Testament

After all copies of the Third Testament were commended to the soil to avoid references to informational purges and other unfortunate mob movements in modern history, a man not unlike myself failed to notice a shoeless nappy-locked bus stop dweller in a track suit indecisively shambling toward the center divider line on a busy street in a more sub-urban area of the city, and attempted to circumvent a defensive driver in front of him, realizing a stoplight, oncoming automobiles, and the psychic remnants of seemingly near-orchestrated inappropriate foot traffic were higher priorities than the lazing sedan in front of him, let alone the strangely even pattern in which his van’s paint was peeling, as if someone had knifed his car to look like it had fish scales, intensely and spastically throwing up two middle fingers and of course trying to track the Sunday driver back to his home before realizing he is bored and deficient and perhaps an adult male acting violently grumpy because he was unaware of his surroundings and essentially hungry like an infant confused about the impetus toward crying originating in his belly-brain…or angry over something that was incriminating to be upset about.  G-d forbid.  And, so, it gets buried.

Now “silence” is the word, and appreciated bullies abound once more; feigned and modeled worries to lurch us and our peers forward through appropriate levels of caring and appreciation of responsibility; forgetting your humanity, forgetting the balance that the precocious found and were beat down for, and, paranoid, beat each other down for, the balance between survival instinct and emotional control, between safety and cool.  The man-not-unlike-myself was a boy, and would never be more, because he had trespassed on his every value, or those that had thoughtlessly been internalized leading to a confused discomfort emanating from he knew not where because he did not think he cared, but perhaps, unbeknownst to him, his organism had been nurtured away from what many would argue is our amoral nature.  The code had been simple: do not make life harder for other people and once hopefully accurately identifying the victimizer, not applying the code to those who break it.  Seemed simple enough. It was not once people worried it was more than simple restatement.  And, so, it was buried.  

The author of the buried book had been naïve, had been in denial and only wanted friends, but instead found followers more content to demonstrate their faith separately and individually despite his pleas and his schizoid idea-man’s nihilistic and mean laughter.  Nothing was meant to be overturned, only strengthened and upheld, but to question is to undo in many cases; the parallels with scripture turned from tribute to unfortunate as he realized the language would be used to question the unquestionable and keep talking of holes and legs, digging and standing, likenesses, lawsuits, quick gets, and stunted growth ignored, instead of correcting the bits of dis-logic, making something communal.  No, it must be torn down.  ‘I could have done it better,’ said the inaccurately media-labeled “disciples.”  All of the parallels eventually heresy; nobody meant to ride ancient coat tails, but all is coopted into the current state of things by definition.  Shut down the drill, leave the billion-dollar sci-fi machine to disintegrate over ten times the span it took to build, even if dreams die with it, no attempt to salvage a thing and ignorant to the fact that the underground and powers that be would use it and allow the former zealots to dismantle this springboard to what at least felt new with the skepticism authority and the reluctant author leader had agreed to bestow on them.  A team effort to dismantle and discredit something innocent.

Losing what he saw as a means toward avoiding loneliness, what others wanted to be an answer to all of life’s questions, he disappeared, dead or alive, their mythos turned to rumors overshadowed by historical figures’ actions and made tacky entertainment-news fetish.  All because it turns out, it was neither foot-in-mouth preacher nor sporadically lucid prophet but the im-masculine being that was their better half and without self when functioning as such that inspired anything good and true that may have come of it all, and nobody could find a way to make this not just as status quo gender-ist as the slight misogynist twinge that the hegemony by their nature cannot help but add to self-help and stabilizing ideologies. All of history was in relief to the majority perspective. What was black and white was now white and black.

It, the epiphany, was buried again, like every inhaled breath, like every word we wish we had not said, and the table left unturned as far as memory served, the frightened left with what supposedly came before, the attempted paradigm shifters exhausted and legally deceased.  Reinventing the wheel is a complicated business in places where the means for manufacturing are a dearly kept secret. Nothing is free but sobriety and food groups; parents try, and it is hard enough, so don’t be picky. 

I am what is called a narrator, expressing what I presume characters designed or described as they were put through the situations they would likely encounter would express after unintentionally starting a transcendental cult in an effort merely to synthesize their knowledge and find their own stability.  I am not necessarily the personality that typed these words but one layer above the bedrock of the thing using a word processor to put these expressions out there for me, a hypothetical observer of the author of a book that caused some controversy.  I am a narrator and like the intellect behind fingers giving me “life”, I dislike contractions and wish I had literally been born yesterday.  Still, it really isn’t so bad here, where awkward is broadcast, your favorite writers, musicians, visual artists, and filmmakers, even some now passed away, actually knew of your attempts to join their ranks and consider or considered all of your work derivative if not plagiarism and bigotry institutionalized, and preferences are not always met.

A moral: You’re not allowed to do science if you think the point is to manipulate people rather than simulate recurring realities and attempting through philosophizing to predict what subtle difference in stimulus foments differences in thought or action. Nobody ever actually wanted to witness people getting electrocuted.