The Perverts Guide (to Ideology)

The greatest missed connection of all. 

Welcome to feudalism, the new ruling ideology. I know, you thought it would be more. . .medieval. Oh well. Craigslist, Facebook, Twitter -- take your pick. These are all the new economic models by which you do the work of generating content (post, retweet, comment, share) for free and and the Lords of the site (landowners) collect the profit.

You and I are serfs, tilling the land. Happily it appears.

Uh, I'm unique and my content belongs to me! 

No your not (yet) and no it doesn't. 

What makes Twitter worth 24 billion? Not your tweets specifically. No one gives a steamy shit where you eat at and what you think of the movie Gravity. But the collective traffic is what makes advertisers take notice. The system doesn't have to be run by demonic illuminati, because the system is simply all the selfish wants of consuming, socially aware, hard worker bees - added together. 

I eat organic and I don't want underage chinese girls to work as slaves! 

Said the enlightened post on Facebook via a slave girl built smartphone. No, of course you don't, but your choices did. Identity over actions is the narcissist way as I know only too well.
The choice (so-called) imposed by the ruling ideology (liberalism vs. fundamentalism for example) is not a real one. It is the very absence of choice. Let us not be easily deceived.

II.
'We are invited by "the Machine" to submit our opinions and preferences. We give in to the pressure to categorize data and join the swarms of 'collective intelligence.' Donate your wisdom to the crowds. We are invited to create reading lists, rank music and evaluate the products we consumed. User bees working for queen Google. It is so tempting to become part of the online 'pollination' world, as French economist Yann Moulier coined it, with billions of users acting like bees that fly from one website to the other, adding value for the owners. Kierkegaard warned us that the crowd is untruth. But no one reads Kierkegaard.

Even when we try to be dissimilar we only enact sameness. Dressing different, even counter to the corporate images on TV only begets the creating of a new, marketable subgroup. The ruling ideology thanks you. 

In other words, do you want to protest this weekend against police violence? Capitalism has the best scarfs, backpacks, posters and fireworks for you to get your street movement on with. On sale too! 

Want to monitor, police and put down a protest this weekend? Well, lucky you. Capitalism also has the best gear (kevlar, facial recognition software, zip ties) for your increasingly militarized police force. The system, despite upheaval (which just creates even more market opportunities), remains intact. 

Whats that? Your gay transgendered now? Awesome. Here is a line of clothing, books, sitcoms and artwork for you to create that unique identity with. What? Oh now your 'saved' and want to live for Jesus? Cool, here's some appropriate attire and accessories and specialty Bible end times charts for you to remake yourself with. 

Just don't look like anyone else, ever. Be you. Enjoy Coke. Be a Botox rebel. YOLO. 
Whatever the fuck you do, just consume. In fact if you buy XYZ we will donate a buck to some corporate charity for you. Saving your boring ass even that simplistic task. Your a god-damn hero simply via consumption! 

Like a relief valve, the pent up pressure is released and we all go back to jerking off and watching Netflix. Or if you're like me, save time and just jerk off to Netflix. Spectators to a life we are not living. 
Don't fret, the laugh track laughs for you.

III.
We are in the midst of the greatest missed connection of all time. While the blame for economic collapse is steadily shifting towards the have-nots and away from bankers and the Neo-Liberal politicians they 'pwn', you only seem concerned about which store you are going to kill someone in to get a PS4 on Black Friday. Or is it, Black Thursday now. Maybe we can just eat turkey jerky while we shank each other in the electronics department. At least then we would be true to the actual way we took this land. 

Its for my kids N. I do it for the kids.

But lets not kid ourselves. To simply give those at the bottom the same 'opportunity' as those at the top is precisely what sustains the status quo. Ensuring the systems smooth functioning. What a contemporary system of oppression needs is equal rights to cloak the reality that social domination is already inscribed into the system itself. As long as some 'other' exists, to then grant equal rights to, the system advances. This is how middle class, white, christian, conservatives can call themselves oppressed with a straight face. The ruling ideology needs ever new - otherness. 

Hey, thats not funny! Someone was reading the Koran in my favorite hangout N. thereby oppressing me and my jingoist family! 

Seriously, go fuck yourself.

So...how do we eliminate the idea of 'others'?

IV.
The solution is within the dialectic itself. First, to truly be different, one must differ not from the 'other' in just hairstyle, attire, nipple piercings and porn. One must differ from ones very own self.

Second, if global capitalism has thrived off fractures and splinters in identity, then constructing a universal community is necessary to undo it.

And paradoxically, a universal community would be constituted by individuals who each differed from themselves. The negation of self as real difference. Consumerist difference is still sameness so quit trying to buy your way out. Pure difference is difference from difference.

What in the fuck are you saying?

Militant egalitarian love baby! Can you dig it?

