To even my dad. And other Objectivist ramblings.

My dad is someone I respect immensely. Truly one of the only people I could call great in this world especially.

There are however a few things I’d like to say to him about the world before I die.

I’m not just talking to him I’m talking to all of us.

Dad we will always be in Iraq
Dad the object of state is power
Dad the object of a nation is control
Dad will they send me to room 101 if I’m poor enough
We never lived poor
Dad you never knew this level of media
Dad don’t worry I’m still a part of the last of the old order
I still care about money. While we can still touch it
Those promises on templates
Manufacturing pamphlets
Dad Altruism and Egoism
Could be resolved in our lifetime
But I have a feeling it will only
Take result in our lifetime
Dad you are ever patient
And I forever melodramatic
Just can’t shake the idea After mom That this isn’t all just a fiction
McLuhan Forever vindicated
And if it weren’t for two very invested college dropouts
One of them a real asshole
With whom in an elevator
You would either invariably
Be fired or promoted
On the spot
Indeed without them It would be a Blade Runner for sure
But that is happening anyway
Because MSNBC is really another Fox
Because Obama is really lying like all the rest
In a sense it’s like women. Ha. No I meant to say Whitman. I’m writing this on my android phone
Because maybe Obama is really just like Lincoln
And we romanticized both
They are both including Whitman nonetheless great men in their own sense
Still.
As we are great men
From our own senses

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Sons of the Silent Age Part 4

“He’s also a member?”

Almost snorting, Camille spat a retort at her. “Of what?” she quipped. “The preferred Homecoming King along with being an aspiring scientist, right Helen?”

“Ah, that’s right Pam.”

She didn’t care, they couldn’t get away with this. So she skipped the doubt she had of any success, and…

He sat down alongside Helen, sliding in. He did have that great long low jaw jutting far from his neck, gracefully, but strong. Eyes, blue, crystal blue like hers, and Helen’s. It wasn’t a coincidence, blue eyes were the CAMBIAN or USC genetic preference for most parents. There was that taffiness again with Andrew though, when he smiled, like with David, but ever so faintly.

She liked him, instantly, despite everything, but she was reproachful and skeptical of what she considered his potential intellect at that point. Or maybe she was just a Louse, a Tramp, a Floozy, a Slut..? Well, no that would be a good thing, she gandered…

Maybe I’m just attracted to like, everybody. I like to feel beauty, or ugliness sometimes…

“I understand you’re Camille.”

Andrew immediately came out with. extending his hand as if to kiss hers, not to shake. They shook hands.

“Where’s Helen?” said Rachael dismissively.

“Oh she’ll be here in a minute…” said Gorsky.

Pam talked for a bit with them, and then…

“Well I’ll let you two get acquainted…” she said in the general-you tone.

Rachael didn’t have much to say now.

Her mom and Nana both slid out of the booth, and they were alone.

“Okay, you seem really nice and all but, I mean first off, I don’t usually date Poles!”

He laughed. “My parents didn’t put me up to this.”

“To what?? For what?” she replied.

“Well, to meet you.”

“Oh,” she said in defeat.

“What, what’s wrong with–”

“–What did your mom or Helen or whoever–tell you?”

“Um, I know Helen, cause Mr. Damiand’s son. Do you know Dr. Damiand? He works with Helen.”

She remembered Helen and Erol or was it, David? -Talking about something like that, but couldn’t pull anything specific out of her memory right then and there.

“No I guess I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Okay…”

“Okay, so whatever, we have to make this sustainable here and now, so okay, what do you do?” she asked.

“I’m a student, I want to be an engineer.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that works on stuff,” he said, smiling. His light and candid demeanor were working on her…she had to admit.

There was suddenly, out of nowhere it seemed, a long awkward pause between them.

He came right out with it. “Do you have a Boyfriend?”

Another pause.

“No.”

“Cool.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, seemed like a good starting point to better conversation…”

“Indeed,” she came at him with, still having no idea how to react, looking afraid…

By the time Helen, Pam, the Colonel, and Nana were all back at the table, she and Gorsky were playing footsie and poking at each other, trying not to be seen.

