The Anaconda had caught him sleeping alone out in the bush. When he had awakened it had already had its coils tightly around his chest and legs. Whatever fear that had been madly exploding within upon the instant of awakening had subsided with what had let like the bursting of his rib cage and the collapse of all the organs within. The sinews of bone connected pure muscle power ever active after the initial horror. Now something worse was occurring. Four major prongs, two above and two below had impaled his shoulders while the blackness of a gigantic crushing grip had forced his head into a wet saliva ridden channel. He was being swallowed head first. His mind was caught in some slow motion fantasy wondering if this was simply an incredibly demented dream so true to life that he was incapable of waking from it. The function of his brain slowly descending to a strange sense of suppressed calm by virtue of a feeling of all the blood in his system being squeezed downward like a toothpaste tube towards his feet. His consciousness demoted to a twilight realm where he figured that death sat patiently upon the prow of its brace under a stormy sky waiting patiently for the agent of natural chaos to fill up all the seats. Was his own soul now an eternal captive within the universe of this fiendish thing that had caught him unawares. What further torments awaited him as he began to feel the outside of his head shoulders stinging from the internal digestive juices as the peristalsis of the creature’s ring of teeth and rhythmically contracted musculature gripped and pulled his enraptured corpus deeper within. He imagined the absurd sight of the head of the beast distended into an absurd all inclusive gaping smile gasping around the main bulk of his body seemingly choking it. The routine task of its life being the worst imaginable fear accomplished in his own. Was he now to disappear as a sentient entity as he slowly was engulfed and digested he wondered? His own torso was engaged in struggling on its own outside of this control. It was odd he thought how he had never fully reconciled it as something completely synonymous and under his full control in what was now the brevity of his existence. The sensation of a growing dissipation accompanied by a dizzying vertigo was detaching him from being the source of that sensation. The stinging had turned to burning as the local acid of the creatures insides was forcing itself into his eye sockets and ear channels. The white hot headache of human flesh being softened into a mushy solution preeminent beyond his own sense of rapidly diminishing contact and control of his corporal self. “This is it!“, some tiny vaguely familiar voice screamed in impotent anger swirling in an unaccustomed eddy somewhere deep within. He was being pulled down into the oblivion of a universal undertow. His mind at last subsumed within the coverlet of eternal darkness.
They say that cruelty is a result of many long years of an upbringing in hateful behavior. But I might add that a more extreme equally dangerous form comes from simple neglect of common sense. This quality would be something quickly shelved in the sunny paradise of any Southern California metropolis on any given day. The easy tempo of existence offers no challenge to the mind and as a result one is likely to encounter all manner of strange circumstances attributed to the lack of any attempt at foresight of some of its citizens. I recollect and incident that I as an average citizen happened to encounter when performing the unimaginable in the grand little perpetual ‘burbs’ of Los Angeles. I am speaking about walking on foot through an old but venerable section of that ever expanding grid of perpetual roadways. Having confessed to this shameless commission on my part to not be at least engaged as part of an auto bus provided guided tour I found myself walking past an unenclosed parking lot fully loaded with vehicles. Each one accompanied by a tall chest high parking meter biding their time waiting for a matron to walk past to wreak vengeance upon those who through mental oversight or lack of ready coin would flagrantly hope in their heart to shortchange the system of its rightful few grams of negotiable flesh. The transgression rewarded of course with a fine and a summons to pay some extraordinary financial penalty that would enlighten the every hungry coffers of the municipality and its officials. While this might have been considered as both acceptable and to be expected the sight that I spied besides one of the older but well-maintained luxury autos astounded my own sense of incredulity. A small Dachshund sat trembling in the sun leashed in such a manner that it was forced to fretfully balance atop a parking meter lest it slip and hang itself.
The car in the stall by the poor creature itself was identifiable to any living locally who had of late been apprised of the latest televised entertainment gossip that a former long forgotten luminary of stage and screen was engaged in what was unfondly referred as a comeback. Their car had even by Southern California standards had been so ostentatiously expensive and unique that its current reputation eclipsed its owner. Something given the fact that the lot it was parked in was immediately adjacent to one of the television studios that daily hosted celebrities that were in some cases caught trying to swim back upstream into fame and the glory of momentary public attention. Certainly one could surmise that such a state of mind targeted mainly on so challenging a mission would be unable to notice anything else in their immediate vicinity beyond the scent of waiting popularity wafting out from the studio awaiting their arrival. How what one could equally assume was her beleaguered pet might have found itself in such a miserable life-threatening physical state is beyond comprehension to and reasonable common sense thinking yet fully in line with the usual sort of antics one would expect from this town of entertainment savvy scatter brains. The poor animal sat perplexed by my approach. Shaking judiciously trying not to wag its tail too much lest it slip off to an ignominious doom. And a bit of ammunition for some celebrity reporter on a slow news day to use to make up a casual news byte headline about a former local great’s plunge into unfogiveable animal cruelty transgression. Like anyone in the news department could give a shit beyond a few extra rating points.
