A marrow-sucking tale for all you hipsters....
Ah, I now begin my weekly cycle of short spooooky stories, lucky readers. Mehahahahaha. This one's entitled:
All Abdicate Eventually
Hosfad was mad. At least he thought he was furious. How could he know? Was this tied to a chemical disparity in his brain? Is fury more chemicals in the left than right hemisphere? Where does “Hosfad” come in to decide this? All he knows is what he thinks; therefore he has to grasp on to the idea that he is an autonomous individual in a world rocked by subjectivity and monstrosity. If his independence is now being undercut by chemical levels how can he act?
This is all he had. His subjectivity was an anchor in the otherwise restless seas of chaos and confusion. Now even Confucius can’t temper what lies beneath, if what lies beneath is a Dopamine deficiency in quadrant four.
Nobody can save him from terrorists if they suffer from the impulse of sexual frustration which attacks the frontal lobe with the velocity of a meteor. If all that separates Hosfad from eating his companion’s heart with a spoon is the regulated activity from the limbic system to the cerebrum, then how can he be sure he even exists as more than a slave to structure? If the desire for freedom is tied to the chain of dependence through chemicals than what can Hosfad do—or say—to contextualize the horror of day to day routine.
There is no context, we are slaves. Not only that, but there is no “we” for us to be slaves. We are worse than slaves in that we’ll have no dreams of freedom as the dreams are electric pulses connected by synaptic fluid, from which Frankenstein’s invisible hand can tamper with and force bestiality upon cats and infants from Malaysia.
What Hosfad needs is a way to break free from his brain. If the idea of Hosfad only exists from the byproducts of chemicals than what does he have to break free from? What logic is there in escaping from yourself, if you have no self to break free from? If logic is to be found then we must break the mind from the brain at all costs; a mind to act independent from the brain and one that won’t act in the interest to the brain, but instead to inflict irreparable harm to the grey master (matter). Only then can Hosfad feel what it means to be a soldier. Conquer the chemicals and he captures the concise nature of holistic being.
Hosfad grabbed the hot pants. He didn’t ask why. Wars, historically, don’t make sense; why should this one be any different? He sprinkled some glue in the crotch area. He strapped the hot pants on his head, so his nose was inhaling the liberating flow of glue directly into ancillary market of his mind. That’s right, mind! He now knew the autonomy of the Nation State from the essence of his soul. Hosfad was born anew. No, Hosfad was born for the first time.
He appointed a cabinet. A bicameral system. The opinion was unanimous; Hosfad would be dictator for life. Nobody could stand in his way. The brain provides the tools. Hosfad provides the fist. He would need to be merciless to the rogue impulses fluctuating like cruel waves. He would use violence to ensure peace. He climbed the mountain of precious piety and found himself a lover indeed. The love of one’s spleen can only have adventurous outcomes and this marriage was no different.
Foreign policy proved difficult, but precious. Sometimes the hardest decisions prove to be the most fruitful. Every cancerous canker sore was meant with contempt. Then the alliteration bug was crushed with devious deviations of a…..Well, in any case after that was obliterated, Hosfad could settle down and work on domestic policies. He enacted resolutions, made trade agreements, had State dinners, but never got drunk on wine or power. The system of checks and balances proved to be a winning combination.
A combination to the heart, but the spleen understood that a mind as powerful as Hosfad could not be happy with but one lover. The heart proved seductive, enamored with the victory over the sadistic brain. The brain proved useless in the counterattack, as Hosfad slit the throats of all the men and forced the women and children into slavery. After the brain’s last struggle, Hosfad could finally retire in the hard fought peace he so richly deserved.
He lived a long life and was remembered as a fair and just king. He built schools, churches, paved roads. He taxed, but not too much. He kept his citizens out of the dangers of war and had the Wisdom of Solomon. He never cut babies in half unless the situation was dire. He even let women vote. When Hosfad died, the schools, churches, roads and even the women died with him. All white blood cells mourned. All red blood cells bled. All kidneys let loose uric fluid. All tear ducts emptied. Half babies found their partners and all joined hands until darkness—sweet darkness—swept over Hosfad and carried them all into oblivion.
