The plague dropped away from our daily consciousness. Isolation months, lockdowns, upward transfer of wealth, Bernie Sanders voted for it, so there are no Progressives in the Senate or in Congress. Plague customs grew less and less, masks no longer required in stores, celebrities flouting the mask rule at the Super Bowl, and why do we have to see rich people partying at the Super Bowl? Ben Affleck is into NFL football, Democratic Party strategy, and Jennifer Lopez for their second try at matrimony. Remember when Ben Affleck was photographed in a strip joint soon before his marriage to Jennifer Lopez? A furious J-Lo called off the wedding, broke up with naughty Ben. I have long maintained that Ben did the strip club thing, obviously willing to be seen and recognized, in order to achieve the result that came about. He wanted out of the wedding, out of the relationship, she was too much, he was sick of her, he felt like he couldn't handle the responsibility of being faithful to one woman, he still had years of banging hundreds of chicks, why get married now?
The plague fell away, a rain in the gutter, memories of wiping groceries, washing hands for twenty seconds at a time, social distancing, isolation, a fuckload of jerk off sessions, rainy streets, ice on the lake, seasons pass, the mask mandates drop. Madeleine Albright dropped. A gold microphone of a woman hitting the stage with a sharp thud, the witch is dead. Killed half a million children, "...it was worth it." You don't have to look far to find an evil face on YouTube.
Now the new thing to worry about is nuclear war, this Ukraine situation spiraling out of control, affecting other nations, disrupting the world economy, ultimately leading to World War Three, which could be conventional, but awful. Ben Affleck cannot save us.
Will Smith hit Chris Rock because Rock told a lame joke about Jada Pinkett-Smith's baldness, derived, she says, from alopecia. A joke on her starring in "G.I. Jane 2," and now I wonder who would direct that film? Ridley Scott directed the first one, with Demi Moore. I'm imagining McG, who made the two Charley's Angel's films. Wretched garbage films, but the women look nice, and Demi Moore plays a villain. Bill Murray proves in these movies he's willing to act in anything as long as the paycheck speaks the right language. He showed up for the latest Ghostbusters film, I'm sure the money they paid him for minimal work was lumpy with size. A lazy actor, Murray is brilliant when he tries, as in Lost in Translation.
Is that the problem of the world, the loss of translation? The lack of diplomacy, its rejection by the United States, by Ukraine, show willful power players willing to destroy Ukraine to further the goal of selling as many weapons as possible to feed the conflict's fires. Chaos in Ukraine is exactly what Biden and Blinken want. That's what the arms industry wants. The energy industry wants it. So it happens.
I had this thought that when Will Smith slapped Chris Rock a new reality emerged, where what should be happening, as in cause and effect--Smith slaps, should be arrested but isn't--doesn't happen. Alec Baldwin isn't treated like an ordinary person who shoots someone accidentally. Normality among the rich is akin to the ordinary person's most extravagant dream. Want a dish of ice cream that costs thirty-five dollars? Think nothing of it, if you're rich. Gas expensive? I don't notice, I'm rich! Food shortages? I grow my own food on my fifteen-thousand acre ranch and farm. World going to die from climate change or nuclear war? I have a berth reserved on the ark that will bear the select few to Mars. Elon, praise him, will run Mars like a business.
The moment when you feel like smelling a flower's fragrance, bending over, in front of others maybe, in a vulnerable position, some malicious trickster could kick your ribs as you enjoy the flower. The kick, followed by a laugh, makes for a story you'll tell for forty years, until the tiny tear in your gut, resulting from the savage kick, splits open finally, poisoning your insides, putting you into toxic shock, splayed out on an operating table, they try, they try they do, but no, no good, you're gone, your ashes get buried next to the family dog's.
Will such dramas occur on Mars? I'm half-convinced Musk or some other billionaire will make it to Mars, set up a colony, run into problems, some will die, those who adapt will live with half-Earth gravity, their children will be Martians, unable to come to Earth, their Martian-gravity adapted limbs would be useless.
Exotic projects, like establishing human colonies on other worlds, or building space habitats per Bezos, can be accomplished with the resources of the American taxpayer, the hard-working American citizen who pays his or her taxes, taxes used to subsidize Elon Musk's and Jeff Bezos's projects. Neat arrangement for the billionaires, yes? It's as if they're in charge.
Musk establishes the first colony on Mars: Musk 1.
Bezos completes his first doughnut-shaped space habitat: Jeff 1.
Musk unfreezes the sperm and ova brought to Mars, combines them, creates a race of vat-grown people used to Mars's half-Earth gravity. These vat-people, or Vatters, will serve the upper class as sex slaves, kitchen staff, household staff, bodyguards, soldiers, guards, harem attendants, and the more intelligent ones will do computer work and work in the communications blister attached to the Main HQ, the spaceship nodule the first colony was built around. Now, Musk 1 has 250 humans from Earth, and 2,501 Vatters learning their tasks, another 3,000 in the vats.
