The Revolution Repeats Itself

‘’I used to be an anarchist. I believed that there was something insidious about the system, a mind virus inside fabricated by the oppressors that needed to be eradicated. This evil spread, the cure was awareness, spreading truth against the lies. The kids today do much the same. They don’t call themselves anarchist, but the language they use ‘systemic racism’, from movements such as intersectional feminism and the theory of patriarchy- which used to be believed by only a small minority of colleges back in the day- sounds much the same. They want to save the disenfranchised from the oppressors. I understand that more than anyone else. But you have to listen to me, all of you, and know that it’s pointless. Nothing is going to change. The human animal will always be as rotten as it is now. The saddest thing is that even the most goodhearted human animal will be fooled by his hubris. The things I believed in were not true, parts of it were, but much of it was inflated in order to serve this narrative I had about the world. I was living a dream, much like the people I considered my enemies. We were all just dreaming. None of us had the answers but we think we did. So stop it. Listen to the writings of Charles Bukowski’s tombstone: don’t try. Don’t try to change the world. Live your selfish life. Let’s others fight the war. My generation tries, the generation before us tried and look at the mess they made. If you’ll be part of the same fools, you’ll  make even a bigger mess. They want you to kill for them. They want you to die for their cause. It’s not your cause. Your only cause is your life. Don’t protest. Don’t share memes. Don’t listen to your news or be swayed by political pundits and charming revolutionaries. Don’t think it’s your moral duty to save others. Get away from this world, the more you get involved, the more you understand that it’s all fucking hopeless. You’ll be just like in that movie about two revolutionaries: you’ll be staring at the fiery wreckage that tore your friend into a million pieces, wondering only one thing: what about me?’’

Picture taken in Katowice, Poland. 
***

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THE WACKY SERIOUSNESS 3

Today’s agenda….

