing, far from dramatic, less than impressive, clock spring unwinding! Cough, cough, cough! Silence. The short list of three different restaurants of recent years visited standing under the big top like high wire stations of trapeze. Cough, cough. Jumping to catch the swinging bar and fly over to the next reminisce and then the next. Turn and perch on that narrow parapet above an anonymous faceless crowd of untold numbers of strangers past met. And then jump forth again to swing back in the other direction. That burning dryness of throat and lungs expanding like Hitler’s tanks mercilessly across a once fertile future plain of undiscovered possibilities.
Blind? Yes, to be blind! Blinded by everyday life. Blinded by the need to be rational. Blind to follow convention, the be understood, to put forth the semblance of understanding on behalf of everyone else that you fall in love with. Even if you don’t even know their name? You fall in love, not with them, but that idea of them falling in love with you and your madness. Your madness being your irrationality. Because, how dare you be irrational! OK, that’s society, fine! We all know about that, and even been writing about that for years and years on end! And you’re in a rut about it. But what about everything else? About the mystery of life? What about that big nighttime eye in the sky that peeks in through the window? The one that you refuse to acknowledge? Is there an old accomplice? I don’t know? Somebody looking in on you to make sure that you’ve got it all right. But do you? You know you don’t! You know that all you have now is a bunch of patterns, and habits, and ways of thinking that make you feel like you know something. But you may have known something more when you did the waiting. When everything was just a first, first experiences. Some things were overcome by joy and others by terror, and inhibition. And that’s the concrete that the patterns were set in. The foot steps in the sand that later became sedimentary rock. The path that, of course, your name will never be connected with because . . . well . . . you’re not known! You’re just like everybody else. A known quantity, if theoretically there, but not to be seen. I never run out of different types of people in the street, yet I theorize they all have lives like mine. Things seem monumental but they come from a human hand. Well, how monumental could they be? The lumpen masses trod each morning back and forth. Forth in the morning and back each night trying to avoid the plague of ideas and misfortunes that occasionally come their way. But the deal is that you are blind to all of it!, that’s how it works! You’re just blind to it whether you want to act like you’ve got glasses on and you can see. Put things in proper focus, you’re still fucking blind. I guess that’s the theme is blindness? Tonight I closed my eyes for short periods of time and I used my hands to navigate around as a safety measure. But, it was good to realize that if I didn’t have two feet, and two arms, and a big bald head, that there was something more than existence. Something more interesting as life, that life, for life. Yeah, that’s how it goes. I am waiting for the question to be answered. It will be. I don’t know if it will be? It might be? But then again, it may not.
Situations of inescapable despair. Five years in a prison cell does not equate to being cast off as irredeemable by the society that’s evolving around your very ears. The true victim is the one that’s forgotten, that the current society has no awareness of. The fallacy that’s so well-publicized to the opposite of a caring organizational structure perfectly designed to attend to those who have a falling out. To just simply to discard those, that are unfit, the current plan. But then act, of course, totally to the opposite. Park them, if you will. Just somewhere out of sight. But make sure, like bubbles in heavy oil that they somehow get caught half way up before they reach the surface. It all has a diabolical ring to it! That which is common and natural to the human condition of youth slowly is worn away, dissolved, spent, by the designated party, at the end of life. Not much can be said other than coming up with regretful means of disposal. Wherein, in times past, even the lowest end of society was accorded the privilege of a respectful ceremony and burial, albeit in an anonymous humble location. Now society affords you a quick trip down the drain. Dissolved into possible useful chemicals. But not useful enough that they deserve special treatment outside of the local municipal water reclamation plant out side your city waste dump. Human resources! Once they are tapped, they can no longer be recovered, and so like any other material that takes up too much room, they are quickly recycled.
These current times of a police state and an ever-present, supposedly omniscient police state. I am not a happy fellow. Not someone that you would want to be around or be pleasant around. Just oozing venom from every pore! My internal constitution attempting to spew it all off to find another breath so as to be alive. Such is life! There is beauty in the world and I seek it out where and when I can. But it’s a natural beauty. It’s a situation of happenstance that I have to journey to stumble onto. In terms of people there is always the hope that I’ll come across someone that I can truly enjoy my conversations with. But I have to tell you that it’s just all too apparent that those who seem drawn to me are equally poisoned by ill circumstance that is descended upon what was an otherwise hopeful existence. People fall in and out of love with me very quickly. Faster than I used to fall in and out of love with them! It’s not that I don’t seek permanence, or feel so fickle, but I guess I am too immutable, too stable, too unchanging! And that is not allowed. They get tired of the same old me, and naturally so.
