The Medieval World is Alive and Eating Well
I was dreaming of some repeating, uncomfortable dream; I could not break free of my relationship with some Mafia guy. There was always some extenuating circumstance, some tether, some period of freedom, of forgetfulness, dashed against these dark rocks of this man. Vague enough to be uncertain, yet sucking up nearly all the oxygen in the room.
I decided to write Deb. But say not a word about it.
Dylan Nirvana: Can we pot still news ridiculous down to a roiling demon from the apparently not to distant past? (e.g. the truck attack killing 8 bicyclists in NY).
What would Octavian Augustus do? I suppose he would begin by slaughtering everything in the Mideast that smelled like Ice Ass. He would take over the nations involved and set up a protectorate. There would be mass executions of people annoying to the new regime. And strict rule of law.
Deb: But first he would have a feast and smear himself with salad dressing before beating his chest and screaming “I am Emperor…..and I shall never wear any clothes!!!”
Dylan Nirvana: Thats the wrong emperor my dear.
Deb: Aren’t all the same….in a way?
Dylan Nirvana: Considering the colonial countries like Britain, France, had something to do with creating the problem, shouldn’t they recolonize the shitback? Set it up as a protectorate. Put annoying people on trial. After the initial bloodbath. Say like, we don’t want your stupid country. You can have it. Once your learn to wipe and govern yourselves, you miserable little shits.
Deb: Right…
Dylan Nirvana: No, they are not! Octavian created the Empire out of the Republic and we still have a month named after him. August. There is no month of Caligula
Deb: Maybe their should be. Nero as well. Let’s not leave out Tiberius.
Dylan Nirvana: What Augustus accomplished far outstretched any lower mortal however brutal. Those three directly followed him.
Deb: I tried to call you back last night.
Dylan Nirvana: Tiberius, Gaius, Claudius, Nero, the Flavians, Antonines, Severans and the rest followed from the one man, Titans like Alexander before him, and the Carolingian Charlemagne well after.
It was the worst conceivable moment, I apologize.
Deb: BTW, there is an incredible podcast series on The French Revolution. What was going on?
Dylan Nirvana: neg
Deb: negative shit?
Dylan Nirvana: Hitler and Mussolini saw themselves as following the footsteps of Octavian Augustus, and thus justified their actions believing history would favorably look back on them as well. If you remember our jaunt up the Guggenheim…
Deb: Why couldn’t you talk? Yes, I do remember our jaunt to the G. “The rich draw their curtains…..”
Dylan Nirvana: And their eyes were dead… Bad cake.
Deb: Right
Dylan Nirvana: It is strange to consider that the pillars of European dynasty and priviledge and power were architected by the Roman Empire, by Augustus, Hadrian, and various. The British Isles, Aquitaine, every realm, once holding some status under the umbrella of Rome, carried that through to this very day, though of course not all.
I was also brushing up on Peter the Great, Bullshitvics various, and alternative realities regarding Stalin, Poo Bear & the Crackdown on the Fuzz.
Deb: Impressive. What do you think about the latest news re Kevin Spacey?
Dylan Nirvana: Why, I posit, did the Church, that “Rome” after Constantine adopt the odd overlord role in its attitude toward kings?
Why, what happened?
Deb: A guy said he molested him when he was 14 and Spacey was 26 and a few others have come out as well.
Dylan Nirvana: Medieval Rome’s authority over Constantine’s fiction of “the Christian world” had a wider berth than even the long arms of kings. It was a way of getting around the limitations of dynastic rule. “I’ll donate a my sperma to God a, and you sa gattsa doa what I saysa. So it is written ina the dictum, ‘she’sa gatta biga titsa’. I’sa holda the keysa to Christopher’sa Gatesa. So you gatta dua what I tellya”.
