The old museum was on fire! Not burning in a conventional sense of the same, but being incrementally enveloped in a more undetectable smoldering sense. One where its unique one of a kind structure was smoldering from within. Some of my old friends and acquaintances with their pets still inhabiting within, I was anxious for their safety and tried to hurry along the progress of the evacuation of what they held dear before the entire wooden framework of its old eclectic five story structure might suddenly go from a slow charring consumption to burst into raging flame. A very strange feeling came upon me that I was trying to play a reversed role of savior. The task of bringing these people and their old world to safety, yet somehow performed in reverse. Acting like some backwards minded Noah shepherding these familiar others and their animals out of this place and over the small stream to find temporal safety standing on the other side of the superhighway. Yet, when it seemed all had been accounted for as having left this ancient edifice, now visibly being enveloped from within by smoke, I was compelled to return. I quickly challenged traffic to cross back over the buy six lanes of random cars and swiftly propelled myself back across the small bridge to re-enter this once all too familiar structure. The facade of the rotunda now having partially collapsed. Struck by a queasy feeling in my gut causing my lower limbs to tremble. Knowing that, all too soon, the entire store of my own long waylaid memories would be among the irretrievable casualties soon to be stolen within the building hazy atmosphere of the quickly charring timber. Compelled by some strange self-destructive force to crawl up a rough wooden ladder now before me irregardless of all consequences. My heart beating wildly as I mounted each tread into the oblivion of what had once been so painfully familiar. Now fearlessly disappearing slowly upward without hesitation into quickly descending cloud of dense smoke from those unseen flames several stories overhead right on the edge of bursting forth consuming all within the pitch black darkness. All just to search out what had so long ago been lost, yet up to then, had never been my priority to recover.
Long ago in ancient days when many mortals upon the earth heeded the omens of the stars it was said that some were fated to be in opposition in a manner much like the counterposed orbits of comets elliptically encountering planets. How like that would there be in my case with one Lady Barbara. An ever impressive solitary body hurtling the heavens possessing an attraction that far outclassed my own energetic elliptical abilities to bring it into my own circle. Our previous encounters some twenty years previous proving disastrous to both. My own psyche driven by some inexplicable desire to possess her live but ever fearful of being found inadequate and wanting of being exposed for the fool that I felt to be inside. My left foot every in conflict with my right as to where it should have been that like a bull in a China shop I could ever rely on saying or doing the exactly wrong thing in her presence. But like the ever ready moth prepared to singe my wings at any opportunity to tempt a fate that I knew was hopeless in my case.
Barbara you see was from a blue blood sort of stock. A product of the southern tip of an adjoining state where success in all things was not a matter of accident but long and careful breeding. Her manner always holding to a decorum that silently declared itself to be one of royal bloodline. Her own father no doubt a terrible and efficient monarch of the extended family for whom wealth and standing was a natural spring bound fountain who merely had to walk forth to bring forth a brook of prosperity. And Barbara herself her own kind of watch spring tightly wound form of erudite precision in feminine beauty in terms of heredity and immediate presence. Much like a Circe she could charm and entrance mortal man into swine with a simple glance. Most terrifying was the fact that whatever she tried her hand at she seemed accomplished at. Perhaps a curse in a stilted world of rich entrepreneurial minded suitors? One of whom that she had married and had a male child with.
My initial encounter with her own orbit being strictly egregious and out of sync in disrupting her standing as the head of an arts organization run by another who we had both respect and affection for. The next pass being more agreeable a year or two later when I had returned from another drama that had sent me half way around the globe in pursuit of another failed romantic quest. While I sun about at my limits far away she was violently crashed about by the loss of her husband to some unspecified infidelity. One that left their marks of his angry clenched fists upon her diminutive frame for a while after. The turn of events sending her tumbling into an unstable past to encounter another minstrel and to my view mountebank. An egotistical self-centered musician that was in my own myopic view of things a deadly rival to my growing desire to have her.
One is always tripped up by their own dreams seeming breaching the waking world in fables that one spins as they see them apparently coming to pass. An for a while as someone besotted by their own animal lust I was driven to obsession and a persistent attempt to woo her away. Yet at those times when her path perceived with him seemed to wobble it was I alone who at the last second veered away in trepidation. In fear it seems of being trapped and set upon by the potential of a monumental cosmic farce that would bring me to light not just as a silly fool overstepping their bounds but a dupe. And thus caught up more in my own hesitations I designed the funeral carriage that carried me like a walking corpse to my own eventual rendezvous to an inevitable break. My heart sinking leaden to the cold depths of an ocean of despair wrecked it seemed caught from that point on far below the surface of ever finding common course set to that boundless store of love I felt for her hopelessly remote.
Those otherworldly nightly tides of some two decades hence designing a scenario within which I was thrown up unexpectedly upon her shore once again. She a mistress of her own gallery and established in some safe and anonymous small town practicing her own form of fine art based expression. What seemed innocuous to the understanding of most as a simple series of finely upholstered booths being an analogy most dear to explaining her own sad star crossed inner self. Those unnamed phantom doppelgangers of my past actions accompanying me recklessly displacing the carefully laid cushions as if it mattered naught. A lightning bolt strike of fear coursing up my spine as I saw those old ways between us taking hold. The other artifacts within her museum in danger of similar disregard while I was caught up and helpless in a newly rekindled sense of loving regard. One by one at each station of her cross she providing a brief explanation of the meaning of a new carefully manufactured conundrum. Each in jeopardy of being trammeled in a way so uncannily similar to the very ways she had been in the past.
