Skulkers and Slinkers

Look at nobodies skulking out of back rooms, slinking out of dark corners before they parade their powdered talking points at we the people.

As if we hoi polloi cannot do for ourselves because powdered emperors on parade giveth and taketh according to bullshit floated in back rooms, dark corners.

:eyeroll:

Skulkers and Slinkers

See here's the thing about bullshit: it doesn't give a damn whether you're a nobody or a somebody, anybody can fling it. 

But buying a whole steaming pile of it?

*

Skulkers, to hear them tell it, have it together. The dole of crap we're supposed to buy? They know best. So much so, they don't listen to us. Hence... back rooms, where they listen to each other.

As if skulkers cannot in good conscience, dish dogpiles to the full-of-it when the full-of-it are their own.

*

Slinkers, to hear them tell it, are brimming with heart and grace. The perfumed rot we're supposed to swallow? They have solutions. Not ours, of course, they don't believe us. Hence... dark corners, where they believe each other.

As if slinkers without their sanctimony masks are angels among their own.

*

I mean... is it just me or are we hoi polloi getting sold a hill of beans like a whole lot of nothing is really, really something?

Not because anybody in their right mind is asking for a hill of beans, but because back rooms and dark corners are stuffed to the gills with... somebodies.

*

Here's the thing about somebodies: they've got an opinion on just about everything. Whether their skin's in the game or not.

They're not sweating at a gas pump fill-up or biting their nails in a grocery store checkout lane. They're not dreading the rent coming due or delaying out-of-pocket out-of-reach health care. Because

that's baloney

for we the hoi polloi

to trust.

*

Which is to say: they indulge their main characters as if consequences are for everybody but them. Because our price to pay for their plots is whatever they please.

So a heaping helping of warmed-over muck and over-cooked twaddle, for us.

For them,

undoubtedly what they're buying in back rooms and what they're believing in dark corners is the God's honest truth.

Because obviously skulkers and slinkers, possessed of boundless respect and decency for themselves and each other, are allergic to dishonesty and deceit within their number. 

*

I mean... if not for their firehoses of sewage, what would we stuff between our ears? I shudder to imagine what fearsome burden the truth must ask of bullshit flinging...

somebodies.

More

Skulkers and slinkers are corrosive

for so. many. reasons.

I cannot do them justice in a two-minute read.

But if the only shot I've got is a figurative shot across the bow, what do I have to lose?

*

Back rooms and dark corners are 'back' and 'dark', by design. They do not exist for we the people; skulkers and slinkers create back rooms and dark corners for themselves and their own.

Not 'to improve' or 'to change' the real lives of real people, much less 'to fix' real problems or 'to resolve' real threats. Please.

*

Skulkers and slinkers wield levers of power and control, because that's what main characters do for the plot.

Insofar as plots define the particulars of who, what, when, where, why, and how... back rooms and dark corners exist for such utility.

Case in point: shadow so-called 'campaigns' to sensationalize skulkers with inconceivable influentiality; fantastical so-called 'bona fides' to dramatize slinkers with extravagantly feigned legitimacy; etc.

Not because anybody is acting on real concern or really being one of a number because out of all the reasons skulkers and slinkers parade as powdered emperors of points, not one is to be real.

*

If only nobody was buying swill to swallow. But somebodies are. Somebodies who believe skulkers and slinkers 'talk the talk' and 'walk the walk'. Because obviously knowing what's real and knowing what's not is not for anybody, not for we the hoi polloi. 

If we trust baloney soaked in toxic dump sludge.

M

Your Number

Have you heard the creeping crescendo of alarmism about... loneliness? Not that that's really here or there. Where such 'talk' leads, however... that is here.

Your Number

I'm aware that 'belonging' is a thing. A 'thing' that draws people into groups. That creates 'communities' through 'experiences'. That builds 'identities' around places and rituals and memberships.

*

I, nevertheless, do not feel so... inclined. It's not as if a demonstrably 'national' celebration incites in me, a 'belonging' to political borders, for example. I have participated in a share of 'shared experiences', sure. But I can't say that a moment stamps upon me, a genuine connection to every participant who lived and breathed then and there, too. Likewise, so-called 'histories of residence' do not 'root' me indelibly to patches of lithosphere.