”So I guess you all heard the news?” began the president of America Today, Rupert Ailes, nervously twitching in his seat at the head of the table.
Everyone in the conference room nodded.
”Course you guys did…. Look I just want to state for the record, make this clear for everyone in this room,” he took a deep breath, wanted this to sound as convincing as possible: ”I really, really love the Jews.”
Everyone nodded again.
”I honestly didn’t know. I mean, David was a friend of mine for years. I never knew. I mean, I know he wasn’t very fond of the Jews. But I figured him for your average anti-Semite. You don’t expect every anti-Semite to be a Nazi. I mean, that’s bigotry too.”
Rupert’s loyal assistant, Roger, came to his defense: ”I completely understand. I have tons of anti-Semite friends and none of them are Nazis.”
”Exactly, he was an old college buddy of mine. One of the nicest guys I know. Who knew Nazis could so friendly? He always sends me a card on Christmas. I never thought Nazis send Christmas cards. True, one of the cards said ”have a very white Christmas,” the word ‘white’ was heavily underlined but I thought he meant snow… You know ‘White Christmas”’.
Rupert sighs, ”I mean I should have left when I realized where I was but I just didn’t want to be rude. There were nice people there. They had the most delicious crap cakes. They all had nothing but kind words for me, you know flattery is my weakness…. They said reporters weren’t allowed but this one was undercover. Just my luck right? I find myself accidentally and innocently at a Neo-Nazi gathering and there just happens to be an undercover reporter. Would you believe that? I thought the president was supposed to handle these reporters….”
Rupert leaned back and rubbed his head, a headache was emerging, ”Oh god… I should have had a better excuse than the truth, the truth just makes me look guilty. Oh god why did I have to smile…”
It’s true, he was smiling in all the pictures, but the most unfortunate picture had to the one where he was pointing at a painting  he liked with a straight hand, which made it look like he was making a Nazi salute. He wasn’t, it was just unfortunate timing.
”They have cameras in their eyes now. You can’t even spot them anymore! Oh god, if the president calls I’m fucking dead…”
The problem with these pictures was that it didn’t just damage his credibility or his network, but the president too. The president started this news-network to promote his message to America. This incident caused another massive stain in an already severely controversial network, often accused for being either state-propaganda (which it was), racist (they didn’t think they were but yeah, they were pretty racist), antisemitic (only accidentally), sexist (again, accidentally, they don’t mean to they just happen to say sexist things) and pandering to the president (which they certainly are). This was bad though, very bad. If he couldn’t fix this somehow, the board, on orders of the president, might replace him. His co-workers knew he was in deep shit.
”I mean a lot of them are really funny…”
Roger immediately began listing a random series of Jewish-Comedians: ”Mel Brooks, Don Rickles, Carl Reiner, Woody Allen…”
”Don’t forget Adam Sandler!” said Megyn Colby, a popular pundit.
Nearly everyone in the room got excited. They all loved Adam Sandler.
”Yeah you ever see the one where he plays like a double role. Like he plays the brother and the sister?” asked Steve Kilmead, one of the three hosts of the morning talk-show called America’s Buddies, ”I mean that one is a classic. I nearly died laughing. I love that Al Pacino/Dunkenchino bit. Funniest thing I’ll ever see. Who knew Al Pacino could be that funny?”
”Is Adam Sandler still alive? Was he the one that killed himself?” asked Megyn.
”No that was Dane Cook,” said Ortega Banderas, one of the three hosts of the Morning talk-show called”Oh no!” said Ainsley Ailes, the second host of the Morning show, ”he’s so cute!”
”I cried when I heard that news, nobody made me laugh harder than Dane Cook. NOBODY.”
”He’s not Jewish though,” said Roger sternly, ”we gotta respect only Jewish comedians now.”
”Look the point is,” said Rupert getting back to the point, ”the Jewish people has contributed greatly to the American culture, especially in the area of comedy. I mean not all of them are funny.”
”No,” said Roger violently shaking his head, ”not all of them!”
”I mean I’ve met a few Jews who were assholes, but that’s not because they were Jewish!”
”Of course not!” nodded Roger.
”…They just happen to be assholes. You got assholes in every ethnicity. Though to be fair I’ve never really met a Australian I didn’t like.”
”Australians. Koala’s. Dingoes. Who remembers dingoes?”
”They are great to drink with, Australians I mean. They just want to have fun you know? Jews too. Jews are great drinkers. They have the greatest hats. What do you call those things?”
”A yamaka,” corrected Roger.
”Exactly, I should wear one of these, they look really cool.”
The star pundit of the network, Sean Reilly, has barely said a word when he came. He sighed, rubbed his eyes. He was tired, hungover, melancholic. Everything felt like a tired joke.
”Jews are smart too. They are an educated people.”
”Carl fucking Sagan BOOYA!” hollered Roger.
”And they are great with money. Well I don’t mean all of them. I’m sure some of them are quite lousy with money. But it surprises you when you hear it. I mean if I have to choose between a Jewish accountant or a goyim, I would go with the Jew immediately.”
”You gotta go with the Jew. Take my money Jew. I trust you.”
”Obviously I support a one-state solution. I support Israel and ONLY Israel!”
”Fuck Palestine!” said Roger, banging on the table, which gave everyone in the room a jolt, ”I’m sorry for that,” apologized Roger quickly after.
”Yes. Israel deserves to defend itself and Palestine should just, you know, leave them alone.”
”Leave them alone Palestine!”
Steve lifted up his finger, Roger sighed, ”what is it Steve?”
”I know what you mean. I have a lot of friends who say some outlandish stuff. Once I was playing golf and out of nowhere, this golf buddy of mine, Billy, said that the boyscout organization was a secret Jewish insurgency. I mean would you believe this? What are you supposed to say to that? I mean he really believed this. He just couldn’t shut up about it. I’ve been a boyscout for years and I don’t hate Jews….”
Silence.
”He was a really nice guy though.”
”I once dated someone who didn’t like Jews,” confessed Ainsley.
”Oh why?” Asked Rupert.
”I don’t know, he said it was something about the way they smelled.”
”That’s ridiculous. Jews smell wonderful.”
”I agree. If there was a Jewish cologne I would wear it in a heartbeat,” said Roger.
”There’s this perfume sponsored by this Jewish model,” said Ortega.
”After work I’m immediately getting one!”
Sean wondered why he even went to work today. He felt so sleepy. Oh how he wish he could sleep right now.
”Look I think we can all agree: Jews are awesome. But this is bad for me guys. I’m all over the news, even on papers that are supposed to be our friend. Those assholes at SJWC are going to show those pictures 27/7. They peg me for a Nazi just because I was there! I didn’t mean to! And they didn’t even differentiate the type of Neo-Nazis with. These were socialites nazis. Not the bucktooth hillbilly ones. These were gentle nazis. Polite….”
Rupert took a deep breath, ”but they always say such mean things about me. It’s hurtful. And I could lose my job unless we turn it around so…” He looked at Roger who immediately got up, picked up the stack of papers in front of him and went around the table, giving everyone a piece of paper. On the paper had all the talking points:

-Make sure the people know that Rupert Ailes is not an anti-Semite. He was only a victim of circumstance.
-Despite the presidents silence on this issue, the president really hates Neo-Nazis. Question the Left’s obsession with hearing condemnation of neo-nazis- do they have something to hide?
-Talk about how Political Correctness is out of control.
-Insist that black crime is out of control but please don’t use the N-word this time.
-Naturally remind the people that if the president doesn’t get reelected, America will become a socialist hellhole and drug-dealing Mexican rapists will rampant in America.

”We gotta really make an effort today. Not just talk through a teleprompter. I need fire today, passion! Our top focus today is vehemently oppose anti-antisemitism and Neo-Nazis. Make sure the public knows that we love Jews and that everything that has anything to do with Neo-nazis is very, very bad. I also quickly put some money in some Jewish fund-raisers and some of the sponsors will come and say that I’ve been giving them money for years. Make sure you hammer that in!”
Sean closed his eyes and quickly opened them again.
” …Make sure the people know that I support Israel. Mention Israel a million times. Say that this is a smear-campaign by the liberal media. Talk about how the liberals support these black-militant groups. Talk a lot about black people. Find me footage of Liberals saying something anti-semitic or supporting Palestine. Find me footage of angry black people! I can’t stress this enough. The public can’t get enough of angry black people! It scares them shitless. We are on Defcon one guys! My ass is on the fucking line here guys!”
”It will be alright sir,” Sean said, finally saying something. He didn’t say anything to comfort Rupert, he was just tired of hearing his voice.
”Jesus Sean, you’re alive! Mr. Ratings machine over here decides to join in the conversation. You know I’m counting on you the most. You’re the one they mostly listen to!”
”It will be alright sir. I’ll work my magic. I’ll even talk to the president for you.”
”Oh god will you? Will you tell him I’m sorry?”
”I will sir.”
”Oh god, I hope he forgives me. I can’t retire now. I’ll have to be home with my wife all day. I hate my wife. Maybe I get lucky and some big will happen that will distract the people. Some terrorist attack that kills a lot of people… Meetings adjourned.”

Everybody got up and left, but Sean waited until everybody left the room. He stared ahead of him, out the high-rise window. He started daydreaming. Megyn came back in the room, put her hand on Sean’s shoulder which immediately took him out from his head.
”Sean, you coming?”
”I need a moment.”
”Something wrong?”
”I’m fine. Just in one of my moods.”
”She still doesn’t talk to talk to you?”
”Of course not. Good for her right?”
”You know how it goes Sean, you’ve been through this before. Twice actually. You gotta move on. It just didn’t work out.”
”Things have a way of repeating itself doesn’t it? Things just go round and round and round.”
She patted Sean on the shoulder: ”come on, enough self-pity. You coming with me?”
”Yeah in a minute okay?”
”Sure.”
She left the room. He started daydreaming, he saw himself jumping out the window. He imagined the reactions of America Today and SJWC: one channel would glorify him,  make him a political martyer. They will hint suggest that his suicide had something to do with his deep concern for his country,  the world his kids will live in when the democrats take office.
The other channel would pretend to pity him, use him as an example of often unspoken cases of mental illness in his country. But eventually blame his mental illness for the radical things he said. Naturally, many on the left would celebrate his demise.
This was the game he was in. This is how it works. He’s been doing this for thirty years now. He used to love this job, but now, he was not so sure. Right now, he just wanted to sleep…
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***