Dead suitors long ago notwithstanding in abandon of that solitary husband long dead in terms of her own regard. I inquired most awkwardly out of turn with the gravity of the moment as to the whereabouts of her son. That solitary offspring that had formerly been the centerpiece her own emotional conflict. He posed as a fleck of sand exposing her pain in being found wanting as a mother in conflict with the pearl of her own overwhelming ambitions that superceded his needs. The curse of my own folly coming back from the long forgotten shadows to trip me up once again. Saying the wrong thing and doing the wrong thing but worse yet showing a weak form of indecision in the commission of same. The fact of her own susceptibility for being seduced by the next waiting tragedy to burden her never occurring to me. Both of us condemned in our own ways to perpetual martyrdom that was a source of indescribable guilty delight. Her last disclosure of a final work in her hiring an unnamed unwavering assassin to posthumously eliminate all that had sullied with her. The chilly realization on my own part that somewhere down on the bottom of that list was inscribed my own name.
It had been some four years plus since anyone had lived here beyond him. Fifteen hundred rise and falls of the Sun on the horizon slowly forgetting his previous daily existence. A long time to become detached from the kin that had previously been the rightful owners of this living space. A small section of floor space on a larger plan in a middle floor of a mid century high rise on the edge of a larger metropolis. Though forced to make daily forays out into the world for work and food he had slowly lost touch with it. Things had been made worse by his losing his daily employ and having to depend on the state to supply him a stipend to purchase foodstuffs. As he sat upon the last remaining two-seater sofa in the lounge he contemplated the dark horizon as embers seemed to gather in the distance readying themselves to once again meet the first light of the sun. Where he wondered was the illumination to light a path out of his every descending dilemma of skating eternal darkness. No expression upon his face as he sat silently low in the saddle of the old broke back couch. The portraits around the room no longer stared out with a plausible familiarity that claimed a actual human entity as the physical source of their being. He looked over to the pinpoints upon the faux tree-like manifestation of the end of the year holidays and felt no fondness or connection with it. Whatever memories within hum had become sterile like the bits and pieces of the residual recollection of his fragmentary youth. What had steadily been preserved over nearly all of a human life was a constant mistrust of his fellow creatures. The slow procession of which that had marched through his life now remembered for their unique qualities of kindness so much as the same story of eventual indifference to him. All those that he came to know in the intervening decades had eventually trailed away in another direction despite his strenuous efforts to dissuade them otherwise. He was thus pronounced a perpetual loner.
There had been a mighty struggle going on within him throughout the successive intervening years since childhood. One where every attempt to accommodate the meandering course of public conventionality’s subsided into a new enigmatic puzzle that seemed to offer no fit solution as to how to navigate. A damned if you do and damned if you don’t continuum of hopeful overtures that too quickly subsided into false starts. Friendships, brief romantic affairs, and even a star-crossed stint at marriage all failing miserably for reasons unknown to him despite his best efforts to bend and satisfy. The world seemed to finally descend upon him as if it had become a mighty leaden cloud full of an eventually lethal menace that might sooner or later take even this sparse form of existence away. There was too much evidence of others that shared the same dilemma in far off cities that barely existed in far of urban districts far to the West. Every day had been a bit more grim than the collection of same that had dissolved into a nothingness without promise or exception. There might have been something tragic about this had their been at least another solitary soul in his company to appreciate the insoluble dilemma that beset him. Yet he himself felt no despair or self pity on his own account. He was struck by the fact of how persistent and unrelenting was his own condition of life. But had no sympathy for himself and occasionally some degree of maudlin emotion for anonymous others that theoretically shared a similar experience to his circumstance. This appreciation of same coming from teleplays and cinematic narratives that seemed to corral the emotions of the surrounding population in general. It might have officially been called consensus in the daily declaration of events and socially acceptable notions that were sold as appropriate. He sat in his lounge upon the old threadbare saddle alone in his lounge. The gravity of this unrelenting condition of solitude descending upon his consciousness finally collapsing any fantasy to the contrary.
The soccer field seemed twice the size as he could remember it. He recalled that he had played soccer in high school during gym class and had been anything but stellar. Now he seemed enlisted as a coach in a Summer time program at a nearby park district. The ball was served from the center of the field and immediately shot over his head towards the boundary of one of the streets that served as the ultimate boundary of the park. One of the players at that far end booting it back once again overhead until it seemed in a position relatively equivalent but in the opposite direction. Something within him sank like a flag being pulled down in early surrender. He had doubts that this job would last more than the afternoon given the fact that his present level of physicality was obviously no match for the youthful leg strength of those that had been put in his charge to mind. The other coach now running in a lateral direction towards the side of the field he felt his rubbery legs wobble as he made his own pathetic attempt to catch up to the orb. The other younger fellow’s lack of speed a sign of the man’s sarcasm in the fact of the pathetic lack of performance of his older rival. Seeing this for what it meant the older scorned pair of legs picked up speed as if they now had a life separate to the body and head that bobbled about atop them. Their distant rival in the younger coach resuming his normal vitality and stepping up his pace as a result of this display and easily reaching the ball first to boot it far away back towards center field out of reach of his older rival’s renewed efforts. The impossbility of the situation fell upon the deposed sexagenarian like a wet woolen blanket.