As it was up to me as some interloper still fielding my over preachy Midwestern attitudes I made it my task to immediately rescue the poor beast taking it town from its perch after detaching the other end of the leash. Care and kindness extending to a much needed watering and walk so the little canine do what all of its kind seem most prone to do in any urban setting. My sense of propriety lacking the requisite plastic bag to remove its trembling deposits. Seeing that fate in such a mercurial environment of every imaginable genetically customized show dog might lead to some inadvertent situation of harm to the little fellow by a viscous mean spirited four-legged rival I proceeded towards the studio’s entrance to find out if its owner was in some way prepared to take back custody ot its neglected little ward. I felt emboldened enough to pass a message on through one of the guards monitoring the entrance. something along the lines that ‘Ms So and So’ should be made aware that her beloved little pet was now safe from what I am sure was merely an oversight on her part. And that I would be happy to personally return her little pride and joy toy at her earliest convenience back out int he parking lot by her vehicle when her gala televised appearance had concluded. Some forty-five minutes later a very nervously conflicted but equally disgruntled old dowager waddled over unsteadily towards my direction. No entourage of autograph seekers within a half a mile or more. of the loaded parking lot to accept the rare gift of a small stack of autographed photos in the folder that was in the vise of one of her upper arms. The twin laser beams like fog suppressed beacons emanating from her sunglassses covered eyes as the sight of my leaning against her old chrome and steel warhorse. The little ‘poochie‘ now happily strangling itself on both its hind legs by its leach bound collar with my arm pulled to full extension at the other end of its forgetful master’s approach.
I could tell by the vibe in her immediate vicinity that her efforts at public reconciliation had not gone as planned. Though I was able to confirm the fact of same at a subsequent rebroadcast of a total airtime of some thirty seconds or so she had been handily eclipsed by the precocious interruptive verbal contributions of a much younger talent and soon to be rising star of a new prime-time comedy series about buoyant young lesbian schoolteachers in rural Mississippi in the nineteen-sixties. The aging starlet cut to the quick in quips suggesting that her heyday in the spotlight was a dark era of misinformed and misguided sensibilities that had brought the world as a whole into an age of perpetual political and social despair. The poor old bitch was trembling with wrath on a part that rivaled her pet when I had first encountered it. It was evident that the stored up negative electricity pertaining to her previous experience of the day would find the shortest distance to a convenient pole to arc to. That of course being me. The nebulous excuse being to ward off any responsibility for so ridiculously stupid an impulse as to solve the potential danger of placing her tiny pet out of reach of malevolent marauding canines. Her coolness in confronting me lacking any sign of ebullience in seeing her pet safe and rapidly concluding in a very insincere and terse thank you. The leash snatched unceremoniously from my hand the old fossil bundling both herself and her beloved companion into the equally aged four-wheeled steel behemoth and screeching off into the sunny California haze. No doubt in the direction of some nondescript forgotten apartment block for aging senior has been’s from the former film industry located in a neglected potion of the San Fernando valley. I standing there bereft of the material boon of one of the yellowed publicity photos that had slipped out of the back seat of her in her better days a half a decade before I was born. This thank you possibly an oversight or perhaps of unconscious scorn for some stranger that had seen behind the platinum image? Having pondered the situation later that night in light of the pathos of her overwhelmed by situation of providing fodder for a televised disregard as the butt of attack against her generation I could only feel sympathy. The most hateful and malicious party at fault not so much this fading talent but this damn town and its faux atmosphere of vain complacency that had its own perverse industry to support and maintain the fiction of it. Hooray for Hollywood!
WARNING! – THE FOLLOWING IS ANTISEMITIC ALTHOUGH IT IS ALL TAKEN FROM A REAL LIFE PERFORMANCE!
The setting twenty-ninth floor o the Palmolive building in Chicago! We’ve just aken a very hip nighttime ride down Lake Shore Drive tagging along Playboy owner’s Hugh Hefner’s Mercedes-Benz 360 SL Gullwing Coupe. The elevator buttons kight up one by one twenty eight floors to the last button witht he Playboy logo. The gig, Playboy after dark without the many hipsters of that bygone nineteen-sixties era. The Jewboy Sy is at the piano banging out one of his oldest most popular standards to his credit. Then after humbly delivered precocious explanations about his career, whips out another re-penned reprise to the same melody with a new verse. As if it was the the latest invention to get men to the moon before the end of the next decade. An addition to his masterpiece that could have taken but five minutes or less to reconfigure on the potty after a heroic dump? But Hef loves the Jews. And the Jews love Hef. The drinks are always on the house after dark! Especially if you went to Columbia in NYC and wrote something and kept typing the word ‘fuck’ in it a million times like a Ginsberg or Burroughs. Or at least the opportunity of schmoozing with all the ‘young stuff’ tottering around on five inch high heels sporting big knockers in over stuffed white strapless sequined gowns. all of them looking to go ‘downtown’ with any literary luminary having a current book on the NYT’s best seller’s list. Their ‘nana’s’ nice and tight and pointy snuggled in those ninteen-fifties torpedo bras. And the action is freely available to all cumer’s! Both high or very definitely down dirty and low! That is, if that dirty Bruce known as Lenny who keeps pouring out Hef’s champagne like lawn water between giving himself fixes in the john, doesn’t get there first! Then those gals will be on the flat of their backs just after midnight with their legs held high and their panties flying from their ankles like pennants at the annual Burnham Harbor yacht club regatta. Man, they’re all swinging even though know one knows anyone enough to stop using their last names and simply refer to each other by a first name. Not as of yet at least.
