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The Consternation of he

One Imaginary implication of the 21ST. Century is when a sunny day flashes brightly like a blinding flash bulb that pops in one’s eyes,



a la one in an old Polaroid camera, that these pictures that come out of “His” mind, instead of photographs exposes fractures in a rather troubled psyche.

That poor or unfortunate person is usually in a state of bad luck, snake bitten, and lonely, man or woman in our community that every priest, rabbi, imam, guru, yogi, fortune teller, family member, friend, lover, ally, enemy, gypsy, therapist, and bum on the street has told him or her , or “IT” that “life” is just a journey and not a destination. “We’ve all heard that BS before haven’t we now” god demit. “He” in this case, again thinks that God’s sovereignty is not upon him anymore, though what gives “him” strength were words of inspiration by the gospel and staring at large pair of tits on attractive women as well as watching old western movies and eating cheeseburgers.


Let’s not forget what really gives him his strength to carry on thankfully every day, and that’s a heaping teaspoon of Geritol (a vitamin B and Iron supplement that’s been around for decades in the United States and is sold over the counter in practically every drugstore) which he takes in the morning. Because the discourse today he hears revolves

around the issues of identity and what is owed to “us”. He, being from another epoch fought in the so-called “jungle” out there. Every day he took on lions and tigers as well as other

territorial beasts who wanted to snatch what was “his” away from him. He swung from metaphorical tree to metaphorical tree. Swinging gracefully and skillfully from vine to vine, but today the trees and vines are not stationary, they’re moving at speeds he can’t imagine. The landscape has changed very rapidly, and he can’t recognize the places he was standing in a few seconds ago! The class stratification and its damaging effects are too much for this

Tarzan to swing in anymore. With a knife in his teeth and digital foliage that provides no cover for him, his element of surprise is long gone. As the new generation of

socialist/communist bum asses emerges, with ever more enticing bullshit, especially to a more naïve and inexperienced group of dilettantes at the heels of change in political power. The landscape changes even faster now. In the words of the elites in academia which appear every day in all forms of media, social or otherwise, with their crystal balls defining what being fucked up means to him, and that is now identified as: Transitional Capital. “Oh, that assortative mating among those rich white people is why you are bitter my good man” he heard on talk radio. “But prince Harry just married a black woman?”, he heard among a

rendezvous of Bohemians that talk politics all day at his local coffee shop. The degree of stability you swung in decades ago Tarzan, is bye and gone.

After all this self-reflection he feels he is in his terminal clarity mode. And like many others around him he believes this is the beginning of the end. The collapse of this Empire

is here and He is at the abyss of a quintessential flat world. A very deep precipice of a very flat world. Though he still understands that laying the blame on the upper classes is

patriotically wrong and misguided because though economic opportunities clearly abound, the capacities to take advantage of them does not! Loud echoes from that jungle

that disappeared from right under him are ringing in his head. In conclusion, the religious promises of an afterlife are long gone from his conscience too. The junkies he regularly

meets on the streets and the paradors he visited them in when he volunteered his time preached sermons that caught his attention once. In a moment of clarity, one well known

urban pioneer (politically correct word for homeless person or bum) at the homeless shelter told him that he needed a body to go to heaven or paradise. That just being a ghost, or

a spirit will not allow him to fuck all those gorgeous women he dreamed of doing, nor will he be able to eat and drink all that good gourmet food without having a body. This toothless preacher said, “It isn’t going to happen, man! I already went there and I came back!” “I’m telling you this because of a mother fucking dealer in Williamsburg Brooklyn sold me bad Hindu Kush heroine, "I wanted to go kill myself that night, but this shit was so bad it couldn’t even kill me, but I peeked into paradise before the paramedics found me”. “You mean I won’t be able to hit those women like the hammer of Thor without an actual body?” That’s right! Romeo.” Don’t let those solar flashes put you into reflection again. Shit just keeps rolling in that head of yours on bright sunny days. FIN

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