THE WACKY SERIOUSNESS 1

Introduction: The World of MEH

This story takes place sometime in the future, not far from now. The only reason for this is because I truly believe, unequivocally, that the future will have just as many stupid people as it has now.
I could set it in a present day, and in some parts it will make more sense, because I will obviously be wrong about many of its futuristic aspects. But I don’t really care about that. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy- as nearly everyone in my social circle has implied or outright stated, sometimes with urgency- because you really have to do research in order to write a decently accurate view of the future. I don’t feel like that, I got shit to do. Even then you could still be wrong. In the fifties they thought we’d be colonizing Mars already. We send robots there, send Matt Damon there but that’s about it. Nobody’s getting laid in Mars anytime soon. Then there’s jet-packs, that would have been cool- you ever seen Truffaut’s Fahrenheit 451? Or better yet: The Rocketeer! So fucking bad-ass.
What I’m trying to is that if you’re going to bitch and moan about how inaccurate my portrayal of the future is, then don’t bother reading this. Read something that will make you smarter, something you can quip at dinner parties. This is not going to make you smarter. This is just fuel for cynicism and misanthropy. This book is full of delicious hate. But it’s the good kind of hate, the healthy kind. It’s ideal for very pretentious people. If you’re not pretentious but as humble and noble as I am, don’t give up yet. Read about it and maybe you’ll become more pretentious in the process- it’s like being an jolly alcoholic, you’ll annoy people around you but you’ll love yourself!
When I read science-fiction, I don’t really read for the tech aspects. I don’t care about all that. That shit is boring to me. There’s nothing wrong with it, don’t get me wrong. It’s probably fascinating for people that are a helluva lot smarter than me. I like guinea-pigs myself, I think they are fucking adorable, I can watch them for hours. I love the way they eat with that blank stare and black beady eyes. It’s fucking awesome. Other people might get bored. I like guinea-pigs better than most humans. Yes they shit on your hand if you’re careful, but unlike humans, they don’t leave such hateful comments on the Internet. They don’t depress me as much. Human beings depress me. So many of them are fucked up. So many people don’t get it. So many people are such giant assholes and so many of these giant assholes rule this planet. They take advantage of people. They lie to them. The people know they are lying but they still vote for these people. There’s history books, text-book examples of these assholes yet people ignore this because you know, fake-news! These bad people get so many good people killed and they get away with it. They always get away with it. It’s a bummer man. A real goddamn bummer…
My point being is that I read science-fiction for its portrayal on humanity. How technology AFFECTS us, rather than how cool it is. How we change or not change in time. How the future reflects the present in more ways we could have ever imagined. It’s about us, our relationship with ourselves and others. It’s about the message, it’s about making you think. My message in this story, along with other thoughts along the way which haven’t been properly thought out yet: no matter what we have, people will still be as stupid now as they will later. People will always find a way to run from themselves, run from the truth and create a world which is more comfortable for them. You can see this now even more than ever. You might have more religious nutjubs back in the day, now we have the awesome capabilities to learn everything about this world. The truth is out there. We can type in some words in (enter popular search-engine) and find out anything we need to know about our leaders, about our history, about current events. I’m not saying things are simple, I’m just saying that if people looked hard enough, they might make more informed decisions. They won’t get so riled up if some billion dollar Hollywood film doesn’t have minorities in them or if some slutty teenage girl wants to have an abortion. We can move on. We can focus on bigger, better things. We can learn from each other. We don’t have to fight all the time. Things doesn’t have to be black and white. We can work it out if only we really tried… MEH. Let’s not do that. Let’s instead seclude ourselves into our comfortable bubble and only involve ourselves with people who agree with us. That’s much easier.
Like right now: I just excused myself just I could comment on some message board because I made the ‘controversial statement’ that Stalin was an evil prick. I thought this was well established but apparently not. Apparently I’m a (and I’m paraphrasing slightly) ‘a brainwashed faggot.’ Gotta love those choice of words. This is the problem, many people can still not decide on the obvious villains. Plentiful defenders of dictators, old and modern ones, are still out there. And you can’t help but wonder, what if a politician with severe authoritarian tendencies rises up, would the people even see it? Would they see the signs? Or would they vote for them like they always do?
I wonder about this, realizing that if we are not careful, we will make the same mistakes again. Maybe we’ve already made these mistakes. The forces are already at play. We aren’t careful enough, it will be too late when we finally wake up…
Maybe I’m just a little blue. Didn’t sleep much and drank too much coffee, that combination makes me blue. But I don’t believe we will progress to a better tomorrow. We will ups and downs, beautiful victories and harrowing defeats, but the more power we receive, the more we have to lose. We will never learn, we won’t ever figure it out. We will reach that Utopian dream, because reaching for it, inevitably leads to unimaginable misery. Not enough people will listen to the scientists, not enough people will care. The economists are already talking about expendable people, they don’t know what will happen to all those people- what are they going to do? Are we going to get universal basic income or are we going to reject that because having universal basic income is a ‘slippery slope to a socialist hellhole? Is that even going to be the answer? Or are we going to take of the environment or are we going to have to face the fact that future generations will probably clone every millennial just so they can beat the shit out of them? Will we stop eating poor innocent animals? Yes you can give me shit for inserting a vegetarian message in here but come fuck it. Pigs are adorable. We still have an industry turning these beautiful creatures into hamburgers and I consider that really messed up…
Will we manage to stop a crazy person for attaining a nuclear missile or will he ride the nuke to our oblivion? These are things I think about too much. I got OCD, I’m an expert on excessive thinking but I don’t think a little worry is bad. Perhaps I should be more productive about this worry, but alas, if only I wasn’t so lazy, I could have saved the world!
I think the end is inevitable. I think there is nothing special about us. I don’t think we are in made in God’s image. I think it’s an insult to God to even imply this. The people say that I worry too much. The humanists say that we are progressing but I don’t think so. I think we are going to be just as destructively stupid….

