Bugger and Bother

 

 

(Satyrs)

“Since ancient times, people have wondered about what was smart and what was stupid.”

  ~~ Daniil Kharms said this

 

Please take the following with a large grain of something or other: compassion, generosity, or suchlike you may find lacking in my own words. I don't enjoy being harsh or critical or a curmudgeon or cynical. But as Lily Tomlin is reputed to have said: "i'm not cynical, i'm just trying to keep up." And making a sort of correct, moral fun of things is one way i cope. Note here already the effectiveness of the rune, C.

 

If people behaved better these days, and weren't so eager to believe the crudest and most pernicious lies and faery tales about our reality, and our political world, and our common human history, and the preventive, needle-point medical-biological purview of nation-states that govern allegedly by Consent, i wouldn't have to write such consistently critical things. I want to be a creature of love and light, and in my own way, i do try. Just this morning i bought poisonous MacDonald's food and extra coffee without being begged, for two homeless people in the cold. And they were inter-racially matched to boot and the white woman only had one hand, because her arm was lopped off at the elbow, and its nub was wrapped in a bandage. "Facts," as the parroty kids say these days, even if i'm using that heavy and controversial term incorrectly. But somehow i even feel that being critical, even censorious like this is a moral duty, (just like helping and feeding the homeless whenever possible, and particularly without being asked) and it isn't done enough. Lots of people are perfectly happy to gorge on their own personas, obsess over their social lives and curate the image they wish to project constantly on tech-platforms, (a form of engaging with society, we suppose) but all too often they are fuckers and morons when it comes to cultivating one's moral being, or the important ideas that make our human lives so meaningful and beautiful (definite and desirable versions of engaging with society). Ok, yes, i like writing scathing sentences and phrases because it amuses me. I don't really like insult humor but i do like Bill Hicks, Dave Chappelle, Bernie Mac and W.C. Fields, and anyone who gives a fuck. I was also exposed to Mencken a bit too early. 

 

Please also forgive me for the excessive use of the virile, pillar-resonating sigil, "I," in the following. I'm very little if not a conflicted, cynical, semi-certain solipsist, powered by a vainglory that is almost morally unavoidable, in these awful times of ours, fellow citizen. The age of the deranged and voluptuous wokists, hurling digital ostrakoi about as if they had the palsy, or restless bastard syndrome. It's not easy confronting this situation without relying on the subjective voice. We're going to be talking about the vanguard of our society: the educated youth what been sent off to university to work towards their mortgages, abortions, and seamy side hustles.

 

Her name is Ades, 20-something, into numerology

...There are many words to describe the way in which young people, especially, these days have a tendency to be scummy egotistical motherfuckers pockmarked with weird psychological infirmities and vicious little personality traits. Traits they downloaded---i can't be blamed for assuming---from the murky evils of the internet and the technological anti-noosphere of our sad, sick modern culture or mode of life. 

 

(sidebar-note: hemming in this sub-Mason-Dixon line university campus i've so long been attached to, are no less than 4 Lodges of the Frei and Accepted Maisons. 3 are within at most two miles of the center of campus, 1 squats exactly adjacent to it, a massive gray stone block with no windows, per its mystical hermetic charter. We've always thought that this one's position catty corner to the abortion clinic was a bit creepy. There's no accounting for city planning, we suppose, just as there's no accounting for all the many derelict and recalcitrant buildings which have gone up in flames in this city over the past 15 or so years, to be replaced by plush and over-priced high-rise domiciles for the students. The fourth lodge is about 10 miles down the road, and much more humble than the others. Not a bit of nearby arson, as proof. One of those first three is the former mansion of a city mayor, from the scarcely post-colonial times. There's a beautiful fountain statue nearby, decorating the plaza of one of the non-STEM sectors of the academy, of Zeus in bull-form, licking at the hand of a bareback-riding Europa, and sporting such mesmerizing, gigantic bronze testicles that nobody can pass it and remain (a virgin) clean or innocent in their heart. The water gushes and foams around the thing. The colonial academies have always yearned back for the touch and inspiration of Europe, wherever it can be found. It's no exaggeration at all to say that the iconic statue at what is probably the geomantic omphalos of campus could very easily be mistaken for an artwork one would find in Nuremberg in the late 1930's, at night, by torchlight. A handsome, practically nude 9-foot Aryan stud with an immaculate haircut, clutching the appropriate symbolic relics. The magic of regeneration is everwhar.)