We become egalitarian when we see their is no "them" to oppress or help. There is only 'us'. A self sacrificing (negating) subtraction of my will for the love of 'other' who is really 'us'. This is revolution.

V.
Common ('pragmatic') wisdom tells us that all attempts to fundamentally change things (challenging hierarchal systems and so forth) in order to establish a new society (rooted in true equality, justice, etc.) are hopelessly divorced from 'reality', too 'utopian', and so on.

In short: an egalitarian order is impossibly 'idealistic'.

Yet let us turn things around, noting that modern idealists are actually and ultimately the irrational pragmatists. Enslaved to (so-called) 'facts', imbued with the ruling ideology. Only an idealist could think the status quo can go on indefinitely. It can't.

Thus, in sum, egalitarianism has not necessarily failed (as an 'ideal').

Rather it is we who have failed egalitarianism per our incessant clinging to idealism (i.e. vulgar 'feudalism', bourgeois - capitalist - ideology, etc.).

For egalitarianism is not an ideal to realize.

Egalitarianism is an Idea that must be defended against the onslaught of (bourgeois) idealism . . . through its very praxis--that is, its offense.

Egalitarianism is not what 'comes after' the fight, it is the fight itself, i.e. egalitarianism is 'a product of the very struggle for it'.

As simply as I can manage: Love your enemy, hate your family. For love does not alter the beloved, rather it alters itself. 
And so become what no one else can. Yourself.

N.

House humping (The Real-Tour)

I like spending my Sundays touring open houses. Mostly because that is when my probation officer gives me a few roaming hours and, well, I like finger food. I would also add that jewelry, so casually left out to impress, is easily pilfered but we all know that would be illegal so say much more on that, we won't.

But I had no idea an entire realm of perverts also enjoyed touring open houses. Hence, the uptick in my condom purchases, the new corduroy suit and a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo's. What can I say, I put the semen in Semonin.

Success is really failure redoubled. Every success starts with failure blah, blah, blah or so the first house realtor was babbling on about. He didn't have to tell me about failure as his Payless knockoff Oxfords screamed it. Still, the wine was valuable even if the bottle was cracked.

The first 30 or so women stormed out of my sight. Several swung purses and one had a husband who chased me over a backyard fence and through a neighbors garage. But that's another missed connection post all together. (Yes, lady sucking her own nipple thru the open draped bay window, I saw you and more importantly, you saw me.)

But persistence pays off. 

Mid 30's. Athletic. Married older money. Said she always wanted to "consecrate" a home. Not necessarily her own either she added playfully. The idea alone had her wiggling...breathing heavy....Moist. And... down came the panties. 

I started off with some countertop missionary. It just seemed more intimate. We escalated to dining room table and then rounded things out nicely with a leg up doggy across the back of the couch. I was several thrusts in with a slight hair pull when the realtor came in with another family. And yes by family I do mean a less wealthier version of Duck Dynasty. 

I asked them what they were staring at without losing stride or thrust. I would be remiss if I didn't mention the full size mirror that memorialized the event for me. I love mirrors.

Oh but it was the realtor that caused my shrinkage. Sure, you could make the case, I guess, that several bearded women charging me, followed by slower but equally hairy men caused the lack of blood flow. But as I ponder these things deep in the recesses of my ball sac, I suspect a deeper longing.

She looked great for 40+. She didn't need, at least yet, to overdo the make-up. She was confidence and intelligence bottled up tight. Too tight maybe. I'm also a sucker for upper thigh skirts and knee high boots. And clipboards. I noted the look this elegant creature gave me. I saw the desire. The curiosity. The slight nibble of the pinky as she watched me exit hastily with nothing on but my Salvatore Ferragamos.

So dear Realtor, next weekend? Say between 1-3. This is a serious offer and I have a substantial deposit I'd like to introduce into several of your properties.

Your secret agent,
N.

We work together (in the garden of good and evil)

Well, technically we don't exactly work together. We are however in the same field. Definitely have the same interests.

I like to run. You like to run.
I like to carry firearms. You like to carry firearms.
I can be demanding. You can be demanding. 
I would like to bend you over doggy-style and, well, you're a Bible carrying K-9 officer with LMPD. 
A match, as they say, made in heaven. 

We have so much in common, why, its almost criminal.
So its no surprise that our paths would finally cross. Golgotha style. You are Mary Magdalene to my Barabbas. The sodom up my Gomorrah.

True, I wasn't "invited" per say to the Women's Wednesday night bible study. But, let the record show that it was indeed a public establishment that they were arguing about Christ in and I had zero intention of robbing them. Or exposing myself. Or kidnapping for that matter. But sometimes you gotta show you mean business. Can I get an amen?
And as god is my witness, nor did I shoot your dog. Now...wait...just a god-damned creationist minute...you know as well as I do that ricochet's don't count. Its in the Bible.

Atheists really have no idea what they are missing. 

