Canary in the Coal Mine
An excerpt from the novella Canary in a Coal Mine.
There is no more morning. There is only sun. This bleached devil of fire ripping through my psyche like a lobotomizing drone. I can feel the hum of nothingness pounding my ear like an army of pygmy drummers smashing their hide drums in search of height.
Yes, I am back. Un-burrowed and uninhibited. Steaming and stenching from my rotted trip through the core. My memory a sycophantic whine of muscle retraction, a useless bleat. A cast iron skillet of regret sizzling over the morning fire, sorrow popping and crackling like an accordion being run over by a lawn mower.
There are bubbles and there are saucers and then there is the leftover lynchpin of stupidity known as the right wing dream. A hideous rape of a concept slithering like bile toward our more decent selves. Not a directive, not an invitation, but a moral curtain cutting off access to our most crucial filaments. A divider between self and other so insipidly shoe-horned into their identity that it takes them one more breath than a lifetime to figure out it’s not a dream, it’s the devils tongue licking the baser self into unfettered selfishness. You sorry fucks.
Sorry if the rage is getting all over your butterfly’s and daffodils. Sorry if my contemptuous wretch has in any way captain sullied your free market rainbow lens. Your sunshiny view of gator jaws ripping apart wayward penguins because you’ve deemed “devouring” the nature of things while ignoring the more stunning reality that every fucking freckle and raindrop that ever existed first had to get nurtured. That’s right, the true naughty N word in American. Nurture. The steaming leftist feces of environment, the idea that you and your precious thoughts didn’t pop out of the cosmos like a rabbit out of a hat but actually developed and grew from surroundings and circumstance, thereby proving the worth of administering to the quality of those surroundings and circumstances.
By the way, I could give a fuck about you. You the defender, you the regurgitator, you the reckless wrecking ball of repetition about competition and free markets and trickle down and boot straps. If you think my bleeding heart beats for you for even half a blip of a fraction of a broken down junkyard nano-second you have your asshole where your amygdala should be. My perception of your disastrous humanity is that it deservers exactly what it gives to others. Fuck all. I’m not trying to lead by example or set the tone or be the thing, I’m trying to squash your wayward neandrathalism back into the paleozoic where it can whither like the deregulated Flint water supply it is.
Watching you ‘run the country’ is like watching a prize fight between used dick wrappers. Slouched and drippy and incapable of mustering even a single forward step. All leftover useless potential seeping out while you scream and sermonize for the past to catch up with you. Blaming the nature of things for not conforming to your cave-man intelligence and harry potter level idea of how the world works.
Scratch that, you slouching jizz bags, even the complexities of a child’s black and white world of magic are beyond the bubbling fizz that is your synapses. You can’t even tell the difference between good and bad. Like blind beavers you saw away at the foundations of your own house while boasting of your building ability and then demand the rest of us hear you, or better yet, get out of your way. But you don’t have a way you piped piper licking flute nachos, all you have is vindictive. Watching you wave it about like a flag is making me wonder if Lincoln shouldn’t have let you slide away into your own steaming shit-pile.
Your way would have lasted about another 60 years, and then when the work force revolted of it’s own accord with the guns we’d been feeding them and the religion you’d been feeding them, a bread crumb trail to the realization freedom was worth death, the leftover buffet would not have included Reconstruction, it would have been utter Demolition, like the derbies you find so stimulating. Your precious confederate flags funeral wrapping for the only real, true principle of the right wing — that other people ought to do your work for you.
Racism was’t built from skin tones, it got painted on the side of the lazy barn to rationalize the utter atrophy of the most human of instincts: self-worth. The right wing has been running around scheming and faux-intellectualizing and creating theory and attacking science all to hide this one simple truth: They are lazy fucks.
They want a system that works for them but requires no input from them. They want roads and airports and televised car races on broadband and beer made from water a 1,000 miles away and liver transplants and then want to pretend all these thing are their birth right so they shouldn’t have to pay a single dime for them.
They want an army that keeps enemies from getting close by going overseas and blowing up babies and then they want to block out the excruciating guilt of those wailing mothers by demanding we all sing a song in the seventh to celebrate our victimhood while we tremble with fear at a life-raft full of refugees until there’s no room left in our discourse for even a sniffle of compassion over the hellfire our nation sprays across the world.
