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The Magic Laws Theory, or “Dualism at Dawn”

CEE

    A dear friend, a recovered alcoholic gone these many years, in defining the struggles of another drunk, said, “He’s lookin’ for a softer, easier way. There ain’t one. There’s only {addiction}, and The Truth.”
    No one likes black-and-white thinking, either/or. Like math, there’s no give, as there’s no lie. Yet, when it involves dealings with our fellowmen, we get (as did I, from age 3) the “grey” speech, with which we parlay, slogging through a Life of moderation. After all, if our world has a “correct form”, then all else is Not. And, the flugelhorns blow, the xylophone bang-chimes, and jackboots crack in unison. And we feel pretty good. Until comes a pounding upon our door. There cannot be two stark choices, no, please, hey, we can figure this out! We and Henry Fonda can surely navigate Perdition Cove at dusk, constructing Arlen Specter-laws, magic that bends, does back flips. Laws which consider, which understand, fair at every right angle turn. Rocksolid, yet signing waivers.
    Which ain’t happenin’...and therefore up to those who administer the laws. People who aren’t ‘You’. That asshole who blew the STOP Sign. Your mom’s SOB SO. Your sister-in-law, the bitch of the universe. The man who raised Cain at the DMV. That woman who held everyone up, bellowing at KFC. The slowmo dufus at the bank, and the anal retentive bank employee. Donald Trump-Lite, ahead of you at the ATM. Some of these, eventually, are cops. Local pols. Juries. Not to mention the kids you knew in 3rd grade. Including the one who still crapped his pants.
    Community’s core issue, is never “color”, never race. At issue is “human”, that usual, incorrigible suspect. Human as ordered, directed. As voted in or appointed. As uniformed or given a crumb of authority beyond your own. Such individuals, power in hand or in the moment, follow their individual conscience, not yours. If you want to couch acts by modern day police as no less KKK, than the murder of Emmett Till, okay...but, all motive tells us, is that They Had One.
    Maybe terminal intensity isn’t an option—or maybe, 50 states of concealed-carry allows for Dodge City once again, and the nickel-plated, pearl-handled god is our only option. We sing of our need for protection...but, sentinels do as they will, Aleister. The “and it hurt none other”, isn’t a consideration. Not for Earp. Not for Masterson. Not for Sheriff Joe. And, we’re only fine with that, when we’re the Martin Sheen of made-for-HBO, shamed and broken on the sidewalk, reaching for the hand of hated rescuer Louis Gossett, Jr., who’d smashed the assailants to pieces, because he could.
    We don’t get to decide. Not as long as the structure stands. You wanta burn it down, do. I’m all for that. I’m the guy who, at 21, detained on an Ozarks highway by a MO trooper, when at end told, “Okay...you’re free to go”, had to bite down HARD on the retort, “‘Free to go’? Who the Hell are you?” These epochs later, my attitude is unchanged. So, hit that plunger...but, as Franklin told Adams in 1776, “I beg you, consider what you’re doing.” Chaos, is my friend. It’s not for everyone. Order, however, the other pillar, is the one that stands, and you don’t get to OCD-adjust it. To quote an anarchist friend, “People are people, it doesn’t matter what positions they hold.” I dare you to put on a powdered wig and think Joe Flatfoot will copy/paste your proscribed vision, out on patrol.
    I keep saying it: the problem, is Man. Not white men or black men or this race or that creed. Not red states, not blue. Not those of Woodstock or even of Nuremberg. Man. The beast as created. He won’t Not Hate. He won’t “obey”, but under Orwellian supervision. And cams upon cams with cams inside cams, is weenie. People screw like minks, on security camera. They wanted to. They had one another’s collusion. As does the fraternity who protect and serve. Accept them as warped Order unto themselves, the Comedians, Silk Spectres and Rorschachs of our time, or crank Linkin Park as you burn it down. Anything else is Eleanor Craig in P.S. Your Not Listening, giving it a stilted, “No! No hurting!”, which my likes, sounds stupid-ass. The sole, effective behaviorism is a Chinese prison camp. 24/7/365 group therapy, glazed in snitches...only, that’s a fail, too, in America, where even the kid who “tells”, is provably a bully. We all use what weapons we’re spotted. It’s what defeated Cornwallis.
    The Great Ellison, perhaps unwittingly gives the benediction. It’s in his Outer Limits episode, Soldier, embodied in Kagan’s answer to Quarlo, when explaining why the authorities will be taking the future soldier into custody. Pressed as to a general identity of these seemingly malevolent Others, the answer, delivered with wilted defeat by actor Lloyd Nolan, is thus: “Well, some men who make our decisions for the rest of us, because we let them.”
    Yes, we do. And, you fight back for real, claws, fangs, no quarter, or you take it and like it. Our menu choices, are Obedience or Rebellion. Your opinion, re: black-and-white, Manichean thinking, is irrelevant. Life’s a flip of the coin, a cut of the cards, and a quick Indian wrestle. Life is existential, and it is estian. Ya pays yer nickel, ya makes yer choices. You’re Sam Adams heaving tea crates or you’re John Dickinson, proud Englishman. You’re the smiling man waving at traffic on Charles Kuralt, or you’re Snipes in Demolition Man. You’re Cat Ballou-Jane Fonda or you’re Klute-Jane Fonda. It’s “Thank You” or “Fuck You”, nonfriend. Justice, blind, from antiquity carries a sword. You can genuflect, thank her for your food and a home, or you can wrest the blade away and lop her into Winged Victory. There’s You as god as forced, unbridled...and there’s “safe”. Choose. Ready?
    Call it in the air. There’s no softer, easier way.

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