Hey! Did you notice that everybody’s wearing the very ‘in’ skinny overlong black bow ties on instead of the boring old verticality of ‘nine to five’ businessman cravats! Didn’t Norman Mailer write something about that concerning a description of one of his characters in his last book? I hope I’m not confusing that with talk show host George Gobel? Leave it to Hef to be ahead of the crowd! Oops! Song over! Don’t clap too soon before Hef! “Hey Sy remember! You wrote a song about me! About me! It’s all about me! Hey! Ain’t that hip?” It hasn’t been recorded yet. But, hint, hint, he intends to record it, if someone will come up with some scratch for the recording studio, more hint, hint. Just like that stageplay idea that went straight down the stand pipe about an old broad who was fucking with ‘big macher’ Robert Moses’ super highway plans for concreting over half of the ‘Village’ in New York! The grand design of indifferent urban planning that will get all the big city ‘schicker’s’ out of Manhattan and safely home to their Connecticut based wives by six o’clock. It will never happen man! I mean, haven’t you seen Billy Wilder’s new movie, “The Apartment?” Psst! Billy Wilder’s from Hollywood so he gets the use of his two names. “Hey Sy!” “Play it for us!” “The Best Is Yet To Come!” Cigarette break, so the broads have cleared out to the ‘powder room’! Except for Hef’s latest new discovery of the last hour and a half who is magically back to show off her big knockers to any and all willing to giver her a break in show biz!
So now its time to change up the tempo and so Hef saunters over to the studio built faux Lannan stone fireplace to check on two of his harem inmates trying to look demur upoon very uncomfortably thin cushions set upon the plush of the carpet’s ‘wall to wall’. Something along the lines of what would sixty years later come to be known as human trafficking. Their big and bad of the ‘wanta be’s‘ beautiful’s with their assets hanging out all over the place in static repose. Because Hef knows what his TV home crowd like to see. FLESH! As Hef runs down the list of the particulars mentally listed on each courtesan’s official manifest, the camera picks up upon their greatful and pleasing very appropriate smiles. Each wondering to themselves if their decision to brazenly show off their most pleasing parts ‘Être désintéressé’ is really going to get them a meal ticket to Hollywood, like Monroe, or a Broadway show like Liza, or possible six figure divorce settlements from some nobody in Hef’s coterie of well-fixed private gentlemen, of a more discrete, ‘who’s who‘. Of course all the boys back home in Waukegan think that they are just gold digging sluts! Hef cuts in to say that ‘We’ like to feel that that becoming a Playmate is just a beginning!” Translated roughly to, ‘Ending up as just a receptionist on call for an additional late night shift to personally deliver a cold Pepsi and a hot ‘schtup’ to Hef on his big round rotating bed!‘ The big German blonde with phenomenal tits abruptly intercedes to tell her recent life story. Hef is thinking to himself, “Go ahead you dumb broad and tell me how it got you the opportunity to meet Frank Sinatra to get a small part in his “Hole In The Head“, movie and of course get ‘schtuppe’ by ‘Ole Blus Eyes‘!” I wonder if somewhere in the room off-camera someone wonders what Italian penis tastes like after hearing the remark? Ask Lenny Bruce! He’s made a business out of sucking the dick of anyone who can get him someplace more important than the cheap dive he’s been living in lately. “More Champagne?”
“So girls come over with me to see what we featured in our last issue which has a portable kitchen posing as a HiFi cabinet!” Like good little concubines the two trot willingly over like two trained poodles pretending special interest in this high priced ‘boat anchor‘. Like it’s some lame hint about the last thing they each want in their lives! To be locked in a ‘hip’ kitchen somewhere as just another ignoble ‘hausfrau‘! “Not with those boobs honey!” “Hey!, isn’t that the phone?” No one heard a ring. “Hey it’s Ella Fitzgerald’s coming over!” Sorry girls your seance is ‘termini’. “Why don’t you girls go in the kitchen and fix us something to eat!“, cajoles a now very disinterested Hef. Here comes Lenny stubling down the stairs all doped up in close pursuit after two dames in slinky evening gowns who are trying to find any part of the room that is without him. Fucking Lenny, “Hey Hef, gimme a taste of your drink to wash the taste of your ass out of my mouth that I keep kissing!” Hef grabs for the back of his own neck to intercept the pain from this ‘schnorrer’ parasite leering too bombed out of his mind to give a shit about anything or anyone standing bleary eyed just before him. Hef is thinking to himself, “Keep the glass Lenny!” So now Hef sits down with Lenny who is slurring out some babble about how he was ‘kinda rude’ with the two girls who are half way back to their own part of Waukegan. These girls scattered out of the picture like scared rabbits. Very smart girls!
Now Lenny is going to pitch some dull-witted spur of the moment ego boosting self-serving project scam that is nothing more than a barely concealed dig at Hef’s own pet project that, not ironically, Lenny is now currently live ‘on air’ and very much amidst. “At first I thought it would be a typical artificial TV fake party but it has something good about it, pretty chicks being a good composite!“, drunkenly spiels Lenny! Some people have a built in self destructive death wish. Maybe after this, he won’t be back next week, or next month, or maybe next year, or ever? Hef’s ‘hip’ reply most earnestly being his own underlying secret in the decorum behind keeping this artificial madhouse rolling revealed by saying, “Well, we provide girls and we serve real liquor and it does the trick!” Hef’s stone-faced pipe puffing expression silently conveying, “Ring A Ding Ding you fucking ‘kike’ asshole, I showed you!” So now Lenny starting to get the message that once more on God’s green earth, he is no longer wanted nor his candor appreciated! So what does he do but put the deepp dig in about Hef being so ‘hip’ to be drinking on his show during the late night. Like this backhanded stab in the back is going to put Hef on the hot seat with the FCC the next morning! ” Fucking ‘kaker punum nafke vantz’!”
