It's not just that all the world's a stage. It's that all the world is a fraud. We've set up false metrics for success to give ourselves cover - but whom are we deceiving? Our Maker? The universe? Or simply each other? But guess what. Fooling you into believing I have a million dollars doesn't mean I get to live like a millionaire. Yet that's the game we are playing: even when you win you lose.
I have nothing and am nothing. But I have to pull off the con otherwise day after day after pointless day. It's meaningless. Look around you. The whole world is in cahoots kicking the can down the road of the day of reckoning. What farce. I'm sick of it. I'm tired of dragging around the weight of my lies.
Everyone is.
The ending to our Dance Of Death is already known. We get the room to cheer a plausible sounding hope but it's an illusion and the mood fades like a vanishing vapor. That illusion is the worst drug of all. It keeps us from embracing actual solutions. Until that time, all acts are meaningless.
Because we know the futility of what we do, we're cracking at the edges, like a paper that burns from the outside to the center we are being consumed. Just a matter of time before your turn comes. Hope died on the cross two thousand years ago. But as long as there's any piece of paper left, we continue to say the burning is not a problem. Don't forget to duck from the mass shooters.
You'll hear pieces of truth - mostly from those who have nothing to lose - but never whole cloth. All the "heroes" are zeros. Only have faith in yourself. There's nothing else left - thank God.
The words of the Teacher, son of David, king in Jerusalem:
For some, more is never enough. Two dark-skinned fellows dressed in the finest of linen surveyed a neighborhood inhabited with white-skinned folks. Little did the whites know their property had been deemed "valuable" and thus it was time for them to go!
"Just like pulling weeds, isn't it, Mortimer? Got to get rid of the infestation for the flowers to grow."
"Well said, Randolph. Time to get rid of the last of the white niggers!"
Mortimer, gas can in hand, sauntered royally over to the first house spewing accelerant on the side of the house as a curious neighborhood couple watched.
"What ya think that man is doin', Jemima?"
"I nots know but dem is dark folks an' we need to be respectful of 'em," she whispered.
Randolph then walked over and casually set the house ablaze. An angry white man came rushing out into the yard just in time for the TV camera crew.
Mortimer gestured towards the screaming man as he spoke to the newsman. "You see, there's no living with this type of angry people. They are never satisfied, always wanting more, but instead of doing something about it, they just simply blame us innocent darks for all their problems. Outrageous how they stoke the flames of hatred!"
Cleaning up the neighborhood!
The neighborhood whites organized a protest which was quickly condemned by the dark-skinned. "They just need to be quiet! They keep causing trouble like this and something bad will happen, just you wait and see." And to ensure this, the dark-skins ordered the police to shoot a white protestor. "See! We warned you! We're trying to keep the peace but uppity whites won't let it happen."
Furious whites tried to make their case to a prejudiced public but their concerns were dismissed as the whites were labeled an "angry mob trying to score political points. Next thing you know they'll be saying Jesus was white!" Mortimer and Randolph claimed in reality they were the true victims, suffering unfair attacks and any outcry against them was simply sour grapes about their economic success.
Watching the debates on TV had Mortimer and Randolph howling with laughter as their bald-faced lies were repeated ad nauseum. Fueled by an argument of victimization, crackpot dark-skins savagely attacked the neighborhood whites until they were forced to flee (to someplace less valuable). Soon, wonderful (no whites allowed) condominiums were erected and everyone non-white lived happily ever after.
"All my worth, the entirety of my life, is in my bank account. It's what makes me special in the world. I don't need anyone nor heed anyone. No one can argue with money. Right or wrong, I live as a king among peasants.
"It's so wonderfully artificial, this feeling. Nothing real to be attacked. I live in the floating world, unstrung by responsibilities, feet never touching the ground, aloft in a sea of servants living in self-imposed chains who live to grant my every wish. "I need be nothing to have everything, the free ride dreamed of by the masses. A zero in life - a hero in lifestyle. Walking the streets, I'm the envy of the bustling crowd straining at their leashes to live the life that's passing them by. I pass through portals they can never reach, for I own my time. This is the magic of money, its power runs through my veins like an electrical current. "Money gives our puny lives purpose, meaning and direction; accumulation is your growth. It is the alpha and omega. No life does not suffer without it! The need for it is inescapable. You can try to fight against it but all roads lead to surrender. Face the inevitable and serve your master. There is no other way."
"All my worth, the entirety of my life, is in my heart. It's what makes me special in the world. I need be someone to have someone. No one can argue with love. Right or wrong, one must have it to be alive.
"It's so wonderfully true, this feeling. Nothing unreal to survive attacks. I live in the floating world, freed by responsibilities, feet firmly touching the ground, aloft in a sea of servitude, gaining myself by giving myself. "I need love to have anything, the dream ride of every living soul. A hero in love - a hero in life. Walking the streets, the bustling crowd straining for love to live the life that's passing them by. I reach the wonderland only two can share, no wasted time. This is the magic of lovr, its power runs through my veins like an electrical current. "Love gives our puny lives purpose, meaning and direction; accumulation is your growth. It is the alpha and omega. No life does not suffer without it! The need for it is inescapable. You can try to fight against it but all roads lead to surrender. Face the inevitable and serve your love. There is no other way."