There is a part A plus B universe. You can see it in the front window. The one-story place is a small joint along the way somewhere part of a strip mall that issued from the nineteen-fifties. I knew the owners. They didn’t have a restroom for the place. They would have to sit there and firmly and politely tell the guests, “There’s no restroom in here!” And even I, as a sometime friend and vagabond knew the rules, holding his own as they say, until I could find a proper location to find some relief. There were a lot of lectures around the general area about how the second dose was the one you wanted even those everybody could get a portion of the potion of the first dose. But that was the trip. The trick, the thing that everybody was searching for is how to have a nice part A, part B type of experience.
“I got a job north of the river by the center of the city. But to get there I had to walk through a bad neighborhood on foot and so I carried a pistol in my back pocket. But I knew, even within this dream that if I got caught with it I would be in store for some big fines and maybe even incarceration. Yet I had to go to work at what turned out to be a public K12 school. When I got there I found some clear plastic bags in a stack that served to partially obscure the pistol after I had wrapped it up. Nervous, I hid it on a small shelf under the desk for a while but then transferred it to the back of a computer. I subsequently found a discard box and put the bundle inside taping the whole thing up. My newly met compatriot of the time and I, all the time having a discussion across the room. She busily preparing a chart for the class she would soon be off to. Somewhat later at recess, going back outside to take in the presence o a little squirrel that was a community pet. The squirrel jumping upon my shoulder at the point I was just going back inside again. Tolerant of the creatures’ antics as it twisted about upon me as its perch I went about my business meeting another new associate in the hall. The squirrel then jumping to his shoulder.”
The dead are risen once again. Come back from the underworld of dreams. Nightmares of inhuman proportions foisted upon humanity at large. The promise of destruction once again. Plague versus famine a slow drawn out affair. If not established in fact then by different degrees of a centralized ruling elite who fashions the world it supervises into a social panopticon. An all seeing eye connected to the threat of a pair of boots that are their to stop on all humanity forever. A terminally persistent parasite that claims a longstanding pedigree that has projected its curse into a way of life. One that has convinced all others of a dark paradise where their place is to superficially assist this rule in Hell as honorary captains. This is the fodder raked over in waking that must be managed in the fitful intervals of night.
Yes, there are a lot of frightening things in this world! And part of the task of being assured that you are not going to lose your mind by becoming terminally depressed is to attempt to sort truth from the tissue based construction of politically useful fantasies. A task that is pretty damn hard to accomplish these days because the uni-polar sense of civilization in rule by a hegemony of mega-corporate multinational barons collectively rule by the consent of longstanding dynasties of the past. Artificial organs of various societies across the planet that have persisted over the many millennia of history that has been revealed to the masses both true and false. The latest assemblages of the same seeming to be conspiring at a murderous pace over the last hundred or more years to strip those that they rule of those God given rights of an independent form of existence. Top heavy cartels that have found their way into the public sphere through motivating by fear to encourage the dismembering of everyday existence into raw nerve based guilt counterpoised with dutifully repressed animal fury. The result being that nightmare are not an unfamiliar part of ones life. Constant acts of manufactured psychic violence perpetrated upon all. In the author’s case . . . ? The evidence of this stated mindset making things clear. Paranoia some say! But then they tell your to go back to bed and continue to dream away your waking realities. A dismal sort of proposition leaving one with a dismal sort of weariness in the face of that which one dares not admit being also terrible. But one cannot escape it! No hope beyond eventual sadness and trauma come of the statistical approach to creating the latest all new and improved iteration of the perfect worker’s paradise.