The failure felt in one scenario seemed to bring on contemplation of yet another. One calling into focus a dismal area bordering a place outside of town by a main railroad trunk line. A no man’s land evidencing decades of toxic and careless dumping of castoffs that had the relative appearance of destruction one would have quickly associated with the worst sites of world war carnage. It was here that the man found himself newly arrived standing on the gravel by the rails. The only cited goal still clearly posed in his being was to traverse this area before he would be spotted by hostile parties. This inhospitable region having its own indigenous residents that as one might expect were as unwanted and disgruntled as himself. His presence in this lawless section presenting a convenient scapegoat for them to enact his revenge. His traverse of the many gullies fraught with sucking empty bucket covered tar pits that he barely found passage to skirt around disconcerting as the pressure of unseen eyes bore down upon him. Rapid tiptoes across rotting planks to shifting sandy ridges that softly gave way under his feet threatening to cant him forward in a manner that my lead to a tumble into the muck of a pit of uncertain composition. Whole sections of savaged walls of residential building including banks of wooden sash segmented of window glass stood as partitions blocking rapid progress. The notion of him being followed by hordes not far behind him growing ever evident. The possible luxury of taking an instant to stop in mid course to turn about and view the situation in that direction too wasteful of the slight chance that he might still outdistance them. On and forward he stumbled and slipped irregardless of his mounting conviction that all this effort would still result in his being easily being overtaken. Gone were the self inscribed fantasies of the inadvertent hero that he felt himself innately capable of being. His own vulnerability so painfully apparent in a likening to that of a field mouse being pursued by an owl. The growing flutter of his own heart within his chest now impossible to discern from feathers softly beating rapidly and hard just above yet not quite further back.
The chimes of the wall clock rang with their usual annoying precision. Another artifact that he had refused to disturb from the storehouse of family possessions that stood in for otherwise long lost traditions. His neck cracked a bit as the tight muscles surrounding his spine propelled his mighty cranium slowly forward and upright. The room was still dark but by the reckoning of the dim glow from outside several hours might have past. His sojourn to that other unstable ever changing world of dreams had as usual been unexpected and rocky. He rotated his head about a bit in both directions and stretched both arms upwards into a diagonal V to stretch out the kinks in his back still otherwise at rest slouched upon the sofa’s brace of pillows. Though the darkness of the room was only occasionally interrupted by tiny pinpoints of random LED’s as well as vertical glimpses of the The notion of the solitude ensconced within the limbo of a formless remote universe being challenged by sensations of cold drafty air and the rush of its warmer rival issuing from vents at ceiling height dispensing with same. Leaning forward out of his static repose he shifted his view to the murky horizon peeking up over the bottom sash of the window. Existence such as it was still remained. Only the accompanying dismal circumstance of the fear that it associated with was gone. He was in a state of neutral unencumbered being his usual troubles and concerns put to rest. His body as a singular instrument very aware of the exact position within the knowable universe of man. The question of hierarchy now a secondary matter. He was still very much alive and that was all that mattered.
The barracks was dead cold as the sergeant opened his eyes to the distant glow of an approaching of morning. The fading of the specter of a drawn knife suddenly against him instantly fading from view transitioning to the dim glimmer wending its way through the dark silhouette of bunk beds and monolithic lockers. He stirred convulsively from the covers fearlessly offering his bare legs and feet to the cement below. The flexion causing his chest to swallow a draught of frigid air from the nearby drafty window summoning an instantaneous smoker’s hack. His forefinger scratched about within an empty paper package that he had mechanically snatched out of the pocket of his coat hanging beside him on the lower hook of the post of the bed. There were no more cigarettes to be had. He had consumed the last of his ration earlier last night. His lips curled into an unconscious grimace at the palpable impression of bitter brackish coffee that awaited him in the canteen. Life for it’s own sake alone he thought. Remaining alive had its many penalties. Penalties being the central currency of this headstrong governing structure superimposed equally over all as a normal state of affairs. This same organization that he found himself bound to so completely partly out of self-survival from years back when the foolishness of youth had nearly put him over the fence on the other side. Now he was much wiser and knew that even as its willing agent there was no foolproof shelter against its political largesse.
The duty roster as usual hung just inside the ready room doorway just across the hall from the site’s dingy cafeteria. It was thick with fresh paper. New dossiers detailing the particulars of the many unfortunates who were to be interrogated that day. He could momentarily imagine their shadowy forms cowering far below in dank darkness. several stories below. The latest crop of poor bastards that some faceless state official had ordained must be put to the test in order to verify their innocence. A task that was impossible at this stage as to do so would run against the obvious fact that they been taken there in the first place. The Party never made mistakes! Certainly not about the apprehension of political traitors to the State. After all, they were all were guilty of something. The fact that they needed to be physically coerced demonstrating a felonious attitude that verified that they had malevolent intent to hide. Once accused there was no chance of returning to a former existence, save for feet first. These mechanical thoughts long instilled by relentless Party doctrine had ceased to be of any concern to him long ago. He had to worry about his own kettle of fish. His son! The child he rarely if ever saw come of a very short union. It seemed clear that as the boy, as a resident the State boarding school from an early age would be out of danger and thus of no concern. His position as a Special Technical Interrogator’s Assistant made him next to bullet proof as long as he followed orders and of course, the current regime remained in power. Nothing to fear given his middling station in the hierarchy. He simply assisted the process of questioning by extracting the confessions.
