Category: Fiction

The problem with being among humans so long is that sooner or later you start to act like one. The old ones knew that. Of course, they never really envisioned what this world was to become. Being able to maintain our different species into isolated communities is a luxury we just no longer have in a world population of this size. Blending by necessity had its own repercussions, our bloodlines are all mixed now, so many don’t even know what they carry in their DNA.

We are not hard to find, we are there in the stories of humans from time immemorial. Sometimes as angels, mostly as demons. You would think that they had enough angels and demons in their own histories not to romanticize our existence into legend. I guess our longevity made our own monsters seem more frightening than theirs. Lets face it, some of us are monsters and we have long enough personal histories to know how to manipulate things. Its easier to see history’s nature if you experience it long enough.

And we have no better success at controlling our rogue elements that they do. The proof is in our Politics, where it always has been. Yes, I use the collective “our” for that’s where the best and the worst of all Earth’s inhabitants always end up inextricably intwined.

You either “get it” or you don’t when it comes to that.

I suppose I’ve gotten ahead of myself. Mayhap if you know more about me, you will understand better.

“In nature’s economy the currency is not money, it is life.”  

“You are not Atlas carrying the world on your shoulder. It is good to remember that the planet is carrying you”  

– Vandana Shiva

Hot, Hot, Hot…

“There stands, my friend, in yonder pool

An engine called the ducking-stool;

By legal power commanded down

The joy and terror of the town.

If jarring females kindle strife,

Give language foul, or lug the coif,

If noisy dames should once begin

To drive the house with horrid din,

Away, you cry, you’ll grace the stool;

We’ll teach you how your tongue to rule.

The fair offender fills the seat

In sullen pomp, profoundly great;

Down in the deep the stool descends,

But here, at first, we miss our ends;

She mounts again and rages more

Than ever vixen did before.

So, throwing water on the fire

Will make it but burn up the higher.

If so, my friend, pray let her take

A second turn into the lake,

And, rather than your patience lose,

Thrice and again repeat the dose.

No brawling wives, no furious wenches,

No fire so hot but water quenches.”

—Benjamin  West  1780

[Note from the author:  Okay…I know this is out of order.  Sorry about breaking tradition, but I just couldn’t get what I wanted out of the next Utopia chapter so I am still working to make it better.

In the mean time I had this pretty well cooked.  So here is the 15th chapter of the Utopia/Dystopia series.]

“Yes: death–or renewal! Either the state forever, crushing individual and local life, taking over in all fields of human activity, bringing with it its wars and its domestic struggles for power, its palace revolutions which only replace one tyrant by another, and inevitably at the end of this development there is…death! Or the destruction of the state, and new life starting again in thousands of centers on the principle of the lively initiative of the individual and groups and that of the free agreement. The choice lies with you!”

—Peter Kropotkin  

 

Power has to be insecure to be responsive.

There can be no daily democracy without daily citizenship.

Ralph Nader

Man. The weirdest thing is that so many things I thought would be different are not; and others I miss completely.

There’s, like, no one around. Yet, the grocery store is still there; rather bare-boned and staffed by two people, but I never figured on it being there. I have been here so many years, I had finally acclimated to the people-sounds that jarred me when I first moved from the old Napier house. Lawn mowers, voices, traffic, voices. The silences would be refreshing if I didn’t know why they are here.

There’s only one gas station, but its still open and fairly cheap. No traffic to speak of, no idiots making you crazy. Still, it occasionally feels creepy, that twilight zone feeling, of is this a dream or real? Like, am I dead too and just don’t know it? Its not like my town was ever a metropolis, but still.

I try not to dwell on creeping myself out.

I try not to think at all most days. I would kill him if he weren’t already dead for leaving me alone like this. Or kill myself for not dying with them.

I love my job. It’s like Pavlov’s dogs. After a while you don’t actually have to throw red meat at them they just start salivating, barking and going berserk merely by tinkling the bell of jingoist propaganda and flickering images of patriot-fairies dancing in their heads.

How ironic; each village was supposed to have one idiot and now we have entire villages full of them. It’s not their fault really. It’s like rats on a treadmill. You ever wonder why they use so many lab rats, mice and monkeys all because they’re working on a better life for human beings?

Do I have to connect the dots for you? Okay. You asked for it. But don’t take my word for it. I’m a propagandist and I work for them.

Cheney’s DNA has gone viral, like twitter, and spread across red-meat America. Lying dormant through the Bush years, seething since Clinton “got away” with it, and now ready to bloom into full blown metastasized paranoid, hysterical hatred for all things not God and Guns.

Nevermind the contaminated Cheney Virus does not possess the god gene. But because the gun gene tends toward overkill we have a cancer which eats piety and excretes scorn like Church Bells in Hell.

All in all, gentlemen, things have not gone so smoothly and according to plan since the Elders wrote the Protocols. Weishaupt was a genius and all hail to the ONE.

There will be scarcities of corn and squash during this katun and this will lead to great mortality. This was the katun during which the settlement of Chichen Itza occurred, when the man-god Kukulcan (Quetzalcoatl) arrived. It is the katun of remembering and recording knowledge.

Katun 4 (1993-2012) of the Mayan Calendar as prophesied by Chilam Balam

For half there will be food, for others misfortunes.  A time of the end of the word of God.  A time for uniting for a cause.

Katun 2 (2012-2032) of the Mayan Calendar as prophesied by Chilam Balam

I put down the crack pipe and pick up the remote control. I turn off the TV. Was there ever a time when Wheel of Fortune wasn’t on the air? If fortune is a wheel then this particular spin of the wheel called “my life” is decidedly unsuccessful.

I sit in the darkness in the quiet, a trace of burning base filling the air. Then, suddenly, out of the blue, because of chronic short-term memory failure, I remembered why I put down the crack pipe and picked up the remote control in the first place.

Someone had entered the room.

“And hundreds of thousands of simple, kindly folk torn from their wives, mothers, and children, and with murderous weapons in their hands will trudge where ever they may be driven, stifling the despair in their soles by songs, debauchery, and vodka.  They will march, freeze, suffer from hunger and fall ill.  Some will die of disease, and some will at last come to the place where men will kill them by the thousands. And they too, without themselves knowing why, will murder thousands of others, whom they have never yet before seen and whom have neither done nor could do them any wrong.”  From Christianity and Patriotism By Leo Tolstoy Author of War and Peace