They want fruit for a dollar picked by cut rate immigrant labor and they want the same labor expelled so they can have jobs except not picking fruit and they want unemployment money and job training and farm subsidies and they don’t want ‘others’ to get any of these things and they don’t want to pay for any of it because they’re americans and they deserve it.
This ain’t fucking news. This ain’t groundbreaking or thought provoking. This is nothing more than me slamming a stick into the outhouse of obvious.
Right wing “politics” no longer exist. There is not some debatable right wing side to the political spectrum anymore; it is selfish depravity itself loosed into the narrative of nationalism. A pharmaceutical injection of hate coursing the veins, fumed into them by fat sad men bellowing into microphones about the way everything used to be better (except for cholera, lynchings, world war, high infant mortality rates, militarized domestic racism, etc.)
The right wing no longer articulates or espouses or even feigns to consider its ideology as some sane process carving out the pillars of society. It is pitchforks and torches and shouting — a townless mob with no community to protect, no principle to discern, just an eighth grade level of disdain for everything but itself, using democracy as a smoke screen to spout spew.
These wretched infections of human have the gall bladder to chant about pro-life while profaning the very nature of life; claiming themselves as champions of a life pattern, while any scientific articulation of that pattern’s most basic tenets of cause and effect they eschew as witchcraft. These asshole hairs are pre-historic enough to think that without their stewardship life and its god are going to lose. That the imposition of their reptilian brain fart behavioral list is all that protects the sacred, that somehow without their watchful eye and scorn and laws, life would cease to know how to fuck itself into existence.
Let me double down specifically on my vehement disgust for these hemorrhoidal twats. They are anti-science. These miserable nut fuckers actually think that phrase has some defining capacity. The lunacy of this is like a two-ton’s headlights blaring into your bare retina from a millimeter away.
Though it would overpower the 2 watt capacity of their single cell brain, for the sake of those of us with multiple neurons: Science already has an anti-unit built in. Science, unlike religion, is not a closed system. It does not dictate, you scum scouring scrotums. It is a process. Any disagreements, counter arguments, insights, evidence, hypothesis, other theories, any god damn thing at all, are part of Science. Even God as an actor in the play is a wonderfully acceptable hypothesis of Science. Science would be thrilled beyond measure for measure to discover God’s hand in the cookie jar. In fact, they fucking have. Dark matter, the void, empty space, a delicious amount of uncertainty still leading to predictable results. Science is literally the mapping of God’s world you ungrateful, hypocritical smelling-salt sewer rats. God belches and Science records the decibels.
To put a finer point on the syringe, if you believe that life starts at the moment of conception — you believe in Science. The only thing that starts at conception is a particular style of cell division. And if that’s what you worship, you worship Science. If you worship Life, I have great news, Life wins. Those cells are going to divide, rebuild, mutate, die, be ingested and be reborn no matter what. If you are truly Pro Life you have nothing to oppose, because Life is going to win every time. You literally can’t unlife something. Oh you can Un-human it. But if that’s what you really care about, if what you’re really saying is you’re pro-Human, then every other demonic drip of a stand you are taking is in direct moral opposition to that.
You want a point? An aim to my verbal mastication beyond chewing up the limp shreds of word powder the right wing passes off as sentience?
Here it is: fuck you.
I’m not an Obama, I’m not a Clinton, I’m not a liberal or a leftie or a democrat or even an independent. I’m apolitical you snot fucking pedophiles. I’m not trying to win over or convince or cowtow or worry about votes or or amass followers and I sure as Adam’s first shit don’t give a fuck what you ‘think’ about me (let’s not kid ourselves, those aren’t thoughts playing hungry hippo in your bone dome, they’re catch phrases pumped into your cluttered coils faster than plastic into the ocean by the very media you claim to hate).
I’m not the other.
I’m what you get when you win. When pharmaceutical companies win the drug war and Round Up wins the spray war and Exxon wins the water war and no overtime wins the wage war and authoritarian police state wins the race war and profit wins the prison war and rich wins the education war and industry wins the environment war.
I’m the canary, you dumb mother fuckers who howl and hate on me and decry me and label me and upchuck me into your vat of righteous indignation broadcast by the hate mongers.
I live in the mine. I see what’s coming. And I am telling you exactly what it is that’s on its way.
My name is Trox, and I am the beast you made.