We hold these observations to be self-evident: that a war is being waged for the soul of America, that cheaters want other cheaters in power, that truth is considered to have no innate meaning, that silence is rot, and that we're sowing (and have sown) the seeds of doom. This isn't about specific issues, it's about Cain vs. Abel. Soul stealers are everywhere, scouring for your every last weakness. Hold onto your ass, it's going to be a bumpy ride!
King Donnie has done an awesome and relentless job in exposing the corrupted state of America. Seeing themselves as safe, we see all sorts of lunatic behavior coming out after having given approval electing a lunatic. Same people as ever are in charge but now it's clear just how low they'll go and in the court of life there are no lawyers or fellow liars who can get you off. So rest assured, whenever the Moron-In-Chief spots one of these enemies, he attacks instantly and without compunction. Dare to not be an enemy at your own risk!
"Queerbait pussy motherfucker! You must be the most worthless human being alive! Do you have any idea just what the fuck you are doing with your life? Boy, you got some learnin' to do, Moron bitch!" So sayeth the Bully, who then urinated on the floor the Moron was scrubbing.
Everything is the opposite of what it seems.
The Moron wondered how life got so perverted there on the Living Ranch. The Lord of the manor had left on business, entrusting the grand house to the ten ranch hands. At first, everything ran smoothly but as time passed on doubts began to creep in about the return of the Lord. The Bully was the first to speak out.
"Shit, man, we should be living in the manor like this all the time. Who says that fucker's even coming back? I say we be smart and live it up while we can."
And where bullies go, the Weak will follow. The Moron was concerned, though. "If we're going to move into the manor we need to be extremely respectful of the place and make sure nothing gets broken or damaged in any way."
"Fuck you! I don't owe nothin' to nobody. You wanna be a weak bitch. You go ahead."
But most of the others were with the Moron having feelings of gratitude towards the Lord for giving them a good place to live.
"But I just wish he'd hurry up and get back!"
But the Lord remained away, having stated his business was very important. To him, how long he was gone was immaterial. Trust has no timer.
Then a painting got irreparably damaged. That's when the Political Man came to power.
"We are good people with good intent! No one can expect us to be perfect."
"But it would not have been damaged in the first place had we not started living here," pointed out the Moron.
"There's nothing you can say that wouldn't make you a hypocrite. Feel free to go back to the ranch house. But you know the rules: we will lock you out and keep the food here. Do you wish to starve?"
"No, but -"
"There you have it! We're only doing what the Lord wants us to do anyway. He wants us to live a good life, right? I believe in him and trust him! Who's with me!?"
The Bully was more than happy to act as muscle for the Political Man and his preaching. Later, the two conspired.
"No way I'm giving up the good life," pouted the Political Man. "As we betray our Lord we must then get them to betray themselves. Do that and we're golden."
"I can always just beat the shit of out them to keep them in line."
"That has its place but can be defeated by itself. I'll make them feel good about themselves, telling them what they want to hear, and you can tighten your grip as all the more reason to fall in line."
And so it began. Political Man preached it was "their right" to do as they pleased with the Manor, that it was a sign of "good faith" to take what was not theirs, and that any doubters were enemy of the state.
The Weak cheered this news, grateful to be granted absolution and not listen to their own thoughts. Only the Moron was a holdout. That made him a ripe target for political thought.
"See this? A person of no faith! A betrayer of our ways! He divides us instead of standing whole! Blame your miseries on him. He will bring ruin to us all!"
Everything is the opposite of what it seems.
The Bully then went to each person of the Weak asking where he stood. They all cowed to the political.
The Bully was ecstatic, speaking to the Political Man how things were working out. "We rule the house! We can do anything we want. What a bunch of cowards!"
"It's a good thing too at the rate we are trashing the place. Soon there will be nothing left of it."
"What if the Lord comes back and finds everything trashed? We can't trust those weak bitches to stand with us."
"Don't worry. I have a plan for that. We need to get that Moron to convert. That way we can prove no one could have done anything differently than what we've done. Giggle!"
"Leave it to me."
And thus it came to pass the Bully terrorized the Moron even as the Moron kept trying to preserve the manor and cleanse it. The Weak hated the Bully, though, and decided to give the Moron a talk.
"Why are you doing this?? Can't you see it's hopeless? They're never going to stop harassing you until you quit. And besides, it makes no difference in the end! The whole house is going to shit whether you try to preserve or not. May as well get on the winning side. Do you have a death wish?"
But the Moron would have none of it. So the Weak turned on him even with their own hatred of the Bully. "He really is a moron. Just can't save some people. But we tried."
Everything is the opposite of what it seems.
The more time passed, the more bold the conservative degenerates became. Hatred grew of the Moron as they saw him as the source of all their woes. "If only he'd get on board this could be paradise."
That was when the first talk of murder began. "It's for the greater good. A final solution." The Bully ordered the Weak to carry out the order. "You'll be serving the needs of our state! Heroes for all time! And once you have the blood on your hands you'll commit suicide and wipe out any evidence!" The Weak were glad to be given a purpose and told what to do, thinking that absolved them from responsibility. A few expressed doubts about doing it but having expressed them went along anyway, again thinking they were in the clear having aired their objections.
But being weak and without conviction, they failed in their endeavor, burning down part of the Moron's room but leaving him alive. This caused a great Panic.
The Bully asked the Political Man what to do. "We must burn down the whole house! Destroy the evidence! It will be our word against the Moron's on who damaged the house."
The smoke could be seen for miles. But as happens in the construct of the Universe, the worst thing happens at the worst possible time. As dawn broke, Nine stood with gas cans in their hands watching the final ashes blow away into the wind, thinking they were saved. That's also when the Lord of the Manor returned.
"Only one of you I see holds no blame. Why would you do such a thing? Why tell me you had no choice when you had complete freedom? Why do you say I took too long, as if that were your business? I bring you here my son, a carpenter, who came to rebuild the house where we all could live."
The Bully was desperate to save face. "Well, it might have helped if you'd told us that before you left."
"Oh, but I did." And the Lord and his son smiled.
Then the Moron spoke to the Bully: "Do you have any idea just what the fuck you are doing with your life? Boy, you got some learnin' to do!"
Then the Moron spoke to the Political Man: "There's nothing you can say that wouldn't make you a hypocrite. A person of no faith! Blame your miseries on him. He brings ruin to us all!"
Then the Moron spoke to the Weak: "Just can't save some people. But I tried. You had a death wish."
EPILOGUE: The guilty Nine fled to the hills. They spent the rest of their days badmouthing the Lord and the Living Ranch as a place of betrayal. "Don't go there EVER! Your life will be ruined!" The Political Man and the Bully achieved a great following among the Lost who never dare to seek the truth for themselves. But no one escaped the fact that outside the Living Ranch no one could survive, and their "victory" was death.
