Is There A Hidden Meaning In Life,

In The Heart-Breaking Exercise In Futility That

The Human Existence & Trudgery Is?

♦

“Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings”

Concluding Epilogue & Illuminating Revelation (A)

                ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings  ♦  Chapter 8 ♦                      80

closing view of some mortals’ lost struggle with the merciless destiny, as life goes on its trivial tracks and the turbaned nutrition-fulfilling specialists assembly the meals for your friends and neighbors – and as another turbaned fast food customer fulfilling spe-cialist is now taking through the window orders from some morose and irritated tra-velers in a white, dusty town-car.

    Yeah, the three dusty, disheveled and perspired Tragic Turnip infidels sit at their table. Anna has again punched some numbers in her cellular and as she’s waiting, cell at her ear for an answer, they’re grimly gazing watching Brian’s erratic surfing the TV – presidential election news, soaps, talking heads, commercials, snippets of music videos.

    Some stormy music stirs their attention, on the screen, a music video is slowly arousing in them some recent, intense memories – it’s Count Dracula’s Philosophico-Musical Unifying Field Concert video, production through which they run while chasing the diamonds-laden dolls in the TV Center! The video’s images  wildly flicker on the screen, the video’s A Night On The Bald Mountain stormy music is now at its long, melancholy flute-played end, Count Dracula’s voice has joined the music’s flow, reciting a poem, and your friends and neighbors and Starbucks pals are watching the TV screen suddenly awakened, as if the melancholy music and Count Dracula’s poem has revealed to them a hidden, yet now overwhelming sense of their frailty and mortality, of senselessness of all their enterprises, senselessness deeply embedded in entire mankind’s existence and enterprise –   

    “My goddess doesn’t answer, she’s very busy” Anna says for herself, then punches again the numbers in the phone, waits –

   “Yeah, me,” in the truck Roxy answers the phone, but the two-ways radio inter-rupts her:

   “Roxy, where are you at?”

   “West bound on Ventura freeway, Los Virgenes Canyon road is the next exit,” she answers.

   “You’re close to the car; exit and stand-by, instructions follow –”

  “OK,” Roxy says, and the Mammoth Towing truck is now rolling on the curved exit, slows down in the parking lot of a gas station/Deli shop, a dusty white Lincoln town-car is by the menu panel, an irate driver screaming/repeating an order in the mi-crophone/speaker – the cell phone rings again, Roxy glances at the screen, switches lines, listens:

   “I am hunted, I am hunted!” the Lady-In-Mauve hysterically yells: “I need your help, I’m hunted, they’re everywhere, I won’t –“

    “Roxy, the car’s description,” Roxy’s two-ways radio croaks again.

  “OK,” says Roxy, the Mammoth Towing truck idling in the sun by the gas station/Deli shop.

    “Listen,” continues the two-ways radio: “Mauve Bentley 1952, personalized license plate 2-TWIN-2, the driver is a mid-aged woman on the run – apparently she lives in the car – stay discretely behind her and hit at the first opportunity. Since she left Santa Barbara she made eight stops so far, the woman lost a fortune in a lawsuit and the Bentley has to go together with the estate to the lawful owners, ok? The woman is a bit freakish, spends lots of time in fast food joints and jewelry stores – it’s yours, baby, easy job and cool pay!”        

    “They chase me again! They hunt me! I need your help, I’m cornered! They’re again after me! ” the Lady-In-Mauve yells in the phone: “They want to take away my car!” – in her truck, holding her cellular at her ear, Roxy is looking at a freeway exit which rounds by the gas station on which a massive, classic mauve Bentley is slowing down.

    “Who’s they?” Roxy queries.

  “The repo, the towing people! They’re everywhere, I can see the towing truck waiti-ng for me there, I need your help, Roxanne, Roxanne, where are you?”

   “I am here,” says Roxy in the idling towing truck.

             ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings  ♦  Chapter 8 ♦                        81

    “Help me, please! They’re there, Roxanne, the towing truck is there!” – then the Lady-In-Mauve cries:  

    “Oh, I can’t take this anymore, and this will not happen!” – and the mauve Bentley suddenly starts speeding, tires squealing, towards the gas station: “Roxanne, I love you! You are the only one who ever helped me! The diamonds angels –”

   The poetry of tunnel surfing, the splendor of an enormous, glassy, curved wave arching, rapidly closing over the one streaking under it… the cathartic poetry of a two tones mauve Bentley hurtling at sixty miles per hour into a gas station, the wave of windows shards splendidly arching over the mauve streak slashing the building, then falling on the ground, seconds later, in a definitive, crystalline rattle… the cathartic poe-try of the mauve, crumpled Bentley further ramming a white Lincoln town-car and bending it, then both cars crashing into an

adjacent Deli shop, ending up stuck in the  food counter, radiators indifferently geiser-ing steam… the cathartic poetry of the quiet following this crash, of Ventura freeway’s discrete rustle in the distance, under the ‘We Want Your Organs’ billboard… the ca-thartic poetry of puddles of blood and green radiator fluid silently, capriciously creeping on the Deli’s floor… the cathartic poetry of this debacle over which, the still working wall TV set is indifferently flashing Count Dracula’s music video’s melancholy, flute-played end of his Philosophico-Musical Unifying Field Concert…   

   … and as the flute’s heart-breaking tune lingers in the gas station/Deli’s dining room, its melancholy appropriately illustrating one’s suspicions regarding mankind’s raison d’etre, tenuous, fleeting grip on existence and awareness and any human enterprise’s frailty, the immobile, twisted human corpses lie around engulfed by blood and radiator green fluid, glassy eyes aiming to the same point on the empyrean, and Count Dracu-la’s somber voice is concluding his Philosophico-Musical Unifying Field Concert:

        … Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting –

                  Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

                  ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings  ♦  Epilogue ♦                       82

                    ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings  ♦  Epilogue ♦                     83

                  ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings  ♦  Epilogue ♦                     84

                    ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings  ♦  Epilogue ♦                     85

                    ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings  ♦  Epilogue ♦                     86

                    ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings  ♦  Epilogue ♦                     87

                    ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings  ♦  Epilogue ♦                     88

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         ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings  ♦  Meaning-of-Life  Epilogue  ♦        1

EPILOGUE

(i)

   …. in the Hollywood TV, Film & Events Center’s porcelain toilet bowls, tranquil puddles of water stoically mirror butts of various sizes, shapes, ages and genders sitting & doing business there as failing valves whisper disparaging comments about said butts’ appointments, looks and output performance – then small, sudden, urgent cascades rush away the unnecessary stuff unloaded there, and flush it through the Center’s gigantic unifying system of subterranean ducts which collect those undignified substances and further channel them as quality enhancing primers into the existing liberal programming sludge stubbornly boiling in the Center’s underground film and TV inspiration/programming reservoirs, primers adding to the Center’s inexhaustible, exhilarating self-rejuvenating and redemptive output which ceaselessly blooms through its enormous broadcasting antennae, then ripples away, all over this planet, then fur-ther, in the enigmatic universe…

   And there, in one of the Center’s lower floors’ toilet rooms, in an open niche serving as storage place for ass-wiping paper rolls, plungers, cleaning fluids, brushes, buckets and mops, a thrifty janitor has stored amongst some brooms and crestfallen mops a found, crude cardboard placard written with big, clumsy letters:

DRUSHKA, EASTERN-EUROPEAN  MYSTICAL  SEXUAL  WITCHESSA!

EROTIC  THERAPY!  RASPUTIN  MULTIPLE  ORGASMS!  GOLEM

FRICTIONS  &  ECSTASY!  DRACULA  DEEP  MASSAGE!

FRANKENSTEIN  EMPOWERMENT  &  INTIMACY!

YOUR G-SPOT & YOUR PROSTATE  WANT ADVENTURES!  

VIAGRA NOTHING! VIAGRA NOTHING! ONLY IN CALIFORNIA FROM SHIMLEUL  SYLVANIEÏ!  POTENCY!  POTENCY!  INEXHAUSTABLE  TRANSYLVANIAN  MATING!  

ORGASMS!  ORGASMS!  ORGASMS! MANY ERECTIONS & GUARANTEED  QUALITY MULTIPLE  INTIMACY!