Pam and Helen were glowing synchronously.

Rachael felt that dagger again. And the sensation of eating poison, with enough distraction to want it.

But why is Helen smiling? Smile as you kill I guess, huh Helen?

Just then the taffy man himself came on a levitating View,  happening to have stopped at their table to relay ads and information on where to buy things and Tourist attractions too…

Rachael was the only one to look above their booth. She poked her head, trying to get a mental snapshot of everything around her.

There were just as many Views hovering from table to table, each of them a flexible, shape shifting monolith, many translucent rectangular variations floating intelligently around the room. The Huge View before them in particular was a taffy-like man, but out of control taffy, and scary! Rachael thought this, without enough time to make conclusions—

“—Hahahahahaahahahaahahahaha!” The man chuckled, uproariously–at everything. Like a demon with altogether characteristically loose cackling jaw!

“I’m Guy Migger, featuring those tried and true consumer products only YOU deserve!”

She thought seriously that he could any moment be featuring Monster Trucks, and in the next moment, a Nazi rally. The next? Soap. Then…?

Nothing.

He disappeared. Oddly.

Reappearing to replay Monster Trucks, Adolf Hitler speaking softly to a man, then. Then Soap.

Rachael was going to vomit. ‘The fear,’ the dark fear had returned to torture her and rid her of peace of mind once again…

“Ah-hahahahaahahahahahahahaahahahahaha!!!” This discarnate head of a blonde blue eyed suburban mad man was of some generic early 2030’s ‘Epoche’ or period style ‘Characateur’–come-to-life! He had slicked back hair and a sturdy pressed collar.  Stylistically, he appeared like a mesh between comic books themselves, and real life. Whatever that was anymore.

“Actually Guy Micker, was the name of the real one here.” Helen said it.

“Who?” Pam came in with, like a doe in the lair of a Gigantic Spider.

The Colonel and his wife were fading into the wallpaper, and fast…a sad tinkering could be heard, of Nana softly letting the spoon drop from her hand onto the Micro tea plate. The Colonel just sat there, staring at the table.

Helen continued over to Pam. “Guy Micker, the ol’ Tycoon maniac? You don’t remember him?”

“I mean, Helen, come now, and how many Cereal Killers have we had in the last few years? Like 30?”

Pam had made a genuinely rational point. Rachael noticed it. So did Camille.

“That’s who this is based out of, and it just happened to actually catch on. Masochistic to me…”

She’d never seen Helen, even the likes of Helen be so intelligent. Rachael lapped it up, then reproached herself for being such a cunt licker!

Guy Migger went on to describe the inevitable product he was no doubt about to shove down everyone’s throats–before which, he could only tell you about the new press for superiority against Utah, and the USC fight to prevail.

They’re using our fear of fear. And wait, why again, why isn’t Helen feeling guilty about torturing me right now? She must know!

Somewhere in her, she was confessing to herself, uncovering her own dirty little secret of wanting to like Helen, and blighting herself. Then beating her head with a mental punishing Switch for giving into it…

“Hey wait, isn’t the USC done with Utah? I mean, isn’t Utah, like kaput or what not???” Andrew asked, urgently. Something intelligent. It had to have been a plant. Of her mom’s, no doubt…

It had to be! Just had to!

Rachael felt more and more just mere Rachael, as if to age, backwards. No more Camille, no more future adult. Just fucking damn regular old Rachael…She was getting desperate to believe herself and hold to Reality.

My reality? NO. Somewhere the word ‘My’ could not go with Reality. No sir, she thought. Only a grammatical article such as THE could fit something so large, finite and yet, vast.

And no respect for it, not anywhere, save from this jack ass hot guy who could talk, and Helen, this demon of a package, with independence inside. From her mom. From CAMBIAN. From Voca’s, and Finally Fourteen…

The Onslaught Toilet-Bowl, Poo Wars, Vast Stone of Flies! 

Nevertheless, was she to give in to it?

Never. She’d sworn. Long ago.

It would be so easy if Pam hated Helen. But she didn’t. And Pam liked her back, and golf liked them both. And they were evil, they had to be. Both of them.