Black Riders cannot be killed because they are already dead. Spawned from a godless world, no force can destroy them - unless that world is destroyed. They surround my house in furious anticipation. I can stay in and die or come out and die, either way. But my death they must have. I've seen others in their time of dying gather guns and other useless weapons in vain pursuit of protection. The look of horror on their face when they find out the futility of what they've done is like seeing a man who suddenly realizes he's facing an oncoming train. Black Riders want you to arm yourselves in whatever way you feel makes you powerful and safe: your lie is their pathway to destroying you. You can cry for help or disappear in silence, makes no difference. The very world that spawned the Black Riders cannot come to your aid. You're alone as Jesus on the cross, hung out to dry with no penitent hope. Some fools believe the Black Riders serve them and their purposes not knowing no living soul will be spared. Some lament how things got this way, pointing and blaming. Some speak out against the Black Riders' rule in fiery opposition. Some chase rainbows that will set the world fantastically free from the consequences its own decisions. Some profess victory in self-immolation. Some profess glory in pointless sacrifice. None of it changes anything. Powerless we're born and in helplessness we die. Every oar is tied together, those untouched as well as those that row forward and backward. Unity is a universal death sentence yet only in unity can there be hope - yet nothing true can be mandated. The world is its own victim, mandating death as survival's price. The only sound left last is the Black Riders' laugh.
He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
I've got no way to live. Not possible for anyone to love me. I'm just a big nothing. What can I do! What can I do if there aren't any other losers like me out there???
The Creep slowly but inevitably stepped across the roof of the skyscraper. Peering over the edge he saw his fate. It's one thing to be unloved, he thought, it's something else to be unlovable. He never met a friend if he couldn't bribe them and never met a bribe he couldn't befriend. The entirety of his life had been one long series of retail transactions. "Say and pray" had been his mantra, pounded into himself night and day until he lost any perspective. "Say anything and pray they believe it."
I'm the biggest loser in the world. The biggest of all time! I must be Judas reincarnate.
Stepping onto the edge of the roof, truth and lies became opposites. To die was to live, to live was to die. He never did find a way to make his lies work for him - just as no other person in living history has. Living in constant terror of exposure (not knowing he was already exposed to anyone who looked), life had become unbearable, a ceaseless circus of distractions banning him from the paradise of peace: the outsider always yearning to be in. To end it is to win it.
Then a voice came down from below.
"Jump!"
The voice gathered other voices to it.
"Hey, moron, you gonna dive offa there or what?"
"Make my day and splatter your ass on the sidewalk!"
"Don't be a coward full of chicken ambition. Show us what guts ya got!"
The Creep cocked his head in wonder. They love me! Listen to that sound. So earnest! And all for me!
He started clapping his little hands in mutual applause, his audience cheering him and he delighting in finding his long sought approval; a moment he'd been unknowingly preparing for all his life.
"I love you all!" he shouted out. "I'll show you I'm a man of the people. I'm coming down to join you!"
As the crowd roared its approval, a horrified woman walked by, appalled at the crowd's ravenous hate.
"Are you people out of your minds urging that man to throw his life away? You have no idea what you're doing. That's just deplorable."
"Ha ha, lady! That's us, alright, we're the deplorables! No one cares what you have to say. He's our hero! He makes us feel good about being morons."
Then they told her to leave or she'd be lynched because "we don't want anyone to know us."
The Creep was giddy seeing such dedicated support. "As long as I'm going to die anyway, I may as well burn this building down too. How about a simplistic mindless chant? Burn it down! Burn it down!"
The taunting masses exploded in response, lustily carrying cans of gasoline up to the roof. At long last they could take unjust revenge for the sorry state of their lives, praising with their lips the Creator they hated while cursing with their hearts the world they created. If they couldn't be happy then nobody could, terrorists and traitors all, feeding off the outrage of the godly, carrying the deluded convictions of a spurned lover. To them, hope was a word never to be uttered, never to be dreamed; the ultimate betrayal of their cause.
The Creep poured the gasoline down rooftop ventilation shafts, followed by lit matches. As the smoke billowed out he cackled in glee. "I can't wait to lie about this later!" The giggling monster at the top of the towering inferno gloried in the crowd's accolades. "We are the true victims!" he declared. "See how they fight us every step of the way, trying to put out our lovely fires and even saying I'll die from it? But I don't care what they say because so many people agree with me!"
Self-important talk shows posed questions on "how do we stop this madman?" The Creep and its supporters laughed as they watched the consternation they caused in those whom they wished the most to love them. The TV voices cried out, "We must call him out! People won't know he's doing evil otherwise. Now is the time to unify! We must be like a farmer who unites the wheat with the chaff so everyone can win."
As the flames engulfed the building, those who were trapped by the fire cried out for help from the windows, furious with the rooftop ruler. A reporter from Eyeballs News dangling upside down from a helicopter gave forum to the arsonist. When asked about his burning victims, the Creep replied, "I don't know these people. They're saying bad things about me for no reason. I tried to help put out the fire! I deserve an apology!" Then, fearing some may yet pay attention to his victims, the Creep pulled out his penis to create a distraction ("I'm going to tweet my meat!") which was quickly seized upon by a compliant media.