Geodetic pillar, Belgium, wikipedia

Not my campus, but my how focused the near-ancients were when building buildings. We seem to have lost the knack. This Venetian Palace could have probably withstood even flights 11, 175, and 77

ery often in my private mutterings i end up calling them (the youth of today, at least in my country) pretentious and mercenary, for instance. As shallow as a pit left by a small pimple. The words affectation and posturing tend to come up. Anti-social sybarites, sensuous lemming-apes: cows lowing forever for the milkmaid and not the open range (that last is a joyous Mencken line, there). Chimerical beings, half jackal, half blue-ribbon-winning swine, with both the padded Samothracian feet and the genital longings of national basketball association basketball players, and great fluffy wings made of adderall vapours. We're censuring in general terms here. I'm sure your kids are great and i would love to baby-sit, whenever they get off work. Then they have that hideous tendency to clutch their super pocket computers in their huge, soft, genetically modified hands at all times, and when anyone threatens to speak to or make eye contact with them, they instantly look down at their beloved screen. Crossing the street, standing in line, bee-lining towards some useless course having to do with Business or kinesiology, or advertising the death throes of the old economy. Anytime will do for furtive avoidance-gazing with the head declined. Making a left-hand turn in an automobile at a busy 4-way intersection when they get the green light is to them a great chance to check Grindr or DM's or Seeking Arrangement or whatever. That's only a mild exaggeration, because i've actually seen this maneuver.

Now let me tell you what happened yesterday because it was quite telling. A real indicator of the times.

But first lemme tell you that the college gals these days, woo. Hoo boy. Fashion-wise. Many of them look like they're encased in colored, opaque saran wrap. It's the season of (athletic and pornoyoga-wear) sausage skin couture and pajama-like shorts that no decent infidel would wear even to bed in her little back room of the brothel. The ones being desultorily taken upon dates are indistinguishable from the ones roaming in packs late at night, hoarsely hooting and frightening the males: they all are wearing lycra leggings, or some new, even tighter material probably composed of nanobots or congealed syrup or hot sauce. My conservative Christian friend and i were just discussing these new sartorial mores. He noted that when the sausage leggings first appeared about a decade ago at least, that the matriculates often wore shorts over them. It's just like a moral, biblically judgmental man like he to take a shrewd notice of the steady decline in female garment modesty. He then noted that now the shorts have disappeared and been radically replaced by a shower of abdomens: the exposed mid-riff look is in, and the tiny micro-shirts are of course lycra or nanobot skins.

For the nocturnal hunt, mini-skirts are also as popular as ever but the haunches and asscheeks of the ladies are much more ample, as a general rule. Scanning them takes more time now. It's harder to ignore the asscheeks, as i've always tried to do, as a vegetarian. Tonight i saw a couple of metallic mini-skirts, coruscating like very far-off stars in the light of the many horrid restaurants and bars of the main avenue-strip, or runway. The average person has become much more glamorous since roughly non-11, 2001 when the dark portal-gates were ceremonially flung wide open, and since the advent of cacodemonic handheld I-technology that forges such a deeply personal attachment to the internet, and thus to other people's diseased imaginings of themselves and their attractiveness. 