And so, I’ve blabbed enough, let’s tell the story of Sean Reilly, a political commentator, some would call him a contrarian, but rational people would call him a hopelessly misguided individual…
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Our Disease 3

    Modern Men

An old friend called Harry around 2 in the morning. Harry only made a sound when he picked up the phone, he was too tired to anything resembling a word.
”It’s me, the enemy of the people.”
”Ah fuck, is that you Stone?”
”Meet me in the Interzone. We have lots to talk about.
”I was living a different live in my dreams. I prefer it than the one I’m actually living. Could we have lunch there at twelve?”
”I’m all wired. There’s no sleep for me and I’m in town. See ya soon old buddy.”
He hung up. At first Harry just closed his eyes again. Soon enough he realized that he would never return to his dream anyway.
”Goddammit. Fine,” mumbled Harry, ”I’ll go.”

It’s hard, maybe impossible, to describe to what kind of clientèle The Interzone markets itself too. At first glance it’s your typical American diner with a nostalgia for the fifties. There’s even a jukebox filled with American songs. But if you would take a closer look you see it is a place in search of an identity. There’s African, Chinese, English, even Russian art on the walls. A Catholic cross hangs on the walls as well as a Jewish star. A confederate flag but it’s painted in the colors of the rainbow. A Gadsen Flag but it’s rattlesnake seems to have a pleading smile and the words below say: ‘Tread on me, but don’t squash me please!’
Sometimes you catch people looking absently minded at the architecture. They stare at a piece of foreign art. Most of the time nobody is paying attention. They are wearing their glasses and the glasses take them to different worlds.
There’s a hint that its fractured dressing is intentional, maybe ironic. But then again, there are more places like this. This place used to mean something, now it doesn’t know what it wants to mean. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything now and maybe that’s the point.
Miguel Stone loves it here. Harry doesn’t.

”You find yourself in the weirdest places and discover that you’re finally home,” said Miguel Stone, smiling, gazing through window to the night illuminated by pink-lights. ”I met so many people that rejected the weirdness of life. Everything has to be plain. By the books. The life they know. The life their parents lived. People like me, however wicked in the eyes of the unimaginative, we accept ourselves and are rewarded by God himself.”
It wasn’t the first time they would meet like this. Stone is all over the world sometimes. You have to make time for him, he won’t make time for you. They haven’t seen each other in almost a year now. Stone always drifts in and out of Harry’s life
Harry doesn’t really understand why he wants to meet him and why Harry always agrees too. They are both completely the opposites. Stone doesn’t have any morals and therefore became a very wealthy man. Harry does alright, there’s still enough money coming in from book sales that Harry can live the rest of his life, doing his podcast. Stone, a lobbyist who runs his own firm, goes all around the world, working for mostly Kremlin backed candidates and doing a helluva job- they don’t even have to falsify the election as much because of his help.
From outward appearance, you could already digest that these two come from very different worlds. Stone was twenty years older, with pearly white hair and teeth and immaculately tailored and colorful suites. Stone doesn’t give a fuck what you think. He knows that most people hate him. Perhaps this even gives him strength. Maybe he even thrives on soft-hearted liberals or morally righteous republicans.
Harry doesn’t care about his appearance. It’s a crummy T-shirt, some faded logo with a checkered shirt to cover it. Stone’s face is bald from his thorough shave in the morning with the straight razor. Harry hasn’t shaved in months. Stone, even at his ripe old age of fifty-five still works out and is in great muscular shape. Harry is sagging all over the place. Harry tries to do the right thing, Stone prides himself of being the villain.
Perhaps it’s Harry’s genuine nature that Stone respects so much. Perhaps it keeps Stone in touch with the common man. Perhaps it’s just Harry’s humanity.