It made her want to fuck Andrew while shooting at her mom appendage by appendage, until she got to blow her brains out and cum all over his face.

She came back. To the table.

“So glad you’ve joined us again,” Pam said.

She was getting a heady sensation. And low, so low. Need to breathe…

“Move, please, I’m sorry And–” Her mom gave her a look of no life beyond death.

Shrugging, she decided not to care, as she pushed her own way out of the booth and onto the red carpet, straight away to the restroom.

***

She was washing her hands and then she came to her again.

“Rachael…? Raccheeaeel?”

Softly, ever so gently…again. She knew it was coming.

“Una,” she stated, gravely.

“Don’t give into them. They’re only skin deep.”

“You’re still talking in metaphors. Clichés again, no less. Seems to make sense though.”

Terror had become visible as a medium to her in that instant.

Controllable. Maybe someday.

“I’ll talk to you some more, and better ways, if you take that injection…” said Una.

It was her, the real Una she had seen long before.

The faint apparition in the mirror pointed softly to her left. There, right there, slightly under the instant hand drying unit, was indeed a cylindrical misty blue syringe.

“Take it in.”

Rachael, I can’t believe you are about to do this.  

“Are you really here? I mean, this is real as it gets, Real. But how can I know, and really know that I am not dreaming?”

“You can’t,” said Una.

“Bullshit!”

There was a pause.

“You can’t Rachael.”

“Fine!” She figured her fear of what was out there scared her more, and in that moment, took the needle into her foot.

And in a swarm, she saw the poppy fields. And the Towers. The mirror expanded to reveal an endless field meeting a gigantic seaside and a sky of enormous clouds.

The waves were close and far away. They were playing her music, a long time ago. A phonograph played endlessly into the landscape.

And with that, a vertical torrent of sudden cascading tears, Rachael’s Terror fell out the bottom in streams down her cheeks and neck and chest where they disappeared forever. “No, no no!….Okay, okay, I don’t fucking care anymore! Just show me!” She was wailing, snorting and sucking in her mouth, blubbering with trying to press through the murk of pure fear.

When she was finally calm. Una spoke to her again.

“I can speak now, to you, and it will make sense to you, even though I am really, still speaking like you heard before.”

“Yes. I understand. Why haven’t you come to me before?”

“Wasn’t able to.”

“Okay. Where are we now then? I’m still at the Buffa Grill right? And how much time do I have before my fucking mom or anybody walks in?”

“Don’t worry Rachael, I’ve slowed down the rest of the restaurant.”

“What do you mean, slowed down? Like they’re, I’m guessing, their movement…?”

“Their molecules are moving at a fraction slower, making it effectively–”

“Two different places!?”

“Different places? Yes, you could call them that. Not really. “What happens to the two worlds is important to them.”

“Who?”

“Them, Rachael. Them.”

“Oh GAWD, fine!”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I can’t tell you that Rachael, Camille, and Halea.”

“I’m all three, I suppose.”

“No. One after the other.”

“Inevitably?”

“Pretty much.”

“What? What does that mean? Can I be put off a ‘need-to- know’ basis right now, please?”

“No.”

“No? No, what do you mean, no?!”

“I mean, it would upset the Race. I want to see a true winner.”

“Winner.”

She realized she’d meant to say it as a question, but instead, it seemed to assert itself as a statement.

“What race?!” Rachael growled at her.

“No need, really no need Rachael…You must realize you are one in a herd.”

“Don’t–Wha–Not you. Don’t tell me this, not from you…”

“Don’t worry Rachael, I’ll take care of you. Just play my little Game here…”

“Fine.”

“Give her over to the Indonesian Client.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Handoko Tan.”

“You’re just telling me, for…”

“You’ll see her.”

Una disappeared in that instant.

“Be cryptic, be that way, you fuckin’ sadistic Bitch.”

Back at the table her mom was recounting newly purchased accessories while Andrew was arriving from somewhere else, at the exact same time.

“Where were you?” Rachael inquired.

“Using the facilities, same as you.”

Why didn’t I see you on the way back then?” she snapped back at him, instantly.

