Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Women Are Men Factories

I'm told that Kyle represented Lincoln a bit poorly in Chicago.  That's unfortunate and acid does happen.  I am guilty of unfortunate things myself most every day.  With the possible exception of Paul we are all a thoroughly rotten group of men truth be told. If we are remembered at all it will be as rock-livered amoral death obsessed bumpkin beats and that's fine.  The world needs vicarious flavor and will have it either through somebody else's scumminess or somebody else's war. Iggy Pop was scum.  Hemingway was scum.  Camus was scum. Prince was a Jehovah's Witness fucks sake.  He'd knock on random doors as they do.  People would be like "ahh shit Prince what's up?" and then "oh."   Shakespeare is sex jokes murder and absolutely nothing else at all and that's fine.  Even indeed "Great" in its own way.  Still he is placed on a higher plane than degraded modern art because of motherfuckers using literature as an excuse to instill cults of ancestor worship.  Not his fault I realize. He liked older women and smoking nutmeg and of course that's not scummy at all.  It's value neutral at worst.

And let us not forget the women while we're at it.  The only reason Frida Kahlo got married was for the very purpose of betraying and feeling betrayed.  It wasn't an open marriage but a tacit agreement to cheat because feeling horrid is invigorating and that's kind of scummy. Having an affair with Trotsky and then getting into Stalin worship on her death bed was really scummy. Still it's just a bit harder to think of scumbag women artists on the fly. Men have more room to socially if not bodily get away with being scum and isn't that hilarious? Let's skip half-assing it and join Westboro Baptist.  It'd take care of the drug problem and isn't "fuck everyone who isn't us" how we all do anyhow?

In North Platte there was a woman named Vicki Soto who lived downstairs from a man who had a place but liked to drink along the river with the hitchhikers and freight riders all the same. One day he stabbed Vicki in her pregnant belly cut her legs off and toted his bike down to the river with a sack of legs. He was caught by the Walmart parking lot cameras. "Missing Legs Found" was the top headline in the NP Telegraph two days later. The day after that the Telegraph interviewed an FBI man to impress us with his forensic expertise. He applied his technical know-how towards solving the case by watching video until a man with a sack of legs rolled through. Given the material pointlessness and obvious sexual nature of the murder this seems to have been a case of a serial killer being born. Except he wasn't smart enough to get away with the first one.  He rode about with half of his own murder victim in public. There's a myth that serial killers are smarter than the average person but no.   The ones who are able to amass dozens of victims over decades before being caught, who are simply good enough at murder to command nationwide attention, are quite logically mentally sharp. But there is no actual correlation between intelligence and evil.  That I suppose was my point in telling you all about this; though if someone who is both smart and evil gains a bit of power than it sucks to be anyone else to be sure.

Dear Mom: 
There is no biologically transcendent Motherhood. There is no culturally transcendent Motherhood.  There is no ethically transcendent Motherhood.  Of course I know when your birthday is; November 2nd, and I'll be sure to get you something doubly nice then. And it is sweet that you put flowers on Grandma's grave for "Mother's Day" and all but; well you know how I know that Mother's Day is bullshit Mom?  Because it's on Sunday.  Nobody gets an extra day off. That's always a dead giveaway.  People go out to lunch with their moms or some other generic activity because there are no actual Mother's Day customs. I don't think it's a consumerist conspiracy as such, at least not primarily so.  I would guess that some busybody saw the birth or marriage rate go down a half percent in 19-0-whatever and dreamed it up from there.

My birth father's name is Greg.  He's a but Irish I heard. My mother raised me alone in a claptrap rental house with out any aid from him while cooking beef at the truck stop.  I know all of Greg that I'll ever care to. My eyes come from him I'm told.  My godmother Mikalia is his sister.  Mikalia farms with her husband just over the lip of the Platte valley near the corn/cattle frontier. She also once made boxing helmets in a factory not there anymore though this is no Springsteen tale she's doing fine. I remember how she would breastfeed... well my cousin as it happens. I forget his name.  Later his parents would dress him up in cowboy hat and boots to go to school or store in for real. Mikalia's features hint at southern Europe maybe.  Dark hair, dark eyes, skin not really dark to anyone beyond Iceland and maybe just tanned.  The woman farms.  Once as a kid I was watching a football game and made some crack about Notre Dame's black leprechaun mascot.  "there are such a thing as the Black Irish you know" my mother said to that. This is so.  Descendants of migrants from Spain who are "black" enough to not be flayed by an April sun.  Another clue perhaps.  

My mother and stepdad are having their vows blessed at St. Pats Church on their thirtieth anniversary in July. The reasons why they care to do so have been alien to me for some time now. She has asked me to stand witness.  They had had a courthouse wedding.  Maybe for financial reasons, or maybe the fact I existed enough to attend my mother's wedding bothered the church.  Though I know that even they aren't so priggish as that. They did baptize me instead of hurling me in a furnace after all. I can only hope that my Mom married a stepdad who I mainly despise to please herself, not because she thought that I needed him there. She would have never have helped make the conventional family a sour thing in my mind intentionally. Her relationships are her being entire, frighteningly entire.  Anyhow she's still on a pack a day at fifty eight.  the next one of her frequent colds could be more of a cold at any time.  If she wants me suited up "standing witness" in that fucking candletomb then yes of course I'll go.     

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