Sometimes I go to remote places and "zone out" into the universe. I step out - however briefly - of the shackles of the world and let myself see what I can see. If anyone knew I was doing this, of course, I'd be killed. Almost nobody wants to be seen from this perspective and they are willing to kill you in order to prevent it (afterwards you'll receive their highest praise, though! Just like with MLK. When only like him when he's dead.) But I figure I'm dead anyway and nightmares are killing me and there is no savior so why not experience what good I can?
Then my alien friend Spock showed up. That's not his real name, just what I call him. I won't bother describing him to you because then you'd think that's important. But he showed up one time long ago and I didn't freak out (which is why he showed himself). He just comes out of nowhere because he travels interdimensionally. You don't get frequent flier miles with that because no miles are actually involved (I asked).
I call my secret place "Trouble Valley". There's always trouble in this world, ya know. As much as I hate people and want them to die, I don't want them to have to die. But I know there's no saving a tree that refuses water. Why can't we see that Nature's laws trump Man's laws and that observing that is our only way to survival? We can at least do that, right? But the longer we wait, the higher the price. Life is never easy. Not when we throw the baby out with the bath water.
When Spock showed up I asked what would it take to reverse our downfall here in America. He said many people ask that but no one accepts the answer. "Sort of like your Sixties revolution that never happened." I said I understood and that I knew the stakes are getting higher every day. Our ever rising consciousness is making time run out. Then he gives me a variation of the old saying people get the government they deserve.
"So change must come from us. Check. But what exactly should we demand?"
Spock relates the story of Joshua's army getting their ass kicked because there was those among them who were poisoning their efforts. For the sake of a few an entire nation would have been wiped out and no one would have ever heard of the Hebrews today. He said as long as we keep allowing people who poison the well to lead us we are doomed. We raise up the wrong voices.
"OK, but how do we get the right ones in? Grassroot campaigns? Feverish blogging? Marching protests? What? WHAT?"
"The rule of law must first be re-established. The 21st century by your calendar is your time of reckoning. You start out by invading a country that never attacked you to take their resources! That is a crime, my friend, and all crimes have consequences and you've yet to face that. Next you put in a leader who enslaves you deeper than ever before in your vicious blackmailing barter system. And if you need to be told what's wrong with your current leader you have lost all reason anyway. I certainly feel for the animals on your planet who live at your mercy."
"Me too..."
"So you must charge these three usurpers with betrayal and not acting in your best interest and then have them destroyed in whatever fashion you choose. I guarantee you the ensuing leaders will not betray you."
"Makes sense but seems kind of harsh. Lots of people will be upset when they see someone they sold their soul for strapped to a table getting a lethal injection."
"That's only because you have not reached time of revelation. These three have put blood and misery on your hands. You will pay for that! Establishing order will be freeing as well as sobering. Not a planet in the universe that hasn't gone through that."
"At least we aren't the only dumb fuckers! Still, that seems way overboard for a solution. What if we just keep ignoring our past sins and hope for the best?"
"Then you'll watch your children starve to death right before your very eyes. It will be too late to do anything then because you will have forfeited your say (and you'll forfeit your say in the name of keeping you safe!). You will beg to go back in time and put these men on trial because the choice will be so obvious after the fact. It will be an inescapable hell and what's unthinkable today will be thinkable tomorrow."
"That's just brutal."
"Indeed."
Joshua knew he'd one day be on the History Channel!
The Lord had said that everything in Jericho belonged to him. But Achan from the Judah tribe took some of the things from Jericho for himself. And so the Lord was angry with the Israelites, because one of them had disobeyed him.
2 While Israel was still camped near Jericho, Joshua sent some spies with these instructions: “Go to the town of Ai and find out whatever you can about the region around the town.”
The spies left and went to Ai, which is east of Bethel and near Beth-Aven. 3 They went back to Joshua and reported, “You don’t need to send the whole army to attack Ai—two or three thousand troops will be enough. Why bother the whole army for a town that small?”
4-5 Joshua sent about three thousand soldiers to attack Ai. But the men of Ai fought back and chased the Israelite soldiers away from the town gate and down the hill to the stone quarries. Thirty-six Israelite soldiers were killed, and the Israelite army felt discouraged.
6 Joshua and the leaders of Israel tore their clothes and put dirt on their heads to show their sorrow. They lay facedown on the ground in front of the sacred chest until sunset. 7 Then Joshua said:
Our Lord, did you bring us across the Jordan River just so the Amorites could destroy us? This wouldn’t have happened if we had agreed to stay on the other side of the Jordan. 8 I don’t even know what to say to you, since Israel’s army has turned and run from the enemy. 9 Everyone will think you weren’t strong enough to protect your people. Now the Canaanites and everyone else who lives in the land will surround us and wipe us out.
10 The Lord answered:
Stop lying there on the ground! Get up! 11 I said everything in Jericho belonged to me and had to be destroyed. But the Israelites have kept some of the things for themselves. They stole from me and hid what they took. Then they lied about it. 12 What they stole was supposed to be destroyed, and now Israel itself must be destroyed. I cannot help you anymore until you do exactly what I have said. That’s why Israel turns and runs from its enemies instead of standing up to them.
13 Tell the people of Israel, “Tomorrow you will meet with the Lord your God, so make yourselves acceptable to worship him. The Lord says that you have taken things that should have been destroyed. You won’t be able to stand up to your enemies until you get rid of those things.
14 “Tomorrow morning everyone must gather near the place of worship. You will come forward tribe by tribe, and the Lord will show which tribe is guilty. Next, the clans in that tribe must come forward, and the Lord will show which clan is guilty. The families in that clan must come, and the Lord will point out the guilty family. Finally, the men in that family must come, 15 and the Lord will show who stole what should have been destroyed. That man must be put to death, his body burned, and his possessions thrown into the fire. He has done a terrible thing by breaking the sacred agreement that the Lord made with Israel.”
16 Joshua got up early the next morning and brought each tribe to the place of worship, where the Lord showed that the Judah tribe was guilty. 17 Then Joshua brought the clans of Judah to the Lord, and the Lord showed that the Zerah clan was guilty. One by one he brought the leader of each family in the Zerah clan to the Lord, and the Lord showed that Zabdi’s family was guilty. 18 Finally, Joshua brought each man in Zabdi’s family to the Lord, and the Lord showed that Achan was the guilty one.
19 “Achan,” Joshua said, “the Lord God of Israel has decided that you are guilty. Is this true? Tell me what you did, and don’t try to hide anything.”
20 “It’s true,” Achan answered. “I sinned and disobeyed the Lord God of Israel. 21-22 While we were in Jericho, I saw a beautiful Babylonian robe, two hundred pieces of silver, and a gold bar that weighed the same as fifty pieces of gold. I wanted them for myself, so I took them. I dug a hole under my tent and hid the silver, the gold, and the robe.”