The watery powdered eggs sat tepid upon the over worn plate. All the fresh hot coffee had been consumed at the change of watch leaving only muddy dregs from the bottom of the urn. Whatever the shortcomings society attributed to sabotage or defeatism, this misery was equally shared by all. “From each according to their needs deferred efficiently to each according to the ability!” It made him angry! So many people were angry. Everyone being angry seemingly just to be angry. There were a privileged few, like himself, that were able to superficially express this anger within narrow professional boundaries as long as it was exercised with a cool head in keeping with the goals of the State. To hear the ‘rabbits‘ squealing about their rights when newly brought in was particularly aggravating. Anyone over the age of five in this progressive Utopia knew enough to button their lip lest they suffer the expected consequences. Apparently, that fat sheaf of arrest papers hanging on the wall each day demonstrated that too many were foolish enough no to. Maybe it was true that he was getting to like the fact of his supposedly thankless job as a ‘borreau‘ he could provide them? After all, someone properly trained had to aid in the process to keep things going or the current system might be plugged up with fractious selfish malcontents intent on gumming up the works. The clatter of a plate sliding off the flimsy fiberglass tray and onto the floor before the broken conveyor brought him back outside and into reality. His boot automatically kicked at the shards sending them skittering about. He bent down quickly picking up the broken shards and deposited them on the precarious pile of unwashed dishes. He mustn’t be late for the first case of the day!
The Liberals had overplayed their hand. And their opponents as well in response. The consortium that directed the various social strata had been formed to remove society from these open ended radical agendas. Key posts in government agencies were always under scrutiny for subversion from progressive minded infiltration. They were surreptitiously monitored and then ruthlessly cleansed out as part of the routine of governing. The side benefit of providing fodder for the news of the day to present fully detailing yet another scandal by yet another once otherwise trusted official. The utility of this process in keeping the entire population on its toes a sure method of stifling aberrant behavior. The surrounding fields were also fertilized by the bones of former commanders and bright forward thinking politicians who had been eliminated in a like same manner. Weary slogans like,”Take Back!“, had been the original battle cry of the patriots that had in so many ways offered their existences to keep newly enfranchised minorities lines. No more random bodies piled up from the previous night’s strife to be found in the streets. These previous calls for freedom had been dismantled and all those subversive lifelong held values of times past had been effectively eliminated from the public’s consciousness. Both Socialists and Capitalists had been exposed and their version of the term ‘Democracy’ quashed as the anathema it had always been. The State might had one time been tagged as Fascist, but the fact was that it borrowed its handling of the general citizenry from the two systems it had overcome. Tight supervision on all commerce and the limitation distribution of personal wealth wee the rule. Anything beyond the normative of survival wages would be swiftly investigated. Thus the security services always had plenty of work to keep them busy.
The ‘operating rooms’ as they were loosely referred to had visually maintained the character of a fifteenth-century torture chambers with cumbersome implements used in producing unbearable pain over the ages. Indeed some of them within may have dated from that long ago era. These terrible antiques by their appearance alone would in most cases cause the subject to fade when initially brought into the room. It was not uncommon to see a stalwart demeanor crumble instantly and bodily tremens ensue as they struggled impotently within the iron grip of their warders. There was a ritual that followed in some basic steps. The subject was firmly restrained as their shackles were removed and depending upon their gender made to strip off all clothes or have them torn off. The women having to do so unassisted while the men’s garments savaged by the two attendants. Their arms would then be stretched skyward to be attached to a spreader bar suspended under block and tackle. The unfortunate then hoisted upward so that their toes barely had contact on the cold cement. The dank drafty nature of the subterranean chamber left to do its work in convincing the subject of the hopelessness of their plight. Both interrogator and his assistant would delay entry into the chamber for an indeterminate amount of time while the naked participant swung about in contemplation of their coming fate. Their eyes touring the inventory of terrible devices in the room that might, or might not be, employed upon them. The team would then slam open the entrance door and swiftly stamp roughly in. The two guards then snapping to attention then filing out. The desired effect had an almost comical level of reliability many times resulting in a loss of bowel or bladder control signaling the subjects descent into a state of mindless terror. Rubber boots and butcher’s apron with mask being the order of the day.
This cycle of events would be repeated throughout the course of the day. it would never vary. Most sessions conducted guaranteed no return. Those put to the question never expected back beyond that initial encounter. One of two options being possible as their carcasses were unceremoniously hauled back down the hall, their legs limply dragging upon the rough stone floor. Those surviving the experience would be taken to a dock and packed into a transport headed to the rail head and internal exile in far off camps. Or alternately delivered upstairs to a small soundproof auditorium to be dispatched by a small caliber bullet to the base of the neck. One could detect the constant low daily rumble of the truck’s motors running from the far side of the building. Each vehicle departing with another full load of the guilty off to collectively provide their remaining life force to the State in some far off place. Or to a freshly dug trench in a lesser known part of some nondescipt forested area outside of the town. The length of these sessions could be quite brief depending on the depth of questioning by the interrogator. A certain rhythm made the process of extracting information as efficient as the production of staple goods in a factory. Those cases that demanded a slower application of more intense excruciating punishment were reserved for later during the evening. Given the numbers, it was a grueling day for all involved. He was very clinical in his procedures likening himself to one of a team of doctors in an operating theater. His ears had long ago become indifferent to the expected screams and cries of tearful agonies. He was more concerned in gauging the level of exhaustion of any given subject. The palpable heart rate, amount of blood loss, and discoloration of broken body parts always being carefully monitored so as to keep the recipient awake and aware enough to respond to the many inquiries. He reflected as he adjusted the ties of his rubber apron that in some strange was his long experience in producing the proper amount of physical distress through skillful techniques actually benefited the subject by efficiently reducing the agonies suffered to a minimum duration of time before they confessed all. A somewhat humanitarian gesture given the context of the general situation! He always conducted his tasks with a cool head and dispassionate professional demeanor. The subjects before him merely being some lower form of dumb experimental animal that needing to be industrially processed on behalf of the State. All the psychological stuff was left to his accompanying interrogator.