”You look like hammered shit,” smiled Stone smugly, not a hint of concern.
”I was having this beautiful dream when you woke me up,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes.
”Maybe you should thank me for it. That’s the problem with America. People dream too much.”
”You don’t need to dream.”
”I don’t need to dream. I am the dream,” Stone smiled, grabbing cigar paper from his pocket and a cigarette case. ”That’s why I love Russia. People stopped dreaming there long ago. They know themselves. They know the limit of the freedom they can handle. Give them too much freedom and they’ll give it back. Americans are the same. Slowly they’ve been giving away freedoms. Yet they still act as if they are free.”
”And you represent what dream exactly?”
”I am the true face of America. I’m filthy rich and I act like it was due to my god-given talents. I don’t admit that I’m wrong to anybody even if its very obvious. I look beautiful and I sleep with beautiful women. Sometimes even men. I’m a perfectly contended Patrick Bateman but without the bodies in the closet- though who knows,” Stone winks and opens his cigarette case: showing thick green leaves of marijuana.
”It sounds like a nightmare to me.”
”That’s because you’re human.”
”And you’re not?”
”I’m enlightened. I’m a special case.”
”And what am I?”
”You’re a dinosaur. A beautiful dinosaur.”
”Schadenfreude. That’s why you are here.”
”Maybe it’s general affection.”
”Are you even capable of having genuine affection for anyone other than yourself?”
”I don’t know. I like to think so. Maybe I hang around you for nostalgia. Back when people knew who the fuck they were.”
”Before men like you took control of the world.”
”Men like me always did. We just want more this time. Your freedoms aren’t enough. We want your reality.”
Harry sighs and sips his coffee. A part of him enjoys this conversation, no matter how it infuriates him. Stone’s presence validated Harry’s view of the world. In a world where every view seems valid, this was a comforting thing.
”Answer me this, why do I agree to meet you?” Harry asked.
”You don’t have many friends. You lost most of them. You stopped appreciating them. You cling onto the asshole that’s left.”
Harry looks out the window, a man in a torn t-shirt, with faded letters stating ‘make America great again,’ walks by the window, mumbling to himself, waving his hands around. Stone sees him too, he smiles as he reads the rambling bum’s T-shirt.
”I remember Trump when I was a teenager. That’s when the fun started.”
”I just got born then. But I’ve read enough about him.”
”One day we will manage to clone him. Hope I’ll be alive to see that.”
”So how’s the world stage? How is managing democracies?”
Stone laughs and licks his joint shut.
”It’s beautiful chaos. Especially with Oblivion around. They can’t control them. Even the most powerful men are afraid of them. Many of their firewalls have been breached already. It’s great when powerful men are scared. It means they need people like me.”
”I heard you were targeted. You tweeted about it anyway.”
”Yes I was. Some asshole threatened to expose my sexual activities if I didn’t stop lobbying for those Ukrainians. I responded by just admitting it on Twitter. I don’t care if the world knows about it or not. There’s nothing they can blackmail me on. And if they find something, I’ve got enough of them in my employ to spin the story. I can spin everything. We make dictators look like bleeding heart liberals. There is nothing they can do to rattle me.”
”I talked about them on my podcast some time back.”
”I know, I never miss a show. I thought it was hilarious.”
”I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
”I know you weren’t baby. It’s still hilarious to me.”
Stone lights up the fat joint, inhales smoothly, passes it.
”I probably shouldn’t.”
”True, you probably shouldn’t.”
Harry takes the joint and inhales.
”Has the president been targeted to?” said Harry blowing smoke, ”he denies it but that doesn’t mean shit.”
”Tell you the truth I don’t know. I might be friends with him but he doesn’t divulge everything to me. I don’t have that kind of clearance. But I think he is. The way he’s cozying up to the Eastern bloc makes it seem that way.”
”Are you proud for having made him president?”
”It’s not just me. The people voted for him.”
”Did they?”
”Maybe. Does it really matter Harry? He’s president and he will be for another four years if the constitution doesn’t gets changed again.”
Harry passes the joint. Stone looks at the joint proudly.
”I made this shit legal again. I changed the presidents mind on the issue. My finest hour. Don’t ever say I never did anything good in my life.”
”You are a regular fucking saint.”
”How are you Harry?”
Harry sighs, looks out the window. The bum with the ‘Make America Great T-shirt’ is sitting on a bench, laughing heartily about something.
”I’m fine.”
”No you’re not. You’re still sulking.”
”I’m not sure I would call it that.”
”There are probably better words. But the word you should be looking at is ‘moving on.’ She is gone. She left you for someone more hansom and successful. The healthy thing to do is find someone more hansom and successful too. Even if its just to piss her off.”
”I don’t mind being alone.”
”We all mind being alone. Even people like me. Even people who don’t even like people mind being alone. You’re the kind of person that thrives in a relationship. Without one you’re lost. Like you are now.”
”Maybe it’s the world. Maybe it’s just getting to me.”
”That’s why you need a woman in your life. A woman that keeps you grounded. You need a deep connection. I don’t. I just need power. I don’t need to be connected with anyone. I just want to have a good time being around them. That’s enough for me.”
”I don’t know. I don’t feel like I could really connect with someone again. I’ve played the game long enough. Every time I think about it makes me tired.”
”You need to get out of your soundstage and into the world my friend. Write again. I know some connections. You could write some shitty horror movie. You will meet people, fuck around.”
”I don’t want to leave my soundstage. It’s all I have.”
”You know you lost nearly half your listeners after you vehemently opposed the president.”
”I know.”
”Those people don’t care about you. They will stop listening to you the moment you break their reality. Information is a vast market but you care too much. Most people don’t. Either start caring less or do something else. The work will otherwise destroy you.”
Stone passes the joint. Harry takes a deep puff.
”You don’t like my answers Harry,” smiles Stone, ”because you know I’m right.”
Harry doesn’t say anything, he just keeps puffing. He feels his mind going to weird and mysterious places.
”I don’t think I will be able to sleep anytime soon.”
”That’s okay, I’m here.”
Outside, the drunk man with the Trump T-shirt began to cry.
”But I was having a beautiful dream…” Harry came close to the beautiful dream but it kept slipping away.
”It’s better not to dream. Especially in this world…
In my dream I was almost there…


