...vaguely
continued from before my rant against one specific person.
I think I claimed I
only had one burning ambition. I'm afraid I wasn't entirely
truthful with you, dead readers. Arg. I have a couple more, but
feel unable to share such personal fragments of me with you. Have
a sandwich instead. Ah, fuck it. I'll tell you. I have always
wanted to be Kubla Khan:
"Hey bebbe,
wanna check out my stately pleasure dome?"
She then says
"Wow, what a beautiful river."
"Thanks. His
name's Alf. He's sacred."
"Alf?"
"Well, Alph
really, but we're good buds." That is usually where the
dream ends. Once it did continue all the way 'til she got out her
dulcimer; I woke up clutching a wet pillow.
They say I have
delusions of grandeur, but who are they to question me? What
right do they have to oppress me, telling me I can't be Kubla
Khan or a freedom fighter? They tell me I should aim lower. If I
aim lower I'll end up like them. Worship me, bitches. Pray at my
big throbbing altar. Join my cult. It's easy to join: all you
need to do is pledge allegiance to the German guy who was dead in
his flat for five years before anyone discovered him, the English
(I believe) man who was incapable of sleeping for six months
before he died from extreme exhaustion, and me. (All three are
true; I swear on my dead grandpappy's life). It costs you no
money to join, you don't have to give your young daughters over
to me, and you only have to kill yourself if you feel like it. I
will, however, hand round Kool-Aid from time to time to scare the
bejeezus out of you. (Own up; who didn't get the reference?
Jonestown? Second biggest cult death ever after those kraazy
Ugandans. Perhaps I won't 'do' any Ugandan iconoclasm just right
now: 'tis a little fresh in the memory for even me).
"So what can
this cult offer me?" I make you ask. Nothing. No fortified
compound where you can live away from the detritus of modern
life, no awe-inspiring arsenals, not even a membership card. I
can offer you nothing. I can even offer you no name. "I'm in
a cult." "Oh yeah? Which one?" "It doesn't
have a name." "Stupid cult." (Not that I'm wary of
using the word cunt. Or fuck. Or nigger. Words are words. It's
when you assign hate-filled meaning that people become offended.
None of what I say has meaning, ergo I can legally use the words
fuck, cunt, nigger and far far worse ones like blind acceptance).
But I digress... and it's why y'all love me so. My cult offers
you nothing, asks nothing in return*, and for a limited period
only, you don't even need to pledge allegiance: anyone who does
nothing will automatically be regarded as a member of my cult,
and may take advantage of all the benefits of membership.
(Irrelevant,
parenthesised post script: Upon doing a spell check I had to add
the word nigger into my dictionary, but not fuck or cunt. Cunt I
remember adding when writing an email to my ageing aunt. Fuck was
there when I got it. Draw whatever conclusions about society -
and me - you care to. I am all in favour of 'reclaiming' nigger
and cunt, and ridding the world of words of hate. We must
increase the peace).
* After two years your credit card will be billed for the amount of $899.99 per month for the next twelve years. Your details will also be sold to everyone who will contact you with deals and offers you won't be interested in. Particular emphasis will be placed upon selling to companies who you pretend to boycott in order to impress that special girl/guy with the big breasts/wallet/both. If at any time you wish to leave the cult, you will be hunted down and killed like the no-good dirty dawg that you are. It will be very painful, possibly hurting me much more than it does you, but probably not. The value of your property will go down instead of up.