With the camera off his victims, the cult leader addressed his acolytes: "Do you hear their partisan complaints? So full of hate! They want to destroy us, they are so vicious! There's no living with them! Repeat after me: Rape! Torture! Kill! This is God's will!"
The angry swarm below religiously repeated the chant, faces glowing red in the reflecting flames. They too had been waiting all their lives, waiting to reveal their murderous intent, steeped in their philosophy of discontent. But fires consume oxygen and thus can't last forever. The crowing Creep was at its zenith, forced to leap as the building crumbled beneath him.
"They called me a fraud but as I make this jump you'll see the true winner that I am!"
The mob gave its loudest cheer yet. Intense media speculation and debate ensued as Creep supporters shoved their way on camera.
"He's the greatest of all time! You naysayers will be left with egg all over your face. Just you wait and see! All you goddam reporters trying to take him down with facts are going to be exposed in the end."
A woman passing by was asked of her opinion of the murdering arsonist creep. "I'm sorry, I just can't believe those awful things you say about him in the press. It's just too terrible to believe so it must not be true."
A random smart ass was asked next, but he only replied with, "Homo says what?" As the reporter reiterated the question the smart ass kept with the same response. Finally, the reporter dropped his professional stance. "Look, smart ass, I don't like getting played like that!"
"Why not? You been letting that creep play you."
A group calling themselves Creep's Angels congregated on the Creep's projected landing spot, loudly proclaiming, "We love the Creep and the Creep loves us! He'll never hurt us!"
Under his breath the smart ass retorted. "You're exactly whom he's going to hurt, morons."
The justice of doubted reality was served. The Creep landed on his godless angels, killing himself and everyone beneath him. History declared the Creep a "forever loser." Those who still cared about life burst into applause at the end of the reign of terror. Others committed suicide, following in the footsteps of their Judas leader. Never again was the Creep mentioned by any living soul.
CODA: Creep followers were undeterred in continuing the decline of civilization even in the face of death and history's humiliation. In the face of their unrepentance, a mother who'd lost a daughter in the Creep's fire lambasted them. "Your barbaric cruelty is evil without end - and evil has no future!" "Lady, don't blame us because you're a loser. The world is evil and you're in it. So if evil has no future then neither do you."
In Revelation it speaks of a rider on a pale horse, come to change the world. I too saw a rider on a pale horse - and it too brought revelation...
The two girls who'd been in the car with me emphatically pleaded with the police who were handcuffing me.
"It's not him. He did nothing. He was with us the whole time!"
"Have you lost your minds? How could he have caused all this when he was in our car?"
The police have as their stated goal to be the truth. But the truth is more than most can bear so one switches to what is considered to be a more pragmatic - if eventually fatal - view of keeping one's job. Just arrest somebody - anybody - to keep the angry masses at bay. God can be dealt with after paying the rent.
So I was led away in handcuffs, never once protesting my innocence nor speaking a word. Amazing how the truth comes out sometimes.
The two girls were sitting up front in the four door sedan while I was in the back. We'd all seen the madman on the white horse interjecting himself into the stopped traffic at our intersection just below a highway overpass. It was a WTF moment for all of us. As if sensing the tension he was causing, the rider suddenly took off to the right. It was easier for me to track him from my vantage point and I wondered how he was going to overcome the concrete obstacles on the side of the road that would hamper his escape.
The galloping horse attempted to jump over them but failed on his landing, knocking the rider off but with his foot stuck in the stirrup. Panicked, the horse veered back into traffic, bouncing the head of the rider on the pavement who must either be unconscious or dead. Cars were slamming into one another in avoidance and just when I thought it couldn't get any worse the horse became entangled with a car, causing it to veer onto oncoming traffic and the tragedy increased multi-fold.
I'd witnessed all this as if watching a dream, not believing my eyes, not wanting to witness the daylight insanity before me. It repulsed me to think I lived in a world of such disconnected values that a man would endanger himself, a helpless animal, and others in such a reckless way. What was he thinking? How could he have hope? All I knew I was put in a position of undeniability - the last place my lying ass wants to be.
Besides the unfolding horror of what I saw, what got me most was my unspoken guilt in watching it. Maybe I wondered if I could be that man on the horse, losing his way, perhaps desperately asking for help in some perverse way. It was if he'd reached inside me and grabbed my soul in questioning inquisition. I was not ready for this thief in the night.
I guess the guilty nature of my recounting to the police made them arrest me, that I was somehow in cahoots with the horseman, that I was holding back. Most of all, I knew I could never say the words, "I'm innocent." I couldn't remember the last time I felt innocent.
Naturally, in jail I was asked what I was guilty of. "Name it," I'd reply, giving no eye contact. Even the creeps wanted nothing to do with me. Maybe they felt I would be a vehicle of revelation for them too and no one wanted that - especially the lying cops.
My silence frustrated everyone. Yet, I had nothing to say. To speak would be to do self-harm. "What is truth," inquired Pilate of Jesus, as if Pilate could not know himself. Why would I speak to what is self-evident? I've spent a lifetime of lying and could do more, regardless of the consequences. But a society that fears change more than damnation needed a convenient scapegoat. There was no shortage of professional Judases willing to define me in the worst possible way and did it with great, if short-lived, glee; for it was themselves they were defining in the end.