“So Lenny, let’s now dig our own grave just a little deeper!”, a silent self-destructive voice coos in the comic’s befuddled head. “You’ve been draining the man’s liquor and chasing the man’s harem and now let’s see if you can add some real insults to injury!” “I wondered about the show’s sponsor if they would condone you personally drinking on your own show?” If this is a Goy heaven for the late night suburban TV crowd, then Lenny has just made it his own private insight into Jew Hell! [C.U. shot on Lenny says the show’s producer in the control room] as the ‘schmuck‘ so earnestly rambles on, “Playboy is chic, and as you say sophisticated, and the magazine is full of car coats and sports cars and there is a prospective sponsor out there do figure that your viewer out there supposing he can’t afford that car coat and sports car!” His red bleary eyes captured in glorious black and white signaling that he might hopefully pass out at any moment, he continues on without interruption completely wired with even more venom,”I’m glad that you have some guts and are not interested in someone who’s got no money!” So then this little ‘schmendrick‘ turns to the camera and begins to berate the television audience, “You people out there are going to have to wait until your own magazine come along like Reader’s Digest or Field and Stream!” That’s right Lenny! Shit on all the Goyim! Those straight assholes that the Chabadnik rabbi taught you to revile in Hebrew school. They’ve all got day jobs unlike you who is usually past out on smack till your local connection shows up with another fix to get you functional! So now let’s really play out the most extreme cliche Jewish stereotype of critiquing the man’s magazine. The ‘bread and butter‘ of your current host’s existence and dismiss everything inside it. The same one that bought all that liquor that you personally sloshed down your nasty little hole. Let’s spew some more venom like an ungrateful guest! “Gee! How hip!” Now that the bourgeois bashing is momentarily left on hold for a moment as someone else less consequential can get a word in edgewise. Lenny continues on miffed and not quite sure if he is reflecting upon his own thoughts or just talking saying something completely nuts lost in his own alcoholic drug ridden fog. That’s right! “Let me give you another false double-edged compliment Hef, because that is what I do!“, Lenny thinks to himself. So then this little shit heel begins a diatribe of self-psychoanalysis about his own so interesting to the outer world shortcomings, ranting saying that it is, ‘just him coming across as exuberant’ he offers another extremely solipsistic insincere apology while trying to ‘play’ his wholly indifferent victim. Hef dryly counters, “You work areas of comedy that are considered pretty sick, do you onside yourself a sick comic?” The audience that hasn’t by now hasn’t gotten up out of their own late night boozy fog to turn to another channel screaming “Duh!” Or they would have with that particular worked if it was fifty-five years later like it is now!
So for those few TV land types not snoring away completely dead asleep or busily honking hard on their honey’s ‘hiney’, they get to hear this POS’s relevational foray into modern bathroom bound personal existentialism declaring that there is no such thing as a sick comic! Further declaring that its a ‘writer’s device‘. You mean like Planned Parenthood’s yanking a fetus out of the womb in the ninth month of pregnancy? My God! How erudite and ‘hip’ you are young man! Tell me that I just spent twenty minutes of watching you trying to destroy this TV show in every way possible! The criticism about your own culture now artfully demonstrated to be undeniably true! And you really expect anyone to believe any of this shit? Now that is truly sick! It would be ‘anti-Semitic’ if you weren’t a Jew, being such a bad Jew! So now what sort of ‘double entendre‘ can you come up with to top this? Well then leave it to Lenny! Ever mindful of remaining the center of attention as long as possible if you have anybody still looking in your general direction, you threaten to blow your snotty nose into someone else’s borrowed handkerchief on live TV! Whoopee! If it was the age of Cocaine that followed in the decade after we know it would have been fraught after the fact with the powdery white residue of Coca! Where’s Art forum when you need them? So now Lenny pulls up his own coat sleeve to reveal a needle pocked arm. And he shoots up with his forefinger to show a tiny little tattoo that is going to keep him out of being buried in a Jewish cemetery. “Oh poor Lenny!” Castigated and shunned by his own kind! A hapless victim! To quickly wind up this now overlong diatribe upon the doctrine of nineteen-sixties late night hipness, the final dig is offered to future generations of social media bloggers to whom Mister Bruce rails on that, “Anyone who writes letters to the editor much be complete far out wacko’s!” Say hello to the Millennial generations Lenny! You may have been way too ‘hip’ for me! Too ‘hip’ in a really ‘hip’ place! But tonight on this tape when you were alive you have proven that you were a real piece of shit!
The current conversations foremost in many public spheres of consciousness involve the terms, “NAZI”, and “FASCIST!” These terms are being literally cannonaded in an insatiable fury by all the engines and speakers in the public realm currently available to the Liberal oriented Marxist leaning “LEFT”. But can one say that one really knows where these terms really come from and who coined them? One has to always consider before one speaks at to just whose words are rambling around inside their mouth?
