You Know Me
J. Gordon

who am i? i am everywhere you look; in the worst of times, i am you and in the best, i am someone you wished you knew--i am the sickly adhesive bonding each generation to the next and inextricably twisting the castes together with entropy and petty lust... don simpson is my god and i am cultured at the altar of mass-crass media--i keep the low from ever getting higher and the high from wanting anything but the low--how? ah, that is my special secret which you will not understand--just like the rest--but i will glady tell you anyway. its symbol and call are millionaire executives who pander to their own syphilitic dreams, braying "i like trash. i AM trash!" at the low they are vainly seeking to indelibly smear their image upon. i seek out only those pathetic, obsessive bastards who know such erudite, pedantic details about any given subject that three minutes in their shaking, jittery presence--them eructating useless topic drivel all down the front of their donald duck ties elevates me into the top 3% of the wastrel devotees who have enslaved what passes for their lives to this ignoble "whatever it is" pastime. in three minutes i glean enough slavered topic gristle to make me interesting, creative, elite and, yes, even worshiped for the breadth and length of my insight and knowledge, at least among those who know so little about the subject that its mere existence is a blow to their miserable mediocrity, which is most everyone--then, in rapturous boredom, i dole out to the weeping, moaning masses those tiny bits of knowledge they see themselves as being too proud to gather but which they believe--once theirs--will elevate THEM to some imagined dais of higher social standing in their grey social gatherings--little more than drab cows burping up their own cuds and bathing in the miasma of their combined methane--and pallid dinner time dish fests where the latest gossip is the foundation for another generation of illiterate, squawking plebeians to rule this--and all--mighty nations--and they ask for more, more, more, more and more--they want less of anything resembling civilization and more savagery, more hate and brutality--violent words, violent deeds, violent sex, and violent thoughts thinly constrained by romance, humor, vapid and vacuous chatter and a ghostly reminder of what our culture could have been--more, more, more, more, more--

First published: August 2005
comments to the writer: Knob'