Joshua had some people run to Achan’s tent, where they found the silver, the gold, and the robe. 23 They brought them back and put them in front of the sacred chest, so Joshua and the rest of the Israelites could see them. 24 Then everyone took Achan and the things he had stolen to Trouble Valley. They also took along his sons and daughters, his cattle, donkeys, and sheep, his tent, and everything else that belonged to him.
25 Joshua said, “Achan, you caused us a lot of trouble. Now the Lord is paying you back with the same kind of trouble.”
The people of Israel then stoned to death Achan and his family. They made a fire and burned the bodies, together with what Achan had stolen, and all his possessions. 26 They covered the remains with a big pile of rocks, which is still there. Then the Lord stopped being angry with Israel.
That’s how the place came to be called Trouble Valley.
I've watched that Morning Joe dude talk about Trumpy's "33% solution", in that Dingleberry's one and only focus is in maintaining his base. Joe gets all vexed and frustrated not understanding why the Idiot-in-Chief doesn't try to expand his support. Seems logical, right? Start with your hardcore supporters then bring in a few other groups and build a coalition. Sounds reasonable.
But he's missing the overall - to borrow a phrase from "All The President's Men". While there are many "i" words associated with our insecure imbecile, the one I never hear is the one most appropriate: Inadequate. President Loser knows he's a loser, believes he can be nothing but a loser, and wages a permanent campaign to cover that up. See, in the mind of the inadequate, his only choice is to keep what he's got because no one knowing the truth could possibly support him. It's 33% or zero.
Let's look at the logic another way. Suppose you were a New York City blowhard braggart, building your ego on being a real estate tycoon in the most glamorous market in the world. That reputation to Donny boy is his reason for living. But it turns out another "i" word - incompetence - dogs you when you can't even make the rigged math of a casino work for you. You're faced with being a laughingstock and thrown into the dustbin of history.
But you decide not to face your reckoning. Foreign countries play fast and loose with the rules more than America does. You even espouse legalizing overseas bribery. You are a desperate, desperate boy! Then you latch onto a money laundering scheme. This you love because it allows for your two favorite pastimes - lying and deceiving - to serve your monetary interests. All the suckers are playing it straight. But clever you beat the system.
Gradually, people start calling you a success again. Just win, baby. You're a big shot on the New York social scene and revered by the little people as a successful businessman. Back on top you start to lose perspective on who you really are. But you're on a runaway train. You can never stop lying, you can never stop deceiving - not even for a second. The alternative is unthinkable.
Especially when you're compromised by a hostile foreign power having a sex tape of you, showing you in all your inadequacy before the world! Wouldn't surprise me the least bit to see pussy Putin release it when he's threw with Donald Duck, if nothing else but to embarrass the US for electing someone so thoroughly pathetic. Now, can you possibly imagine the fear you'd be living in??
Facing jail for you and your family, Russian hookers peeing on your head, reviled and repulsed around the world permanently. You would go down as one the most disgraced public figures in history. My, you are a clever boy!
Put in that "No one can possibly love me" perspective, Trumpy's behavior makes perfect sense. Lie like a maniac, stir the pot, throw verbal bombs, do anything to deflect. His insatiable craving for others to humiliate themselves around him stands to reason because he doesn't want to go down alone. He needs to denigrate all of America. Like Hitler's sick henchman, we see the craven souls who cooperate in this endeavor. They too will be branded onto the pages of history as traitors and psychotics (Hi Sarah Huckabee!).
Who knows how this will end. How many of us have truths we want to avoid. My favorite hope is he has a Scarface moment, where one instance of humanity is his undoing. [Scarface refuses to do a hit for a fellow drug lord once he sees children will be killed. That drug lord then takes him out.] In the meantime, damage is being done and lives lost. Unfortunately, there won't be any Nuremberg trials to sort this out later.
Something like this can happen anytime I close my eyes, day or night...
i have triggers...in movie i see it say chicago university "where fun goes to die"...i did hit there once and hear that phrase...i felt guilty but that not stop hit...felt i was killing fun for others...i was cause for phrase...so after seeing in movie that start my blackmare...descent has begun... it was spring and everything was beautiful but me...i wanted to be part of that green campus and those kids...no one on outside looking at me focusing only on assembling gun ever guess i think of that...so that aching come back years later now...hurting me...
please stop hurting me, please stop hurting me
next thing i know i'm back in paris on metro...it's when my first feelings of not belonging start...why not kill them if they don't want me?...always feeling they can have something i can not...roots of anger, a killer is born...years and years think i'm justified...like a mad passion...never wanting to admit i was cheating myself...
please stop hurting me, please stop hurting me
many blurry scenes...feeling out of control...world is swirling...man calls me mr. precision...i latch onto any identity, any approval...was looking and searching...searching for what?...running away...on the run...merde!, merde! merde!...always think in french remembering those times...frustration building...catches me when eyes beg to shut...
please stop hurting me, please stop hurting me
too much russian talk in news...please stop flashbacks!!!!!!!!!!!!...i'm back on train through urals in winter...heater breaks, barely working...all passengers bundled up, trapped...i couldn't enjoy spectacular icy landscape so angry...still not over it...was angry about being cheated!...finally had someone to blame not me...but still could have enjoyed if wanted...just wanted someone else to blame for misery for once...but that was me cheating me again...mired on runaway train...
please stop hurting me, please stop hurting me
oh, damn...the woman with smokey eyes...part of me still in backroom of russian club...i resist then but surrender now...she still have piece of my soul...she know that, invading my dreams...russian subway dream always black and white...europe, america in color...but russia pulls me back...that feeling in subway car...generations of being watched and surveillance...felt like i was in tube with dogs that can turn any minute...repressed...only good inside was unreal streak of light and hope for them...couldn't get it out...maybe they be angry with me, loose inner dog...
please stop hurting me, please stop hurting me
smokey woman comes back...cannot escape her...she not child woman but full woman...rare, so hard to find...knows her true female power...never blame men for state of her life...asking me again if i want to please her...she knows what missing from life of killer...how many men has she lured before...i thought that in french, was tiny thread that save me...i said no then but surrender now...i know they have sex tape of american president...she was mob woman...i was to make hit then be hit...american senator got caught (him still there haunting me), wanting evidence destroyed...i was evidence too...disposable...
please stop hurting me, please stop hurting me
still torn...never whole...curves behind her clinging black dress!...please stop talking about russia...please stop sending me back...see her smile..."don't you want to please me?"...to please a woman like that!...i never get over...hard beat of music from main room bleeding through...still see her soft, delicate hand...holding pig nose for me to put on...step through door and she will unburden you...how many men before, i keep asking myself, how many men before...i tell her i'll be right back, just let me get money...then run on russian subway...
please stop hurting me, please stop hurting me
lady coming out of her new york townhouse...real lady in the real world...i must apologize, make amends...she doesn't want to hear it...i assume...she goes down through door underground to get where she needs to go...i can't just chase after her...i must deceive...thinking in french...there's a hole i can jump into...i can swim through the pipes to get ahead of her and then pretend we are running into each other...can't be seen chasing...moving along in dark pipes, just enough air up top...but then get lost...CAN'T GET OUT...water rises!...no way back!...buried alive! buried alive!