Can there be any seepage of real-time justice into this world? Apparently not. I'm surrounded by those who insist the farmer mix the chaff with the wheat, bringing ruin to all. It became clear judge and jury wanted to leave no living witnesses to their earthly deeds. How ironic they did not perceive my own guilt, that I had simply run out of lies. I was placed on a pedestal of righteousness and in doing so gave cause righteous cause in the minds to tearing me down. The more I was reviled, the more moral they must be.
I was silent to the end, a witness to the persecution, watching mad fairies fly around me in constant agitation, wielding swords and lances in wild ejaculations of ecstasy, furious at the inner fears they cannot escape, blindly stabbing at repressed demons of their own making, seen only in their own mind, praying to slay that which cannot be slayed - only freed - and to lose their life by trying to preserve it.
The madness was here, the madness was there, the madness was everywhere.
People think this is political. God, do not forgive them, for they know what they do.
I got your contract, got your job permit. For a hundred years I've had to write this shit. I have to dot the I's and cross every T, But I need a job, So I have to be a Paperwork Shuffler, Paperwork Shuffler! It's a dirty office in a dirty land, And my doting boss doesn't understand, He lives his life inside a dry inkwell, It's a boring job, But he wants to boss a Paperwork Shuffler, Paperwork Shuffler! Paperwork Shuffler... Paperwork Shuffler... Cried a thousand tears, what's a soul to do? I got no windows so I lost my view, Days stretch longer in the corporate life, It will stone your heart, I pray not to be a Paperwork Shuffler, Paperwork Shuffler! If you really want it you can have this job. Call me a dreamer, can call me a snob. But I'm suffocating in a living hell, So I need a break, Want to be more than a Paperwork Shuffler, Paperwork Shuffler!
There's a saying prison: "The deeper the sleep, the deeper the nightmare." So you never really get complete rest, part of you must stay awake 24/7 just to keep the monsters out, perpetually pushing against the door they keep trying to beat in. Some fail, of course, and the monsters come in and take over. Those are the scary ones and you wonder where God is. So every scrap of friendship is a lifeline not to be ignored.
Some take advantage of that, buddying up to you to see what they can wrangle. Self-doubt creeps in when you're in a place like that, surrounded by animalistic creatures, guards and prisoners alike. Cut off from the outer world, it turns into a distant dream becoming more unreal every passing moment. The overwhelming desire is to rebuild a semblance of life like you had on the outside, seeking out your own kind. The system, of course, only wants to crush you - because it can.
Men talk of the bonding that comes from wartime. In here, we're also under siege. Two or three at the most you'll come to trust. Once the suspicion passes, you see the mutual fear and there lies the foundation. You talk about things: normal things, outside things, future things. I had people say they were glad to of met me, that our paths had crossed like they had. "Dude, we're only meeting because of my crimes!" What purpose does it serve to make relationships in prison? Shouldn't I be hanging with the fellow shining stars like I was meant to be?
These unfair questions crossed my mind.
Afterwards, in the real world you find out how real things were inside. In there I could hide what a loser life I lead, so easy to appear to be more than you are. Oh, sure, I'm going to do all these cool things when I get out. But in the daylight I cannot hide. A few of the guys really do go one to do cool things, having a life and family. I remember sitting there on this guy's couch wondering if he knew how miserable I felt seeing him and his family living their lives. That was hopelessly out of reach for me.
He showed no hint of rejection or being ashamed of me. Friendly as always. Maybe he figured prison had done something to me and it was understandable I was still broken. What he didn't know was I was this way before I ever got in. I mean, were I functional person I'd have never of committed my crimes in the first place. I never went over there again or even made contact. I felt I was merely soiling the carpet with my presence.
Other guys are fuck ups like me. They are genuinely happy to see you, excited to meet someone to whom they need not explain their past. They like to bring up old bullshit that doesn't interest me but still they are better than nothing. In the end, I don't see a future with them, either. The last group is those whom you immediately avoid on sight - and they you. No one wants their shame revealed.
So all of them and none of them are my friends. I think of the Beatles hanging out with the Stones and other rockers in that Swinging Sixties London scene, colleagues and collaborators. Then I think who Lennon might have met stuck in prison when his actual soul-mates were worlds away. I feel like he could of made some genuine lifelong friends - but no Paul McCartneys. He'd of led a shadow life, at times pretending it was his real one, but only he knowing the truth.
Over and over, day after day, this was all that was heard from the three prisoners tied to the crosses at the St. Augustine prison for the criminally insane.
Judas cursed. Not a soul on the planet - including himself - had an ounce of trust left in him. His life could not be salvaged. To breathe was to die alive. The only silver lining of his existence was to serve as a warning to others. Without trust, what could he have? No love, no friends, no family. Just a vast aching emptiness from which he could never escape having been stripped of all his deceit. He was an alien to his own species, outcast to even himself, reliving the moment of betrayal over and over, his time in the sun done in the name of acceptance.
Margo the murderess also could not believe what she'd done. When her mother was run over by a drunk driver she swore vengeance - against life. She killed first the one then the other of the driver's two children. The driver had refused to show up in court so she served as her own angel of justice. The world and the universe had let her down and she just couldn't let that slide. She was owed. But after collecting her debt she found out the alleged driver was covering for someone else. She'd twice over committed the crime which she sought to revenge. Her injustices had been done in the name of justice.
