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The Blazing Hands
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REALITY

CEE

    Oh, uh...btw: this “99%” sliderule sleight of hand, treats Man as Community, as a binary thing. There exist in point of fact, gradations, and all along the way...because there exists personal circumstance, personal choice, the relative purity or poison of each individual’s heart. There is no “1%”, except in national or worldwide 1-2-3 dollar-calculations through broad, basic math, and this is irrelevant in the personal, if You are realizing what You want out of the deal. In effect, a smattering of Others now sound an alarm, telling you that you as Sally Brown, didn’t get your fair share from Santa Claus. I’m certain you didn’t, but those with megaphonies, aren’t going to snag it for ya. Here’s their formula, as spun:

    Rockefeller America Cash/each deserving person in sleeping bag = Even Steven + bag sleepers can buy a whole buncha cool shit (the nonunderlined exponent is in no way stated by spokesmen, but the bag crowd wants John D.’s money for just that...if you think they’re planning on buying Enfamil with it, then, OMG, didn’t you detain me at O’Hare Airport and force a flower on me?)

    And, here is the actual formula as would (impossibly) play:

    Rockefeller America Cash + Guy Fawkes Holding Company = You Will Be Taken Care Of; Be Free Through Your Work – antipersonnel drones can be launched by even second tier hackers (SMILE)

    I’ve told you, there are no advocates. It’s foolish on a buy-a-hot-watch level, to trust any Other who speaks, orange crate, of “community” and “personkind” and “sharing” and Sally Brown getting 10’s and 20’s. No one on Earth, is going to hand you a check from Standard Oil, because a world of modern Maharajas took your lunch money. If a mass delegation of You, approached leadership and asked about personal disbursement of victory spoils, you would not receive an answer which involved Actual Cash in your Actual Fist—EVER. If plainly stated in a worldwide release, so no adherent of Occupy Math Class could mistake it, that an overthrow of Morgan and Oxnard and Rockefeller and Vanderbilt and Hilton and Trump and everyone they’ve lost to at whist, Would Never Mean—EVER, NOT EVER, NEVER—receiving monies to do with as You, Personally, wished...there would be no “movement”, except for a number of corpses to undisclosed locations. Americans faced with highest principles and no Vegas, behave like...Americans. Like the ones who invented hiding like children, then jumping out, all Billy the Kid, and gunning down every Redcoat with integrity. But, I’ll quit posturing.
    No one’s giving you any money. There isn’t enough left, given cost of living and the freedom for everyone to screw carte blanche, all the way to “Oops!” Too many flesh clowns, too few simoleons. Even now, the ancient barter system is universally rejected. So, if you want to start smashing store windows and grabbing TV sets, I’m cool. I have little beef with crime beyond, again, the personal. By all means, if it’s loot the stores or preach bullshit, grab a tire iron! The #crashcrinkle#, sounds far less like oral dung.
    I’ve quoted you Jock Ewing, before: “Real power is sumthin’ you take!” Indeed. And if a Peron or a Franco or a Trujillo or a Somoza or a Duvalier or even a de Valera or Chiang Kaishek or Kansas Populist has you buying magic beans by way of their words, you’re surrendering all power, all authority, all autonomy, and in this dark hour, all thought as process. To a “Them”. A peddler with a mouth full of shit. Said mouth can now say anything it likes, if it remembers at junctures, the unfelt “I apologize.” The New Peddler is not even honest in appearance of control, but Alardyce T. Meriweather of Little Big Man, selling bottles of You’re Dead. The New Peddler, Organic 2% Evita Acidophilus, has shaped “You Must Love Me” into the fiery mirror-sun of “You Must”. And, the pit hair chick up on her points on the orange crate, and her buds with big, smelly feet, aren’t an answer, Because There Isn’t An Answer. If you’re a Christian, turn to Revelation. If you’re anything else, use your brain. Real Power, as anything, is to be found in the personal. An embracing which ends in what Hobbes called, “a war of all against all”. The color Black, by way of spectrum, is Black = All Color. Otherwise, you have bottled Mind Control in the form of a face. “You Must”. And, spectrumwise, White = Absence of Color. Manichee wins, again, as “my freedom is, I want You dead” (quoted in debate, ca. 1991). Dialog is a dream. You can’t have IDIC and dialog.
    To sum, there are too many, not enough of anything for them, no chance of acquiring “enough” and mannequins vying in every culture, for their Big Brother face to scream from a brick wall. The New Stand Up, their victory as punchline. The orange crate, will be smashed, the pit hair chick’s fists cut off, and the Guard open up like it’s the opening montage in WATCHMEN. Open your mouth and close your eyes, desperate times ‘gonna get a desperate surprise...
    I know you don’t believe me, nonfistshaker. Take a chair, have a piece of dirt cake and hang out. I’ll be drinking and eating what I wish, all I wish, using any words I like in the original form understood, while we wait. STFU, as I do, ‘cause you ain’t built up no points. You’re no Evita. You’re no George Wallace. Hell, you’re not even Deborah Norville. You’ve earned only the cheap, plastic trophy of The World To Come (cut to High Noon, just before the train’s whistle). —CEE, 11/22/15



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