That's when I wake up screaming, heart pounding, seeing only black before me. The deeper the sleep the deeper the scream. Must stay awake at all times. Movie assassins never cry. Real life ones can't stop.
I was on the floor crying, cut off from the light. I'd "won". I'm untraceable, untouchable, unreachable. My pursuers have either given up or been diverted by life's more important pursuits. So here I am at the edge of the universe where my body is safe but my soul endangered. Maybe preserving my body's life here wasn't right decision after all.
I scream but no sound comes out. I'm more alone than any man in even deepest solitary confinement prison. At least someone knows he's there. I can trust no one. It's not police who are problem. They must to tell themselves lies on who they are. Anyone like that can always be defeated. But these criminals who run this world have no such delusion. You do have problem when they want you dead.
And they do want me dead.
I'm proverbial loose end. From time as boy on French docks entering the underworld I've been angry. I talk about this before. That anger led me here. Only looking back do I see exits I passed up in horrific stupidity. She was knocking on my door and I was too afraid to answer. I couldn't let her see the assassin in me. But I should have. Maybe she pull me out of this life. I never give her a chance. I can still see her blonde ponytail as she walking away. I was paralyzed fear.
So ending up at mercy of worst of the worst is my fate. Most people not even know actual order of the world. They fools thinking they'll be safe in colleges and careers and cash. Rest are slaves who think it wrong standing up for themselves (because system say it need slaves). But I know these men. I saw them with my own eyes. Only very few when seeing news know real truth. Dummy news people never connect dots. They can't because they know it won't sell. Having no future never sell well.
I can't deny I have no future even if I want to.
We never let this happen to blonde haired, blue eyed people.
But I hate those men who bring hell. I'm boiling mad. They are never held to the account! As their one time tool I Goupil am held to account. Young assassins think they smart to be on winning side. But they fools in the pain. I myself barely wake up in time to see my purpose have no purpose. Those who won't let go get eaten up and spit out. Their graves never visited.
You see, there are two types of men. The dog barkers, as I call them, are thieves of men's souls. But they cannot act. They like cripples in chair. If their silver tongue lies don't convert a following they end up talking to themselves on street corner. They need killers do their bidding for these barkers to be effective. Praise is their currency. They use it to get elected, drawing legions to their side. Truest mobsters are those who use mob rule. Men in suits are greatest monsters of all time.
Now I face my greatest problem: once a killer always a killer.
I put away gun. Take vow of nonviolence. But that not solve problem. You see, it not change my past and it not change who I am. I struggle and struggle and struggle. Was hoping to find a way maybe I not see before. Nothing come. Am walking dead. Too clever to be caught. Not clever enough to live. Even when I spoke out truth no one hear me. Maybe I should go out with a bang. Would be worth it if my truth come to light. But this criminal world never want the truth. They want only what suits them. This I have found.
Sometimes I get the American fast food. You ever see those people working in there? They are helpless lambs. Some are scared and believe for savior to come help them. But they must save themselves. Some are angry because they know they are being screwed. But that anger blinds them. Very few put their trust in life. And if life let them down then life must answer for it. What else can person do?
That is question I ask every day.
If Hitler had worn only Hawaiian shirts, could he have seized ultimate power?
It take many armies to save Jews from holocaust. Would take even bigger army to save these working poor. Phony man pose as savior laughing as he betray. Same as they must have laughed when I so eager to believe. These suit men are biggest rapists. Through them come rape of the world. African warlords (me never work for) use starvation and literal rape as means of control. Any man who not agree to do same they kill. But these Americans do same thing. You scramble to survive and they call it a dream! Who is it dream for?
I know these things very much because my contract killer money run out. I know I cannot go back to contract killing. It's not in me anymore (I tried). You ever hear phrase "honest money"? I guess it can be if you do what you want. But that not me. My money dishonest because I not do what I want. Coffee shop talkers and internet bloggers think they have it figured out. But minute you think you have it figured out, you're wrong. Mainly, they just want to argue. Keeps them from facing the truth.
And like I say before, truth it not sell.
Man steal a bread and he's marked for life. Same if he rape a woman or molest a child. They say to let someone like that walk street for even single second is wrong. But if you rob, rape and molest whole country, many fight to lift you up. Criminals in charge for a reason. So if you take gun and shoot biggest criminal in world, nothing change. Takes a village of criminals to elect criminal.
But I want to shoot them so bad! Let them know someone hate what they do. Someone see what they do. These are murderers wearing masks. Many who protect them know this too. But they not want to be discovered as murderer accomplice. It conspiracy without passing words. If people knew what really come of this they put all these monsters in jail. But they hate themselves thinking getting approval for hate will save them. But it just destroy everyone in the end. No person can escape what a person do (I tried).
So that only reason I let psychopath, child molesting, mass terror, fire bomber, lifeline cutting, smiling holocaust creep Speaker of House live. God must put his kind in the oven.
Been working on a secret project. May or may not publish it but it won't be here if I do. Title is "Welcome To Planet Lizard". Been on it a month. No idea when it will be done. Thorns of the world are winning right now. God loves them thorns! Stay tuned.
Another flower sighed and wailed before finally dying from a lack of sunlight from the blocking weeds.
"Where is justice? Where is hope? Where is life? Why does the Gardener not value me? Soon, there will be nothing but weeds left and then they will choke each other out and it will be as if the garden never existed. What's the point of this? Why must sun be given equally to flowers and weeds?"
A weed monster laughed. "How stupid it is to be a flower! Survival of the fittest, baby!"
His fellow weeds guffawed in agreement. Ever since the weeds first started invading the garden their numbers had grown. At first the weeds spoke glowingly of the flowers and how much they admired the flowers' beauty. But as time passed, the hideous nature of the self-loathing weeds started to surface and as their numbers increased they grew more bold in their hate. One thing, though, would not - and could not - ever change: an all-consuming need and desire to be accepted by the flowers.
What made the weeds so bitter in their rooting was their choice not to be a flower, fearing they could never muster the beauty required. Until one actually flowers, how can one ever know one's true worth? So they chose the path of the weed, forever doomed to rationalizing that fearful mistake, embarrassed to live as prisoners of doubt, losers in life.
Knowing this about themselves made them hate the flowers even as they envied their elegance and grace. But weeds have one ability flowers do not: the ability to choke out surrounding life (though done at the expense of their own which they do not value). Helpful flowers warned the weeds to change explaining the Gardener will return one day and pull them out.