Linnon was nothing without having tried. He did nothing, he said nothing, he loved nothing. He had nothing to offer, so why try? He was not sentenced to the prison, he came of his own accord, but came to belong by virtue of his nurtured insanity. As he stayed on the cross it gradually dawned on him he did have something to offer, that he'd come for no reason, that his tragedies were needless and self-induced. He sharply contradicted anyone who said he had something to offer, though, as that made his choice of the cross unbearable. He foolishness done in the name of not being a fool.
So the three wailed in perpetual torment, hoping against hope for redemption. Judas had himself nailed just as Jesus had been thinking that would help atone for his deed. But it made no difference whatsoever and could never make a difference.
Margo was tightly bound to keep her from committing more murders but surrounded with pictures of her victims whom she'd hope to deny ever existed in her vain pursuit of finding a sliver of rationale for their murders. The blood stains on her hands were for life.
Linnon dare not untie himself even though he could have anytime. What would he happen if he got off now and proved himself worthy to the world? He'd be mocked for his many, many years he'd spent uselessly and foolishly on the cross. If he stayed, he could complete his deterioration and none would be the wiser.
Like biting snakes, lies of each of the three kept them in constant agony, having given up on the truth as savior. By trying to keep their lives they had lost them.
"It's everything you'd want out of a soul-crushing nightmare of lifelessness trapped in an isolation chamber driving you to the edge of the universe sitting on a cliff-side of madness."
"Jesus! Is it really all that? You sound desperate."
"Don't worry. If I wanted to live I'd put a bullet in my head."
Another Lonely Day:
Forcing and Faking. That's how I get through every day. Only I'm not making it through. Just takes another piece out of me. Then there's nothing left and you die. Who thought up this shithole?
Another Lonely Day:
I'm bored. Bored beyond all description, bordering on madness. What is life on a meaningless moon? Our fate is already known, the news belongs to yesterday. A boy jumps into a pool, refusing to come to the surface. Either he does or drowns. "Debate" rages.
"I believe in the boy! He can make it!" "That's insane. You're no friend of his signing his death warrant." "You're just projecting your own inability to breathe underwater onto him. Loser!"
Why say anything? The outcome is known. The weight of waiting for the movie to begin has me slumping ever deeper into my seat.
Another Lonely Day (12th Version):
Ran across this girl in a nightmare - turns out I'd already let her down before I met her. Lost a bar fight that didn't happen. When out through the Out door even though the In door was cocked open. Goosebumped a miracle I dare not admit. Wished upon a Starpower. Punched a pillow fifty times. Did dishes as I left my art in San Francisco.
Another Lonely Day:
Nothing is fun. Nothing means anything. All these people "saving" the world don't have a clue. I wish I didn't have a clue so I could delude myself like that. Everything is used up, burned out; drained. Saw some idiot Democrap on TV barking how at some point they're going to have a hearing on some thing with some person. And that's when they'll get the bad guy! Jesus, everyone is playacting just like I am. At the end of they it gets you nowhere. That's when the nightmares begin.
Another Lonely Day:
Acting on the business phone:
"Yeah, yeah, I was thinking about that too. What did so-and-so say?...No comment on that. Foresight isn't a crime, ya know...OK, guess the piano has to fall on us before they'll do anything...We really need new leadership! There's a way to make things work, they just aren't doing it anymore. We should really discuss this...OK, great! Sounds like a plan!"
After hanging up: "Who gives a flying fuck."
Another Lonely Day:
So I found the perfect home for me. It has some acreage just aching to become a Japanese garden. I even looked at ones costing much more but this is the one. Price is 670k, about 660k more than I have. ("Hey, there, Mr. Homeless, I know a secret how you can get that house! And luckily my fee is exactly 10k!" Yup, predators know when and where to lay their traps.) Big, but not too big where I'd lose the cats I'd no doubt acquire. Yes, I'd have plans aplenty for it.
But they can never be. Were I handed all the money in the world, it could never be. I just wouldn't be free. Only on the streets am I free. At times like now, I do daydream about the impossible, holding it out as the solution to all my problems knowing it can never be proven false. Brilliant! I'm forever trapped in purgatory. Inside that house I'd feel it a prison, longing for the streets. In the street, I'd long to be in a house like that. I need to be wherever I'm not.
I'd take it if I could, of course. I'd be secretly terrified while acting deliriously happy, as expected. Then when alone I'd pull a blanket over my head and wish to die, a citizen marooned on foreign soil. All I have is the wheel in the sky.
“Just like this, the great city Babylon will be thrown down with violence and will never be found again. The sound of harps, singers, flutes, and trumpets will never be heard in you again. No craftsmen and no trades will ever be found in you again. The sound of the mill will never be heard in you again. The light of a lamp will never shine in you again. The happy voices of brides and grooms will never be heard in you again. For your merchants were the greatest in the world, and you deceived the nations with your sorceries. In your streets flowed the blood of the prophets and of God’s holy people and the blood of people slaughtered all over the world.”