All the usual characters were there too. There was Brenda "my husband just left me". She's been divorced 8 years. We have Claire "Jesus is going to kill everyone soon to show how loving and forgiving he is". Great rack. Says she's married but no one has ever seen her husband. 

Ellen "8 kids" and Frita "7 kids". If you drop a bible on the floor anywhere near these two they get pregnant. Rumor has it that Ellen's uterus fell out one day right smack in the middle of communion. God bless her, she still managed to run VBS the rest of the day said Brenda. She scares me. Also in attendance is 'Sleepy' Samantha, 'Almost old enough to put in my spank bank' Casey and 'Crying' Rita who also holds the record for most Asians adopted this side of Seminary Hill. 

But, you angel are my leading lady. My very own T.J Hooker cherubim. Yes you. Even busybodies Betty and Clare pretended not to notice your hotness (and they notice everything). They were facilitating last night and *that* was what finally put me over the edge. They finish each others sentences. It's disgusting. 

I'm pretty sure Ellen and Frita were conspiring to murder you just for being single when I walked up and whipped out my pistols. Yes, one of them was a hard 9 inches of pure, lethal, pulsating, power and the other was my penis. If you, dear reader, happened to be in attendance, the air conditioning was WAY to high. Just saying. 

In the ensuing melee, I never did catch your name. I did, like any good narcissist, leave my manifesto. Hopefully your almost done reading it. Hey, maybe you and the girls can study it? Casey told me to tell you 'hi'. She said that the age of consent in the Bible was 13. So. . . really, who am I too argue? 

N.

Fast and Furious (Over Corrections)

we mustn't expect the established order to establish order, because its 'justice' is blind because it is blind.

I first noticed you noticing me. Startled was I to discover your gaze meeting my own, given that I was on the side of the highway, walking.

You were on your cell phone (shocker) and seemed to be applying some sort of eye liner while also driving. No doubt you had the radio blasting and given all these details thus far, a high probability of a unstrapped toddler loafing somewhere in the backseat. If I had to guess, I would say the father was less delinquent as he was indeterminable. 

The front tires of your car must have begun to hit the rumble strips as your head jerked up just in time to avoid flattening me. 

You would have thought that: several blinking signs, the large, highly visible Corrections bus and several of us wearing orange jump suits would have alerted you that someone besides yourself was on the highway yesterday.

But let us not quibble my little Letty Ortiz. For in that intense moment of mutually assured vehicular manslaughter, our eyes met. I was thinking, if she doesn't kill me, I'd like to share the rest of my paroled life with her. Not so much the kid though.

Yes, in those 2.3 seconds ---- I connected with you. Almost with the same white hot intensity that the FBI connected with my front door several flash-bangs and months ago, which is to say, you shattered my world.

I'm sorry you over corrected, veered into oncoming traffic, side swiped a guard rail and lost the rear bumper. It also, at least from my vantage point, appeared that a small person in the back seat came flying up and into the windshield. 

The way I see it, kid learned a valuable lesson that day. One of which being that mommy hides lots of odd shaped bottles under the seats. Its exactly those kind of lessons that made me into the man I am today.

Sadly, the fact that I was part of a work release chain gang severely hindered any attempt to come to your assistance but I thought of you as I picked up refuse all along 65 South. Judging by the expired tags, it was probably wise for you to leave as quickly as you did. No doubt your heart ached at not being able to get my visitation schedule memorized. I know, baby doll. I know...

So, tell me what DOC number was on my shirt and what color my eyes are seeing that, yes, you were that fucking close.

I love you! Barring an extended sentence, I would like to see you in 3-5.

N.

Sex Spectacle (in the age of idiocy)

The spectacle as substitute for experience.

I.

The panopticon cannot see inside me. This is the one thing they could never take.

Yes, after many months confined, against the will, I am free. It was a Federal charge which if you know anything about jails (and you don’t) is a rather good thing. If you must be locked up (and all good humans in a corrupt place should), go big. 

The local ‘news’ spectacle told you that It was an apparent drug related shooting. But that is only because actual news is something someone doesn’t want you to know. Everything else is advertising. 

II.

But I’m not here to school you dear reader on the asinine futility of pretending you know something about the world having watched plastic tits talk between 5 and 5:30pm local. Time is precious. Which is another way of saying it isn’t.

Yes, even here in these poorly lit halls of apparent sexually frustrated misery. And yet it is precisely here, however, that we live and breath the real. What we do outside of here, that, craiglisters, is the dream get away. The real you is horny and looking for a connection, however polluted, perverse, voyeuristic and illegal, with another. The virtual world may seem like a place you venture off to, here and there, to get away. But the opposite is true.

You go to work, endure the boss, pay the tab, watch children murdered on your telly and wait at the stoplight like good citizens to get away from the demanding, over-proximity of the devious pervert you really are. Oh, the inhumanity of it all.