"Ha, that's just so much philosophy! There is no Gardener! That's just a fiction you made up to make yourselves feel better. There is no truth! Why should we ever listen?"
The flowers, of course, knew that was a fiction made up by the weeds to make themselves feel better. "It's just a matter of knowing the science." But as the weeds forsook their shame, they began to mock the flowers and speak of the "beauty" of weeds, and that to speak well of weeds was the new enlightenment. That sowed doubt in some flowers who then beseeched "tolerance" of the choking weeds. These fooled flowers hoped against hope the weed's destructive nature would change however impossible that might be. They could see no other possible way to a future.
Seeing nothing to stop them, weed power continued to ascend as their numbers grew while flowers dwindled. "Mob rule cannot be denied!" Weeds believed declaring flowers to be evil would enable a weedy future. Flowers were declared enemies of the state since preserving life meant the end of weed rule. A new abnormal arose as the weeds killed in toxic glee, all the while claiming they were the victims having been (self-)denied beauty in their life. It was a time of darkness never seen before. Hell had come for breakfast.
Heady with their rule - however short-lived - the weeds claimed the Gardener loved them more than the flowers. They declared themselves as plants of "true faith" and heaped praise upon the Gardener "who has placed us in our rightfully ascendant position." But no amount of words could relieve the weeds from needing the flowers' acceptance. They cursed the flowers as "morally bankrupt" and "corrupt" for not following holy weedy ways. Frustrated and terrified, the weeds decided the only way to find peace would be to eliminate the flowers altogether - and no force in the universe could stop them.
Then the sun disappeared in a shadow. This initially made the weeds rejoice thinking their dark deeds could remain hidden. For no matter how self-sanctioned they made their killings, the weeds could not escape the self-knowledge of their insanity. Even when they "won" they lost, satisfaction perpetually escaped them. But the shadow was not the savior they hoped. It was the shadow of the returning Gardener.
The weeds wailed as they felt their roots being pulled up from the ground. "Please don't kill us! We want to live!"
"Why would I want a garden of weeds? What farmer throws away the wheat and keeps the chaff? I gave the garden time to grow and you made your choice. The sun was denied to no one and the sun is all you need to be a flower. But now time is up and garden life must be preserved. What the fuck did you think was going to happen??"
Uprooted for eternity, the weeds could never return. Now fully mature, the flowers spread over the remaining ground making it impossible for weed life. They lived in unity and in communion with the Gardener as the point of their previous faith was fully realized. Truth never wins until the end but then it wins forever.
This phrase is not often spoken anymore by the Russian Secret Service. There's not as much need to - for even the most evil of organisms must grow or die. The state police for Russia goes back centuries, a creation of the Tsars out of a self-awareness of their disconnected cruelty and the resulting expected backlash. At this point in history the ruling class need have no such fear as the Russian psyche is so self-inflicted with negativity they oppress themselves out of a false sense of patriotism. There's your riddle solved, Mr. Churchill.
Pride for a Russian is in how much abuse one can take. The more cruel a leader the greater the sacrifice. The more one can sacrifice the greater one must be! In futility they trust. How many empty Vodka bottles does it take to fill that hole? But all the while the Russian soul is desperately craving for the acceptance and respect from the West it does not give itself. This is how they are able to perpetually see themselves as victims, illusioned as a permanent lesser people. That gives free reign to the Secret Police to unleash the worst of the country's repressed demons onto the population - as their behavior is the measuring stick of their society's health.
In the 60's, at the height of the cold war, Russia wallowed in both her power and her helplessness. The only thing she fears more than her enemies is not having an enemy (for then who can they blame for their woes?). So they worshiped at the altar of an imagined peril from the West and the always present fear of a population that will one day throw off the yoke of an unjust and undeserving government. For the rulers at that time, this meant little was out of bounds when it came to sacrificing before these two gods.
Looking back, it's now seen the KGB of that era had gotten cocky with decades of resistanceless wins to its credit. It was business as usual when the government official - a very high functionary in the Politburo - and an assassin agent approached Heinrich Koehler [the 'oe' pronounced as a long ā] in a small dank room deep in the heart of East Berlin.
"You recognize this picture? It's of your mother, no? Soon she will know the freezing cold of Siberia in her bones. Your young nephews and nieces will know only the labor camps as their future. Your uncle to whom you still write will know the joys of a cell in Lubyanka [a notorious KGB prison of torture]. Years of tears will flow if you do not do as we say. Can you imagine these things happening?"
The assassin sat never taking his eyes off Heinrich, almost smiling as he heard the hells listed by his compatriot. He had the stench of death about him, a sewer rat who no longer cared in what filth he swam. The killer knew the effect his coldness had on strangers and enjoyed watching them shiver.
"I, I understand," acquiesced Heinrich in troubled tones. Then he received his detailed instructions.
In the language of the day, Heinrich Koehler was a henpecked man. He lived outnumbered with his wife and mother-in-law (who lived up to every stereotype and then some). His wife Lydia knew what she wanted and went after it with ruthless efficiency. She preyed upon the needs of men, eventually trapping Heinrich with a child. Having achieved dominance, Lady Lydia used her husband as a pack horse to sustain her (and her mother too, of course) in relentless suffocation. To hear her tell it the only thing her husband had ever done right was get his promotion to supervisor of the guards at the East Berlin prison where he was employed.
"You've got to be tough!" she implored their only child, Ian. "The world is never changing and you must suck it up if you want to get by!" Ian eventually joined the black market German underworld, providing his mother with forbidden fruit of the West. She couldn't have been more proud. Ian despised his father.
That night in bed, Heinrich heard the Russian official's hissing voice all over again.
"Next week, on your night shift, you will let in my man to these two isolation cells." In those cells were two Russian escapees. Why they had to be killed Heinrich did not know. One thing he did know for certain was the seriousness of the situation having two men such as these involved. After a lifetime spent in devotion to non-confrontation this was his was his worst nightmare. Heinrich would have blood on his hands with or without his cooperation. The only question was whose.
It was also a cruel irony that the only reason he was being pressed to do this was the fact as supervisor he had access the normal guards did not. The one single "good" thing he'd done in his life was now being used against him. That's what happens when you step outside of your circle, fool! Much as he tried, Heinrich could not convince himself of the worthless of the two men's lives even as compared to his own relatives. He tried to stuff the rationalization down his throat but could never fully swallow.
He also could not share his situation with his wife. She and her cohort mother would have no qualms about his cooperating, not even seeing a need to question it. The two prisoners' lives would be gone in the blink of an eye if it were up to the two scheming women. Daylight was nowhere to be found. (Had he lived a few decades later Heinrich would have found a bitter partiality in the #metoo movement with its narrative of only female victimization).
Me too
In his torment, Koehler also failed to realize one other ruthless detail: after the deed was done he'd become a loose end needing cleaned up - permanently.