MANY NEW TRICKS! & MORE! AS SEEN ON PUBLIC ACCESS!DISCOUNT WITH PENNYSAVER COUPON!

 … placard poignantly reminding us about some  tragic, fleeting lives’ tangenting the Center’s humbling reality, about some humans’ daring attempt at wrestling a mischie-

      ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings ♦  Meaning-of-Life  Epilogue  ♦          2

vious lock on their existences, and about their bold yet, alas! doomed enterprise of try-ing to inject some dignity in the brutal offensiveness of the incomprehensible scheme of things which mystified mortals commonly call destiny or fatality…

   Yeah, melancholy philosophical emblem this placard now, some time ago a mighty, defiant banner connecting all this Narrative’s heroes and their existential travails and now, its presence among ammonia smelling jugs and crestfallen mops cathartically reminding to those who happen to take a shit in those open stalls, about the ones da-ring enough to explore the places where the Narrative’s facts occurred, about life’s precariousness, about frailty and mortality, about absurdity and senselessness, about fatality, and about mind’s and will’s eventual failure at deciphering reality’s ever elu-ding substance, treacherous temptations and crushing and humiliating constraints…

    My friends! As you may recall, at the Narrative’s beginning, the Author announced this endeavor’s commitment to a forceful and meaningful  and redeeming  rendering of several intense days and events from the lives of some Los Angeles residents, days bridging the end of October/beginning of November 1996 (core of the incandescent Nineties, times of the New Normalcy-announcing New Values), days whose intense relevancy was catalyzed by an exciting cross-cultural event – the arrival in California, Los Angeles, Melc Street, of some Russian folk art objects.

   And the Author, in his commitment to deliver to the public the promised meaningful and redeeming description of said days and events, made at every opportunity stre-nuous efforts to find behind the myriad of intriguing facts making for the Narrative, elements or nuances which could have been proudly displayed as giving a higher meanings to its architecture, and he tried at any opportunity to decipher whether over the Narrative’s confusing pin-ball scheme of circumstances and actions there ever was, a, be it obscure, yet decisive arrangement of major forces which might have ani-mated all described mortals’ ways beyond base acquisitiveness, sexual copulation ur-ges, and vanities of any kind, and more important, in case of existence of such a major arrangement, why they, forces, knowingly determined them, mortals, pursue a journey obviously leading to the closure we all assisted at, closure we can all consider – well, let’s use the term baffling for this.

    Alas! An unsettling landscape, this Los Angeles in the Nineties did the Narrative describe, and your friends and neighbors journey through those November 1996 days jarred and extreme was indeed – but the Author’s efforts to decipher from the Narrative’s confusing pin-ball frenzy something which could have been presented to the readers as meaningful and re-deeming were fruitless, and this situation was made even more discouraging by the Chapter’s 8 end, which worsened this situation, by leaving even more disturbing philosophical matters dangling in the existential philo-sophy’s withering wind, begging for a merciful answer.  

     What was, after all, the redeeming purpose of the animating drive behind the described persons’ struggles, and what is, after all, the true meaning and purpose of the animating drives behind anyone’s struggles? If so dramatic struggles (like the ones chronicled by the Narrative) end up in baffling, absurd closures (and we all know that this is how it always happens) – where is the deal? What is the life’s meaning, its sense? There is no deal? Or there is a deal, yet its meaning will for ever escape our scrutiny?  

       ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings ♦  Meaning-of-Life  Epilogue  ♦           3

  So, bound by his commitment and his deep sense of duty towards the  readership and larger humankind, the Narrative’s Author has throughout his arduous explorations, research, observation, study, analysis and description of those November, 1996 feve-rish days made any conceivable effort to find and describe any element, hint or suggestion supporting the suspicion that life – self-conscious, human life, that is – has a higher meaning or redeeming purpose  going beyond the mere, blind biological self-perpetuation through haphazard mating, spasmodic, slurping fecundation and the ensuing (and so unnecessary!) duplication.

