Those who are already in power like to pretend to be revolutionaries. They say things like “A Storm is Coming,” but they’re pretty sure that nothing is poised to disturb the status quo, and if there were any storm on the way, they would do everything in their power to minimize damage to their status.
Real revolutionaries keep a low profile, hoping that the element of surprise will work in their favor. Having little to lose, they are ready to risk everything when the time to strike arrives.
Squares like to dabble in the arts. It makes them seem less square. When I lived in San Francisco, there were faux bohemian “art galleries” on Fisherman’s wharf, where a vacationing investment banker from Missouri could buy an oil painting of a San Francisco street scene, complete with globs of paint to show that the painting was modern and hip. What they didn’t tell the investment banker was that the painting was produced in a factory in Dafen, China, on an assembly line. Want a rainy Belle Epoque Parisian street scene? They’re cranking them out over there even as we speak.
people are what’s wrong with this country. If something could be done
about you, there might be hope. Every time somebody gives you a
break, or cuts your some slack, it’s an insult to the rest of us.
We’re God-fearing, hard-working folks, and you all are parasites
looking for a host to feed on.
you remember a time when America made sense? When Walter Cronkite
told you the news and night and you could believe he wasn’t just
making shit up? When the office of the President commanded respect?
When a boy could get a rifle for Christmas and it wouldn’t cause
liberal tongues to wag?
remember that America. I was once that boy. Now, I’m heavily
medicated, on permanent disability, and although my religion tells me
to love the Negro and the Jew, the Muslim and the Communist, there’s
almost nobody I believe or respect any more. Paul Harvey is dead. So
is Earl Nightingale. They made the Boy Scouts admit queers and give
them a merit badge for butt fucking. That’s the America I live in
always worked, always had a job. When I was ten I was a paper boy.
When I was fourteen, a bus boy. Sixteen a dishwasher. Eighteen, I
worked construction. Today what do I have to show for it? Nothing
more than that immigrant who showed up last week expected three
square meals and a roof over his head. He’s getting what he expected,
and more. Me, I got the shaft.
rent in a one-bedroom, cookie-cutter apartment near a Mega Wal-Mart
that costs almost half my monthly disability check. There’s nothing
to look at but the parking lot, which is full of RV’s half the time
because they let those people park for free, guessing that they’ll
buy something on their way to the bathroom. Scum of the earth lurk
around there. If I had a wife or daughter, I wouldn’t let them wander
over there any time of day.
though nobody wants to admit it, America is full of bad people. Some
of them are even Americans. Some of them are white. Some of them
have guns. All of them have lawyers, and if push comes to shove,
you’ll go to jail and they’ll get house arrest or probation. Their
kids will go to good schools and rub shoulders with important people,
while your kids hang around with future prison inmates. These people
have each other’s backs, so there’s no easy way to bring them down.
If you can get a cop drunk and get him to talk, he’ll tell you all
when I can’t sleep I go to Wal-Mart because it’s open 24/7. The
aisles are mostly empty, but there are a few people walking up and
down, mostly meth users, tweakers, talking to themselves. You can
tell who they are because their eyes bug out. Then there are the
workers, usually Nigerians or Mexicans, restocking merchandise. They
do that kind of stuff at night. There’s usually only one cashier on
duty. Any time of year you can go to Wal-Mart if there’s no place
else open. Last time I was there I met a guy named Ken. He’s older
than me, but I sort of enjoy talking with him, at least until his
negativity gets to me.
is one of those guys who never fits in, no matter where he lives.
He’s still burned up about stuff that happened fifty years ago. The
girl that went off with another guy in 1970. When I think about the
prison he lives in, I vow not to get stuck in that spot. Even if I
don’t know how I’m going to move on from this place I feel stuck in
now, I know I’m going to do everything in my power to do so.
used to think someone was holding me back from being all that I could
be. At first I thought it was rich white people, then Jews, then
black people on welfare, but at last I realize that no one has been
stopping me from reaching my personal best. Once I figured that out
it got easier and it also got harder. I need to get rid of the
parasites in my life. Gotta call them out and name them. Stop
pretending they don’t exist and they’re not sucking the life and
energy out of everybody around.
you’d think a relatively good-looking guy like me from a good-enough
family could have gotten somewhere by now.