What? Who? Who’s “he”? Reading now…
Deb: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5038635/Kevin-Spacey-lying-man-recalls.html
Dylan Nirvana: What a drag. I can’t even read any more… Drawing the curtain. My eyes have died. My butts starting to hurt. I can guess whats coming next. Bitchbart will have all these people say that Hillary groped them or surprised them with her tongue. “…bent them over, and tried to lick off their Republicanism from behind. She laughed and said, Bill was merely bearding for her. She was the one responsible for encouraging Dick Cheney to fuck a goat in the Oval. She wants to turn ‘merka into the Isle of Lesbos! And probably thinks thats some kind of Kool Thing. Hateful of the Family as a gosh-given institution, Hillary (remember that Communistic middle name Rod Ham?) Clinton will institute some kind of Martha Law. The heads of redheads will snap to the side, and men will be stabbed with kitchen knives. Moniker Lewhiskey. Cats will go into blender-mode. Poison nipples. Hawthorn berries, and gook green tea. Radical lesbian in vitro fertilization will continue until the the cloning is complete. Men will obsolesced. And a race of women-only will colonize Mars”. Unquote.
Deb: Yep.
Dylan Nirvana: She has become the primordial vagina, ready to reabsorb men fearful for their lives. Running in terror, their only weapons are the foul breath of their un-flossed teeth, some Vaseline, a vinyl-free glove, and a dog-eared copy of the Fountainhead.
Deb: Oh, and Scott Pruitt won’t allow scientists to consult with EPA, but bible study classes are apparently deemed as impor —
The phone went dead. There was a scratching sound at my door. Then it stopped. I could hear myself breathing. Grridggggjheh. I sounded like an emphysema victim in an enormous cookie tin. My spine kinda crinked as I turned toward the Left, the direction of Death. And No One was There.
Lighting a candle, I mumbled something unintelligible. Folding a piece of paper over one eye, I tried to read in this fell light. First, it was the Vulgus Vaginus, then Liberatus Mon Recterum, and finished with a salty run through of Savinarola’s long-hidden memoire, Deus Dampnas Meus Petat Vos Cogitationes, or My Goddamn Butt is Alive with Meaty Thoughts of You.
Drawing a circle of salt around my perch, the dried dung sweltering in the newly smelted heat, I pulled some sulphur from my pouch, and as it ignited in the innocence of the air, I flew away, cawing like Poe himself. “Time”, I said — the black wings beating the air — “time is conflated to the spawn of the ignorant”. Rush! “Believing so implicitly in — caw! — their pathetic little human existence”, my voice now the dry croak of a frog crawling up a creaking door. Rush! “that they fail to — caw! — see that their mirrors have twisted — spund! — their minds like spoons. It is I, heh heh who put every letter of the alphabet into their pointed little heads; I who moves their arms, and hurries their feet! — caw! rack!— You are not, what do you call them? Individuals? Fools! You are the fingers” Eyes bulging. Rush! Rush! The voice fading, “fingers, yes, of my hand — caw! cawww”.
Probably not. Pencil broke. The thought faded. I looked into my mirror, knowing that is not how the world sees me. Which version is backwards?
In fourth grade Catechism, Sister Mary Areola said that Humanism is a bad, bad thing. That is a land where they do not need God. Beings living there did not have to buy their way into Heaven. Nor did they have to endure an eternity with the threat of Hell. Their lives were free and this was to be feared. God, and His Conscripted Army of Angels would go out of business, falling from the sky like an array of comets, cleansing forever the idea of redemption. And we would only be left with the world that we see. One that could propel our imagination forward to the future, and unmoored by the past. A rudderless ship on the sea of infinity.
“Sea Spirit of the Blank Infinity, I name you”, I sonorously said to myself. There being no one else there to object, I accepted. Rising with with the scepter, the orb and a roll of toilet paper, I rose, redundantly. Turned and faced all Humanity, dead and undead, and walked fourth. Perhaps for the fifth time. But most certainly not yet the last. Not yet the last… caw!