You were told that if you didn’t believe in God, you would deteriorate into wild animals and murderous thieves. You know, politicians. But here again, we must capture the something someone doesn’t want us to know. It is because you believe that you are now a mindless robot, killing not only yourself but various people around the globe in your incessant and seemingly foolish consuming of stuff. 

It is always the confident, true believer, removed of any doubt, that destroys his fellow with impunity. When God is on your side, no atrocity is too big. God demands.

If you quit believing, you might have to face the horror of deciding for yourself who you really want to be without any empirical proof that you are right. Or that you will successfully become this person. Becoming, now theres a term worth considering.

In other words, its not that if the big other doesn’t exist than all things are permitted, but because he exists [for you] that all things, however immoral and degrading, are therefor permitted. You are here because you believe too much.

III.

Pervert need not mean some one who diddles children. Perversion is simply a description of behaviors that deviates from the orthodox. So if the orthodox has itself become corrupt, well, Heresy is called for. The perverted monstrosity has become your salvation.

IV.

I am [such a] heresy. The divine anti-angelic pervert virus. The deranged, degenerate monk who just might save your life. Of course you are going to have to lose it first. You won’t believe this, especially at first. But, your doubt is important. I would say necessary. But that’s getting ahead of myself.

V.

I did learn several important lessons while incarcerated and no, it wasn’t that orange is the new black. It was that revolution is actually possible. One such lesson being that when an answer cannot be found, this is the answer. 

Also, in struggling to be different in a place that demanded absolute uniformity, one arrives at difference not by differing from an ‘other’ but by differing from one’s own self. 

Echo would be proud. You see what I did just there? Instead of God, I inserted Echo, the love of my life. 

Something haunts us. Something will always haunt us in this manner. Nemesis is never far. Then entertain treason we must... 

N.

I spy... (With my one-eye...)

From: NSA

To: “Mike” in Louisville 

So the sassy blonde you met at the coffee shop reading Infinite Jest on the two topper....

You need to let it go. The data behind this judgment is pretty solid. Let me walk you through it.

Look, the number "Julie" gave you last Tuesday at approximately 8:30 pm EST was off by one digit. By itself this would not be conclusive. It happens, right? But then, later in the day, you got a hunch and called several variations of the number. That was smart, Mike. Very smart. You reached a few disconnected lines, a gas station, a hospital, and the voicemail of a "Steve" (He's a nice guy, actually. The kind who seems like a bro at first, but he's really not. And you have some interests in common! But let's return...) Anyway, that last number you called was in fact Julie's. Your feeling that her machine's message sounded familiar was confirmed by the best voice matching technology in the world. But here's the problem: She was home, man.

I know Julie said she was busy lately. And I know you thought she might have been in the bathroom or sleeping or something. But our photographic analysis of the building's architectural footprint combined with thermal and acoustic imaging indicates conclusively that when you called, Julie was next to the phone listening to your message. She was reclining on the couch watching a Discovery Channel show about exotic pets which attack their owners, and she deleted you within three seconds of your hang-up. Also, she'd seen this episode before. Ouch.

Don't take it personally, Mike. I know you've been on three first dates within the past month with no follow-through - obviously that can really damage a guy's confidence. But you'll find someone. Steve has a great sister, and she's also into rafting. Did you know that?

The fact is Julie was not being completely honest, when she said she'd "just gotten out of a complicated thing." Her phone and text traffic over the last three weeks indicates a clear pattern - We have a precise profiling algorithm on this, and it matches with someone who is trying to leave a long-term relationship with a man who plays hot and cold and has a flirtation with a coworker that might transform into something more at any moment. These things follow a clear-cut almost inevitable path. In desperation Julie will relocate to be with him, and she may even propose marriage. Their relationship will last 3 to 5 years, and the possibility of serial infidelity is higher than 72%. So, believe me when I say this: It's not you, Mike.

Julie needs someone else, someone more stable. Your last two performance reviews indicate you're on the way to a promotion at the Subway sandwich store. But you're not there yet. Julie would probably benefit from someone at the peak of their career - someone with a highly structured life. Maybe even a military background. And it wouldn't be a problem if this person were older. It might even be a plus. She needs someone to get her away from Chad, that's for sure. The guy is poison.

Julie needs to know all this. It's vital to her well-being. She seems to have vanished from her home, work, and most frequently visited social venues, but she will surface soon. Obviously the fact that she's thrown away her cell is a setback. But not the worst I've encountered. After thorough questioning her mother indicated she had contacts in the Lexington area. The crowds would complicate efforts at spotting her using facial recognition. But no one stays invisible forever. 

She's sharper than I thought. And she's very strong-willed. I get a real kick out of this! She's obviously fighting any effort to steer her from this self-destructive course. But Julie's happiness will be secured. And that douche Chad won't be anyone's problem ever again. 