Art by Ralph Steadman

***

You are Free to Leave Anytime

This poem of mine was published on: https://thenaga.org/2017/06/14/you-are-free-to-leave-anytime/

I know everything they say on the news is a lie. I know that everything I’m reading in the paper has been approved by the government, even the things that are critical about our leader. I know he watches us. I know it’s better to have stability than absolute liberty. You only have to look at our neighbors to see what happens if people can just do whatever the hell they want. Morality must be unconditional. Any deviation, however small, to the common good brings you closer to evil. Soon enough they will do all sorts of unnatural things they think is harmless. Our leader knows what’s right for us. He studied history. He knows the sciences. He knows the human spirit and how it must be contained.  Freedom is overrated. If you are free to explore yourself without limits, you will lose yourself into the abyss. The only recourse will be all kinds of deviancy. You could have avoided this, if only you listened.

This regime purifies us. All of these restrictions is for our own good. If we have a real election we will just vote for the wrong person. If we let people question our leader too much it will infect simple minds, the parasitic meme of dissent, and there will be chaos. Believe what they tell you. Even if you know it’s bullshit. Believe it all. Bow down when they tell you. He is our king. Our Tsar. Our prime-minister. Our president. He is your God. Obey. We must wake up before we allow ourselves to sleep.

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***

 

 

Our Disease 1

Plot: in a dystopian world which nothing is true and everything is permitted, a lonely Podcaster doesn’t know whether there’s a conspiracy against him- or if he’s just losing his mind, along with the rest of the world. 

