Confusion Is the Consensus
By Troy J. Minks
This Is a Book about...
LIFE!
Part I
Chapter I
Liquid Cookie Dough-Liqui-Dough...
"Conspiracy Theories are nothing more than the muddled ramblings of those who 'think' they know what they are talking about, but only know part of what 'It' really is..."
Damien LaRouche sits alone on a street corner outside of a local coffeehouse in his hometown, watching all the utterly lost souls going about their business. Unknowingly, they provide an ongoing Comedy/Tragedy type entertainment for this lone watcher, brethren to the Crows, which have important messages for all of us, The Human Race...
They wait like Vultures, circling the street corner, picking at us slowly, picking the carcass clean of the latest gossip to fuel that Dis-Ease within them to feel superior to those around them. Such Dis-Ease plagues many on one such street corner in this place, Anywhere, U.S.A. And the sad part of all of this is the simple fact that they don't even know they are afflicted with The Dis-Ease...
Dirty Laundry? Yes, Definitely kick them all around. The gleam in the eyes of those afflicted when offered "Fresh Meat" is so ghoulish and so conniving, the Junky waiting in anticipation of his next fix... Feeding upon all the negativity, until there is no more, like a Vampyre. And when it is gone, they can only think of their "Next Fix", the next victim. And if there are none to be found near at hand, they will create their own negative universe, or "Clique," if you will, and populate their world with more Clones to feed upon to fulfill the needs of their Dis-Ease, and continue the vicious cycle eternally.
Moreover, the carcasses of those left behind are left to walk the Earth with their Brand New Fashionable Dis-Ease to spread and inflict upon others they meet in their day-to-day passing.
Then, at the end of the day, they all gather on that street corner to compare notes on how much better they made themselves feel at someone else's expense and how miniscule they made someone else feel today. Yes, just another day here in Anywhere, U.S.A., how fucking Grand it is to be an "American in the New Millennium".
At one point or another, the Coffins on Wheels pass by and bye, demonstrating their abilities, or lack thereof, flaunting their true colors unknowingly like untrained Peacocks, spreading their tails, feathers and all.
To wit, its Peacocks on Parade, or more of a Grim Fandango like display, complete with stark, Skeletal-like mannequins posed in ghastly postures in comedic imitation of what is "supposed" to be Life...
Life? Don't talk to me about Life. Drama is all we deal in here at this pawnshop of Life's Dreams. Drama is what makes this sickly world go round. We serve Cheese with our Whines here, and nothing else, so don't come to Anywhere, U.S.A. trying to discuss Politics, or your watered-down Notions on what Life is SUPPOSED to be or even your Concepts of What Life Is. It will get you nothing but a knuckle Sandwich served with a glass of Ice-Cold Chip-On-The-Shoulder ignorance.
Ignorance is Bliss, kuz if it doesn't fit in with Someone's Pre-Conceived Fundamental Notions of How The World Works, then it just don't fit and they will do everything in their power to ignore it, and will Fight to the Death arguing against "Something New".
Interesting thing, this drug Bliss. What is it that hooks the Junky on his first taste of Bliss? What is it that catches a Cynics eye and makes him ask, "Why?"
Why, indeed. Or even, "How, When or Where?" Why not just say "THANK YOU."
Parodies of Un-Realities according to Hoyle, whom I think is a few cards short of a full deck, if you ask me. We who live with The Dis-Ease understand things a little differently than most, sometimes even in an almost Alien sort of way that does not make much sense to those who follow by the "Book".
Well, guess what? I'm tired of following someone else's rules, written by someone too chicken-shit to face up to the fact that Life sucks and it's definitely a Bitch. So I'm writing my own Book of Rules-There are NONE! Except, Just Say THANK YOU!
We are all redundant patterns both known and unknown, acknowledged and Un-Acknowledged. It's a willful representation of all and nothing presented in it's pure, unadulterated state, which makes no sense at all, but makes completely perfect sense to those of Us who know exactly what "It" is for what it is.
We are made up of patterns called DNA which govern and dictate How we are made, What we are made of, When we are to be made, and also hold the key to the most asked question in the universe today, WHY? We are here and how and why we are to look, act, and perceive the fundamental elements, which surround us... and thus, more patterns within patterns.
The Law of the Universe... Are you Worthy of such a gift of Knowledge? I know I am what I am, but at least I know what it's like to eat Green Eggs and Ham.
But now, I, Damien, am sitting here in a bar with a beer near at hand to help wash away that nasty, bitter taste left behind by the Toxicity of all the angst and negativity that surrounds us all.
In Front of me sits one of those latest novels by one of my favorite authors and a cut-out from the local paper that supposedly has the answer for "What Love Is", lying obscenely about how "Love Is... When you hear a special kind of ringing..."
Well, the only kind of special ringing I'm hearing is when I keep getting slapped around by supposed "Peers" who are really nothing more than Fig-Newtons of my Imagination, and so far, they seem to be showing no inclination, whatsoever of disappearing or going away anytime in the near future...
Ah, Demon Alcohol, that wonderful nectar of the Goddess... It can let you make-believe whatever you want to believe. It lets you think that everyone around you is really your friend, and that they actually give a rat’s ass about what you have to say. And all is Peace and Simplicity, and that your Thoughts and Ideas actually pertain to the "Here And Now" place and notions you, yourself have Pre-conceived.
BLARGH!
Now that's a word for all the petty things that these peon, Me-First-I'll-Beat-You-To-The-Stop-Sign-Even-If-It-Kills-Me fuckers need to understand. No matter how much they rush to wherever it is that they're in such a hurry to get to, I'll still get there at the same time...And the sad part about that is that I'm the one walking...The Walker... I'm just walking on and on, forever strolling. Chew on that Phat-Azz tid-bit for a while, you damn Cynical Bastards.
Sometimes you need to stop and smell the damn roses, kuz otherwise, Life will pass you by and you'll be left all alone playing your own stoopid Reindeer Games all by your lonesome self.
Sad thought, Ain't it?
But such grand wisdom as this doesn't come for free, and sometimes it really fucking hurts to have the gift such as I, Damien LaRouche, have been cursed with, cursed to forever bring people together, only to later become just the Whipping Boy, if not entirely excluded in the End!?
What is the End, but a New Beginning? New Beginnings come in many different shapes, colors, sizes, etc. AD INFINITUM...
Which One's yours?