Definition of Nazi – Merriam Webster
1. 1 : a member of a German fascist party controlling Germany from 1933 to 1945 under Adolf Hitler
2. 2 often not capitalized a : one who espouses the beliefs and policies of the German Nazis : fascist : one who is likened to a German Nazi : a harshly domineering, dictatorial, or intolerant person .
Nazi (also the cognates Nazism and Neo-Nazism) is a political epithet invented by Konrad Heiden (7 August 1901 – 18 June 1966) during the 1920s as a means of denigrating the NSDAP and National Socialism. Konrad Heiden was a journalist and member of the Social Democratic Party of Germany, whose mother was a Jewess. The word itself derives from the German word for National Socialism: “Nationalsozialismus”. It was coined for its negative sound and connection, as the word “sozi” had previously been used to refer to Marxists in Germany, particularly those of the Social Democratic Party of Germany – “Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands”. It is also a political pun similar to an Austro-Bavarian word for “simpleton”. It was then popularised abroad by various individuals, including Heiden himself, who fled the country after the NSDAP gained power.
Konrad Helden – Spartacus (Liberal – Communist) Educational
Konrad Heiden, the son of a union organizer, was born in Munich, Germany, on 7th August 1901. While at the University of Munich he led protests against Adolf Hitler and the National Socialist German Workers Party (NSDAP). The historian, Richard Overy, has pointed out: “Heiden was a young socialist student in Munich when he first saw Hitler speak. It was 1923, the year of inflation and political chaos in Germany. Heiden was not impressed by what he saw: a self-centred demagogue at the head of what he calls the army of uproated and disinherited.” Heiden later recalled: “In 1923, as the leader of a small democratic organization in the University of Munich, I tried, with all the earnestness of youth, and with complete lack of success, to annihilate Hitler by means of protest parades, mass meetings, and giant posters.”
Definition of Fascism – Merriam Webster
1. 1 often capitalized : a political philosophy, movement, or regime (as that of the Fascisti) that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition
2. 2 : a tendency toward or actual exercise of strong autocratic or dictatorial control – J. W. Aldridge.
J. W. Aldridge – Wikipedia
B. John Watson (JW) Aldridge
September 26, 1922
Sioux City, Iowa, United States
D. February 7, 2007 (aged 84)
Madison, Georgia, United States
Aldridge wrote assessments of postwar American writers. His preferred métier, inherited from Edmund Wilson and sharply differentiated from the specialized academic criticism that dominated his era, was what he called “the long, analytical essay-review.” Gore Vidal noted he was mostly concerned with “values” in Aldridge’s amusing novel “After the Lost Generation.” Reviewing After the Lost Generation, Malcolm Cowley noted Aldridge’s hostile judgments on the novelists of World War II. Aldridge himself said, “Perhaps for reasons of innate perverseness, I seem always to have functioned best in an adversary position. This has been especially true of my evaluations of various writers whose reputations seemed to me to have become inordinately enlarged and upon whom I saw it as my sacred duty to perform a deflating operation.”
Edmund Wilson – Spartacus (Liberal – Communist) Educational
Edmund Wilson, the son of a railroad lawyer, was born in Red Bank, New Jersey on 8th May, 1895. After attending Princeton University (1912-1916), Wilson was briefly a reporter for the New York Sun. Wilson served in the United States Army during the First World War. After working in an army hospital he was transferred to the Intelligence Unit at General Headquarters in Chaumont. After the war Wilson became managing editor of Vanity Fair. Later he became associate editor of the The New Republic (1926-1931) and a book reviewer for the New Yorker. Deeply influenced by the ideas of Karl Marx, Wilson argued for a socially responsible fiction and helped to influence the work of novelists such as Upton Sinclair, John Dos Passos, Sinclair Lewis, Floyd Dell and Theodore Dreiser. Throughout his life Wilson wrote plays, novels and poems. However, his most important writing was literary criticism. This included Axel’s Castle (1931), Travels in Two Democracies (1936), The Triple Thinkers (1938), To the Finland Station (1940), The Wound and the Bow (1940),The Boys in the Back Room (1941), Classics and Commercials (1950) and The Shores of Light (1952). The New Yorker wrote: “For a writer, the rarest privilege is not merely to describe his country and time but to help shape them. Wilson was among the fortunate handful of writers who have succeeded in doing this, with books that are like bold deeds and that will live a long time after him, keeping him with us against our need.” Edmund Wilson, who published two autobiographies, A Piece of My Mind (1956) and Landscapes, Characters and Conversations (1967), died in New York on 13th June, 1972.