 

There was never until the last few generations such a hot lust for dressing as if one were "going to the club," when really you were just going a few blocks away, on foot, to a completely shitty bar. The social media internet, on the whole, is nothing at all more than an embarrassing example of what a 2-3 year-old does when confronted with its own gorgeous, hypnotic image in a mirror for the first time, and what a 10-30 year-old with plenty of calories and too much free time will do when they realize they can upload their image instantly and endlessly to a public forum and gaze upon it for as long as their terrible little minds please.

I'm repeating myself here but it's true that we live in such a highly curated and competitive social atmosphere now, with the expected, dependent mass-spasm of anxiety, fear, auto-hostility and insecurity that results in so many young people being medicated in one way or another, or simply neurotic and anti-social in the standard old, untreated way. It used to be that one's morbid, asinine preoccupation with their own beauty or ugliness, or simple plainness, could be safely set aside once the day was done, or at least, while watching just old dumb TV, the discomfort and self-abuse wasn't so pronounced. The hunger to reform oneself in some other more desirable image wasn't nearly as predominant. But now these sad people caress their phones and social media feeds long into the night, often ignoring the living human beings they share their intimate time with, in favor of gadgetry. It's made something of a messy horror show of the entire, ancient question of the human ego and self-knowledge, and self-love.

Yes, yes, we're aware that the men are narcississ too

Tweedle-doodle

                                          

Taweedle-deedle

It's been observed that the clitorises of modern women have been so ravaged by sophisticated and powerfully vibrating sex toys that the organ has become desensitized to organic touch. This is a metaphor, also, i suppose.

So i was walking down my right-side margin of the sidewalk yesterday morning, happy once again to be leaving campus. A phalanx of rather similar-looking lady students was advancing towards my position. One of them was holding forth, using strung-together English phonemes to describe some routinely disagreeable sentiment, as near as i could tell, and she was the one nearest to me. The thing is, over the years i've actually noticed an increasing habit of college women when they walk in these clots, or units, or groups. First of all it seems clear that this kind of massing-up or group-ambling is only a thing among sorority women. (But it has to be said here that sorority women more and more resemble real women who haven't been formally contracted with oaths into gangs. Fashion-wise.) The habit is to ignore basic civility and the customs of the two-way sidewalk. They seem to have adopted the easily bridling aggressiveness of thugs and macho men, generally. This is one really good, oft-observed and durable cliche, so let it be stated: women are increasingly behaving like men in the sense of being macho, aggressive potty mouths and promiscuous sex-fiends, enabled to a fabulous degree by technology and record-high levels of male thirst. Anyway, the rule is: when there are three of us, we get to walk astride one another and take up the bulk of the sidewalk. The lone traveler shunted to the right margin just has to make do with their depreciated space. At the last second i had to contort myself in order not to knock the silly piping harridan in the shoulder. This has happened quite a few times when i have to perambulate campus, by foot. Each time i can sense their negativity and obnoxious sense of privilege, as i fall into the gutter. I can only be thankful that the gutters are always full of their discarded, life's blood Starbucks packaging, which breaks my falls.

It might not be worth sharing that experience with you except that it was basically repeated later that night at a bar, but with a male of the species.

The hole is narrow, like a shotgun shack. I went to put my garbage in the garbage can behind the bar, since i'm kind of a regular and have splendid manners. There was some pretty fella with long hair and slickster glasses helping to inject Capri Sun wombs with vodka, with a syringe. Kind of the signature and patently illegal drink that the place is known for. He doesn't work there, but must know the bartender, who's also a bit of a surly pipsqueak. I said "excuse me, sir." With automatic sincerity, because of the manners. He was standing in the way, utterly.

To my lingering annoyance, he not only didn't move or respond, but actually kind of glanced at me, and just kept infusing one poison with another. I skirted around him and threw the trash away. When i skirted back by him i manfully suppressed the urge to say some things to him that would have really lessened his self-opinion, and probably would have embarrassed him in front of the handful of people he may have been posturing for. 