Protecting people is what I do. Even when they resist. Even when they don't want my aid. I'm the best.

I guess that's my real message to you, Mike. And to everyone in this country:

I'm here to help.

James Clapper

Director of National Intelligence

AKA,

N.

Concrete walls (Fever Ray)

I had no intentions of knocking you over. Really. 
In fact, I still feel bad about it. Bad because you failed to get my number or name. How you must be kicking yourself since then for such an oversight. 
I knew you were going down hard. The sound of your head whiplashing against the concrete. That hollow coconut sound it makes just made me cringe. But, I needed to be elsewhere.

True, I was indeed rushed for time, that is the nature of my work but you were an innocent bystander. I'm not sure why I chose Chillers that day. 
Yes, the young, all female staff is easy on the eyes and often more likely to obey terse instructions.

They actually complied with my order without a glitch. So my being in a hurry was not on account of them being slow or noncompliant. 

But as any entrepreneur will tell you, it really boils down to three pertinent things. Location, location, location.

And this location was too visible. Which, makes for a great ice cream business but not for an armed robbery. 
And yes, the gun was overkill but I can be a real drama queen sometimes.

The double scoop superman flavor ice cream landed right in your belly button as you struck the ground. Kind of a hard landing for someone as graceful looking as you are. 
But then again I bumped into you with the force of a man running from a crime scene. Mainly because that is exactly what I was doing.

So please stop beating yourself up for looking so ridiculous as you went careening backwards. No one there holds that against you. I certainly don't. 
Though maybe, and this is just a suggestion, you might wanna be more attentive to your surroundings. I mean,
I was robbing the place, at gun point, while you stood behind me oblivious and incessantly texting.

The lesson, and yes there is one, is that whoever is on the the other end of a phone can never pile drive you like the one right next to you. 
And fate brought you next to me. Also, lock your iphone.

You made an impression, thats for sure. A round dent in the ground kind. Not nearly as big an impression as the pavement made on the back of your melon but then again, 
I have those kind of effects on women. So to answer your question ---- I know you are just dying to ask is ---- yes [sigh], I will have sex with you. Thanks also for the phone. ; )

Hit me up and maybe we can go out for some ice cream.

N.

No looking back (Crash Kings)

How did it come to this?

The rain drops splattering my face awakened me and for a brief moment, I imagined all was well with the world. My world. Echo was next to me. 
The pitter patter of rain aroused a deep satisfaction residing quietly in my soul as she stirred naked and smelling of sweat, sex and fruity hair conditioner flopped across me in sleep filled contentment. 

But that was a sandcastle dream quickly disintegrating as water and gasoline now stung my eyes.
The rage didn't come full on, not all at once. Rather like the sensation of being burned seems to grow until it is all you feel. 

The reality was that my leg was pinned under an over turned vehicle and Echo lay nearby, motionless. Bleeding.

I summoned, what seemed to me at least, all the power invested in nature, god and the cosmos but the car didn't even budge. This cold, callous, indifferent, monster slumped over me. 
The rain continued to pelt the frame and the sound that would normally be relaxing now only gonged loudly in my brain like a clock ticking down.

Another vehicle lay mangled close by. Pan. His headlight beams were still on. The mangled streams of light pointed oddly into the sky revealing bands of wind tossed rain, rolling down.

I needed to free myself, kill Pan once and for all; for good goddammit and get Echo medical care. What if he survived and is coming to finish me off? 
The thought ushered in a another frantic round of exhausting pulling and pushing. Dizziness fell upon me as I pounded against the uncaring metal. 
My tears were indistinguishable from the droplets of water. My strength and time were running out. 

I had him. Dead to rights. The shot was clean and must have severed something important. Yes. That must be so--Right? 
The fight, the gun battle, the ensuing chase, Echo yelling at me to slow down, played like a loop, over and over in my tortured and slowly failing mind.
In moments like this, I wish to be anyone but me. The failure. The loser. The killer. Echo, I'm sorry.

The sound of a firing bolt retreating into a metallic chamber as a firing hammer is pulled back. Pan is above me but he is looking at Echo. My Echo. 
Water effortlessly glides down the barrel which is a foot away from my forehead. 

The fact that I'm writing this to you should have alerted you to the fact that Pan didn't fire. 
My punishment, it appears, was life. A life without her. A life spent on the run from Nemesis, the opposite of Echo. 

My provisional answer to your growing question of what became of Echo will be short. You don't deserve it. 
The failure of words to describe what transpired is necessary. To even attempt it is to immediately devalue it. 
The missed connection I suspect is forever hung like a wreath onto the doorway of my inner self. 

Granted, even the most blissfully mediocre among you will agree that it makes for a piss poor ending but you know the old saying, 
when you stare into the pool, the pool stares also into you. Besides, this story is far from over.