    Yes, arduous explorations, research and any conceivable effort. The reader has certainly recognized the fact that along the description of this extraordinary Narrative’s events, the Author faced and boldly confronted enormous facts, trends, events and characters, and that a dramatic geography of Gustav Doré’s cataclysmic vision was courageously explored, charted and analyzed, and that the Author spared no effort or avoided no danger in pursuing the discovery of this constantly eluding notion, mean-ing-of-life – this exhausting quest throughout the Nineties’ rugged landscape being made even more difficult during the Narrative’s elaboration by the (already described) New Normalcy’s, JPL’s and United Nations’ nefarious conspiracy whose obstructions, sabotages and other sinister acts kept trying to stem the Narrative’s findings being made public).

   Mortality, purpose-of/meaning-of-life, meaning of human endeavor – is there any-thing re-deeming in this exasperating train of ordeals and petty temptations that human life is? Is there a willed, universal, cosmic, unifying field scheme which, while elusive for the unnerved mortals, benevolently exists, connecting everything? The countless passed, present and future human lives, puniest or most spectacular, abject or superb, painfully aware or unwittingly and wormishly unraveling, all discouragingly transient and subject of base drives and humiliating instincts and necessities – are they under a majestic plan of assigned roles fulfilling a grandiose Cosmic tissue of purposefulness?

   Purpose-of/meaning of life – is there an extraordinary, redeeming super-objective in all lives’ frustrating roles assigned by a mysterious, Cosmic casting agency following the script notes of an enormous, inscrutable writer?                             

    Purpose-of/meaning-of-life, and the Hollywood Center’s toilet room the sobering reminder of this, not answered yet existential question – the Center’s large, ammonia smelling shitting room is now at rest, awaiting for the next day’s visiting folks to rush in for some pensive séances of intestinal contractions, squeezeing, gurgling and evacu-ation, and of blank-eyed gazing at the heroic Drushka placard, these modern times Oedipus-es! awaiting answers for their unspoken, yet so gnawing, anguished exis-tential questions aimed at that enigmatic device, Drushka placard…

    Purpose-of/meaning-of-life, melancholical attempts at finding human life’s (possible) redeeming elements in this Misanthropy’s Ever Expanding Wings – inscrutable existen-tial problem which the Author in his study, surrounded by the philosopher’s research tools had to confront for long moments of brooding.   

    Purpose-of/meaning of life: MANE, TEKEL, FARES… the enormous letters written with smoke loom on the Los Angeles sky – will this city’s inhabitants ever take a mo-ment for meditation about this meaning-of-life thing matter affair thing? Well – another day is now unfolding in California and the wanton tribes of El Pueblo de Nostra Señora la Reina de los Angeles Sobre el Rio de la Porciuncola are again at it, pursuing their follies under the blazing southern sun, having just a passing glance for the enormous loops of a thong dragged across the blue sky by a roaring biplane, MANE, TEKEL,

      ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings ♦  Meaning-of-Life  Epilogue  ♦           4

FARES letters of smoke written around it, ominous thong, by other three airplanes heralding a Victoria’s Secret, America-wide sale targeting this nation’s crotchial fixation.

    Purpose-of/meaning-of-life, unsettling report forwarded to the indifferent world from Los Angeles by Misanthropy’s Ever Expanding Wings – pathetic attempts at copulation, feigned aspirations, desires, passions, lofty or debasing, dreams, arching or ephemeral, abject, des-picable or mightily redeeming…  the $500 millions worth of diamonds sent from Moscow for safe-keeping in the all dissolving black-hole of El Pueblo de Nostra Señora la Reina de los Angeles Sobre el Rio de la Porciuncola (what a naïf, uninformed choice), this Slavic catalyst which did unleash all the, just mentioned travails and their accompanying spiritual anxieties, they tracelessly vanished, millions, and the child-sized Russian nesting dolls (the few survivors of the  ‘crush & inspect’ frenzy in the TV Center’s loading dock), spread around Los Angeles by Thalia Props delivery driver haven’t changed their exasperating composure ever since, they are still enigmatically smiling at their locations, as if being in the possession of a secret, fundamental truth.