Elon selects a wife for himself, and a daughter. He will train his Vatters to be perfect wife and perfect daughter. Elon conducts a symphony in his mind, he is Haydn, he is Mozart, he is Schubert, nay, Beethoven, crashing thunderous waves of ideas flowing from his brilliant mind, his parents were right, he is smart, real smart. Good boy Elon, you'll grow up to figure out the solar-flare-en-route-to-Mars problem. Elon has a small vat-grown arm grafted to the rear part of his left shoulder so he can pat himself on the back.
His perfect wife, Gladys Metronome, has beguiling eyes, a small, skinny figure, and small tits, but that's okay, Elon thinks. I tell myself I like small tits so, magic it is, I like small tits. I even like her smug mouth.
The daughter, Rochelle Poorhouse, has a quiet air, spacey, dim-seeming, stoned, perhaps. Elon likes her monosyllabic answers.
Elon: How was school today?
Rochelle: Kay.
Elon: Did that girl, what's her name, pick a fight with you again?
Rochelle: Snacked.
Elon: What is snacked?
Rochelle: Leveled. Bonked. Zermed. Reconstituted. Bleered out. Thowvazzed! Undee-dundeed! Blissed. Gollumed. Klynurtic. Velmed. Vrauded, and Voozed!
Elon: I'll have to commission the publication of a dictionary to take in all these Martian terms.
Rochelle: Not Martian, dummy-yummy, Vat! We communicate with each other as we grow in the vats, perdonk!
Elon: You don't say. So these are words used in communication while you're in the vat. Psychic communication?
Rochelle: What else, Fray-lont. You're a spurpid creest, but your ignorance can be attributed to zonk.
Elon: You enchanting thing, go do your homework.
Rochelle: I will, under protest. I love you, father.
Elon: And I love you, perfect daughter.
Gladys (entering) : If you think she's perfect, I wonder about you.
Elon: That's our daughter you're talking about.
Gladys: Our vat-grown spawn? Was it your sperm that grew that gangly thing? I think not. Some hulking brute provided the love paste to make our darling daughter.
Elon: Whoever the father, I am her father. She is my protege.
Gladys: Like that movie you showed us, the Sith Lord people.
Elon: The Return of the Jedi.
Gladys: I found it strange you showed us Episode 6. Where are the other five?
Elon: Episode 6 is my favorite, it's the only one I own.
Gladys: One through five for my pleasurable viewing ASAP or you get no goodies from your vat-grown wife's naked form.
Elon knows the series goes out to nine films. He doesn't like Episodes 7, 8, and 9. He tells Gladys about them anyway.
Gladys: I want to see all of the films. Starting with 1, all the way to 9.
Elon, Gladys, and Rochelle watch The Phantom Menace. The pod racing scene impresses Gladys. She also likes the boy, Jake Lloyd, as Little Darth Vader. Darth Maul is "scary," Jar Jar Binks "funny." Rochelle asks why Liam Neeson is so wooden in the film. Nobody responds. Elon chuckles when the big reveal about the queen and her double happens, he had guessed that mystery earlier. Overall, the family enjoys the film.
Episode 2, Attack of the Clones, is another matter. Elon sneers at Hayden Christensen as young man Anakin. A brooding lad, soft lispy voice, unruly haircut, a Lord Byron type, a glower from Anakin and look out, he'll chop you in half with his light saber. He kills in an uncontrolled fashion. He's a terrible motherfucker. Look out, it's Anakin! Elon doesn't like Episode 2, nor does Rochelle. Gladys finds it "terribly violent."
Episode 3, Revenge of the Sith, Anakin goes full blown psychopath. Elon hands it to Hayden Christensen. He redeemed himself as an actor in this one. Gladys loves the duel between Obi Wan and Anakin. "I have the high ground," Obi Wan says. Gladys, on the edge of the couch, absorbs each detail, hand to mouth when Anakin begins melting into the lava, loses his legs, his junk, his face gets burned, he's a freak kept alive through a sophisticated iron lung. He must be on painkillers all the time, or maybe he's in pain all the time? Elon ponders Gladys's question. Rochelle thinks the film would've been better without CGI.
When they watch Episode 4, they're all, except for Elon who's seen it, astonished at how this movie is so much better than 1, 2, and 3. Episode 5? Even better. 6? Not bad, but 7, The Force Awakens?
"So," Elon comments wryly as the film begins. "The Force can sleep? Or it awakens in someone?"