Definition of relativism- Merriam Webster
1. 1a : a theory that knowledge is relative to the limited nature of the mind and the conditions of knowing: a view that ethical truths depend on the individuals and groups holding them
Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past. – George Orwell, “1984”
When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone , “it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.” – Lewis Carroll, author (1832)
It came to pass some five decades past the that time when the usurper king had been eliminated and society had been brought back to the norm of one world homogeneity. Though a popular choice of his time, the founding mothers of the current society had conspired together to ambush this dangerous male patriarch in the municipal garden of his own residence. Deposing him within the most preeminent city of that sadly misguided forlorn era of rampant male domination. One of them had wisely taken care to harvest his blood for later research in order to help breed out that aberration of male individuality and rebelliousness to all things feminine while insuring the utilitarian value of the more useful characteristics of physical stamina and mental prowess. This had turned to be a fortuitous act as one of the restorative regimes foremost female captains had in her zeal exceeded her mandate by ordering his entire family and its heirs exterminated. Their refuge in the family’s most preeminent skyscraper turned to powder by the use one of the heretofore undisclosed satellite-based chemical lasers. Though this had given rise to a certain level of public dissatisfaction at the time among dissociated factions of male citizens and their traditionalist female mates. Some of which had managed to survive the effects of mass inoculations for flu of later that year during the initial stages of the subsequent ‘great measured die off’. All the useless eaters and social misfit’s at the extremes of masculinity subsequently genetically calculated to be the most affected by this compulsory program of covert sterility. The expected reactionary response by a few well armed military trained males had melted away before the ferocity off drone-bots that had been precipitously rolled out from final development stages and into the field. The resultant reorganized society now many year later being properly crafted to insure that the remaining population conformed to the acceptable model of rational reasonability afforded by a governmentally managed consensus as typified by the ‘new female’ of the species.
Many decades past before the genetic research counsel noticed that the highly touted genome intermix of ethnic corollaries was having some unexpected effects in the subsequent population that though subservient to the overall planned rationalities of the day. New procreation lab assisted offspring lacked a central motivation that even the positive social nature ‘carrot and stick’ justified fem-state method could not seem to control. The syndrome would see the new generations of re-balanced females that had slowly been endowed with those former once exclusive male characteristics of markedly increased physical strength and athletic prowess defeated by an ingrained mental deficit of flawed intellect and an unbreakable obsessive fascination with auto-stimulation. Many discovered to be carrying on the activity during work periods or damaging themselves by lack of rest. The scientifically downgraded males though now possessing the more docile natures similar to those of some members of those once dominant European stock would occasionally turn unexpectedly aggressive or craftily deceitful. Sometimes in the most socially uncooperative self-serving disruptive way that tended to suggest that the universal initiative of genetic reintegration focusing on homogeneity was possibly at risk. Castration was not longer a corrective measure since their sex organs had been bred out by the state to something vestigial and therefore next to useless. There was no single effective means of standard governmentally useful measures available to publicly single them out and intimidate them without calling overall attention throughout society as a whole to these nagging flaws. The institutional means of physically punitive methods were now of course standard prerogatives daily exercised on the street by the cadre-clans of new females or ‘new-fems’ who were methodically displacing the remaining ‘natural born’ counterparts of still persistent foaling females that still lurked about the corners of certain slums and ghettos.
The national sports channel was of course still the most apolitical form of state propaganda to dissolve divided loyalties by maintaining the fictions of the former eras int eh embodiment of tests of skills and prowess. The ‘new-fem’ oriented competitions had to be increasingly scripted as the growing flaws of the natural gene elimination programs were beginning to show strain in these unpredictable results. The consensus of social planning was beginning to fray with embarrassing incidents when the feminized males would outrageously cheat their ‘new-fem’ out of publicly broadcast tournaments through poorly veiled embarrassing ruses that would show up them up to be functional morons. The scores would have to be manipulated of course to re-weight the system in favor of the state-acceptable cadre-clan bed teams. This strategy of ruse was quickly becoming too obvious and thin. Something had to be done to restore public confidence in the program by reintegrating old traditional males into the entertainment system to demonstrate their inherent flaws. This programming took the form of ceremoniously removing the viable genome of the former usurper’s blood to publicly rebreed six scientifically unadulterated examples of former aggressive male masculinity to pit against a new release of upgraded factory generated ‘new-fems’. The counselors of on high were duly convinced that this would restore universal credibility in what was too oft becoming one debacle after another. The inconvenience of the natural incubation time of a decade and a half plus was hindered by the fact that the certified ‘natural females’ were increasingly hard to detect or apprehend. Finally after much diligence three subjects were discovered each representative of one of the three most dominant of the five former races of the past. It was decide that the possibility of three set of twins was more likely than counting on the randomness of natural human genome tendencies. It was imperative that their be no more universal public embarrassment of the governing state system.
Three sets of male babies were finally culled and publicly announced. A decade of positive propaganda advancing a more sympathetic sense of empathy for the flaws of maleness was officially embraced by the state as part of the ruse. Every phase of the upbringing of the young boys a transparent daily broadcast event. The final showdown scheduled for when they would come of age on their eighteenth birthday. The status of the mothers and the surrogate fathers was equally well-broadcast though in actual fact the contact of same was only minimally allowed off-camera. Things seemed to progress well until the twelfth year when one of the boys, a Caucasian, demonstrated an unsavory predilection for feminine characteristic behavior. Though he was as physically adept and mentally acute as the other five chosen it seemed counterproductive that he might be considered by the viewing public as being a plant by the state to double down on its underlying message of ‘feminine first’ always wins the day. The additional fear that this specific male might influence the others led to him being quarantined off camera and his indoctrination as a male being handled by the surrogate father who himself was one of the last specimens closest in characteristics to the ‘pre die off’ generation. He was allowed to freely impart his personality upon the adolescent int he hopes that this would compensate for this flaw. Six years past with fewer incidents and the orchestrator’s of the big event were confident that the socially positive demonstration would come off as planned. The revised generations of new-fem’s had exceeded all expectations without the formerly distasteful obsessions of previous generations. The competitions would proceed in a specially constructed environment where both acute intellect and superior physical prowess would be expected.