You went too far, folks. You idiots really are laughing, thinking you're safe, anointing blessings on yourself - as if that which comes from you has meaning. You're going to die and die ugly. That's when I'll be laughing, watching you drown in the lies you used to ruin so many lives: families destroyed with their voices denied, children born into hopelessness, all the while falsifying of your ways. Well, moron, now it's true. There really is no other way for you. No more excuses are to be had. No one can claim ignorance anymore, that seal has broken. Your time has finally come. Like a light that burns brightest just before it dies, so shall the laughter of evil grow before it's never heard again. At last the land will be free and recognized the green grasses belong to all. Never again can someone come in the night to plant weeds among the flowers. The unity of love won't allow it. It's sad that it's come to this. Every chance has been given. None were taken. This ending is not what was desired. You were supposed to see the horror and turn away from that path. But nothing shakes you. So I shall break this seal. You allow me to do it because you do not believe I can - and cannot admit you believe wrongly. You can only kill me now when it's too late. But I will die with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, knowing the hell that is to come to you who bring hell. Nature must take Her course.
Psychologist: You have to understand: Yes, I was his therapist for a time but he was very good at compartmentalizing. At no point was I advised of any illegal activity.
FBI Special Agent: We're not here to arrest or make any accusations, ma'am. This is a routine examination to complete our files.
Psychologist: But I don't know anything.
FBI Special Agent: That's for us to decide.
Psychologist: And he's dead...
FBI Special Agent: First, can you describe his overall psychological condition?
Psychologist: He was depressed with suicidal impulses, prone to rage. My impression at the time was that he was unstable and that instability was getting worse. There's more there in the notes.
FBI Special Agent: Thank you, but we'd rather hear it from you first and compare the notes later. Please continue.
Psychologist: Well, he was an interesting character in a way. It was almost as if...actually, I remember it being directly related to his personal life.
FBI Special Agent: "It" being what?
Psychologist: His career, the assassinations. Feeling he had nothing to offer from within he objectified himself into the most impersonal profession he could find. He was emotionally starved and that drove him to do what he did.
FBI Special Agent: Can you explain further? He shot people because he was lonely?
Psychologist: No, not like that. He kept trying and failing at personal relationships. His personal failures left him flailing for self-worth. From what I understood he was valued in his profession. The "hits" were his home. But that obviously gave him a hellish place to live. Thus, the increasing instability I observed. When I read of his suicide in the paper that seemed a logical end to me.
FBI Special Agent: Were any of his assassinations then personal?
Psychologist: Hard to say. My sense was he he did kill once for personal reasons. He could not stop punishing himself for it. I remember something like "after that I sabotaged every relationship. I deserve nothing." I do know on occasion he confessed his career, so it must be this illicit killing he felt was a permanent barrier.
FBI Special Agent: Interesting. Do you remember any other specifics he may have told you, even if he did not directly relate them to a crime?
Psychologist: What I remember most was the despair, a sense of doom, that regardless of any decision he made to "go straight" it was overridden by the mistakes of his past - and that he kept adding to those mistakes. I do know things changed after his trip to Russia. He wanted out but he had nowhere to go.
FBI Special Agent: What exactly drove him to see you? Was there a specific incident?
Psychologist: Oh, yes. It was the nude drive thru incident. He never fully recovered from the media exposure. He grasped onto many answers afterwards, I was but one, just like with the Mormonism.
FBI Special Agent:Mormonism? As in he joined the church?
Psychologist: More like he joined the outreach program going door to door. It didn't last long. He told me he could speak God's own truth but no one would believe him even if it cost them their life. I know it sounds crazy but it's all in the notes.
FBI Special Agent: Yes, ma'am. Thanks you for your time. We may have more questions after we more closely examine the notes.
Psychologist: Just one more thing, Agent Johnson. I've been ordered by courts to assess many types of criminals but Goupil was unique. Whatever he had wanted out of life he clearly did not get. It was as if he was on a mission to prove he couldn't have what he wanted, most likely in a need for self-justification for the path he'd taken. Whenever he got close to what he wanted, he either ran away or sabotaged it rather than face it and the totality of the errors of his ways. If you're trying to piece together his life, that was the logic of it as far as he was concerned. "Tragedy" was the word that kept coming to my mind.
NOTE: In the screenplay version of this the Agent is attracted to the Therapist (who happens to be smokin' hot). This makes the conversation about "getting what you want" have an undertone of placing the Agent (and thus the audience) in Goupil's shoes and whether or not he can believe he can have what he wants. She remains ambiguous throughout.
At this point I could be on any planet in the universe.
Losing the city lights, diving into the sightless nighttime countryside, deeper and deeper, living at the mercy of rural strangers who claim the surrounding land as their own, people hiding behind religion and fear, isolated by the fantasies in their mind. What if I told them that being Christian doesn't make you good but that being good makes you Christian? They would have to agree - then silently start making plans for my demise.
I drive within the framework of my courier job, hundreds of miles overnight to my drop off locations, an expected person taking prescriptions to nursing homes and hospitals wards. This shapes what is in my head. What if I were carrying illicit cargo, a drug mule for an outfit? How would I feel then while driving the exact same road at the exact same time? What if my car were transported and suddenly I was driving across the Russian heartland? This same simple act of driving, my head makes the experience, though.
My life is in ruins. Back at the dispatch office I carry on my act. I can't wait to make my escape to the open road. But what does it solve? What can it solve? My book echoes in my ears. The movie even louder. Women I let down call out. I gaze at the ditch just off the side of the narrow highway, inviting me to finish my doom. I wonder why I carry on. Surely there can be no possible point by now. If someone could see my face, it must look grim in the reflection of the dashboard light.
