Saturday, August 7, 2010

Violence Fetish

This was a piece that appeared in Panache #16, which was published 8/2/02. It is a strange piece, but I believe the quote at the beginning of it has something to do with what I was trying to accomplish. I actually think I put some kind of code in this piece.

"Violence Fetish"

"I'm concerned with the precise manipulation of word and image, not to go out and buy a Coca Cola, but to create an alteration in the reader's consciousness." -- William S. Burroughs

Destiny and death are often one in the same. Eventually, for some, both will come to fruition. Knowledge of this may prove you are one of those people who understands the true meaning of destiny. (Needless to say, your knowledge of the facts, though, may not change who you are.) Aliens, and you may be one, can't comprehend this. Perhaps a painful reality intruded upon you at some point, sidetracking that which you hoped destiny had in store for you. Shameful slob you became. Every man, average Joe, plain Jane. Being an alien, destiny won't be kind to you. Only fools think destiny has something spectacular in store for everyone. Truth that is a lie. Destiny, when the bones must be separated from the meat, will only be claimed by the worthy. Equalzing factors such as Social Darwinism see to that. Eventually, destiny may call the aliens, but until that happens they will remain stationary and ignorant. Numerous members of that group will take up space, while others will provide entertainment to those who see them for what they are. Diseased humans -- aliens -- need to be handled with violence ... or so I thought. Nothing short of annihilation was good enough for them. And lest you think that cruel, what do you do to an injured horse? Nothing short of death was to be granted. Aliens had to be destroyed because of what they are. To the worthy, the aliens are barriers, stumbling blocks on the way to destiny's grand plan. (Aliens usually aren't worth going around -- you go through them.) Slack jawed trash meant to be burned in one form or another. For that is the lot of the alien. Often I find myself staring out my window, envisioning a better world. Slaves of consumerism suddenly enlightened. Tossing off chains. Nuking convictions previously mishandled. Eager dreams they are. Great dreams never meant to be realized. Aliens won't let them be. "Evil and insidious" they label these dreams. "Rational people don't think that way." Arrogance and ignorance mark the alien like a prison tattoo. Reality means nothing to them, and when I realized that, that is when my early, unrefined feelings toward them began to form. About fifteen years ago it began. The war between myself and the aliens took form. Suffer not fools lightly, I vowed. Kill,crush, and maim them. Constant meditation on the subject, however, made me see my faulty ways. Opinions I once held dear changed. Reality stepped in. New days brought new ideas. Only mockery can truly end this scourge of humanity. Send the aliens into hiding by making them laughing stocks. Aliens hate to be lampooned. Just like rats, they will abandon ship once it begins. Death is one way to eliminate them. Not the best way, however. Actually turning them into entertainment is far more effective. Needling them accomplishes more. Apathy and anger must be converted into creativity and mockery. Maybe then -- only then -- the scourge will stop. Reality, and the humor of it all, will do the dirty deed for us. Oracles will become comedians. Devils, with gaping smiles upon their faces, will come to claim the fools who believe in them. Maybe then -- only then -- the scourge will stop. I cannot wait for that day to come. Just in case it doesn't, though, there's always the pure rage of fire -- cleanser of all tainted souls.

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