The first case of the day was a very thin age worn looking old man whose large genitals hung down pendulous between the two sticks of his legs. Generally the older one’s never respond to pain as readily as the young reliably would. Years of hard work or child birth endured numbing them. Psychological terror by the interrogating officer along with a baseline of inescapable distress to demonstrate what other family members would be liable to if there was no cooperation most times turning the trick. He could see that he had his work cut out for him as no close family member was there to accompany him into the chamber to possibly suffer the many agonies meant for the current unfortunate. Several moments with a steel pincer heated red straight from the glowing coals of the nearby brazier plying away all that there was to hide. The details recorded via microphone sent to an anonymous scribe in another part of the building. On and on it went throughout the morning. The room reset many times the two of them worked relentlessly through the pile of dossiers, finally exiting in late afternoon just behind the last limp body being dragged straightaway towards its destiny in the direction of the loading bays. It was obvious that the subject was lucky enough to still considered functional enough to provide some residual future value for the benefit of the State. “If you don’t know what boundaries of evil is . . .“, the borreau mumbled to himself, “. . . then how can you pretend that you are any good?”
Supper was a syrupy meat substitute splattered across badly cooked stale rice. A shallow poured glass of gin in a murky glass accompanying the lack of fit cuisine to steady the nerves. The administrators knew exactly how to inspire the proper mental framework of the building’s staff by keeping their level of irritation with their own circumstances at odds with any possible complacency. If nothing else, it was a reminder that no one was above any other if they strayed outside the boundaries of what was expected of them. Any extended time off from the six day weekly schedule was a reward that was only rarely offered. The result being that like anything else in this society that those at the bottom of the chain as prisoners would suffer most for the most minor of infractions that strayed from strict immediate compliance to commands. The hands of the clock on the wall jerked forward towards a minute before nineteen-hundred hours as he finished the last puff of a borrowed cigarette. The current interrogator he was assigned to was no doubt waiting below and the dirty bastard would no doubt report him as being late if he arrived an instant past the exact stroke of the hour. He crashed his soiled crockery upon the conveyor and trotted out the door. His own footfalls echoing downward before him on the stairwell to the lower level as an admission that he was in too much of a hurry to deny the claim of his interrogator’s expected supposition of again not being on time. The static pickled grimace of the man his feet solidly apart looking down at the clipboard of cases verifying the fact of this very displeasure. The door of their ‘operating room’ located several doors down the hall obscuring the arrival of what appeared the be a rag encumbered bundle partly blocked by the forms of two lumbering attendants. A female perhaps or possible a small effeminate male? Whatever they had been incarcerated for the fact of their appearance in the evening meaning that they would be the recipient of extra special attention of the most extreme type.
The requisite time of delay now being signaled at an end by his quietly fuming superior, the borreau promptly affixed the mask upon his face and followed along behind approaching the entrance. As his eyes adjusted to the differential in lighting he noticed with some instinctive trepidation that the female form strung skyward was immediately all too familiar. He might have been struck with the bare end of a heavy duty electrical cable as he took in the face of the straining form as she canted away the straggle of dirty locks to the side to reveal full view of her facial features. He could hear the interrogator beginning his usual speech. The voice echoing from an unexpected distance far outside. Sternly echoing about the penalties, and not being totally candid when questioned. The officer motioning to him in his mask at the part about telling falsehoods or offering any hesitation would be immediately followed up upon very unpleasantly. The ‘borreau’ now offering a quick crop of the woman’s bare abdomen instinctively on cue. His brain still far away and racing about inside trying to understand what his eyes were telling him. That now undeniable fact that their subject of the evenings pain letting was the borreau’s former wife, Alicia. “What did this mean?”, he twaddled to himself internally? He was dreadfully afraid that his own legs were now trembling violently. A quick glance down under the edge of his mask to notice that they were still holding their own. “Would she recognize me!”, he mentally shouted within. A test to gauge his loyalty to the ever demanding cause of the State? Was this some solipsistic stratagem enacted by this same superior standing just beside him that was in evidence of some final straw reached in terms of his record of behavior? Worse yet! Was this all part of an initiative ordered at a higher level to cleanse all possible social contamination by virtue of former association for the sake of some unspecified new agenda? One that he had inadvertently by chance run afoul of?
The eyes of the subject were fixed upon him in an uncharacteristic expression of rage that seemed to defeat any immediate fear. She was as she had always been. A volatile tempered bitch that repaid any slight offered no matter how overwhelming with a fearsome anger. Something undeniably sexual behind the lexicon of impressions that now welled up within him that he had quickly become all too grievously aware of from the start of their relationship some twenty years past as adolescents. It was no clear that she had come to recognize him yet as she shared her lack of appreciation at being struck so ungraciously in so compromising a circumstance. For the flash of an instant he mentally imagined her naked body melting away the steel restraints from inhibiting her and fly like a demon for the nearest available throat too tear at with her teeth. He had always carried about a sense of walking on eggs when in her presence in those long ago times past. What was he supposed to do? If she fixed upon him after another sharp impact then she might unexpectedly and loudly declare him as something about him would surely in time give his real identity away. He could mount a series of blows upon especially sensitive parts of her body that could overwhelm her senses into the temporal oblivion of unconsciousness? But then that would bring down the ire of the interrogator as that would violate the strict protocols of their standard procedure which demanded an incremental measured level of increasing distress. The problem with this as he well knew is that the harpy before him might well measure up to his ministration and defeat them. A cold chill ran up and down his spine as he heard his superior’s voice speak, “Proceed!”.