Elon decides that's it. Awakens in Rey, the magical character. Rochelle doesn't like Rey, thinks she has no depth of character, no soul, just a shadow on the surface of the wall of the screen--Rochelle writes dark poetry in a vat-grown black-bound journal. Rochelle doesn't like 7, Gladys loves it. Gladys, easily impressed by lots of movement on a screen, likes all busy-image films. When she saw Aquaman she creamed her jeans over Jason Mamoa and over the busy images.
Episode 8, the worst, The Last Jedi, features a sad Luke Skywalker, a quitter, drinking milk from a sea cow, gone back to the titty is our Luke, our hero of Episodes 4, 5, and 6. Son of Darth Vader and Queen Amydala.
Quite a lineage, Elon ponders to himself. This film ruined Luke Skywalker. Hm. Gladys hasn't noticed, she thinks this film is good, and she can't stop raving about Laura Dern's purple hair.
Elon asks Rochelle her opinion of Episode 8.
"No comment," she replies.
Gladys loves Episode 9, The Rise of Skywalker. A busy screen in that one, too. Rochelle thinks Rey coming back to life is the worst decision in the film. She needed to die in order for her life to mean anything. She's perfect, so let her die, like Christ. Elon thinks Rey is terrific. He loves the character. Weeping, he watches as she dies, but lo, she comes back, the force is strong in this one.
Back on Earth, my first exposure to an explanation of the Force was on July 12, 1977, a theater in Seattle, first time seeing Star Wars. Obi Wan Kenobi explains to Luke Skywalker that the Force is in everything, that it can be used for good, and for evil, for dark purposes, and for light. In The Phantom Menace (1999), Qui-con jinn explains to young Anakin that the Force is something in one's bloodstream, registering as metacholines. Someone with a high metacholine count is more likely to be strong in the Force. This physical explanation disappoints Elon. The religious explanation seems more in keeping with reality. A Jedi knight trains, becomes adept in adapting to the shape of the Force around him. Force, that is the wonderment, that Lucas created the potential for a religious cult. It didn't happen. 3:17 a.m. April 14, 2022, Thursday. How much longer does the Earth have? 10 billion years.
I'm trying to understand why I'm procrastinating on doing my taxes. Last year I did them online, it took two hours, about an hour and fifteen minutes longer than doing them with paper forms. Ink, smooth and black, covers the page, each letter eight inches wide, eleven inches high, the letter e covering the entire Earth. These last words before the nuclear exchange, the atom dance, the murder of everyone by the worst people ever. Dishes undone, floors unswept. Clothes need cleaning. Anxiety about a loved one, two loved ones. Wondering about the marriage of Will and Jada can distract one, like a comedy playing out, giving laughter, but also it just reminds me of bad combinations of people, she seeming like a controlling fury. Who cares.
Waiting to hear about a loved one's fate. Preoccupied, while the talkers talk, force of arms prevail over diplomacy. Benefits for Lockheed Martin, good for them, for their Karma.
What does it do for Biden? He's caught in a war he essentially started along with NATO. There's a food shortage, gas is expensive, the midterms will show what a tidal wave hitting Democrats looks like.
Lame duck president, set aside for Kamala to laugh her way through a year or so of the Oval Office and Air Force One and one State of the Union. It has been designed that we would come to this time in history led by the worst leaders possible. This maximizes the chaos that's coming. What else but chaos could come from such organized incompetence as we see in the Biden administration? We are between realities. The establishment would have us believe, for instance, that Biden is perfectly fine in the mental department. The cognitive dissonance resulting from this insistence in the face of obvious counter-fact, reveals this world we now live in, part entertainment complex and part CIA-invented reality composed of made-up narratives fed to the American people since the 1940s. The CIA has been in bed with Nazis since the 1940s.
Oink.
Google sent an email about how they'll demonetize "content" if it misrepresents the war in Ukraine. Any suggestion that Ukrainian forces are harming Ukrainian civilians (which they are) is grounds for demonetization. That Google is sensitive about the idea that Ukrainian military units and paramilitaries (Nazis) are killing and terrorizing Ukrainian citizens, as in Mariupol, for instance, according to eyewitness testimony of those terrorized, indicates most logically that such crimes against humanity are happening. How is it any skin off the neck of the people who run Google if the war in Ukraine is misrepresented, especially when mainstream news media do the most misrepresenting? I recall a legendary Ukrainian Ace called The Ghost who shot down six, or ten, or forty-thousand Russian planes in one day. He turned out to be a video game character, but he was reported as real by CNN and other mainstream outlets. It's okay if they lie about the war. Protected lies, or "untruths" as George Orwell might've written it.
Elon Musk wants to buy Twitter, offered some huge pile of cash for it, billions. Send it to Twitter headquarters in army trucks. Cellophaned bundles of cash. Elon can't wait to tweet his first tweet as new owner.
"Greetings Earth People #MuskMartian."
Vic Neptune
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