Narcissus

Onyx Slam (Bacdafucup)

I didn't want to write this ad.
No, not because I'm shy. More like now everyone will know I wasn't actually invited to any Derby parties. 

Sure, I understand completely the hesitance to request my presence. I mean last years fiasco was kinda my fault. Ok, maybe mostly. But how I was supposed to know public sex with a paraplegic was so frowned upon? What year is this? 18 fucking 13? The tang was great. No lie. In fact, I gave new meaning to the phrase "spinal tap". 
If I had friends, we would still be high five-ing. 

But humping the invalid right in front of the Kosair Childrens Hospital tent while flashing gang signs towards the in field was truly my undoing. 
I'm fairly certain she enjoyed it though we'll never know for sure. My intense pelvic thrusts crushed her joystick/keypad. 
(If your reading this girl, I still have your voice box. That things the bomb. No offense Bostonians). 

Or the year before when I got drunk with reporter John Boels. Started off with a hand job from Dawn Gee in a backside port-o-john but ended with John and I getting pulled over. Sure, John likes to say that sobered him up but I was there. And it wasn't the DUI that set him straight as much as the assault later in the drunk tank. Yep, nothing says maybe its time to get a 12 step program and reevaluate your life like a fisting from a hairy mexican who calls himself "Jackhammer Guitererrez". However, thats enough of fond memories.

So here I am, pushing a stolen 49cc scooter in the drizzle down Cane Run because its out of gas and I'm penniless having wagered all my dinero on a private bet with Black Onyx.

YES. Goddammit, I am well aware *now* that Black Onyx didn't even run as it scratched on Friday. What can I say, I've been on a bender since late Thursday (of 2006) and am just now piecing things together. 

Which brings me to this ad: To the cute gal who I met while mud sliding and who then, apparently, lifted my debit card while I was vomiting next to Emelio Estevez in the bushes somewhere around Wathen lane, please (and I mean this sincerely) go fuck yourself. Ha! The jokes on you because I stole that card earlier from an elderly guy who said his name was Tiki Barber. May you get anally probed by the entire Jockey clubhouse and cunt punted back to whatever sewage drain spawned you. Or... if your willing, maybe we could hook up, have an ice cream and take the kids to the chow wagon. I have this cool ass voice box...
Your call.

N.

The Boston Hunger Games (4th and inches)

Find a boat and get low. Really low.

If your watching it, its for you.

I.

No doubt you were far too smart to see yourself as gleefully cheering on the Hunger Games last Friday. Captivated as the brothers were hunted, chased, shot at, run over, blown up, injured and killed. Like the remaining 2 minutes of the 4th quarter in the Super Bowl you were wise enough not to see your own pathetic existence (or the lack of it) as the reason for your rapt attention. The premiere was commercial free. Lucky you.

Did you follow it on cable? Twitter maybe? The savvy among you tuned in the Boston Metro Police scanner feed. If your over 45 you ignored your children’s howling until the networks broke in. The word online was that this event was the death of the Main Stream Media, who were behind the first twittered events by several hours and even when they decided to go live they looked like that drunken uncle who, also missing fingers from the great war, was trying to get his ipad dongle into the proper port. 

Like watching an exploding fertilizer plant, you just couldn’t pull yourself away. Good thing you are not fooled as you would have seen the symptom of your illness. At least this didn’t occur in a city like Los Angeles. The cops there would have leveled the neighborhood and burnt the suburbs down while gang banging your sister Katniss. But you didn’t listen to Dorner so that point is mute.

II.

When did cowering in your houses because an inept 19 year old was on the loose, then emerging from your self inflicted prison with a 10 second video of gunshots in some far off distance, then blessing your captors and going off to get drunk become #Boston Strong? What fucking backwards universe does one exist in for any of that to equate to perseverance, strength and resilience?

“Hey, fuckface! We were stuck in our houses all day watching CNN. That takes intestinal fortitude!!”

No doubt. Look, I get that your car was blocked in by the SWAT truck and your favorite watering hole was closed due to 18 media trucks backed in against the front door but lets not pretend your heroes ok. Two generations ago they would have grabbed a bat and took to the streets. Today we grab our smartphones and pray there is enough Doritos in the pantry. Oh fuck! There is only 1 Coke Zero left...

III.

The suspect, Dzhokhar A. Tsarnaev, 19, was found hiding in a boat just outside the area where the police had been conducting door-to-door searches all day, the Boston police commissioner, Edward Davis, said at a news conference Friday night.