Walk into any commercial gathering spot and one is likely to be under siege of Third World jibber jabber infecting all its public space. Mind dulling underclass ramblings barely resembling art beyond the loose reference of a continuously trite beat. Repetitive rhythm vouchsafing its political correct legitimacy standing in for a semblance of something referred to as music.The main feature being endless repetition driving a spike into one’s conscious mind. Preparation for rot of any independent impulse from those unfortunate enough to be in earshot. The cheap wallpaper of thinly veiled machination of the totalitarian mentality. Destroy by implanting negative dogma into freshly tilled minds. Multicultural diversity only serving to dissolve by demoting personal experience of life into approximations of the same as convenient demographics to exploit for profit and gain. The pneumatic’s of technology ever vigilant to police language electronically by robotic intrusion. Guilt by association of terms of speech interpreted according to the latest agenda. A rhapsody in the ever-present reign of a universal prison mentality. The notion of a Chinese prison guard walking from his workplace back into a larger prison of his society. The slippery slope identity of the male now spray coated with the notion of the dominance of the female. Dangerous because all the meanest and most unruly of the real prisoners are likely to escape to be empowered as the rightful inheritors of contemporary society. The job of keeping them safely rounded up to those singled out as the most egregious irritants to this whole process. The one’s now most likely to take the rap if those others institutionally irresponsible make an escape. To which scenario betwixt day and night am I waking up to?
Everything considered ‘White’ is to be destroyed and replaced. All signs of European civility and culture and the legacy of history that accounts for it. That is what the future offered by the Left leaning Zionist powered Jewish liberals have brought to the United States since the beginning of the last century and before. The fact that such criticism is considered a crime shows the extent of the corrupting influence that their organized culture has wrought upon what might have been a enlightened genteel gentile society. Think of what sort of people would be so hateful as to harbor centuries of hatred for an imagined wrong according themselves a status far above all fellow humans as masters and all others mere animals useful only to their whim. Destroying all who would resist their evil intentions and then vilifying them by projecting their own crimes and intentions for carrying out same on these nations and their leaders. Those who cannot or will not read the record of events associated with these terrorists and their barbaric exploits recounted by many peoples that have endured their treachery are simply asking to become its victim. The world is entering a dark age where technology is already being used to govern treating mankind as a whole like commodities affording them no basic rights to be sovereign in their own land. When the ‘Whites’ have been eliminated then the groups that have been used as useful idiots to subsume them will suffer the same fate. One by one each culture will be dissolved and those remaining be considered as beasts. The end game of those with such wicked intentions being at some point an inevitable overreach and summary self-destruction. Those that bide their existence by the wishful record of past infamies expanded out into gigantic all consuming myths will eventually be swallowed by their own sick creations. Evil will consume evil and the world with or without mankind will right itself without any help of its misguided guests.
The great chaos of nature that the colonists faced several centuries back enshrined in the dwindling remembrance of a annual celebration of harvest home of just being found alive with a slim chance of perhaps being so in the future not too different than what so many face now. The perversity of those self-empowered with the notion of perpetual exploitation of their fellows no matter how all pervasive is in some respects not too different than the European born Pilgrims. Or in the same respects as the modern refugees transposed from their original homes by the despicable brutal mischief of greed and empire. The enforcement of 24/7 doom and gloom propaganda will not hold those of well-meaning intentions back from forging on with their lives and providing a future for their kith and kind. The evil cancer of those that would pervert that will in time fail and fall. It is the nature of the species of mankind to fail and struggle just like all other species of life. The element of hope and positive struggle for something better beyond just meaningless existence niggardly accorded by those who set themselves above all others will prevail.
A small group of prison inmates stand crowded into a small brick vault left to their own devices completely naked within this cold dark chamber. Something done to soften them up for a day or two. This sort of tactic being routine and in keeping with techniques come of previous eras to soften them up and make them more pliable to any whim or otherwise unreasonable demand. The distant sound of hammers making blows against timbers affixing chicken wire partitions to handle the sudden overflow of inmate population scheduled to arrive over the coming week. Incarcerated up in the hills beside the vertical drop of a sheer escarpment surrounded by a twelve foot high cyclone fence topped by razor wire. The guests expected arriving from a wide variety of regions. Southeast Asia, the former Yugoslavia, any number of places where the new regimes just wanted them to simply disappear. But of course, being still of some use in a small residual way as a resource of information to confirm many conclusions already been made. One of their number managing to miraculously make it out of stir to perilously climb over the cyclone fence using his own bundled clothing to negate the bite of sharp razor wire. Hauling himself up and over and down to the narrow edge of the rocky cliff. A stunt not exactly making him a celebrity with the guards when his absence would be discovered hours later. Unseen by most from the valley below as he free climbed down some two hundred feet of vertical rock. Arriving at the bottom a changed man, his outlook on life no longer the same.