    Purpose-of/meaning-of-life, unsettling report forwarded to the indifferent world from Los Angeles by this Narrative – the next day after this Narrative’s closing events, Los Angeles city went back at its usual, shameless commercing with itself. Some bare legs sticking from the newly arrived gray plastic bags in the county coroner’s freezer drawers, tags tied to the bluish toes (two women’s and five men’s – issue to be addressed later), bodies badly mangled in a violent cars crash in a gas station/deli shop somewhere by the Ventura freeway didn’t change a iota in the life’s pace in this wanton station. It didn’t, and your Starbucks friends’ definitive absence didn’t, and will never draw any notice from their coffee shop acquaintances who un-hakeably sit there, slurping their lattés while planning their evening moves.

   And while the accident which removed your friends and neighbors didn’t perturb any Los Angeles Starbucks joint’s rhythms, the implacability of this continuousness was confirmed by another stream of American wackiness – that is, the gas station/deli turbaned alien workers after having miraculously survived the crash that demolished their workplace (of course, by manifest choice of their God), and collecting some hefty insurance money and completing their anti-American studies degrees at UCLA (one of the most motivating curriculum of this kind in the Western hemisphere), further obeyed their God’s will, two of them leaving for Afghanistan for more advanced, God’s will fulfillment training, and one to an Arizona flying school, same motivation.

    Purpose-of/meaning-of-life, unsettling report forwarded to the indifferent world from Los Angeles by this Narrative – the mauve, dusty Bentley town car, noble, classical shapes man-gled, front doors removed, after the accident was quietly towed away by a Mammoth Towing truck driven by a silent woman in her mid-forties to her towing yard, where, after being parked by a convertible VW Golf, was left to rest, ‘Totaled’ letters chalked on its windshield. The yard’s Dobermans for a few days kept sniffing the blood traces on its driver’s seat, then lost interest – elsewhere, another towing yard’s Dobermans acted in the same way around a white Lincoln town-car wreck, seats and floor soiled by blood, too.

   Purpose-of/meaning-of-life, unsettling report forwarded to the indifferent world from Los Angeles by this Narrative – the crunching E Pluribus Unum gravel on the Malibu mansion’s pathway from which the re-elected president did deliver his splendid, visionary speech was scraped next day, according to the wishes of the mansion’s owner (a billionaire music mogul, this president’s friend), to be replaced with a nicer, mystically loaded gravel, flown in straight from Lhassa (after being blessed by the

      ♦  Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings ♦  Meaning-of-Life  Epilogue  ♦           5

Dalai-Lama), on an especially chartered jet, while the old gravel was given to a cement station where it was mixed, then sold to a contractor u-pgrading a Buddhist tanning salon in a Zen liposuction/ aromatherapy shop in San Fernando Valley – bu-siness which soon crashed, the other conversion bringing in the indifferent neighbor-hood a pan-gendered massage parlor. And at the Malibu mansion, after the gravel replacement work was finished, a lavish, spiritual, Feng-Shui party was given on the lawn, teary-eyed guests confirming the new gravel’s positive, Buddhist protective vibrations, the same evening the music man being busted by the IRS and FBI agents for a rainbow of charges – soon, he was back in his mansion, pardoned by the exiting/ returning president on the transcending reason of AIDS having shown its definitive appointment on the music mogul’s timecard.  

    Purpose-of/meaning-of-life, unsettling report forwarded to the indifferent world from Los Angeles by this Narrative – but what about the “Baltic & Black Seas Fleets Patriotic Sailors’ Revolutionary & Romantic Winds & Strings Chamber Music Orches-tra – SCHÖNBERG IS US!’ later career in Los Angeles?

   To be sincere, the Author didn’t spend much time worrying about that cultural crew who competed your friends and neighbors and mister Potapovich for the dia-monds hidden in the Russian doll, and this, for the simple reason that, as the purpose-of/meaning-of-life thing goes, while the Krimikoms had a bad experience here, in Los Angeles, their savings irretrievably vanishing, object to some mysterious forces, their experience didn’t have an intensity which would have qualified it for the existen-tialism’s scrutiny. You made $ 500 millions dollars, you lost $ 500 millions dollars – what’s the big deal? You’re not even close to la situation of the crumpled corpses ly-ing in the gas station/deli by the Ventura freeway – so, a last Los Angeles loopy expe-rience following some New Agers uphill in Brentwood for an Encounter that never happened, then a realistic assessment about the potentiality of this place and its popu-lation,  then… back to USSR, opportunities on your line of work plentiful there!    