***

History is a symptom of our disease.
-Mao Tse-Zedong

The Answer to Everything

One day you don’t want anymore help. One day you’re done. You’ve done everything you are supposed to do in a moment of crisis. If you’re sick you go to a doctor. The doctor sends you a psychiatrist and the psychiatrist prescribes you medication. When this doesn’t work, he prescribes you another medication and another. Some of them make you sleepy, others make you fatter or thinner. When medication doesn’t help, you commit yourself to a place full of crazy people like you. You begin to love them but you know you can’t stay. Psychotherapy always boils down to two essential questions: do you get enough sleep? Are you exercising? The end result is always the same: you have to deal with yourself and move on with your life.
This did not satisfy Harry. It did not satisfy him at all. He had always imagined coming across a mystical answer to the suffering of being. In his 37 years of life, he had dabbled in various forms of religious worship and spiritual realignments. Things seemed to change for the better, but quickly turned back to normal. He never managed to reach the ultimate transformation, though he seemed to get close, so close.
”There’s a truth out there guys,” he would tell his loyal listeners of Truthbombs, his mildly infamous if not always for the right reasons, podcast, ”but in order to find it we must look deep within us. Be open to all the scary facts about ourselves, the dark side of our soul. We must never run from ourselves, we must confront ourselves, be beaten near to death by ourselves. If gazing into the abyss means certain death, then leap onto death instead of running forever. It’s better to die in peace than to live in war. One day we will look deep enough within ourselves and the war will be over. I’m working on it, sometimes there seems to be no end. But there’s an end, my brothers and sisters. There is an end.”
Being a purveyor of contrarian political views (with its healthy dose of paranoid conspiracy theories) was not easy, especially in the world he lived in, where the market is flooded with loners entailing their darkly vision of the world. For most of them, it was a mere act and in truth, that’s how he had started his career: he knew about his knack of political philosophizing and spinning the truth to his advantage and with his reasonable knowledge of history (some it pertaining from a failed attempt at getting a political science degree in UCLLA) met that this was a market, he could potential succeed in.
It was all an act. Just another Howard Beale in the air. Mad as hell, can’t take it anymore. But in time, it became something different. Something more important, personal, life-supporting, considering all that happened. He had a lost of a lot of things in the past few years, a great part of this was his will to live. This podcast and his small but dedicated following of listeners was all he had.
Besides, more and more, the world seems to crumble and the voices that used to be sane, are starting to sound a lot like the current president. It seems like he was convincing everybody, despite his obvious odiousness. Sometimes it felt like he was the last man standing. In his own way, he was just doing this to save himself.
He was doing this to save the world.Podobny obraz
(Art by David Lynch: Google Keresés)
***

Another Ghost

You got to be a spirit! You can’t be no ghost.”

A common thing you hear from Trump supporters, is that they’ve finally found a politician who isn’t burdened by political correctness. He tells it like it is. He tells the truth. It doesn’t matter how ugly it is. Factually, this could not be less true; the range of misinformation and downright lies that have been spewed by this bloated showboat (yes using his words against him) has been higher than most campaigns of the past two decades. Donald Trump’s file on Politico is insane.
This isn’t to say that lying has never been part of the political process; it certainly has, as it’s all part of the game. Everybody knows this very well, hence the reason people look at politics with such sneers of cynicism. So when Trump came along, his bold, unabashed nature had not, if never, been seen in the American political sphere. His defense was priceless: call him out for his nonsense, he will make you out as one of the political elites trying to take him down.
He’s the spirit, the others are ghosts.
In “Bulworth”, we have a corrupt Democratic candidate, who in a fit of suicidal depression, begins to tell the awful truth. Notwithstanding that the film is one of the most underrated political underrated satires ever made, the central concept seemed like something we should have seen before. This is a dream come true; finally, a politician who reveals to us what is really going on.
But Trump is not like Bulworth at all. He might tell the truth as he sees it or as he wishes to see it, and the sad thing is, this probably makes little difference to him. He doesn’t care about the truth; it can be altered as long as it suits him and his interests. An egomaniac never serves the people; he will only ever serve himself.
This is the stuff of tyrants. The tyrant speaks in a language people can understand: he’s impulsive, blunt, crass, unfiltered. Sadly, these characteristics have him confused as a truth-teller. It should have ruined him, instead it has made him a king.
Compared to the careful, corporate-approved language of Clinton, he just seemed like the more exciting candidate. Bulworth found redemption in the end, even though it ended in death. Trump is beyond redemption. Even if he makes many mistakes, his ego will always escape the ultimate judgment.

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Read more: 
http://www.tasteofcinema.com/2016/top-10-political-movies-to-watch-during-donald-trumps-presidency/#ixzz4ialABMlj