all that she said was true

[Sepia]

"This timeless, changeless order is an assurance of unchallenged authority, a sign of safe anchorage for the troubled spirit of man."
   - Wernher von Braun


You've forgotten haven't you? Not what you know you've forgotten because everyone prods you about it but what you've truly forgotten. You forgot when they sang the national anthem and you forgot when you got old but most importantly you forgot it when you lost your virginity. You regained it after that but then it disappeared again. The interesting thing is that it stayed in your mind all the time when you were most active battling it. See? It was the only thing on your mind, sixteen years old, heading for a spree in the straightedge life, picking up vegetarianism, picking up the crust, looks, feels, fashions and trends, you hoped you were onto something, you wanted to delve deeper inside the behemoth you thought you'd stirred.

You never forget it when you're serious, it always hits you then, this disease. Standing on the barricades brandishing a flag of your own colour, there you stand, more serious than any of the philosophers you filled your head with, thinking thoughts about how you found your place in life, it doesn't cross your mind you found your place in the system or a system because you're a revolutionary, aren't you? You don't believe in Bourdieu nor any political compass. You see yourself as a new Dr. NO and sunday after sunday you discuss with your parents and family controversial issues and you do a staunch argument for the legalization of drugs and your defense of Proudhon can't even be compared with the potato salad. Which is a craft but not one you respect.

Where will you be when the world ends? Will you sit with me on the roof and marvel at the beauty? The Leonard Cohen in me tells me that I'll see you be gunned down as i drink red wine and smoke cigarettes.

In VALIS, Philip K Dick talks about the rational/irrational god/creator, visualized also as two overlapping universes, or realities where one of them is sick while the other is healthy. The sick tries to invade the healthy and this is the WAR. This was the first war. This was the first war that mattered, the war that echoed a rule, a part of the law: The victors write the storybooks. Like fungus, this concept was spread, made credible with the resistance it gained and then to every hotel and motel room in the world.

Conspiracytheory: Investing for a long time ahead, past your own life and the life of all your future generations, like the heads does to this tail, isn't this the ultimate source of control? Not going ahead telling you that you should read the bible but always supporting the gideons, letting them spread it, perhaps they give cash to tarantino, just shuffling things along, prodding at the sideflesh of society, making sure very many people agree with the aforementioned concept, where the winner writes the history books which makes them able to invest accordingly.

Things like SPECTRE and XIII can be created. I can see their process when I watch the movies, read the comics. As they say towards the end of No country for old men where they're talking about the couple in california that tortured kidnapped people and buried them in their garden and the neighbours were only alerted when they saw a man running out of the house wearing nothing but a collar, you can't invent shit like that.

We'll call it the Molotov revolution. We'll call it Jonestown. We'll call it the Silver City. We'll experience it as a nervous explosion, where every cell is shattered and not in the good way, it'll hurt. You will die the worst death you would want for yourself. You can't invent shit like that. There is no transfer, communication is broken.

You will run from corner to corner, apartment to apartment and you'll be scared and I'll be shitscared but I hold my mask as my muscles and tissue hold my face and these bones are older than time itself, these bones have seen it all, these bones. I will waiver as I stumble up the fire escape, a bottle of unmarked champagne older than myself and six crystal ones, bohemian style and top on top, a little table in dirty pastels with small cups for the dolls sitting around and I'll send the bottle and drink with my soft friends and I'll hear it and I'll feel it because this is how it'll happen.

A whimper, not a bang.

[Jenne]

I respect the craft of potato salad--I truly do. 

Fascinating read, as always, Sepia.  Thank you.

[e]

I liked it.

The only comment I have is a bit of pedantry, because overall the content was great.

But the Eliot piece is "Not with a bang but a whimper."

[Sepia]

I liked it.

The only comment I have is a bit of pedantry, because overall the content was great.

But the Eliot piece is "Not with a bang but a whimper."

Ta to both and I know the line, it just didn't fit in.

[e]

Fair enough