    Purpose-of/meaning-of-life, unsettling report forwarded to the indifferent world from Los Angeles by this Narrative – the morning your friends and neighbors were still alive, inspecting the MoveOn & Rock America building for homophobia and anti-diversity fumes (and for the millions-laden Russian dolls), in the Hollywood TV, Film & Events Center’s parking lot, a bored janitor was finishing a special assignment, cleaning the ground of glass shards (i.e. Cosmic challenges-resisting quartz), and other debris near the tower’s wall (apparently a night’s before vehicle break-in), then throwing them, shards, in a garbage bin together with a load of colored, lacquered wooden chips, then washing with a water-hose and ammonia the blood smeared around a still open manhole – the toddler’s and Jim Ignatowsky’s cold bodies having been earlier collected (the inquiry trying to solve the circumstances of their deaths be-ing blocked by the Move.On.Org’s ACLU lawyers refusing to release details about so-me of MoveOn.org members’ whereabouts that night), and stored in the County coro-ner’s freezer, soon to be joined by the load of cadavers brought from the Ventura freeway gas station/deli shop crash.

     And since none of them, collection of cold corpses, was claimed or could be con-nected with some living humans or families in the country, after the due legal process, one of them, bodies, was selected for an anatomical show. Then, after having been peeled off, brought to deep red color, and impaled in a Rodin’s ‘Thinker’s bent posi-tion, the body was further reengineered, melon-like slices carved away, entrails code-colored and so on, then displayed to inner-city, diversity grade-schoolers for a LA-USD-mandated anomie–defeating/self-esteem & cultural relativism-increasing program – the exhibit remarkably boosting the kids’ urge for murdering each other, important goal of the LAUSD’s objectives therefore achieved.  

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* All facts, events, situations, trends & characters identified, analyzed, described, catalogued, sys-tematized and archived along the years-long activity that has lead to the materialization of the Quo Vadis, America?/ Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings Report, and to other Misanthropy Institute past, current or future Programs and research activities, as well the results of all other experiments, re-enactments, simulations or replications required by said systematization, belong to a vast, oftentimes highly incendiary collection of data that has been recently made available to the public by Misan-thropy Institute’s publishing outfit Handmade Books in print as Quo Vadis, America?/ Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings Report, a comprehensive Report that synthesizes said data in a US District Court-mandated redacted form.

* The present Misanthropy Institute website, besides introducing to the public the activities of Mi-santhropy Institute, also displays many parts of said Quo Vadis, America?/ Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings Report and the proprietary nature of the mentioned printed Report’s data covers the materials presented on this website as well.   

* For popularization purposes, many scientific and research elements of the Report have been converted in the past in various artistic, proprietary forms by the then, Misanthropy Attractions (cur-rently The Misanthropy Institute, or Author), and made public as Roxy’s Raptures (a stage play), Roxy’s Raptures (a film based on the stage play with the same name), Towards A Higher Level Of Financial Density (a screenplay and its sequenced trailer), Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings (an early research narrative), and Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings (an older version of this website).

* The mentioned proprietary feature also covers other research-generated elements presented in the current Report and in one or other of the said, previous – but not limited at – popularization works, like photographs, drawings, maps, charts, interviews, topographical & astronomical observations, film, video and audio records (authentic or re-enactments), and other research-generated elements used for presentations during retreats, interviews or media opportunities. Said research-generated materials displayed  in the presented site include – but are not limited at – American Cacophonies, Chasm Ticker, Philosophical Shines (Post-Hypsithermal Times Scenes), The Rats Report, Gonadah Gamma G-9 Report, Judicial Loincloth, Philosophical Dung-bag,  and The General Toxicology Explained.

* This proprietary situation also covers Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings Report ample, human self-awareness-changing Epilogue which explores and resolves the haunting, ages-old existential question Is There A Meaning To The Human Life?, by interpreting in a highly insightful manner various Misanthropy research-generated social, geological, geographical astronomical, historical, poli-tical, chemical, sexual, artistic, etc. data, then by integrating the results of this interpretation in a definitive answer to the philosophical question in cause in the

Potapovich Existential Series/C-O-C-O-T-C.