 

 

 

One has the impression that we're all non-gendered sacred prostitutes now. Either of the Pornai class or the Hetaira, just depending. The old fustiness is dying. Boys are more and more like girls, and girls are more and more like assholes, or boys, and what a free, full-contact median existence we share. All of our poorest gendered qualities we're now sharing freely, like diseased milk among third-graders, once all the teachers have disappeared in some mystical calamity, and no one is left to guide us crazy, puerile, biologically mature simpletons.

..Let's not beat this classical and secret order theme too much to pulp. I wouldn't want to offend anyone, or wake up one evening to find that i was all tightly bound up and about to be thrown into a lake. But let's at least also mention that a remarkable thing once happened at the university in question, about 20 years ago. It was discovered somehow and reported in the skull newspaper that there was an actual, long-standing/skulking secret society in back of the formal institution of "student government." We don't need to correctly name the society. Let's say it was called The Shit-Beetle Society. It was really quite astonishing to consider. Just imagine all these princelings and starry-eyed future public servant heterai and sergeants of industry, meeting in secret and probably chuckling as motherfuckers with elitist pretensions do. The fraternity/sorority, as it were, ultimately was in a position of more or less secretly determining to some extent where funding was directed, and therefore to a real extent which little fuckabout cadres or "parties" held "power" or a kind of persistent relevance. More than anything else it seemed to represent an institutional running of an elephant and donkey show. The campus community took notice, and was a bit outraged, and titillated, and then of course moved on.

Once again, i am just very sorry for society these days. These goofy little boy and girl and perpetually upset gender-non-determinate wretches who remain locked in adolescence well into their 30's. Babbling constantly about tv shows and what they like and dislike, in their annoying, hyper-casual, languid, singsong valleygirlway. Using slang obsessively. Being rude and dismissive, characteristically. Thinking incivility is some badge of cool. Generally being terrified of the world, and with pretty good reason. Being awkward, spiny, and hesitant when having to deal with strangers, which makes me very sad, and sympathetic. I love strangers. The more the better, in this atmosphere.

I'm sorry for those who have to raise and moderate youngsters in this environmental catastrophe. People are flexing so extremely hard these days, even during the normal course of just walking and standing around. Savage, unnecessary competition among self-proclaimed "savages" and "demons." These words have entered the lexicon in an affectionate, admiring way, you know. Thank you for sort of allowing me to get these thoughts off my chest and into the internet where they will definitely be of some use or measurable benefit to others. 

 

Cour Owna Varrus Mary

 

 

 

Editor's Note and post-script: There's a lovely and quite younger lady i'm trying to establish a purely platonic friendship with lately, named Olivia, who is white of skin. She recently decided once again to reply to my occasional texts/provocations. It was to tell me that her "beautiful face. no more." She included photographic proof. You see, she went to one of these nasty college bars, the most current and popular one in the region as far as i'm aware. She goes to the bathroom, and while in the stall, she tells me that 7 black girls bust the door down and beat her ass quite thoroughly. Face busted up kinda, a fat-ass lip, predictable levels of trauma. The kicker is that she claims not to know who they were, at all. Either she created some secret enemy recently, or she was guilty of some insupportable slight that very night. I mean you know how tough and violent the kiddos are these days, even the women. Equal rights and justice, legal pansexual bloodsport leagues, being forced to compete with men on strange hormones on the track and in the wrestling ring, etc. Olivia has a good heart and has wondered to me about the world being so dark and scary. Olivia opined, after her bar battle royale, that she wishes women would practice what they preach and support their crowed-about credos of "women have to stick together" and "feminism." I do suppose she has a point, there, but still it's kind of naive of her. Many of these modern catty monsters don't give one loveless fuck about a "feminism." She'll learn eventually and at least her first lesson was the hard way, so she will probably never forget, just as she may never recover a portion of her optimism and her trust in others. One supposes that from time to time in our beastly age, a more or less arbitrary non-lethal lynching is required to teach white wimmen not to look salaciously at a high value black man. Perhaps that is the modern moral lesson we should take to heart, when we have a spare moment