I process the Paul Stanley interview I watched. He said he had no boundaries set for him as a kid and that made life rough, out there flailing on his own. He said he wouldn't make that mistake with his own young children. KISS didn't have concerts, they had events. It was like stepping into another world. They instinctively terrified the squares. That faded over time. But you know what drove all that initial hysteria? They made their own boundaries.
There's almost nothing left of me. Only Emily even has the capacity to know my sins. "Irreplaceable she is," I hear in my Yoda voice. God help me when that story makes the papers. But it won't in this time. I'll simply crash at some point in a drowsy accident and I'll become just another anonymous statistic. She'll be rightly disgusted when she reads of it. I create in a place where people can't read me without also facing themselves. That is my protection. It has proven wildly effective.
Oh, crap. Couldn't hit the knob in time to turn off the top-of-the-hour news before I got a whiff of it. Goddam that Trumptard. Some supporter squawked how it's "politically stupid" to impeach the monster. Reality is just the opposite. It would weaken him and suppress the vote. Yeah, a certain percentage of the followers are zealots but raising the hurdle for the shame to be overcome in voting for and endorsing his murderous and treasonous behavior will cause deterioration at the edges which is all it takes to sink him. And those are the same people who are lured in by a perception of strength regardless of who it is. Public rejection is the key.
The bottomless hole of uselessness awaits me when I get back to my hole. Every time I enter I have to quickly shut the front door as I hear the thud of arrows striking it that were meant for me. No place is safe. Stay holed up for a few hours, retrieve provisions as needed, then I'm back in this same spot all over again driving all over creation. I see other people struggling with this too. When you hear the "Be grateful for what you have" crowd you know they've simply given up.
I secretly miss Emily. She'd have my head on a post if she knew. I rarely miss an opportunity to lie about her however innocuous. No one can know how I feel. It was my final chance to face if I had something to offer or not. These people in these farmhouses I pass by don't feel they have anything to offer city dwellers - and vice-versa. If everyone came clean they'd be shocked how different the truth really is. I can't apply that to me for some reason.
Jesus, this country smell is incredibly uplifting. Taking in the air of dew covered grasses is a rush. Makes me wonder how much life I - we - are missing when a simple smell can bring such joy. This planet we shit on is an amazing gift. This feeling makes me want to live forever. I would like to fall asleep in the grass and watch the pure sun rise up over a glorious horizon. It would be as when the world was young, unpolluted by fictional beliefs that chain us. We'd exist to dream. Yes, it would be better than winning any lottery if I could stay in this moment of freedom. I would fall into God and fly forever.
Good evening Mister and Missus America and all the ships at sea. Let's go to press. Flash!
Los Angeles! Our Great and Glorious government was forced by an unruly and rebellious population into using further drone strikes in order to maintain order. Barricades of many upper class neighborhoods had been breached despite the best efforts of their private forces who shot down many of the mob but were nonetheless overwhelmed. A disgusted Republicant woman protested. "Just who does these people think they are with their outrageous sense of entitlement? If they deserved food, they'd have food. The free market may not be perfect but it's the best and only way."
Spoken like a true American!
Wall Street! In other news of undue resentment, accusations continue to fly that numbers are being manipulated and arbitrarily changed at will by those willing to be bribed. These, folks, are the numbers we live and die by. There is no higher god than our numbers. So it's completely irresponsible to undermine our Godly faith in them. The poor must continue to fund the rich. Keep the American dream alive!
Middle East! Threats of peace were quickly squelched by our mighty military men. Civilian massacres by our troops were able to re-stoke the flames of war causing fighting to resume in order to fulfill prophecy. In related news, suicides by our soldiers have skyrocketed but this is not a cause for concern. Though often gravely stoic, our compassionate generals have declared all suicides will now be buried with honor and also no longer count as causalities. This gives us a great statistical win for war! Let's give the brass a hand, folks.
San Francisco! The kidnapping of the Zuckerberg baby remains unsolved. A cryptocurrency ransom demanded through a Facebook profile was paid but has yet to produce any tangible results. CEO Zuckerberg aimed the blame squarely on Congressional legislation passed over the years. "This is a direct result of onerous privacy laws that disallow us to electronically eavesdrop and data mine our users. Yes, we've determined the kidnappers buy their underwear at Target but we always need more and better information!" Conspiracy theorists continue to claim the kidnapping is a hoax perpetrated by Zuckerberg in order to get privacy laws repealed. Washington D.C.! Lawful kidnappings continue to rise with the support of new legislation. Children of poor parents, non-white parents, or parents of the party currently out of power are being taken in record numbers to good safe conservative homes across the country with absolutely no record of their final destination. Too many people say the news focuses solely on the negative so I wanted to end tonight's broadcast on a high note, a heartwarming story to unite us and bring us all together.
Yeah, I did it. Don't try to hide it at all. People is sheeple and I's da man of the hour, all eyes on me - just how I like it. If you do something for attention, sheeple understands that and won't get mad. And if any radicals do get mad, just call them 'mean' and then you're the victim. Sweet!
Trick is not to be publicly ashamed of anything you do. Da sheeples will figure you must of done nothing wrong if you're not acting ashamed! Don't you love sheeple logic?? Facts are no fun and truth makes us look bad. It's only in politics where all our fantasies can come true - so politics is where I wanna live!