The borreau started forth towards the dangling form his head pointed down towards the floor. Maybe he could deflect his gaze enough that close proximity might not reveal him? He reached out and twirled her around as she kicked about in the narrow ankle chains and he applied a series of hard strokes with his gnout upon the base of the spine of her lower back. Usually this and the kneecaps and elbows caused the most debilitating levels of pain briefly inhibiting one to any other sensation but blinding distress. As he hit her he felt a sense of strong emotion grab him from within. Another flashing series of images projected across the back of his brain of various acts of tenderness that they once both had shared. A sickening spreading feeling that was competing with his concentration to focus on responding to the irritable voicing of the interrogator’s commands. The man grabbing at his arm and bending a whisper towards his ear quietly spitting out, “Just what in the fuck do you think that you are doing sergeant?” Cold ingrained discipline forcing his to stop to come to attention. His former wife’s body twirling back around with her eyes wild from the assault of his truncheoning. The interrogating officers stale breath still hot on his ear. The embarrassment of what felt like a pronounced wetness growing just below his belt line. He wondered if a spot was forming that might give some unsuspected part of him away.
The borreau was now in the hallway facing the officer attempting to deflect the hard stare of the man into his own eyes. The interrogator was obviously on the edge of rage as his eyes flashed malevolently. “Have you lost your mind!” “You of all people must be well-aware that it is your duty to maintain strict control of any unfavorable emotion that might crop up during these sessions!” This type of breach of protocol is completely unacceptable!” “What are you going to do about it?” The borreau managing to awkwardly mouth a quavering “Yes sir!“, while all the while wondering if he were now the mouse being toyed with by this cat. Would he suddenly feel the vise-like grip of two pairs of hands from behind binding and restraining him? The open iron door to the waiting chamber loomed large before him. He could hear the sound heavy breathing of his wife emanating with in. A sense of fatality descending upon him. It was he that was now to be put to the test of his ultimate limits to attempt to overcome. As he silently re-entered he knew that each successive blow would be assayed and then taken into account by all parties. Each stroke delivered by him on her vulnerable flesh bringing a correspondingly instantaneous brief pause within causing him to reflect again and again what it might unexpectedly summon in terms of a fearful lasting penalty all based upon the raw facts of how it was delivered and just exactly who it was designed to satisfy or serve.
“It was almost as if the two of them were back together again still being married!”
The currently easily disposable male is useful tool at one’s beck and call all for the promise of easy sex. A resource to be financially mined at a later date as a stopgap measure in case of a paucity of current likely candidates for emotional harvesting. The current trend in #MeToo styled media disseminated mass movements setting a precedent of the removal of any credibility of the standard male by a very public display of what is seemingly a heartfelt emotional declaration by any female that she has been despoiled by same. This allegation can range back as far as childhood and need not have any substantiation beyond a few well chosen tear stained statements claiming manipulation by the man who had supposedly demanded sex without commitment. A very ironic proposition in a era when so many women engage very freely over both their adolescence early adulthood in libidinous sex as a matter of course. Not quite the classic despoiled virgin of the mythic Belle Epoque Fin d’Siecle! The infiltration of general society by Socialist causes having rotted away any protection for the male in terms of being immediately culpable of wrongdoing if they have engaged in any sexual activity with the woman. Or, at this juncture in time, any contemplation of the same.
These forays in the realm of personal human relations against the being very similar in structure to the useful employ of the term ‘anti-Semitism‘ when volleyed by those the of hegemonic Jewish lineage against those who they are at odds with. Or with the currently unsanctioned public use of the term ‘Nigger‘ by anyone from the Caucasian lineage. Something employed as a show-stopper by Negros in general to enfranchise their employ of the threat of their potentially violent behavior. Something quite similar in an equivalent manner as the notion of there being an endemic racism manifest a priori within all Northern European descended people. All these motifs being branches of the same tree of Marxism. Something which in turn is merely chapter and verse from the core doctrine of the cult of traditional Judaism’s tried and true central playbook. The polite term currently in use in modern society being Liberal or Left Wing. There being no surprise that the underpinnings in every form of this Left Liberal Orthodoxy is run strictly upon the Soviet model. One common proof of all this resting in all the strict taboos built up both legally and in common vernacular to stay a safe distance by employing vague euphemism’s rather than directly single out any transgressions by these groups via historical or verifiable documentary evidence that substantiate the veracity of these conclusions.
It is with little irony that relations between the men and women within Western Society are at grave peril by the point of the spear from this form of attack. The ultimate goal being to erode their position and power in this current transitional phase of a politically corrected modern society and eventually nullify it. That long festering devisive dogma of Feminism accompanied by its corollary of perpetual victim hood being at its foundation serving as that critical sledgehammer to completely disenfranchise any preeminent male and thus take down current society to the weeds. The points of order of this plan demanding that those evidencing a vibrant constructive masculinity be completely replaced by decadent non-productive segments existing at the fringe of society or mass immigration of foreigners born of diametrically contradictory cultural traditions that wish to shift things to their liking.
All this cannot be accomplished if the current society that remains tenuously in force is founded upon that natural coalition of a traditional male and female based family organization. The Socialist state must cuckold the male for the sake of obtaining the female as its permanent mate controlling her through the ongoing promise of security and care. The individual male being de-evolved to a defacto beast of burden and institutionally lacking in the capacity to positively respond to anything more challenging that trivial demands from maternal based sources. The ready supply of plentiful male cannon fodder still at hand for internecine conflicts needed to defeat internal rivals and maintain the illusion of ongoing external political threats too keep any questions threatening subservience to a trickle. The outcome of this strategy currently in play being to at the very least create constant friction between the sexes developing both parties in an atmosphere of mistrust. The transformation of of current formative generations through technology and ceaseless indoctrination being counted on to solidify this transition to the gold standard of a pyramidal hierarchy where the mass of humanity is under the proverbial boot ready to try out its tenure of stamping upon the face of a humanity purged of the threat of rival males forever.