The week long uninterrupted broadcast began. A week long holiday where all activity ceased in order to accommodate 24/7 viewing by society commenced. All contestants were transported fully naked and without any tools to one of the major adjacent ‘no go’ nature reserves where many of the predatory species that had almost become extinct in former times were now vibrantly prevalent once again. Tele-drones following the action. The first three natural males were quickly polished off in part by the collective inventiveness of their ‘enhanced ‘new-fem’ opponents on the second day. It took nearly four more days of the seven allotted to defeat two of the remaining three. But as the hours of the remaining day ticked by the final male was nowhere to be found. The production services frantically releasing more persistent tele-drones to scour the entire landscape. The contest ended on a note that he had probably been consumed by one of the water species after being momentarily out of sight of the broadcast. Though two ‘new-fem’ contestants had succumbed to the hostile environment, the high counselors were ultimately convinced by the overall ratings that this extended two decades in the making production had properly served its purpose and society continued on. The four remaining ‘new-fem’ contestants being celebrated as the preeminent heroes of their time. The superiority of the modern hive society and its cadres now unquestionable.
It was only in the following decade when for no apparent reason when after the previous generation of older cadres were entering their expected die off cycle that it was noticed that an unexpected flaw in the latest reconstituted generation led to an incurable genetic deficiency that spread throughout the new cadres causing what was formally considered impossible. Their high level of mentally acuity would suddenly vanish and an infantile state of constant confusion and emotional distress began to disrupt every corner of society. A planned genocide for all the remaining naturals was planned as a stopgap measure to keep them from taking advantage and wresting control from the quickly collapsing social structure. When this failed, the only remaining hope was a subsequent extinction level event of all. Better to allow the hive to die off unhindered rather than risk it being unexpectedly overwhelmed. It was decided to let the supervening AI superintend the die off utilizing an organized system of gas-drones that would hunt down the entire population to the last one and extinct them without their prior knowledge of the onset of this campaign. The incubation of a few of the best case scenario social regeneration based ‘super-new-fems’ would be hatched and duly educated by AI a year past when all the bodily remnants of their unexpectedly flawed collective society were cleared away by natural process. The idea being that the adjoining reserve would be open for a time to allow the natural four-legged occupants in to clean it of corpses. Though there was always the risk of total extinction the high counselors judged it was better to have a happy planet bereft of the flaws of man than one contaminated by what was judged to be his naggingly persistent flaws. The myriad of fatal gas-drones were dispatched in the early evening and the sun rose to a quiet hum of the AI driven society now bereft of humans both naturally flawed and genetically mod’ed and socially superior. The gates to the game reserves were automatically laid opened and the many streets and domiciles of the city were eventually cleared of all sign of the physical remnants of inhabitants. The process of environmental sanitation taking place a month ahead of the schedule as originally planned by the now absent former high council. The AI supervised incubation of the advanced generation proceeding unhindered almost to full term throughout the rest of the year.
The AI hummed patiently along until the final day of incubation was complete and the new occupants were to be ‘born’ from their chambers. As the machine ticked down to the commencement of same a solitary hairy male human hand pushed a button somewhere in the AI’s power grid and the process ground to a complete halt. The formerly lost contestant who now bore a more manly resemblance of that legendary usurper stood before the now dormant machine with his ‘new-fem’ mate. The exact same one that he had previously rescued from a near-fatal end completely unnoticed during the contest. He lovingly nursing her back to health after falling into quicksand. Her naked body showing the signs of a natural pregnancy coming nearly to term. Something about their connection as a couple that had defeated the debilitating effects that had led to the demise of this now former Utopian society. The new ‘Adam and Eve’ strode unashamedly naked through the open gates of the dead city back into the wilderness to start their own more personal version of humanity, yet again.
“If you had told me that all the while I was in Paris of the future. That same nineteenth century ‘fin d’siecle’ metropolis that was several hundred years ahead now a dystopian paradise an reigning queen of the cyber-caliphate then I would have never believed it. All that might have been offered to this fantastic proposition of the breach of space and time was that I must have been dreaming!”Harry looked up from the tiny screen his legs chilled at mid thigh from the atmosphere of the bewitching hour. He didn’t mind being int he dark by himself in a central viewing spot able to ascertain the dimness of light ranging from deep shadow to shadow. Much memory of the past hid there as if filed in some ethereal filing cabinet. What others might have deemed as phantoms he interpreted as a mix of previous times and experiences throw in a pile in disorder void of light. A sort of type of accumulation that eventually was ground down to a base element along the lines of dust. How many distant palaces and empires coulees he sweep off his bureau top with the swish of his palm? Yet sometimes, he wondered, did these mental constructions spontaneously reassemble themselves with the aid of some unlikely human consciousness? The visions that he had awakened from seemed to suggest a certain flight of fancy in terms of a cyclopean level of style and complexity inposed upon lanes and avenues that he felt were vaguely familiar.