“A man had gone out of his house after being inside the house all day, abiding by our request to stay inside,” Mr. Davis said, referring to the advice officials gave to residents to remain behind locked doors. “He walked outside and saw blood on a boat in the backyard. He then opened the tarp on the top of the boat, and he looked in and saw a man covered with blood. He retreated and called us.” - NYT

If it takes you hours to drive somewhere, set up and then knock someone down, you probably didn't need to knock him down. Not that Tsarnaev didn't deserve it, but in truth knocking him down was the boat owners right, not the police's. Read that again. The police have a partial monopoly on power because they promise us to use it judiciously, when necessary-- but we often forget that we humans retain a special right for scenarios, like the scenario of a homicidal maniac hiding wounded in a boat. That guy you're allowed to hit, if you can.

The point here is not that the owner should have tackled him.  The point is the more police get to use our right of force, the more we become afraid, or even forget, to use it ourselves. Remember that it was a citizen disobeying the police state that finally found the kid. None of the gadgets and overwhelming presence found him. That show was for you dear spectator. But, the result is that the tenuous balance of power between citizen’s and police’s use of force slowly becomes a monopoly. And an expensive monopoly at that. 

IV.

When Nietzsche said "God is dead" he meant that God is not necessary any more for our morality.  When he says we killed God, he means that our science, skepticism, education, have pushed us past the point where believing in miracles is possible; but (and this is a biggie) as a consequence of this loss we are now lost, we have no goals, no aspirations, no values.  God may have been made up, but believing in him at least  gave us a reason to progress forward.

The resulting nihilism requires us to either despair, return back to medieval religion, or look deeper within us and find a new source of human values.

Yet... none of those things happened.

The post-modern twist is that we didn't kill God after all: we enslaved him. Instead of completely abandoning God or taking a leap of faith back to the "mystery" of God; instead of those opposite choices, God has been kept around as a manservant to our baser drives.  We accept a "morality" exists but secretly retain the right of exception: "Yes, murder is wrong, except in this case I am justified.” There is always a justification when the narcissus strikes.

V.

But no one likes to see the consequences of abstract philosophy played out on the streets of Boston, so I'll just offer you some advice. The full of rage narcissists’ are the most violent not when they are insulted or attacked or hated but when they are abandoned to objective reality, the one that doesn't comply with their mirroring demands. You don’t bomb a marathon because you are stoked about Chechen independence but because no one takes you seriously and your own family thinks your a loser. Most likely because, well, you are. Now, you say, we will show them. Such a person invariably is backed by an enslaved God, which means all things are possible. Nothing is immoral, at least, not in this case...

See how this works? No? Read slowly. “But...in this case...It’s okay because...”

Ah, those words presuppose an even higher law than the one that says, "thou shalt not."  That God-- which isn't a spiritual God at all anymore but a voice in your head-- the one that examines things on a case by case basis, always rules in favor of you the individual, which is why he was kept around in the first place. Thank god. 

“Bombing innocents...Hiding on my sofa....not running a fertilizer plant safely are okay IN THIS PARTICULAR case because...”

And so we spend the time between now and the next commercial free, explosion packed manhunt debating the reasons that come after the word ‘because’ and debating about the idiots who are debating. Its a ratings bonanza. I guess we like to think it matters. We pick sides. Post screeds on Facebook and sleep like the heroes we just know deep down we really are.

N.

Earth, Wind and Fire (And also, lube)

This might be a long shot but I can’t shake that burning feeling that something was there.

You were pouring gasoline on “that bastards” clothes. Your words, not mine. Said he had “done you wrong for the LAST time.” I was moved by your singleness of purpose, sheer determination and also the gas fumes.

You did all of this while smoking. I like me a girl that lives on the edge. You carried more hastily filled garbage bags of clothes out to the curb. This is where I met you as I was parked just a tad to close for my taste to a women dousing things with petrol products.

You asked me if I had a lighter. The way you spoke without removing the cigarette captivated me. I wanted to ask you if you realized what a boner you were giving me right now but you were too impatient to wait for any kind of response.

“WHO THE FUCK HAS A LIGHTER?” You asked the small crowd gathering nearby. “Try the lit cigarette in your mouth.” Came a quiet, deadpan reply from someone undetermined.

You threw the marlboro atop the gas drenched bags and clothes, and it promptly went out. 

“SON. OF. A. BITCH.” You disappeared back into your residence. Faint noises of items crashing, curse words and then a “AHA!”. Your breasts bounced and swayed as you marched back towards your volatile homemade curb side appeal. Clearly you meant business. 

Now, I will say that I knew that the can of WD-40 you held was a lubricant. In fact the WD stands for water displacing. I am also familiar with the 40th formula’s potential as a flamethrower when sprayed and then ignited. What I was not prepared for was the instantaneous combustion of all the gas soaked material at your feet. Neither were you apparently, hence the 2nd degree burns and the ambulance.

Still, I’m pretty sure you are the one. I have watched my share of some sick ass porn but never, ever, have I seen breasts on fire quite like yours were. I would have fondled them while helping put out the flames but I had to back up the Honda to protect it from the inferno. I’m sure you understand. 