He looked at everyone as if to get permission, then said laughing in a jocular, yet defensive tone, throwing his hands up rhetorically while he spoke further–”I didn’t think it was that big a deal!” He chuckled some more.

She tried to calm herself. Her mom began pushing her a bit further into her seat as she soothed the back of her neck.

“You’re being paranoid, Rach!” he said to her, as if he’d known her for years.

You don’t know me yet, okay?

She’d said it right in front of Helen, who just seemed to watch with a placid look on her face.

“Okay, okay girl, sure no prob.”

He sucker punched her. Like Kim would.

Right, like Kim would. Nice try Una.

But was it her?

He laughed with everyone else, whole heartedly this time.  Rachael looked peaked.

“Do you need to go back to the restroom Rach?” Pam asked, dully.

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Vesper Heliotropic Graphic Novel Excerpt Page 33

Vesper Heliotropic Graphic Novel Excerpt Page 33

God’s Good Earthen Soil – Dystopic Sci-Fi – Vesper Heliotropic Excerpt

She also and weirdly, knew that his daughter was no longer ‘present’ on God’s Good Earthen Soil, either. Harietta Damiand had died in a horrible Hover accident involving several or more automobiles. She was nine at the time of her death.

He had loved her, like Daddy’s do. Or like, Daddy’s can. To complicate things, Johanna, his wife was going senile. Her sudden dementia was combatted with restructuring software and everything, but in the end, she just slipped away.

This made things more convenient for him of course, especially. Harietta had been made of God’s Good Flesh when she lived. She was made of God’s Own Good Born Silicate and now, well now, she was made of wood. Dr. Damiand, resurrected her by copying what the Intra-Portable Equiv-MRI Bot, that is, the brain software, had recorded…

…Read More of Vesper Heliotropic Book II. RACHAEL Here!

Vesper Heliotropic Dystopic Sci-Fi Novel

Sleeping Giants. Greatness…is an Idea.

My Heroes have changed. At least they were Giants.

I met Patrick Stewart. At the New School. In the Capital of the World.  He taught me that humility could be strength. He taught me that presence trumps words. At times. “Engage.”

She taught me strength in a woman, after my mom.

Saw her live. Rapture. She taught me anger could be channeled and used against the enemy.

Ayn Rand taught me to FIGHT. That principles and values are to be faught for if not, you don’t deserve them. And that intellectualism is a moral thing.

And that there is more to life than ‘this.’ That indeed “The noble soul has reverence for itself.” – Nietzsche

“…Some give up at the first touch of pressure; some sell out. Some run down by imperceptible degrees and lose their fire, never knowing how or why they lost it. Then all of these vanish into the vast swamp of their elders who tell them persistently that maturity consists of abandoning one’s mind; security, of abandoning one’s values; practicality, of losing self-esteem…”

Most everyone I know and knew, sold out. I think it takes losing that which you love most…to enter the realm of the epic life, of the left hand path, of original experience. I lost my mom at 20. I lost my sanity around that time…too.

Only recently got it back.

Joseph Campbell taught me original experience and the mythical life, as life. He taught me compassion and listening. Intellectuality.

Our country stands as the single most avid destroyer of the black man. And woman. We all let it happen.

Vigilance.

He also and recently taught me that passivity is worse than being the perpetrator of evil.

“He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it.”

This man taught me that tyranny comes in many forms. And that religion itself is THE primary perpetrator of evil in this world. Thomas Jefferson was an avid anti-Christian. –FACT.– Period. Look it up.

“I Have Sworn Upon the Altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.”

— Thomas Jefferson

I have been able to recite this at will since I was 15.

He was writing about a religious tyranny over a town by means of a preacher in the 1800 campaign.

My Dad loved him.

“–Everything is just fine, and that vacation time means everything is going to be f—–g fun!”

“–Everything is just fine, and that vacation time means everything is going to be fucking fun!”  He then turned to his wife and added with an off and rancorous tone, “No Eileen, not this time, I see you with that look of yours, but nop!-This is too important, this is the big event, we’ve been waiting for months–the cook-off, the Big-Game barbecue!

After that, he grabbed his daughter by the collar of her T-shirt and threw her…Read More of VH Book II. RACHAEL