As the days passed until he went onto the night shift, the official's photographs tortured the prison guard's mind. Having time to imagine the worst only made the pressure more difficult. He wondered if they planned it that way, knowing that time was working in their favor, softening him up. When the night in question arrived he was spent and his will destroyed. He'd have to be tough like the world. He'd have to become like his wife. Grow up, Heinrich! he could hear her demand.
The Iron Curtain was a land of dark secrets. Each soul lived for its failures never to be revealed. But Heinrich's time had come. His current secret being no matter how terrible the nightmares he couldn't fully resolve to the killing of the two men in his care. Heinrich was one of the few guards not hated by the prisoners. He could never lift his hand to abuse them - he already knew what it's like to live life as a prisoner.
The face of the creeping assassin was even more hideous as it delighted in the unrestrained glee of betrayal. Was easy to see his drowning soul lived for these moments of butchering, the crushing of all hope. He savored the telling of his final morsel from hell.
"It's you who will do the killing."
Heinrich stepped backwards as if physically struck. That very much pleased the assassin, his resolute smile giving no quarter.
"No...no..I can't..."
"You must use your gun. It's the only way. Do it for your family. These two men mean nothing."
The real plan was to have the entirety of the killings blamed on the guard, who then dies of a "heart attack." The assassin was there only to clean up the mess. He never could understand the stupidity of people who left themselves so vulnerable. They got what they deserved.
"You don't understand..."
"I very much understand. Do I need make this any clearer?"
"No. No, I understand."
The guard turned to pass through onto the isolation cells. The assassin grinned. The devil was coming to collect a soul that night.
But had the killer not been so smug, so self-assured in the sanction of his blackmail in a godless but blind world, he might of noticed the coming explosion in Heinrich's head. The shame of a lifetime was building steam. That "something wrong" that had plagued and hounded him for decades could no longer be denied. Finally, he decided he was dead no matter what he did.
They reached the first cell. "Unholster your gun," the voice to his right commanded. Heinrich did so. "Now open the door."
Opening the door meant exposure and permanent branding as a lifelong loser. Bad enough to be mocked and ridiculed at home, but now it would be everyone and everywhere - even at work! Heinrich snapped.
"FICK DICH!"
The revolver emptied all six rounds into the ordering agent. But Heinrich wasn't killing only him, but every tormentor of the "soft" man who could do no right. He had to preserve that final piece of his soul. Time for the world to grow up. In the corner of his ear he heard hastening footsteps stomping down the hallway.
EPILOGUE: Had it occurred in Russia and not East Berlin there might have been a full cover up. As it was, the photos and the entire story of the botched assassination came to light. The party official who orchestrated it was disgraced and denounced by the very people who ordered him to do it (not for the attempt or methodology, but for failing). Heinrich and his family suffered no repercussions. By losing himself he saved himself (the anti-Obama).
To persecute Heinrich would be to admit the killing of a KGB agent - a chink in their allegedly invincible armor. That could not be tolerated. But Koehler's shot was one heard 'round the Soviet empire, poking a hole in the secret forces' own naivete of the evil of its blanket oppression. A line had been crossed and to keep crossing it would ultimately mean their own destruction. While direct assassinations still continue to this day, the use of ritual blackmail of family members faded in disrepute. In the end, everyone wants to live.
Smirking jerks always look the same throughout the ages
So this is how occupied France felt. Raped, robbed and looted by an enemy force bent on destroying her in self-hatred and vile jealousy. The Inadequates, the No-Hopers, the Twitter Trolls, the Unindicted Oligarchs, and the rest of the professional losers are having their day in the sun, smiling in the same short-sighted and idiotic way as their hero and role-model Der Furor, who also did not realize he was losing when he thought he was winning. Inside, they know their time is short, taking all that they can carry away, waging holocaust on anyone who is Not Them. This is not from trickery or deceit of the Innocents, it's daylight theft for anyone to see.
Our need to feel we are moral beings drives our lives and decisions beyond all else. We are outraged at the robbing of a bank while acquiescing to the robbery of a nation; the Jungian thing. I was glad the Trumptard won because I knew it would finally rip off our veneer of assumed morality and the viciousness that has always lied just below the surface of the conservative movement, be it left or right. I hear people asking what has happened to the Republicant party. Nothing. Same as ever. Just more out in the open. Funny to see these shocked! shocked! lifelong Republicants renounce their affiliation to try and save face. Hopefully, they'll continue in that direction.
------------------
Their children hate them for the things they're not,
They hate themselves for what they are
- Carly Simon
Just as we hate the Republicants for what they are, we hate the Democraps for what they aren't. Feckless, spineless, toothless, without the courage of their convictions. Who wants to bet they take the "high road" if swept back into power and don't want to be seen as "mean or partisan" to the person hellbent on wrecking the country and ruining lives? "We'll vote to impeach only when we know it will fail." There is no adult in the romper room of Congress.
This attack on the rule of law started before Trumptard, beginning with anti-Christ 43 to justify the Iraqi pillaging, escalated and formalized by No-Drama Obama, and now taken to the insecure extreme by our current Traitor-in-Chief. Karma, baby. Terrorist killing drones are a big yuck today on foreign soil but just wait until you are declared a terrorist for want of a loaf of bread. Will be a tad late to bitch then.
The real war being waged here is on integrity itself. Self-respect, selfless dedication, honest competence - these are the declared enemies of the state that must be eradicated. Doesn't matter what your tribe or rank is, exhibit those traits and you will be outcast by the Bolshevik Reds who believe they have nothing to gain anyway. It's the Final Solution all over again - and we'll do nothing to stop it because it's too unpleasant to admit that of ourselves. It's true that holding onto one's integrity may not save the world. But it's guaranteed to save you.
"Well, you certainly don't look like an assassin."
"I'd be worried if I did!"
"In fact, you look like you couldn't hurt a fly."
"I've hurt many a fly," I assured with my steeliest of looks.
She thought that was funny and relaxed. I'd accosted her at the newly opened Overeasy in the renovated Statler Hotel (now with residences!). I assumed she was a resident/guest and she assumed the same of me. But I was only an interloper, posing as a successful something-or-other having valid business in this fine establishment. But, yes, having killed overseas, that does make me an international assassin.
Holidays are horrible times for contract killers. It's a rare time for assignments, I having had only one, in 1997, when I was up and coming, long before the sordid Russian affair. (Yes, I know EXACTLY the methods of aching seduction they used on your American president.) Damn, that's twenty years ago. But I remember the feelings like yesterday.
The job was in Manhattan. The city was electric! I fed off the energy and I remember thinking how sharp my feelings and focus were, almost as if I were floating through the streets. To be outside of everything and yet right in the middle at the same time was a heady experience. Lucky Luciano claimed there is no other feeling in the world like having New York sidewalks underneath your feet. He was right. Christmastime only heightens the sensation.