I had supposed long ago that when l left middle school I felt that I was as likely a candidate for being generally considered as worthy of consideration of being as educated person as the next. This did not mean that I had been recognized by those who officially designate such things as an exemplary student or even a stand out athlete. It did mean in a more personal sense of same that I had made a pact with myself to take the coming challenges that I sensed were out there waiting to be encountered and make it my business to find a way to compensate for any of the shortcomings that I might be found to be insurmountable. A mental exercise held with myself and myself alone. Yet, in hindsight, a mental exercise unlike one from any previous time where one would expect to build upon the foundation of current society. But one that would seem to suggest being the subject of an experiment who had as a result of it had been thoroughly indoctrinated by a divergent cultural perspective insinuated simultaneously while the facade of something reasonably conventional had been thoroughly diffused. The medium of what was loosely considered family entertainment in the home called television. The late nineteen-sixties became considered a time of the start of a significant fundamental shift in the mindset of the population of the Western World from national to a global oneness. The irony being that the designated rival of Communism versus what I was told was Capitalism was in fact simply a different means based upon a slightly different structure of social control. Given the hindsight of so many decades since, it is now apparent that those times found me pre-programed to accept and even in my own way enable this change.
The significance of an active violent cancellation of national leadership by internally planned assassination that represented the mainstream social mores some five years previous by what were essentially a well-embedded cadre maintaining clandestine Socialist based ideologues. The predecessors of the same institutionalized defacto standards that are now prevalent affecting all citizens of the USA. Old dynasty’s that had been subsequently dissolved in fruitless massively destructive internecine rivalries of their hereditary leaderships that subsequently dismantled their control while transitioning all wealth in the process into the hands of agents interspersed at all levels that had tirelessly work from within to depose them. The domestic based agents of this hegemony having been introduced to seats of great influence through an open gate provided by the quasi-Socialist administration of Franklin Delano Roosevelt who had been instrumental in ensuring a subsequent world war. Once again functioning upon a global scale through the organ of the U.S. Federal Government, these operatives assuming existing control of the nation initially through emergency economic measures that easily transitioned into war powers based executive branch mandates. A recondite Socialist ingrained elite that acted at the behest of the overseas cabal directing the dissolution of Europe and Asia through an unprecedented level of conflict through modern arms. The segments of commerce and mass communication directly in the hands of this group whose mission was to destroy the remaining vestiges of old empires remaining after the last horrendous world conflict and replace them with their global based vision of the same. These viewpoints collectively assuming the cover term. “Liberal.” A polite term that masked the transplanted quasi-religious sect from Eastern Europe that had in recent centuries fashioned their own members into the model of what would be known as the modern multi-national corporation Something that had once again been evident in the subsequently assassinated President’s compromise to gain power in election. The members of his cabinet taken from a select group of the previous leadership that had conducted this elitist’s gambit in the second world war some twenty years previous.
My own formative generation that had been superficially ingrained with what today might be called the ‘traditional values’ from our parents in actuality primed to dispose of them. Though the ‘old’ generation had also been passively indoctrinated through hard times by Hollywood movies and national radio broadcasts that attempted to instill a collective consciousness through a singular popular identity of unilateral passivity in patriotism. Something that did not exist in light of the constant flood of immigrants from overseas burdening a newly birthed egalitarian professed society that did not in actuality possess one. The avatars that were presented encompassing a morality based upon cartoon values as guided in media bombardment by that same previously mentioned foreign cabal. Something that had been silently invaded a century previous and subsequently molded into the heir apparent of the old European mentality challenged empires. . Now they were free to continue their enterprise as the last wholly intact force to reshape the damage on a global scale that they had wrought by their agency. The facade of professing newness while demonstrating a fearful illusory umbrella of mutually assured destruction with the designated ‘strawman’ rival of what was called Communism. A world view that had eventually became recognized as a public relations based construct that was part and parcel the exact same system except based upon the use of a consumerism as a means of indirect social control.
Now my generation and I were fashioned into a contradictory framework of being both a consumer and social anarchist. The manifestation of same in using our resources to gain purchase ideological materials in the form of books, audio recordings and paraphernalia that enhanced a youthful young adult motif of an adherent to the amorphous lack of values of something called a counterculture. The springboard the propaganda promoting a facade to the disassembled world of ‘new’ democratic values though implementing socially conscious consumerism favoring technology displacing old cultural idenities of local communities slowly dissolving regional individualism. The ashes of the old world fostered by the careful machinations of this cult now the foundation for rebuilding a new one along the lines of internationalism and a singular pyramid structure. Something that my own post-war generation had been oblivious to until later life when we had found ourselves at its mercy. The tried and true pattern of constant economic and constant fear based instability fostering inherent competition versus cooperation now perfected in ‘Liberally’ employed upon successive generations of children and grandchildren giving us the world as it is today. These well-laid psychologically inflicted socially implemented means of control now in place worldwide in a system that might challenge and Orwell with its sophistication and subtleties of unsuspected influence upon the average citizenry of all the political units of the earth. Wisdom eventually coming at an extremely high price.
I T. Mordichai Mumsey, fifty-three years young, was a person that was born with a certain awareness of the world at large. Perhaps better said in mentioning a world beyond it. I was also born with an anger that seemed unquenchable. Something that had to do with all things female and being enslaved perhaps too willingly. Early one being forced by some anonymous power to have to forgo happiness for fear. pleasure for sadness and sorrow. A heaviness around the heart that seemed to keep the notion in mind that death and maybe something worse lurked persistently neat just out of sight.
