This Ain’t No Party, This Ain’t No Disco

photoThis is where the freaks out there hiding behind the carnival all night waiting for it to reopen are right. I think we have reached that dim room, the one up in the old hotel where the paranoid lady washes bad luck from her split stockings and has screwed her doors shut (with different families of screw head) and sealed window cracks with packing tape in order to keep out mystical smoke from her neighbors that if inhaled will turn her into a communist. The cray cray, the crowd are on to something in their high-strung ravings. We are being watched and those protections that we so believed in are indeed fantasy. The boy in an Arizona strip mall playing video games is indeed within Ender’s Game, and any of us could be droned at any time.
…Except that the majority of us don’t matter to the Powers That Be…. Or do we? It is like the ending of The Blob or the Creature From the Black Lagoon or any movie that ended with a “?” projected on the screen (nerds, extra credit… how many films… and… go).
We are safe, as long as we are little useless things. Well.. the cray cray websites and bloggers think we all matter. I read them every now and again although I know their facts are a little selected, if not slanted… Actually their narrative of conspiracy is often dated. And stop writing about Lizard people. And Jews. Please. Yes, this one seems a tinge tainted with the mental confines of a singular opinion about “Powerknoledge” and uses the term “paradigm shift” over the WPP use of occurring once every 750 words in college, once every 7500 words after college and never in natural language and common conversation. That one seemed normal until some rant on mole people. While there is indeed fantastic opinion and a lack of Demerol on the Internet, when someone says, “I checked the satellite on [Uncle] Google, and you can’t see my house because of the pine trees, so I guess I’m ok,” and this is not seen as strange to say, there is a set of switches controling social normative behavior that have been reset, deset, or been otherwise tampered with.
When did it happen that the loons spoke a truth none of us used to dare utter? When did the freak kingdom conspiracy theorists leak the truth out and now we all sound like Koo Ka Chews with sandwich boards exclaiming “Elvis is Coming!”? How did this happen that we must now look over our shoulder at the Truthers the Birthers the John Birchers and Beenie Baby collectors, the Kookamunga Kakas that they may all be right… Or have within their ranting, some large pebbles of truth?
photo(2)We may indeed worry about the breath of our freedom, as the militias warned, about our chosen religion, as the Branch Davidians warned, about wire taps, as the black flag crowd told us, about the corporations, as the Occupy Wall Street chanted and through clever puppets took to the streets, about the genetic Frankenfood like the Krishnas and vegans, about the globe warming like the tree-huggers, about the military take over like the gun nuts, about the cap on our press and corruption of the media like Pacifica radio, like the rise of a state racism and that it did not end with Obama like Tavis Smiley claims, like so many street preachers and end-of-the-world loons scream, these and more seem to be on the fringe, and then one day there they are in the old MSM and we be like – fashizzel. Beenie Babies(r) may actually be worth something of value. I knew I shouldn’t have let my moms toss them out.
How did we have to come to live in a world where we must doubt our sane thoughts and listen to the Holy Fools? And of us Holy Fools, sneaking awake at noon, drinking in pubs in the day, cross dressing and changing sexes and partners, when did it get so hard to be a lunatic? Shit, it is harder to be a radical these days when truth is those fictions from Howl and strange pulp fiction. The Worker press can’t get readers because the college students just need Reality TeeVee in order to see a good fiction and not read another Nader article since we already know the Mazda Minibomb is a bad car. We know everything.
Snowden exposed what we already knew, so sayeth not our leftist press, not our crazy Unibomber Network (channel 41 on Univision and 56 on Telemundo), but the leader of the Free World ™ Mr. Uncle O Man, the novel Nobel-winning Afro-Punk rocker who glides through history as a kinder-gentler fascist, not wrapped in the flag or carrying Jesus on his back but hosting communist leaders as capitalist cronies and commissioning artists to depict the most American figure, Martin Luther King as Mao and in stone, like so many petty and impure Chinese products, getting the inscription wrong… Got this wrong in the age of Uncle Google, where I can find out who said what as they are saying it, depending on my security clearance.
Truth, is stranger than fiction and these days fiction is nothing more than the truth through the prism of this or that filter, whether governmental, Google parent control, or our ability to select, to cut-and-paste our own world.
In the 1970s they warned that Dundgen and Dragons game was run by the devil. I wonder, now that we all are creating our own games, living in the games of others, and that these games are three dimensional and played by everyone around us… what devil those worried citizens may attribute to this malady and if they may wish for those past simpler devils, that ones who just made pot smoking teens toss dice and pretend to be elves.
Placing this on the Internets has placed me on the radar. I used to joke about being watched. Now, I know. We all know. Yet, what can we do right now? Write one another letters? I don’t even remember how to hold a pen. I only know how to spell words because I have taught my fingers to tap them out in a certain pattern on a keyboard….
I continue to joke about being killed, about being framed for some crime by those who watch and hate, by those hands of the state and that for some slight against Uncle Tom O that they may hold me up for some crime – expose to all what a fiend I am for this or that sexual habit or this or that proclivity to love jelly just in a wrong way or one day some faction of my followers will find that I have shot myself, after poisoning myself, after drowing myself, and that my only note read, “don’t forget to feed my pigs. ” I must be careful. Let me google where I am… Oh no, there is my car (from six years ago) parked outside the home that now belongs to my ex-partner. I must hide. More trees… What; they can see through them too?
I did not expose some loop hole in security. I only read the same banal droll publications and clever New Yorker cartoons as you do. I inject the same poopitude news hours and Comedy Central (“ha ha that is so true Jon/John!”) into my clotted blood. I did not find out that the wepons of mass destruction were untrue. If I did I’d be dead. I did not expose a high ranking general. If I did I would be dead. I did not find out that the CIA did this or that. Dead, dead, die. I did not have the goods on Bill or Hillary Clinton. I did not have information on a Bush or two. I did not hack into some system. I did not share anything with Wikileaks. I did not have proof that a nukular reactor was posing a threat. I did not tell a joke that started the whole world crying. Or I would be dead, or be suicide-ed.
I am very, very, unimportant.
I am safe as long as I don’t count. I can continue to blog, as long as it is dribbling niblets of life at hand and anecdotes about fresh eggs, funny bunker ideas, and clever insertations of the seven words you cannot say on Tee Vee. I am free to rant and rave, as long as I keep talking about spots on those tomatoes and hate for certain laws in seldom visited provenances, parishes, proverbs, or provinces, postage stamps that are not prime numbers, and my theories on Breaking Bad character development. Because, it seems that those who are more HUNTER S THOMPSON than Dan Rather, more Sid Vicious than Neil Sedaka, more deranged than learned, seem to be warning us that “They” are “Coming” and we need “Hide.”
Rolling Stone journalist dies in fiery wreck. Just a coincidence.
Indeed, the Intertubes are awash with so much, not all of it can be true. I mean, people used to not allow Wikipedia as a source and now…. we do.
Perhaps I need think more about dinner. A nice one-bean casserole. Let me check the Food Network for some stellar recipes and keep this talk about Big Brother in hushed voices.

Heard of a van that is loaded with weapons,
Packed up and ready to go
Heard of some gravesites, out by the highway,
A place where nobody knows
The sound of gunfire, off in the distance,
I’m getting used to it now
Lived in a brownstore, lived in the ghetto,
I’ve lived all over this town
. – Talking Heads

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