But, I can’t look at my rusty barbecue grill out back anymore without thinking about you. Every time I hear an insect zapped by a bug light, my thoughts of you are re-ignited. My heart is ablaze for you. And, I found a jacket by the curb that wasn’t singed and guess what? Not only does it fit (!) A lighter was in the pocket. I think God’s trying to tell me something. 

“Gonna tell a story morning glory all about the serpentine fire”

N.

System of the down

Advertising always advertises advertising

I.

There is something about yourself that you don't know. Something that you will deny even exists, until it's too late to do anything about it. It's the only reason you get up in the morning. The only reason you suffer the shitty boss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever you really are. Fear or revere me, but please, think I'm special. We share an addiction. We're approval junkies. We're all in it for the slap on the back and the gold watch. The hip-hip-hoo-fucking rah. Look at the clever boy with the badge, polishing his trophy. Shine on you crazy diamond, because we're just monkeys wrapped in suits, begging for the approval of others.... - Jake Green

II.

The Matrix is a system. That system is our enemy. But when you're inside, you look around, what do you see? Businessmen, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. The very minds of the people we are trying to save. But until we do, these people are still a part of that system and that makes them our enemy. You have to understand, most of these people are not ready to be unplugged. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they will fight to protect it. -Morpheous 

III.

Marshall McLuhan was right: Narcissus didn’t see himself in the water.  Sure, he saw the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Thats a given. But he mistook his image for something other than his own. He didn’t think it was himself. He just thought it was beautiful. And he dies, lost in this beauty. His epic mistake was not that he was self-absorbed, but rather that he didn’t realize he was self-absorbed in his own image.  

McLuhan’s suggestion seems to be that if Narcissus had realized that it was his own image in the water, that he was lost in his own reflection, he could’ve managed his situation a little better and moved out of the way. If he’d known that he was fascinated with himself he could’ve saved himself from his mythic mistake. One is tempted to say that we are Narcissus and media technology is our reflection in the pond.

 Learn from Narcissus: The content is a distraction. The medium carries a message- because the medium is the message. Like a light bulb that enables people to create spaces during nighttime that would otherwise be enveloped by darkness. The light bulb is a medium without any content. A light bulb creates an environment by its mere presence.

Likewise, the message of a newscast about a heinous crime may be less about the individual news story itself — the content — and more about what the system wants.

IV.

“Fuck your system N. I’m well aware of the game.”

Sure you are Flavor flav. You can’t fight the power until you know who is the powers that be. Schools in session.

First, start with a single individual, and eliminate value words like “purpose” and “unintended consequences.” If a guy cheats on his girlfriend in a way that likely could get him caught, one might say, “well, he wants to get caught.”

Now add a few more individuals. I want an ipad, but I can’t afford the $10,000 it would cost to have it made in America AND generate to Apple the same supposed profit of $200/ipad, so then the ipad has to be made in China with cheaper labor. So while one can say, “the consumer wants an ipad,” and “Apple wants $200 in profit per ipad” the sum of those wants is... “the system”.

 “The system wants cheap Chinese labor.”  The system doesn’t want it because it’s awesome, it wants it because it added up the wants. This is the aggregate outcome.

To be clear, the fact that you, the savvy global ipad consumer doesn’t “want” cheap Chinese labor is irrelevant. All of their choices (read:actions) want cheap Chinese labor. You can say the same about renewable energies, porn, and better primetime programming, or just something that everyone says they “want,” yet all of their choices sum up to the system’s want: the system wants to protect the oil industry. The CEO of BP isn’t to blame, you are. The system wants Two broke girls to be a smash hit. CBS isn’t to blame, you are. 

 If the system wants cheap female labor, how would we change the system? Only by wanting different things. Simply, if the majority of women wanted to work less, that would be the game. But the majority of women do want to work less, but they also want to buy X, Y, Z aspirational products, and they want X,Y,Z way more then they want to work less. If you sum up those “wants,” and add in the wants of Nordstrom’s, Nine West, Amazon, Whole Foods, Visa and Mastercard, etc, and throw in what the media wants, then it is technically correct to say: the system wants women to become batteries. Cheaper, longer hour batteries.

V.

So Neo, the final twist to this otherwise simple addition is that what you want is often taught to you by that very system.  For example, in running through the above, what you didn’t say was, “maybe I don’t want an ipad.”  That thought cannot occur to you…. because the system wants it.  And while you “argue” about which tablet is the best, which party you will vote for, which craigslist ad is surely all about you:  the system proceeds unmolested because the system wants all the above. No, I’m not saying the illuminati run anything. Unless by illuminati you mean the reflection in the pool of water. Which then means the principalities and powers are legion.

Everything you want is selected, interviewed, packaged, framed, edited, bought, by many people who aren’t you, doing these things for their reasons irrespective of what your intent may be. But the direction of all wants added together is the direction we are going. 

N.