It was difficult contract, though, and I had to make a helluva silencer but I got the mark in his parking garage. But in that instant a bitter cold wind blew in and I was suddenly transported back into abandonment, apart from everything once again.
I got out of the city quickly as I could, like a scalded cat. The giddiness of before was replaced with a burning fear. I felt every caroler's eye was upon me. "They know! They know!" I couldn't get that out of my head no matter how much I reasoned with myself. The holidays have never been the same since. I ruined Christmas for all time.
My thirty-something stringy-haired blonde companion sitting across from me could not possibly surmise this. Like all professional liars, I compartmentalize my life to show only those parts which I wish to be seen. It's a horrible, terrible way to live (and again, a condition the Russians know how to expertly exploit). I was completely stepping out of bounds to be having this sort of lighthearted conversation. I walked a straining tightrope.
"So who's your target during the holidays? Santa?"
"Santa's more likely to order a hit than be hit. Labor problems and all that. Of course, it could always be you."
I was taking a chance; scared shitless as usual. My defense mechanism pops up in moments like these. If she plays along I'm good but if she freaks out then I am the asshole she fears I am.
"Oh, why would I be your target?"
She's intelligent. I like that. Using logic on me, eh?
"Because there's a secret truth you have not shared. And somebody out there doesn't want you to share it."
"How could you possibly know I have a truth I have not shared?"
She has no intention of letting me out of this trap. I love it! "Because if you were someone with nothing to hide you'd be known to me."
That made her think, maybe even bothered her. Did my blind arrow hit a mark?
"In that case I'm a worthy target."
She had withdrawn into her inner world, revealing it to me, putting me off my game. Careful, I might hurt her for real.
"Then you understand my dilemma..."
"What dilemma?"
Shit, honey, help me out here! I was only saying that to buy time. Can't you give me a hint of what you're talking about? I retreated to using general terms.
"The dilemma of being trapped into doing something you don't want to do." Bite! Bite!
"Oh, that..."
Whew! But I still had to pretend to know more than I did.
"I used to think freedom could be bought." That snapped her out of her melancholy. "If I just get to this certain place - a certain stage in life - then I'd be free. But then you find another prison awaits you when the purposelessness of your false journey is revealed. So you just slowly drift off to sea, hoping for a benevolent wind to set you straight."
"Christ, it's like you read my life."
"No, only your face. It's vital in my business."
"So you're more likely an international pawnbroker."
"Actually, I'm no longer for sale. But you showed no fear when I supposed you a target for assassination."
"That's because I'm already dead."
The melancholy demeanor returned. Detached and disposable, I'd become a "safe outlet" for her. I rejoiced right down to the bottom of my toes. Any taste of usefulness in my life is my constant craving. (Being used for contracts is the direct opposite of being useful. Just one of the many bitter aftermaths of my criminal conduct.) She continued.
"You'd only be finishing the job. My husband beat you to it." She stopped herself. "No, that's not fair. It's death from a broken-hearted marriage. I fulfilled my Laundry List of Life - that 'certain stage', as you put it - and found out I was more trapped than ever, completely fucking empty. Who am I? I never dare to find out." Her eyes raised to mine. "I'm too afraid of what it might cost me."
I said nothing in understanding silence.
The rest of the cafe came into focus. Only two other couples were in there. It was late, dark and misty outside, holiday lights morbidly flashing in expecting cheer. For the first time I considered her as a sexual being. I wanted to caress her vulnerabilities. But she was one who considered opening the cell door to be criminal. Like most of us, she will die of staleness and rot in her prison while keeping up appearances, consumed with the futile politics of a dying nation and God's angry weather. She knew she could never face the thorns of the world at this stage of her life. But the price of that was to keep out love at the same time. Doomed for all eternity.
We parted in unspoken yearning. I told her we are "Doom-mates". That got a wry smile. I trundled back outside and down the couple of blocks to where my car was parked. I'd previously dropped my Uber fare off at the Joule Hotel before lounging at the Overeasy for a nightcap. She made her way back up to her husband's hotel room to be there when he arrived back from his all day meeting (topped off at the City Club). They'd flown in first class from New York, of all places.
Together, she and I were more alone than ever, but once separated, not as alone as before.
It happened by accident - as is usually the case with revelation.
I got caught in a plate glass window downtown.
I was looking at a store Christmas display. A living family came up beside me. Then I saw my true reflection in the mirroring glass.
The comparison was stark.
So that's what I look like.
Shattered. Nowhere Man. Mr. Oblivion.
Lost.
Everybody wants to fool the world...
Nightmares have been increasing, growing stronger. I'm missing too many important people. I feel hunted by guilt. I lost my plausible self-deniability in that glass.
I felt the urge to strike, to destroy the reflection, to vilify the press. HOMELESS VANDAL DESTROYS NEIMAN'S DISPLAY. But would that make me any prettier - or just more obvious?
He was writing it after he wrote it, said an observing voice.
No one knows I died when Emily left. It's a state secret written right on my face. People know. This charade has been a waste of time. The sun left with her, my stepping stone to life. I've been writing only from memory of a face that no longer exists. Happy Revelation Day.
I had no idea it was so easy to bang starlets, walk around with your dick out, or even wantonly hit on high school cheerleaders. Shit! I've been missing out all these years! Not one to be left out, your man Harry is up to the task. Feel my power!
"Harry, only thing powerful 'bout you is your B.O.!"
OK, so Gretchen isn't impressed. But have you seen these other guys?? They must be using some sort of Jedi mind tricks I don't understand to get these women to do what they do. "Yeah, that's right, honey, you need to read that part NAKED!" I just ask to go out to a movie and get told to go fuck myself. Can somebody please tell me where all the unempowered women are?? I can't find them for shit. Hollywood babes, Olympic gymnasts, hot coworkers - these other guys are having their way! Hey girls, when is it my turn??
Read where that morning host guy making 28 mil a year is feeling bad ("broken") sitting in his home in the Hamptons. Hey, pal, I'll trade places with you anytime! You can be the midnight janitor the office girls laugh at and I can be the disgraced multi-millionaire raunching my way around. I guarantee you HR is all over my ass if anyone complains about me. Everyone knows that if you're guilty of having a dick then you must be guilty! Case closed!
So what's the secret, ladies? How can I put you under the spell of my power? Most of these guys didn't win the lottery on charm and looks. I made me a producer card. Is that good enough for ya? Or maybe I need me a D.A. card! "Hey, lady, give me your teenage daughter in the name of the law!" Someone really got that to work?? Jesus, I must be doing something wrong. At this rate I'll never able to cause a #metoo moment.
"Come hither and feel my respectful power!"
