Sunday, September 16, 2012

Flash fiction flatulence

Oh, I don't know how I got on this tangent, or maybe I do know, and I'm not ready to say. I read one book by Melvin Mason and simply went bananas over an economic theory. This could possibly explain the changes that have taken place inside of me. It is as if it was possible to swallow business and industry in pill form. Or to speed read the Bible, and thus create a parallel universe using the blueprint. Maybe it was the day I read in the news that an American diplomat had been sodomized before being murdered, as if it was a trick-or-treat prank, on an anniversary of 9/11, that Melvin's masterpiece meandered up a neuro-pathway. And maybe this should be narrowed down.

People are always talking. Half the time when you tell someone to shut up, they will invoke their constitutional right to free speech. I have been beaten up, and have beaten people up, for saying things either they or I didn't care to hear. Melvin Mason's theory is, in part, that the Constitution is there to protect your right to earn money, and neither truth nor beauty is allowed to reach its greasy fingers into your personal money stash. Of course people are allowed to say anything they want to express. And it's illegal to beat or torture people for expressing themselves. Yet I don't recall anyone so much as paying a fine for an act of violence. The drive to silence people enjoys silent legitimacy with police and judges, so long as the victims are poor enough, or the perp rich enough. When all things are equal more or less, it is often concluded that the victim should have eaten his Wheaties. The trend of the past decade has been less and less wealthy people, and more poor folk, dirt poor, while constitutional freedoms for the masses get more and more like abracadabra, with the outcomes compatible with Open Sesame. Rabbits don't come out of the top hat. Doors stay closed.

The important thing is that I feel both energized and empowered for having read Melvin's book.

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