All Abdicate Eventually
Hosfad was mad. At least he thought he was furious. How could he know? Was this tied to a chemical disparity in his brain? Is fury more chemicals in the left than right hemisphere? Where does “Hosfad” come in to decide this? All he knows is what he thinks; therefore he has to grasp on to the idea that he is an autonomous individual in a world rocked by subjectivity and monstrosity. If his independence is now being undercut by chemical levels how can he act?
This is all he had. His subjectivity was an anchor in the otherwise restless seas of chaos and confusion. Now even Confucius can’t temper what lies beneath, if what lies beneath is a Dopamine deficiency in quadrant four.
Nobody can save him from terrorists if they suffer from the impulse of sexual frustration which attacks the frontal lobe with the velocity of a meteor. If all that separates Hosfad from eating his companion’s heart with a spoon is the regulated activity from the limbic system to the cerebrum, then how can he be sure he even exists as more than a slave to structure? If the desire for freedom is tied to the chain of dependence through chemicals than what can Hosfad do—or say—to contextualize the horror of day to day routine.
There is no context, we are slaves. Not only that, but there is no “we” for us to be slaves. We are worse than slaves in that we’ll have no dreams of freedom as the dreams are electric pulses connected by synaptic fluid, from which Frankenstein’s invisible hand can tamper with and force bestiality upon cats and infants from Malaysia.
What Hosfad needs is a way to break free from his brain. If the idea of Hosfad only exists from the byproducts of chemicals than what does he have to break free from? What logic is there in escaping from yourself, if you have no self to break free from? If logic is to be found then we must break the mind from the brain at all costs; a mind to act independent from the brain and one that won’t act in the interest to the brain, but instead to inflict irreparable harm to the grey master (matter). Only then can Hosfad feel what it means to be a soldier. Conquer the chemicals and he captures the concise nature of holistic being.
Hosfad grabbed the hot pants. He didn’t ask why. Wars, historically, don’t make sense; why should this one be any different? He sprinkled some glue in the crotch area. He strapped the hot pants on his head, so his nose was inhaling the liberating flow of glue directly into ancillary market of his mind. That’s right, mind! He now knew the autonomy of the Nation State from the essence of his soul. Hosfad was born anew. No, Hosfad was born for the first time.
He appointed a cabinet. A bicameral system. The opinion was unanimous; Hosfad would be dictator for life. Nobody could stand in his way. The brain provides the tools. Hosfad provides the fist. He would need to be merciless to the rogue impulses fluctuating like cruel waves. He would use violence to ensure peace. He climbed the mountain of precious piety and found himself a lover indeed. The love of one’s spleen can only have adventurous outcomes and this marriage was no different.
Foreign policy proved difficult, but precious. Sometimes the hardest decisions prove to be the most fruitful. Every cancerous canker sore was meant with contempt. Then the alliteration bug was crushed with devious deviations of a…..Well, in any case after that was obliterated, Hosfad could settle down and work on domestic policies. He enacted resolutions, made trade agreements, had State dinners, but never got drunk on wine or power. The system of checks and balances proved to be a winning combination.
A combination to the heart, but the spleen understood that a mind as powerful as Hosfad could not be happy with but one lover. The heart proved seductive, enamored with the victory over the sadistic brain. The brain proved useless in the counterattack, as Hosfad slit the throats of all the men and forced the women and children into slavery. After the brain’s last struggle, Hosfad could finally retire in the hard fought peace he so richly deserved.
He lived a long life and was remembered as a fair and just king. He built schools, churches, paved roads. He taxed, but not too much. He kept his citizens out of the dangers of war and had the Wisdom of Solomon. He never cut babies in half unless the situation was dire. He even let women vote. When Hosfad died, the schools, churches, roads and even the women died with him. All white blood cells mourned. All red blood cells bled. All kidneys let loose uric fluid. All tear ducts emptied. Half babies found their partners and all joined hands until darkness—sweet darkness—swept over Hosfad and carried them all into oblivion.
posted by neilly bojangles at 10:06 PM
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