So how can I break into that world where women don't use the power of sex against you? "City girls just seem to find out early how to open doors with just a smile." So I guess the whole "bad boy" era is over now and women are finally choosing the "nice guy" that has traditionally lost out since the beginning of time. Woohoo! Bitches be demanding respect! From now on all us guys will be prim and proper and watch the girls go wild! War between the sexes is finally over.
"I saw the war today - and it's a good one. One that God wants." She is one who worships the world in the name of God. Driving in her luxury isolation tube, she passes telephone poles piercing the bodies of crucified poor who wriggle in silent agony outside the soundproofing of her gleaming glass as gospel music emits in death minor. "The war on the poor must be!" she surmises in the worldly wisdom of rejected religion. In tithing she rationalizes: "To do a great wrong, do a little right."
"You cannot help the poor by helping them. They have to earn it!" She keeps her face buried in the trough of greed, filth and waste dripping from her soul as mutual pigs snort and nod in understanding of the unspoken conspiracy. In the daily supermarket of delivered goods thorns of the world dig deep into the heads of cashiers, tears of blood running down their smiling faces in quiet desperation. For their efforts as willing victims of war, she always says Thank You.
"God wants good things for me, I'm loved so much for my faith! The more you have, the more godly you are. Look at my monstrous mansion!" She giggles marvelously delighting in the bounty of billions of sadistic slaves toiling in doomed duty of planet servitude. But to find a dangling thread from her tailored shirt is cause for wailing without hope or hindrance of worldly injustice lamenting lands and peoples lacking her integrity, godlessness in the unenlightened hinterlands.
"Look at the soul God has bought for me! The sun rises for us, the chosen ones. If it were not good, it would not be allowed to be - just like the tax bill!" she observes from the perch of her tilting San Fransisco condo. In the living room resides a mountain of gold ingots descended from Moses; an irrefutable wealth in the eyes of Man. She places her hands and knees on consecrated Berber in impassioned supplication. "Forgive me, holy ingots, for I have sinned, holding pure thoughts that would destroy this wonderful world. In God's gold we trust!"
"My love of God will never die! I relentlessly ensure the maid polishes the silver to the highest standards. My will be done." Her Facecrook page lays littered with morality bites to be digested for lesser lives - while implying her previous conquering of such - as AI software diligently scans in the background for forbidden bare breasts to keep the world pure. Her skyline savior bursts in lighted glory as sewers fill with homeless vomit. The Son also rises in hidden waiting pounce.
"Breathe deep my gathering gold. From my comfort throne thorns of the world are the devil's demise. A Rolls-Royce soul parts the unwashed masses in revered awe. Sweatless saints are carried by stained sinners to a place of virtuous vice. I rule in contaminated contentment with my radioactive Rolex, voting jaded Jesus into office to preserve the reverence of my reign. Reject the Maker whose art is in heaven, hollow be Thy name, revelation devastation is Thy game. I ask you: in a world that lives to screw, what else can one do?"
Apparently I'm due a Nobel Prize. Some schmuck figured out human emotions play a role in economic decisions and that people aren't logical robots tied to their seeming economic interests. Damn messy humans! Who knew?? That's still light years behind what I've been saying: "There are no economic problems, only moral solutions." I made that comment years ago at HuffPo and got duly roasted, of course. People are searching, scratching, screaming for anything, something, whatever, that has meaning outside of love. Threaten that illusion and they come after you with pitchforks.
But like Gandhi said: "Truth is one, paths are many."
Every life's driving force is love. Facing that is the key to understanding human nature and the universe we live in. Once you realize someone is committing an insane act because of love, it puts it in a different light. Caligula's supporters ostensibly hate people of color (because they fear anyone they see as different won't love them) and since Caligula boy wants their love he thusly abuses people of color; birds of a moron feather. What you begin to see is not just the evil being done, but the sad, desperate motives behind it. In the end, if you dig deep enough, it's always about love.
A successful con man is someone who knows what you won't admit to yourself. "I don't need love" is the phrase con men most love to hear. They will agree with you, egg you on. They'll tell you that people who say you do need love are your enemy - and in that way the con man earns your love. Then he gets you to vote for him, send him money, or whatever kind of support he's after. As long as you fail to be honest with yourself, the con man holds you in his grip. Their role in life is to trip you up, right or wrong. Whoever holds your love holds the power.
"They know the truth but they won't admit it." A TV pundit spoke those words regarding our elected cowards' fear (on both sides of the aisle) of rebuking Caligula. But that reflects us as a whole, as well. Say the wrong thing, lose your love! All our decisions are based on keeping love - including economic decisions as Igor figured out. Love is the one straight line that connects everything - no matter how much we try to pretend otherwise that we are being "logical" or "practical" or some other horseshit. Heaven sees our silly charades as we strike poses for love. We can't help ourselves.
We've set up false realities where we can "win". He's good at football - then commits suicide. He's a lucky millionaire - then shoots 200 people. We have all sorts of fake unreality winners. But love always bites in the end. Wait for it. The need for self-expression never fails. There's a reason many lottery winners piss away all their cash. They fear the guilt of getting something undeserved will also prevent them from being able to deserve love. The pull is irresistible and unyielding into the Light. Resistance truly is futile. People are puzzles, it's true, but every solution is the same. What a relief when we are finally one under the sun. Then we'll know the true meaning of power.
In a dog-eat-dog society there's nothing worse than a fellow dog needing help. But just because we are the assholes who dreamed up this nightmare world doesn't mean we want to come off as the assholes who dreamed up this nightmare. Can't pay your rent? "Fuck off!" It's the universal reply. But the compulsion to believe we're good people forces us to disguise our answers as we cheerily wave goodbye to our friends marched off to concentration camps.
So how to pretend to care when one really doesn't give a shit? There's an art to it, and if executed properly allows one to be cloaked in morality whilst giving the finger. Beautiful! Below are a few of my favorite examples I've heard while left dying in the road. It's good to know we think the best of ourselves and perhaps these phrases will come in useful in one's daily charade. Translation in parentheses.
God can do anything! (So I don't need to do anything)
Be optimistic. Things always work out in the end! (You'll be fed in debtor's prison)
I have faith in you! (Especially after the cocksucker says you have to finish waxing the entire hallway in one night)
Tomorrow is another day! (Of late rent fees)
Surely, there's someone who can help! (i.e. anyone but me)
We live in the greatest economic system in the world! (Must be something wrong with you)
You should try asking them for mercy! (Because you'll get none from me)
You should double check your situation. Maybe you're fine after all! (That will give me time to distance from you)
Think of it as a character building experience! God never gives you more than you can handle. (I promise to attend your funeral after the suicide)
People do win the lottery, ya know! (Fuck off)
See, the problem isn't too many mass shootings, but not enough. Take out 20-30% of the population and soon the message gets through we're all in this together regardless of any fake rules we make up that we pretend are life and death. In the meantime, have a nice day while dying!
