We Are under the Foot of the Gangrenous Monster

singling out America's disease -- floating into insanity, Part One of Five

It’s brutal how ignorant we have become, or maybe always have been. Talking to the great American sucking sound – gushers loving every rotten multimillionaire musician, actor, athlete, two bit hustler, any dumb-downing Beyonce half-time crap, and yet, oh yes, daily these people sing that song of colonized capitalists, thinking and believing every billionaire and millionaire up close and personal on TV, TED-x, in the headlines, is a friend.

Best thing in society, a place these college grads and dropouts (makes no difference), is letting unfettered exploitation, profits, usury, and hard-and-soft selling rule the land, the social services and public good and safety nets BE damned.

Imagine, talking to a 32 year old, who supposedly works in social services, thinking the entire post-secondary student debt is all on “their” shoulders, even as I continue to talk about 1970 wages are the golden hour for 2016, where we should be hammering the minimum wage at $22.41 for inflation, cost of living, and all those add ons the Zionists and lovely hyper-billionaires have set out for the bloody 80 Percent Class, all of us kicked down to the 7 percent of all wealth category.

This 32 year old thinks politics are a bore, thinks that college at $32,000 a year is the fault of the youth, not the fault of these privatizers and inept felons as governors and administrators gutting each and every fair share the billionaire class should be paying for their insult to humanity.

Running into more folk, creating these bizarre dichotomies – “I vote Republican on economic issues, but lean democrat on social issues!” Americans are full of it, broke down by the color of their money, the smell of their fear.

This is the felony of our times, this un-united stealing states of snakes, teaching each and every gentile and dumb-luck idiot that we have an economy for the rich, the bankers, the billionaires who are the lords and masters of each micro-cent the community has to put into surviving.

Surviving the warped TV-movies-music-video-on-screen brain tasing junk. Education mills that pump out deflated ideas, cull the gumption and revolutionary zeal from youth, until they all smell like those Macy’s and Nordstrom’s mailers with the skunky spray of the white class’s ineptitude.

It’s all going to be better with a darned good night of drinking and blasting music and one big hype in the sky that the lottery will come floating down like bullion from heaven.

You try to engage, even homeless and down and right, who are thinking all that welfare and entitlements are wrong as they get the largess of the crumbs of a broken society, and they are the products of splayed parenting, splintered education, soiled friendships and the rot of peer and consumer influence.

Everyone’s got a phone, even the toothless meth head living down river near the confluence of garbage. Imagine, vagabonds and beggars texting someone from hell, from this Madison Avenue Insanity, some deal or two-for-one shit storm that is the daily bread of the American mind.

Deals and distress. Fake neighbors and faltering friends. Everyone is out for him or her “self,” and the me, I, myself is the philosophy of the phoney economy that runs nuclear drones and floats aircraft carriers. The economy that chews up forests and implodes entire ecosystems. Clipped history, dramatic child juggling, entire communities singed by lead and sulfur and radioactive nano-particles, a nation of complacence, a country mystified by the magic of algorithms and Judaic Injustice, enamored by the things on shelves and all those rags to riches claptrap story telling.

People bide their time waiting for eruptions, apocalypses, big slabs of the earth to slide into them, something like an A-bomb in every community, some plague or some heavy-in-the-jowls white ass politician – Jew or Gentile or king of chaos or prince of derivatives, some peddler of the lies and the big lie, juicy tidbits of gossip, diversion, detachment, rolling in their own shit – waiting to be entertained by the stupidity of our times.

So how do we feed these hyenas, these belly heavy beasts who demand flesh and blood, the supersonic blades of their engines like death stars eating at the fetuses not yet born? How do we square these minds, so called leaders of thinking, so called cutting edge arbiters of our insanity, the broken dreams choreographed in their artificial sun?

The youth fight little burps in the cultural wars they invent for some sad little break dance about the rights of marriage and the lofty goals of everyone having “the me-the my- the I.” As if the entire country is populated by schizophrenics, or toppled by the coursing dementia of our time.

I can never understand how un-immancipated the people of the West are, how trippy their proclivities have become, each snap-crackle-pop in their uninitiated minds the coming of the rising seas. This society with meaning in the message, the media madness of false dilemmas, the fascism of CEOs and Big Box Bellies of the Beast.

These conversations are about being half Republican and half Democrat, the inanity of it all, this force of a dead American landscape, razed and burned by the hucksters and polluters – all of them, from sea to air to plain, to river and lake, valley and mountain top, seeded with the chemicals and castrated ideas of a demented and elite class of people who shit on the graves of even their ancestors.

We cannot talk anymore, have debates about how ruined the ideas of capitalism and might makes right are, how flippant the kingdoms of kleptomaniacs are when viewed from the prism of truth.

Where oh where have the wolves gone, so many sheep and sycophants drumming the beat up kettle drum of losers and leeches, and then, these talks end up twisted in tongues, torn from the pages of infantilized men and women seeking flabby-sized youth.

Then they will come out into the night, look for raccoons, hope for big guns, peer into the sky and pray for contrails, the lobotomizing mists of their masters, hoping there is some new scent for virility and comeliness.

The entire shooting match is predicated on small men and small women, these curtain peelers, the roaches of snooping, the failed families their only anchor to know their insanity.

We can be voyeurs of this faltering land, this disheveled place of scripted cognition. We can witness the gas chambers of a disintegrated future. We can be some lie and some fantasy, torn from the pages of the conquering few, chosen to monetize love, liberty, life and death.

So we roll over and make believe, think we are something more than we can’t even see, and we hope for false gods and demigods. The time for living has long passed, and these are the days of credit, mortgaged peoples, and entire countries under the foot of the gangrenous monster.

Paul Kirk Haeder has been a journalist since 1977. He's covered police, environment, planning and zoning, county and city politics, as well as working in true small town/community journalism situations in Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Mexico and beyond. He's been a part-time faculty since 1983, and as such has worked in prisons, gang-influenced programs, universities, colleges, alternative high schools, language schools, as a private contractor-writing instructor for US military in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and Washington. A forthcoming book (Dec. 15, 2016), Reimagining Sanity: Voices Beyond the Echo Chamber, looks at 10 years of his writing at Dissident Voice, and before, to bring defiance to the world that is now lobotomizing at a rate never before seen in history. Read his autobiography, weekly chapter installments, at LA Progressive. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.