Please. I am not one of a number. 

*

On the other hand, I see you drawn to being one of a number.

Which is to say, I see you fall in. To craft narratives about who should possess power and what power should control. To harness avarice and ambition. To collectively achieve all that's inconceivable. Even if the price of victory is appeasing a wannabe-tyrant by fulfilling a wannabe-tyrant's anti-democracy 'project'.

Which is to say, I see you reach. Beyond death and taxes. For a promise of immaterial glory, never mind a materially plural nation. For a 'plan', never mind a democracy of, for, and by a self-governed people. For a yoke of obedience that disdains self-government and declares an absolute lord dictates justly.

Which is to say, I see you throw yourselves. Into 'fandoms'. Devoted to 'parasocial relationships' with 'public personalities'. Because being a 'follower' means never not loving, never not praising, never not defending your idols, your celebrities, your own.

*

Which is to say, this 'belonging' is a 'thing'. A 'thing' that aggregates the eager for 'association'. Fueled by perceived exclusion. To depart reality for

The Land of Feelings are Facts.

*

I, to put it simply, don't feel tempted by The Land of Feelings are Facts. Because I'm partial to the truth. 

As I see it, the truth doesn't 'make reality' out of fables. It's not a 'main character' and it doesn't exist 'for the plot'. It's not 'making converts' out of audiences yearning to be told what's 'really' happening is what's in fact not happening.

Because the truth isn't about how feelings feel. Or what beliefs are believable. 

*

On the other hand, I see you defining

what's false as what's true and what's pretend as what's real. To 'belong'. To an imagined 'number'. 

This imagined 'number' is vast, consequential, and triumphant. Of course it's invention is to make believers out of audiences that strive to be seen, that crave inclusion.

Without believers, it's invention is nothing but a ridiculous yarn, a tall tale. Of trifling that whinges itself righteous and patriotic. Of greed wearing its self-importance like a crown. Of faith vacated for vague fearsome 'terrors'.

Of 'worlds' upon 'worlds' where humbugs and flimflams are creators, founders, nay, gods. Because what's faked is what's authentic in The Land of Feelings are Facts.

*

I mean, sure, 'belonging' is a 'thing'. But what kind of thing does 'belonging' make you a member of? What kind of thing is your number? In other words, what thing are you faithful to and loyal to, when the 'thing' you 'belong' to...

lies?

Epilogue

From your 'purpose' to your 'motives', you are lead not to The Land of the Truth.

After all, the truth is stark.

It knows that lying isn't evidence of greatness and lies aren't wins. That dumpster fires of both 'restore' neither 'images of stature' nor 'economies'. That feeling otherwise and believing otherwise, 'make' neither true.

Yet your number insist that the truth is owned by you and yours. That the truth is within your power and within your control. Because it is inconceivable that

reality happens

without being crafted or designed or plotted.

Which is bananas. What a crafted 'project' or designed 'plan' or plotted 'narrative' is evidence of, is invention. And invented 'reality' by any name is called fiction, still.

*

I ask:

if lying isn't evidence of magnificence... and if lies aren't victories... and if dumpster fires of both 'restore' neither 'perceptions' nor 'pocket currencies'...

why testify that feeling otherwise and believing otherwise 'make' both unimpeachable? why traffic in plainly dishonest 'realities'? if not to test

the witness and obedience of audiences owned by main characters, 'public personalities', founders?

* 

Whatever draws you in, creates 'communities' through 'experiences', builds 'identities' around places and rituals and memberships... whatever sees audiences and includes you... I wonder

if 'belonging' isn't worth what you forswear

to be your number.

M

*

Nota Bene

It surprises nobody

that some of you know for sure that defending dumpster fires of lying and lies, is the most courageous act of courage ever; that some of you know for sure that attacking standing in rebuttal and refutation of dumpster fires of lying and lies, is the most courageous act of courage ever. 

Because The Land of Feelings are Facts is abundantly populated with believers in imagined 'numbers', faked and owned by main characters, 'public personalities', founders, nay, absolute masters who dictate like overrated inhuman gods.

M