A Book I Don’t Want You To Read

Monsieur Tourette 2019. Acrylic on canvas board, 11 x 14"

In 2020 I published a fictitious pamphlet blasphemy, Monsieur Tourette Awakens in Mid-tic: A Retaliatory Fiction. It’s very controversial, and you would think I’m crazy three pages in. However a Jeff Bezos subsidiary published it, so it was sane enough for TV. Like when actors get naked and pretend to have sex in our living rooms.

I wrote it because nobody is writing about the insanity of perpetuating doom that need not be real or imagined. It is painful for me to read. One morning in autumn 2019 I opened the door and the words blew through me and out a 1953 Smith-Corona. I was typing faster than Jack Kerouac fingers macro-dosed on copious milligrams of Benzedrine. In a couple days I had a little book of fiction to publish to a irrational and dispassionate society that tucks its children in with Santa Claus dreams, then lays back on the couch to watch movies about killing sprees.

No one will ever read it unless I give it away. Which is why I refuse to do so. I am fond of many of you, as I hope you are of me, and I want to keep it this way. Just know that justice-seeking is alive and well in the 21st century among chicken prophets of the plebeian class.

Here is a snippet from its first and last review by my conscious personality—the one that tucks his loved ones in at night with lullabies and happy hopes:

“A pamphlet to fictitiously eradicate nuclear fascism in the United States. A literary offshoot disorder stemming from the new Guillotine Literature which involves repetitive or unwanted words and phrases (tics) that cannot be controlled.”

For now I am one in a thousand to live a heaven on earth. But who makes the toilet paper? There can be no better life ahead as promised by the demagogues. Free from disease? Yes. Free from war? Sure thing. But not free of toilet paper. Some group must continue to manufacture millions of rolls non-stop, around the clock. Wage slavery is forever, even among the most enlightened populations, all free from disease and the threat of war.
Get it? A revolving door caste system. There can be no true political freedom with the existence of toilet paper. Escort the writers of dreamy political philosophies to the many paper factories supplying our asswipes. There may always be a better, more just society around the corner, but some group will have to force another group into the submission of a stultifying work existence. Some group must always be above the below. Unfortunately for our collective hygiene, a more just future cannot have force, or toilet paper.
I welcome the “Rag and Wash Basin” political party, and the billionaires on a chain gang, whipped in bleach factories to manufacture and stockpile enough bleach to last humanity another hundred years. And then the sorrowful billionaires left on an island to fend for themselves and expire from bacterial disease.
So much lip service to ”the good life”. Libraries full. The Internet buzzing like a hummingbird on speed, declaring a better world tomorrow. Insane. We lived like prairie animals 10,000 years ago, and 800 years ago, like mellow horses on farmsteads sharing warm diseases. We shall live like humans of the Dark Ages once again, but with a better education in political philosophy. Supreme loving animals with overflowing underground libraries and caves full of bleach.
Earlier I wrote about the existence of nuclear weapons. Any person attached to their manufacture or use needs to be allowed a day to rethink his or her personal philosophy, then declare and renounce the evil to avoid our cyanide gummy bear threat made good. New technicians will be hired to dismantle the weapons. Temporary armies will hunt the generals and billionaires. And we shall wipe our asses with rags.
Not much of a sound plan for utopia thus far.
James Lovelock, the soft spoken, gentle scientist of doom, who, at 90 years of age, was excited to take a flight into outer space, and witness the beautiful, pirouetting planet host he renamed Gaia. What a sensitive and kind, flower-adoring man! He once wrote that by the end of this century, good Gaia will have lured humans into small groups roving around the poles seeking food and killing each other to eat while swarms of mosquitoes suck and taint mammal blood until the final day of the end of days. He just mind-leapt nearly a hundred years into a rational, natural future ignoring all the powers that target life with their big nuclear dick missiles. Does he believe these many lethal personalities addicted to toilet paper will just go gently into that good night?
Yes, probably. Because he is such a nice, sweet old flower man who wants to blast off to outer space before he dies. The reality is more likely to see every nuke detonated the moment two billionaires lose their beach front properties after bloated Gaia’s water breaks. Nuclear winter is the end. The total end. Not a movie nerd Mad Max beginning of fantasy little boy auto-toys zooming across the desert killing for full tanks of petrol. Nothing like that at all. Just dead things in irradiated dust.
Have you hugged your military man today? Have you thanked him for his service? He and his boss are the only threat to all life on earth. Without nuclear weapons, Gaia would readjust, or, as Kenneth Patchen wrote, just decide to “change the subject”. The world then might not be so livable for agricultural humans, but at least, and at best, life wouldn’t be erased. Life would stay, all around. And time would create more life.