* The Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings Report (printed form), and the Report fragments displayed by the present Misanthropy Institute website under the Quo Vadis, America? headline are  being published under US District Court (SACU*) severe restrictions.  

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                     Index Of

         Unsettling or Incendiary Facts,

               Events & Situations

                     Presented by

  Misanthropy’s Ever... Report

“...shocking, prurient, lurid, irresponsi-ble, humiliating, divisive and angering, its revelations unnecessarily incendiary and bordering sociopathy, this situation amplified by the Report’s unusual se-duction powers which makes its count-less readers fall under its superb, yet sick spell ...”

Because the Report’s sheer size and the multi-tude of issued examined by it cannot be fully encompassed by the few chapters displayed here, this web-site tries to compensate this shortcoming by offering the visitors a com-plementary reference system which parallels the displayed Chapters with a themes-focused registry of Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings-reported, unsettling or incendiary situ-ations, events, findings etc., and other Report-supporting elements.       

While the intensity of the events and situati-ons presented here by Misanthropy’s Ever Chapters is sometimes diluted by the lack of a larger context, the visitors who complement their Chapters reading with perusals of this focused, themes-organized registry may find this repertory of situations and findings truly dismaying, shocking or jarring – if so, the Mi-santhropy Institute cannot but hope that this scientific index of public and private miseries & shames studied, catalogued then selflessly made available to the public by the Institute will offer the concerned Americans an alerting confirmation for their anxieties and premoni-tions regarding... Quo Vadis, America?  

                              ♦

    Index of Unsettling or Incendiary

         Facts, Events & Situations

♦ Unsettling Political Trends & Situations

*  The Nineties Maelstrom & The Galley

   Of  Shames & Follies

* The New American History

* The New  Normalcy Sublimation

* The New Normalcy Conference

* The Evil Hollywood TV, Film &   

   Events Center

♦ Intense Sexual & Spiritual Situations

* Goddess Roxanne Channelings

  * The Viridiana Channeling

  * The Aphrodite Temple Channeling

  * The Angel Of Death Channeling

  * The Dance Of The 7 Veils Chan-

     nelling  

* The Isle Of Death Channeling

♦Intergalactic Encounters & Exchange Events

*The Misanthropy Institute Intergalac-

  tic Exchange Program Findings

      * The True Titanic message

* The Earthian Electromagnetic Broad-

  cast Waves Rippling Across The

  Universe

♦ The Toxic Samples presented by the Report

*Toxic Sample # 1:

   “Madonna, stupid strumpet born...”

* Toxic Sample # 2:       

      “HOWL”

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“...shocking, prurient, lurid, irres-ponsible, humiliating, divisive and angering, its revelations unneces-sarily incendiary and bordering so-ciopathy, this situation amplified by the Report’s unusual seduction powers which makes its countless readers fall under its superb, yet sick spell ...”

... as shown in the opening description of this site, the publication of Misanthro-py’s Ever-Expanding Wings is done un-der the US District Court (SACU) res-trictive editorial supervision, many ele-ments of the Report still being under re-view. For this reason, as of August 28th. 2010, the Misanthropy Institute website can display only the facts, events and si-tuations listed above.

However, the legal observers anticipate that at the incoming US District Court (SACU) hearing scheduled on August, 31st. 2010, the Misanthropy Institute will prevail and defeat Misanthropy’s ene-mies, and will force the Court to grant the permission to display in the present site and Index more of the incendiary facts, events and situations which articu-late this so much feared Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings Report - in tech-nical, editorial terms, that means that the Misanthropy Institute site will begin in a couple of weeks a regular updating pro-cess that will make available for the visi-tors from Misanthropy Institute vast ar-chives or current research a multitude of scandalous, incendiary or life-changing revelations about the twisted world in which we live.

So, friends, fellows and supporters of Misanthropy’s cause, be optimistic - the Misanthropy Institute will not fail your trust, and your visiting this site will al-ways reward your philosophical interests with new, exciting or disturbing findings and insights.

Be part of Misanthropy -

Cordially - The Misanthropy Institute

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