Arriving in the midst of early morning to a long disused desert shack where an old set of oil stain ridden duds lay rumpled in a pile. A partially filled container of bleach in another heap of long discarded kitchen goods. The inmate trying to reasonably blot out the random stains from the garments to then make them wearable enough to switch into from his own all too obvious prison garb. Then of course, as the theory went, he would able to better blend in with all the other residents in the area. The style of the cut of the clothes being significant of those kinds once worn by those of several previous generations past. Had he arrived naked in a snow storm, it might have made little difference. The chances for getting past the border some twenty miles away were simply slim to nil. The Arab world was on the top of the list of targets these days for that Globalist outpost also know as Is-Rey-Hell. There was no way that the powers truly too be reckoned with in this world who had fought tirelessly two hundred years behind the scenes to snatch the dubious honor of possessing the sole set of keys to the star chamber that was behind everything generally referred to a civil. No outsider was going to snatch victory from them through an unsuspected policy miscalculation by them threatening defeat. Their chess piece would rule from that very same spit of land. The same one that for millennia had played the key square to the whole chessboard.
A great economic empire built on the bones of the former British Empire’s colonies! Something extended by two world war senseless conflicts to extend its poison across the globe to almost all the countries in the world. Save for Iran and Syria. That grand plan put into operation at the eleventh hour after the collapse of what had originally started out as their fortuitous enterprise in old Czarist Russia. The great bear humbled and brought to its knees. Most of its population repeatedly genocide’d out of history. That same old series of events. Faux prosperity, internal strife, internal prosperity destroyed, slow incremental starvation, needless wars, and then the buy outs of everything valuable for a penny or two on the Ruble. The assets of the country stolen on the cheap and the political takeover and further genocide to foment the education of future generations to keep step and stay in line. Or else!
The spider, the snake, the Monday Night Football? You have been anesthetized! While you were out to lunch checking your I-Phone you became their thrall! You fools! You have fallen into their trap! You have become their plaything! And they lose interest in their toys and routinely destroy them. Genocide is the Globalist Internationalist’s most favored device. Look up their wet dream called Moses or Joshua or Esther or David. Destroy, destroy, destroy! Destroy the Greek! Destroy the Arab! Destroy the Goy! The seed of evil has been implanted within you. And all the offered cures on commercials are designed to kill you. But not until everything of worth has been stripped away from you. Then and only then are you allowed to die. Nothing left but a miserable, soulless, emptied entity. Sucked dry of all one’s blood and bereft of a capability to feel. Now you just let the state do all your thinking for you!
And all those smart little upper East Side cousins that come spilling out of the woodwork. Those ones that sooner or later default to raiding the closet so as to walk about swishing an lisping on nationally broadcast television. Putting on their late night presentations in their mother’s best ball gown. The were they one’s that figured out that playing the ‘Big Sis‘ was the best game by twisting those misapplied good intentions of unsuspecting fools around their little fingers. If God could still be likened as only a regular man then the Devil puts in his claim to be a ‘real’ woman. No one to be played with because in the end, ‘she‘ would simply live longer.
Raymond Chandler. R.C. R.C. for an acronym that’s easier to remember than that name that you routinely forget at those times you want to cite it. It’s easier than it was to forget the competition. Or to forget the person that you’ve trying to learn something from. Stuff that always sounds right but you can never really figure out why. The that elusive past participle that hangs over your head like the perpetual geoengineered grayness. Somewhere above you reckon is lurking a gold and alabaster statue; a gleaming shining figure that perhaps could lead you out of the ever persistent poverty and misery of your tortured soul. To remove you from that perpetual self-hatred that keeps you permanently stuck where you are. Never to budge any further forward than that last step forward down the wrong path.
I felt as if I have awakened back from fifty years previous and had rejoined the company of my former girlfriend Helen. Having reacquainted myself with her as a dancer and lifelong choreographer she had enlisted me to cooperation in producing a theater show. We worked enthusiastically together on a large scale professional stage till the end when I realized that this was all very foolish. She was the type to cut the ends off a brand new pair of expensive woolen socks to get some leg warmers. It just wouldn’t work out. And then I crawled around a half-raised giant curtain that was bundled up and hid underneath so no one could see me or find me and fell back asleep. This is what you get for relying on your dreams!