He put down the glowing I-Phone for a moment to turn his head to the window and the organized series of dots that lit up the cotton like gauze that lay draped over all in the semi-darkness. His ears pricked up and his neck swiveled int he opposite direction at that he surmised was a delicate scratch at his door.Nothing more violate the steady click of a shadow obscured clock and the reigning rise and fall of wind and infrequent passing vehicles. He could still clearly see those intersections that ranged on diagonals massive combinations of vertical architecture of haphazard shapes that might have come from a younger child’s imagination. Stairwells leading to sidewalks and vice-versa. Canopies and galleries some private and others more massively public walkways that looked out upon different combinations of haphazard urban sprawls. The cleverness of the different disparate elements attracting the phantom residents that were inferred to make their homes and livelihoods here. One turn down a colonnade towards the less than distant lake caught his attention. An ensemble of three tall slinky-looking femme’s dressed alike in smart high fashion green velour dresses with matching caps walked by him oblivious to his presence. The clip clop of their heels upon the concrete interjecting Morse code between their conversation being held in what one might have supposed was Northern Italian. Harry felt confined to remain silent before the threesome as they wheeled passed and then down the stairs casually making their way to the terrace by the water. The phone was now asleep once again in the dark somewhere hovering in restless WiFi bliss in sleep mode upon the glass coffee table.
“What a strange place?“, he pondered, now back in his own undefined myopic dun. The refrigerator was now noisily cycling its own form of liquid oxygen somewhere out of sight. He had forgotten the scratching sound that had caught his attention a while back. “Were these the workmen that assembled this strange notion of plastic reality that he took for granted as being inflexibly sound? He could recall a strange impression derived from long hours watching the clock in high school that had suggested that he was in actuality existing in the midst of a movie set. One could look out of any open door and imagine a couple of stage managers leaning against the wall having a smoke keeping a watchful eye on the time till with their magic wands they would invoke something strange but reasonably familiar. New faces of extras a little further off practicing their order of appearance within the new set that Harry would take for granted after the bell rang announcing the passing period. Was this the mental fiction of boredom? Or was he becoming attuned to some vital secret of the universe that was playing itself out? If came to hs thoughts that if he could become observant enough he might be able to duck out of what seemed conventional reality and find out the true pattern of things? He leaned his head back closing his eyes in the syrupy dark. That fourteen-story Roman column themed porch plagued condo rising up as a major structural element or the top of a pie shaped wedge that formed the base of a residential architectural folly towered above him. What sort of disorganized fantastic mind could construct this soaring Alcazar?
He walked alone down the Paris Rue’s not realizing where he was going nor caring much. The rambling aisles of Baron Housmann were merely walls to contain his resolve to move ever foreword. This was the root of the mystery tht he claimed for his own. A total fiction from some demented tourist’s mind fashioned by a Hollywood fable. The dirty doorways stained and aged with anonymous urine surrounded by ancient plaster never leaving any physical evidence of its failure. The rot of indifference spreading its imperceptible odor everywhere. An aphrodisiac that absentmindedly filled his nostrils. The moist comfort of the wrap of an aging ‘salope’s’ underarm that he had encountered. Thin covers moving one to push tighter against the birdcage of her emaciated ribs. Too much smoke suggesting a legacy of cancer come home to soon end things. Living on the edge. A wine glass of vin rouge the next day distant kilometers away cross town and one of her bleached white hair falling from his coat into his drink. The melancholy of memory expunged with a sweep of the back of a hand. That being indicative of the frailty of a single anonymous forgettable human life.
The valise he had brought with him with the items extraneous to his wandering no longer existed. Left somewhere months back in a small hotel room with a mansard view over smoke and steam and rail tracks. The ravaged pockets of his old gray cashmere coat his home now. The temporary solace provided only for the white knuckles forming two tightened fists doing battles with the cold relentless Autumn wind. The sense of ‘me’ and the clue to identity upon that the case held below the handle in two initials the only key to the mystery of his persistent presence. It being now impossible to draw any conclusions as to the relation of one to the other. The tight curve of streets and long avenues an impenetrable barrier to recovering the past. There was only the mystery of somber narrow streets some of which had not much changed since their discovery upon the photographic plates and paper of Atget. What he was searching for was indecipherable to the passersby who ignored him. Perhaps at the occasional cafe the nod of a waiter followed up by the brief benediction of a chit of paper for the second or third Pernod. The sank between them terminated before it had officially been anticipated. The sparse bank notes left in lieu of a verbal apology for taking an unexpected leave.
Time had run out to retrieve any return to the past. The remaining impulse being to continue on and on to some place strange that he knew he had never known and could never understand. The small sojourns in alleyways eventually coming to rest in the confused styles of untended habitation in outlying ‘banlieue’s’. The place where the fiction of all things reminding one of the official past met the social emptiness of stateless volumes of concrete that formed the anonymous highway interchanges cutting arcs through despoiled federal grass. Any desire to continue soon faded into a small static service job that required little knowledge of the language or any great application of dedicated force. The very place that he had unknowingly been seeking all along being fully contemporary to the times in a lack of identity and vague purpose that only the less than extravagant limbo of modernity could bring. All mental affectation faded from any means of expression and time stood still at last. He became merely an unnamed fixture tossed haphazardly along a roadway hidden in the weeds. No different than any other unseen artifact beside a nameless roadside. A convenience that could have been discovered anywhere in the most innocuous corners on earth as a discarded candy wrapper or empty cigarette pack. Such was the fate that had been long deserved.