Saturday 6 August 2011

Willkommen in Antarchia!

Laut Herrn Monsieur:
Arguing about the nature of left-vs-right-wing perfidy is like crafting a careful scientific explanation of the physics of dreams. Denise Levertov once wrote a poem called "Everything that Acts Is Actual." True. But also: everything that acts is, well, acting.
Don't try and tell me my dreams are not reality.
Now I'm awake, convinced of their actuality.

What is the State if not to collect and redistribute wealth? What is my mind, if not to collect and redistribute all my hopes and fears?

The cuddly kitty-cat and adorable puppy are clues sent from beyond the Image Nation that somewhere lurks the wolf version of man, and that we are not far behind.

If you think that an innocent baby human wouldn't instinctively hunt and kill, I have a digitized copy of an 8mm from 1968 that would prove otherwise. Behind the scenes was a mother who thought the savagery cute enough to prompt Daddy to keep right on rolling.

Maybe my masticating that grasshopper was the result of an oral fixation. And maybe Predator DronesTM are a manifestation of the human desire to build things.

You can believe in God if your mind will allow it. If it helps you the first Tuesday in November, you can deify (or demonize) those you admire (or loathe) - those you alternately laud as brilliant and cowardly (or stupid and devious). God damn it all to hell (and praise be Jesus)!

Whatever you do, keep paying your conscience protection. The survival of your state is at stake. A state of affairs, a state of illusion, a state of denial; a state of utter bliss and frustration.

It is true that if you quit paying your taxes, you might reduce your state of affairs to 9m2; limit your choice of lover to one person; amend your suicide fantasy to include little more than hanging from the top rung by your bedsheet.

What is the State, if not to provide you with a wider variety of death opportunities?

Mama, why did you stop at me? A few more siblings and I'm pretty sure we could have taken over the Langdon's yard, where the bugs were more plentiful. And, anyway, Bobby Joe and Ronnie would have benefited from our guidance.