As a child I played in a house where the women had a certain addiction, which they called ‘the story’. I recall liking the overture that preceded the depressing music, “Like sands through the hour glass, these are the days of our lives.”
Then the depressingly edifying music that gloried in the stupid little things that so occupied parental kind would begin its dirge, and I would scamper off to work out the ways of the world with an eye toward defying it. In the basement was Dad’s tools, the work bench, the discarded artifacts of Mom’s domestic industry. Surely, from the failed efforts of the brainwashed adults that absentmindedly ruled our lives, us kids might be able to construct something of meaning.
My brother and I tried to build everything from air-powered go-carts, to boats, to time machines, to a gravity assisted go-cart which worked dangerously well, and even fought ‘wars’ with staple guns, rubber bands and paper clips as Mom and perhaps a friend and perhaps a grand mom peeked into the petty mirror of domesticated humanity upstairs.
As I aged I noticed a gradual separation of adults from their aspirations, beliefs, hopes and dreams, until, on the cusp of becoming one of these denatured creatures myself, I peered down into the abyss and something down their made me recoil. Ever since I’ve done what I can to preserve the only aspect of what I have haphazardly become that is not merely an adaptation to or an adoption of a greater social construct; that yoke of souls. I have striven to retain a childish appreciation of the world as kind of dissent from what has always seemed a rancid way of life.
My parents and theirs fairly worshipped that man who had his brains blown out—on the order of his second in command I think—as I ate mashed peas in a high chair. There was a quote this man was famous for, which I have heard many times, and which has always sent a chill up my spine, to the effect that there comes a time to put away childish things. The quote, lifted from a boyhood letter pleading for an increased allowance to help him in his scouting activities, is below.
My recent allowance is 40 cents. This I used for aeroplanes and other playthings of childhood, but now I am a Scout and I put away my childish things.
In my mind this quote ever served as a symbol of one person’s surrender to the sick world of adults; a world that would find itself in a great hurry to be rid of this man who could read 350 words per minute; the world which it seems eventually eats us all. Through my activities as a writer I have been fortunate to make the acquaintance of some like minds on this child versus adult subject, which somewhat reflects the ‘barbarism versus civilization’ debate that raged between Robert E. Howard and H.P. Lovecraft.
Travolta
Travolta is a brilliant man who, unlike myself, is a good speaker. He introduced me to the concept of applying objective thinking to politics and economics as a way of stripping away the veneer of public life in the mid 1980s. Here is a series of brief excerpts paraphrased from a three hour conversation we had earlier this year, in the form of answers to questions I had put to him:
It was enlightening to come across your blog, and find out that I had known an abridged version of you all these years… I would have to say that by the time I was in high school there was a deep distrust of the world budding within me… Perhaps this was tied into my artistic impulse. As an illustrator I am illuminating the text and the subtext, just as you do with your writing, whether its fiction or nonfiction…
For inspiration toward the end of retaining clarity as an individual, I would have to say, oddly enough, that some of those outrageous characters I met in the supermarket business, who defied the petty dehumanizing habits of management, yet still managed to follow the letter of workplace law and keep their job, has influenced me. I would not want to be these people. But in their own way they stand as symbols against the greater unjust order…
In terms of looking at the world as an idiot farm, there was this one inspirational teacher. He had a history, had not just been a teacher, and I would talk to him about things, and particularly about his role as a teacher. I’ll never forget what he had to say about that, that teaching was just like feeding meat into a grinder; that he was just feeding with one hand and grinding with the other with no expectation of anything exceptional coming out the other end.
Andrew Metzger
This young man has the knack for the incisive question backed by a fierce understanding of our world as an implicitly abusive matrix. Last month we spent an hour discussing the subtext of the current world order, having come to agreement as to its unsavory character. Here are a number of his statements that remain lodged in my gray matter.
I was twelve. I specifically remember coming to the conclusion that I was being fed a menu of lies. The funny thing is, the people charged with feeding me those lies, those lies that they so wholeheartedly believed, now they are having their doubts. They still want to believe in the bullshit solutions that are placed before them—so they ask me. That’s the rub, if I lay it out there, it is either an argument with a true believer—stress—or it’s a crushing of hopes—more stress, spiced with despair. I don’t know how you manage to speak between the lines of the lie and not get pissed off. Maybe you’re just getting too old to be angry. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been doomed with the curse of critical thinking—it would be better—more enjoyable at least—to be one of the idiots; to believe the lie.
I maintain my sanity by refusing to work with my mind. I will not sit in some cubicle. We are primates and I think working with our hands is psychologically balancing—and has the added benefit of leaving me with the mental energy to consider this fucked up world! I think that is part of it; the pace of life is a way to occupy minds that might otherwise consider their fate.
I work on new construction, installation. The guys I work with don’t see it. But we are building gravestones for a nation—for an economy. All of the new construction we get is being done with federal grants on college campuses; building facilities that are not needed. But, if all of a university’s annual grant money is not spent this year, it will be cut next year—so we build, build, build!
At some point—and I believe we might already be there with the rate of self-medication and addiction—the ethics used to keep this whole mess together have to fail. Why not porn? Why not get high? Why plan for tomorrow when its being taken away as we go? Saving money does not make any sense when they keep cranking up the printing presses and devaluing the money you have. All we’ve been promised is stuff, and the stuff is running out—someday will run out. What then? What consolation is there in being the guy that saw it coming? Is that it—I get to stand there and yell “I told you so?” Maybe that would be worth it. I need something. I don’t have God. God was dead before I got here.
There you have it, two dissident views of the current world order from the point of view of an older Gen-Xer and a member of Generation-Y; two fascinating souls in different stages of dissent, who I would not have come to know without writing. It is largely for such folks among the online readership that I review my reading list on this blog, as a courtesy to a fellow wonderer.
Now it’s my turn.
One of the best chances I ever decided to take was thirty years ago when I answered an ad from James looking for an artist to help illustrate some work he was doing. Jims’ unrestricted nature and boundless curiosity allowed him to imagine things that would cause the average person to censor such thoughts well before they even came into focus. His ideas for images which I was asked to bring to life seemed to be the stuff of the rogues and madmen who were merrily rowing against the social tides swirling about them. That worked for me.
James' blog is an oasis in the sea of the mundane. That would be those who have happily accepted their social indoctrination, programing and station in life or most of the people we know in our lives. From time to time I will post one of James’ article on my Facebook feed, not because I think it will cause any moment of enlightenment for my "friends" but because I know that most of those who stumble across it, and by chance happen to read the article, will inadvertently find themselves in a place they have spent their lives trying to avoid. A life of perpetually "casting their eyes aside." I see it as doing my part to bring to life the metaphor known as: "throwing a monkey wrench into the works." In this case the minds of those who desire the soft seduction of "the unexamined life."
Those of you who read this blog, you're the best equipped to handle the challenges which lie ahead; which means you'll be the first targets of those in charge who want to keep the illusion alive for as long as possible. But I'm guessing you already know that?
Joseph,
It is nice to be understood by one of my teachers, and I'll take a thousand hates—hopefully 10,000 after my last article—just to be understood by one defiant soul. I got away with defying my corrupt denatured bosses largely because they and their security goons were terrified of me. You stood on morality alone. I admire that.
Thank you.