Somehow I had fallen into the circle of the extremely wealthy and ridiculously famous. An internationally celebrated person who at face value lived an extemporaneous lifestyle that was inclusive of many different types of personalities as sidekicks all along for the ride. The singular primary star in their collective universe having chosen them passively without prejudice as to their backgrounds or peculiar quirks. Of course, he didn’t need to because the people in this circle, many of them, were more than happy to oblige him automatically in order to garner his favor to ensure their small part in a very dramatic and exciting lifestyle as part of his entourage. I for one had unexpectedly been inducted into this cadre supposedly by happenstance. Someone who had come by to fulfill a service after the brevity of a passing conversation that at this point could not be summoned to mind. The privilege of hanging about enjoyed by a variety of other people seemingly no different than myself of different stature and status. I knew enough to speak when spoken to and stay on the sidelines of the action but also made sure to be in attendance. One aspect that seemed strange was walking about the halls of the mansion always in the midst to change clothes from my paltry supply of pathetic hand me down glad rags all tattered and frayed that I had initially brought along. I seemed to have to be unexpectedly without trousers as the general chaos about the place made these transitions complex maneuvers around sofas and temporarily deserted hopefully remote hallway corners. Sometimes I would be caught with my pants down. All of this behavior as worse being the butt of some temporal jest but still tacitly accepted by the fact that it was otherwise ignored. Yet these encounters would still hover over me as a reminder that I personally was very very very poor in both wealth and status at the lowest end of the real crowd that could claim proper title to being acceptable. I continued with my act of easy familiarity not pushing myself too conspicuously on my host or the members of his informally royal court. This spoke to me that I along with most of all of the others was on the edge of deceit that disingenuous both to me and my more than gracious host. And I struggled mightily with myself now being under that role. It bothered me. And yet I couldn’t tear myself away and just walk out the door to get away from it. And in time, little by little, I was accepted. Another house pet? My ever generous patron was ever engaged in building the fame of his movie box office persona through action packed blockbuster movies sequels. Though he was aging he was ever more a force of nature in demonstrating a wellspring of physical endurance and dare devil regimen of stunt work that would have paled the complexion of the average army Ranger. Here and there he would deign to hold a short conversation or grant a nod of acknowledgement in a very democratic sense of total awareness of his own immediate surroundings. More and more the little tasks I assigned led to ever greater even more important ones. My status slowly rising within the pecking order of the general melange. The two orders of conversation existed, one being polite that topically concerned the events of that day. And another more salacious and gossip ridden as to who was on the outs or wheedling their way in a little deeper. More and more I was being considered as part and parcel of this scene. The fact of this weighing heavy on my private thoughts leaving me unsettled.
Deep in this crowd where I was literally camped out between a coffee table and a sofa with people milling in and out. Some for simple recreation from much larger suites while other going from one end to the other attempting to fulfill the master’s requests. I squatting there in my own form of silent self-loathing. Not liking the fact of an issue with myself and myself. Would I descend to a point like so many others where I would perform? Would I surrender myself to always being fully available? Or would it be more moral to maintain a remote distance? Or best yet, just to just unceremoniously pack up and leave? When evaluating the benefits that I was presently enjoying when weighed against all this what would I finally conclude? But then there was something else about this, a feeling of unease . . . one bordering upon fear. Something repellent and yet just equally attractive. The only analogy that seemed to relate being an animal in a cage whose only desire was wanting to perform for its master for crumbs or maybe a treat. I didn’t like that! I didn’t like the fact that this place and the people in it brought out thoughts like this about myself. But then I wondered if there was another aspect to this situation? That something much larger and more deviously subtle was at play lurking behind this scenario? Something that was beyond my own ability to perceive or easily pick up on. That in some strange unfathomable way my inner depths were being plumbed by an undefinable force and I was being used as a test case of a sort in a clandestine experiment. An undisclosed agency of some sort that was compiling information in terms of the boundaries and limitations of the human personality. That all the rest of the flash and performance was simply a front to set the subjects at ease and keep them unaware. Perhaps a sort of finishing school of a sort indicating that my entire life had been observed and recorded to such a degree that this mysterious ‘they’ could even reveal the identity that I had held in past lives. A thought that was mind numbing to the point of shocking to even consider. I felt like a rat trapped in a metal cage. I wanted to believe that all this mental anguish was simply my own paranoia dome of too many disappointments. That this situation was a positive turning point or at the very least a hiatus from the vagaries of the indifference of an intemperate society that cared little whether I existed or not. That bothered me. Yet to continue this way in this place would dissolve my identity. Something that had always been precariously in question. I wanted to be my own man but yet I also wanted to belong within this lap of apparent luxury that currently surrounded me.
And then, I had to admit that this brought out a Sadistic / Masochistic element in all this. Something that brought out a deeply held secret element from within that my conscious mind had always steered clear of acknowledging. I could only say that at some time in the past, despite sorting through all the experiences and various forms of actions that one customarily goes through in life , those short bouts of errant behavior, that I must have been a slave. Someone that was dramatically abused at will over a period of time. And then alternately pampered? And alternately enjoyed the abuse visited upon them. Enjoyed being humiliated and led around upon a leash. It was very sick! Venal to think that my psyche relished this sort of treatment and wanted to continue to indulge within. Further deep down I felt that I had been afflicted with a poison as if bitten by a snake. It’s venom slowly spreading through my body over the many intervening years. Disconnecting those cables to my independence and chaining me to something dark and unspeakable to be able to cogently imagine.