So after I done that rapin' of her daughter, mean ol' Nancy said all sorts of bad things about me. She goes on TV and everything just to make me look bad! The nerve of her. She said I did a crime and it was really bad and I should have to pay and a whole bunch of other dastardly things. She was so boiling mad she was "right on the verge" of actually filing charges. Yikes!
But, hey, I know something she don't: there ain't no rules in politics! Dummies like her think there is. I hears them say shit like "Da sheeple ain't stupid" so they's always afraid sheeples won't like them. But sheeples like it when you treat them like shit! They think that means they got a future, I kids you not.
So all I had to say is my dick is a Republican and she's being all divisive and shit just like she always complaining everyone else is. All the peeps on my side loved it! "He's hurting the people we hate! Woohoo!" And I go on TV and say how I got nothing agin Nancy or even her daughter I raped and I was willing to eat dinner with them sometime. But they both come back on TV all snotty and shit after my generous offer - and then she goes straight down in da polls!
Next I hires me a lawyer who'll say anything anytime. Her name is Julie Onney. We have meetings where we laugh our asses off making up shit. Then my lawyer go on TV saying it right out loud! "Nancy Pelosi is a sexist, picking on my client only because he's a male. And she's also the worst kind of hypocrite. We all know had my client been a Democrat she wouldn't be saying a word right now - not a word! This is clearly a partisan attack and the American people won't stand for it." All the base people loved it!
Me and my peeps are watching them news channels afterwards seeing our shit be repeated over and over and over. We's laughing so hard they actually repeat our crap our sides is hurting! Then they sit around and debate and wonder if we actually mean what we say and get all indignant-like and say all the shit we say is going to blow up in our face and blah, blah, blah. Knock our made up shit all you want - just keep talking about it is all we ask! That's how I keep winning.
We was throwing popcorn at the screen every time ol' Nancy come on. She looks like she's ready to explode. I know I done wrong and she know it too but nothing she can do in her own stupid head! She sits around with her peeps making strategy calls ("If only a Democrat had raped your daughter we'd be tearing him to pieces right now!") and saying only Democrats is good people so they got to do whatever they can to hold onto power and that if they go after me for breaking some laws "he just isn't worth it" cause they think no one will like them no more. Smart thinking there, Fancy Nancy!
Damn, I love me some political! As long as you get enough sheeple to liken the shit you do, you can get away with anything. I hear them TV talking heads on her side saying how "shrewd" Nancy is and that anyone wanting to enforcing laws on me is "radical" and "short-sighted." Amen to that, brother! Shit, man, she going to be this dang dumb I oughtta go hump her daughter again! Political people just ain't normal.
[Epilogue: Just in case you thought she was gonna get any smarter, I ran right into her smart ass in person. So I looks at her and says, "Did you bring your handcuffs?" and started laughing my ass off right in her frozen face!! Guess that stuck in her craw cause later I heard her say she wanted to "see me in prison." She just ain't gonna charge me, HAHA! Thanks for the free pass, Fancy Nancy!]
I read about your plight in the Fort Worth Weekly. It really opened my eyes. We long to believe we live in a world that honors truth. And no matter how sometimes our words and deeds may not reflect that, every soul knows we cannot survive without truth. And that love is the only truth.
One day each of us will have to answer: did I protect the truth or did I protect a lie? The world, I have found, is based on a lie. Many people have built their lives on that lie and will do anything to protect it. They will betray anything and anyone to keep the lie alive. This included themselves.
Their lives are tortured by this so when they see someone who reveals the truth they feel they must do something. It's bewildering to see such venomous responses to innocent acts. These fools lie to themselves, deceiving themselves their actions will somehow "save" them. So pity your captors and persecutors. They are angry you have something they do not: a future.
Hey, honey, I know exactly how you feel! Dang, I done lost count of the years I been single so I got your back, girl. And I've got just the pair for you - just say when and I'll show you them! We may have taken different socioeconomic paths but we sure did end up in the same place: star-crossed lovers doubtless meant to be.
How about a little dining al fresco? It will be scent-illating!
I'll take you to all the best restaurants, ones that throw out only the highest quality eats! And don't worry, I won't let any of the neighborhood cats get to the good stuff before we do. Trust me, you're in for some aromas you never smelled before. Variety is the spice of life, they say!
Yes, yes, who has time for a social life when one has such a busy career??
While doubtful we travel in the same circles, I do think there's much we can talk about. I am a local political activist fighting tooth (literally, I only have one) and nail against these outrageous "No sleeping in the park" ordinances. To be frank, I bet there are many nuances to this you do not understand but, me, I'm more than happy to fill you in! (And, uh, you'll have to join the fight if you want to sleep with me - like I know you will, wink wink.)
I got a thong just like yours!
After I done swept you off your feet, we can sure get to be frolicking in the finest truck stop shower off I-45. We can rub our hineys agin one another - hawt, hawt, hawt! Hey, I been wanting to ask you: you ever had sex in your ear? I got a feeling you're in for something new! Believe me, lady, when you go homeless you never go back (I tried). You would not believe how ready I am to explode! I understand how you be looking for a different class of guy, and baby, I'm the guy for you!
