Hear Goddess Roxanne’s spiritual salu-
tation music...
♦ Misanthropy Ever-Expanding Wings ♦ Prologue ♦ 30
fulfillment opportunities! “Everybody Is Looking For Something,” indeed so: for a
part in a reality drama or a dating show, for yak yoghurt, to set up a scam, for
dope or for a three pictures deal, for a boobs or pecs job, seeking or offering spiritual
succor or guidance discount packaged with some fulfillment receipts, yup, the local
populace sure would queue up in the blazing sun for a spot at an organic tanning
salon like L’Honteux Et Le Macabre, L’Etre Et Le Neant or Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense.
Yup, and these New Values™ claims and winds of change that have been blowing over
the country are perfectly matching this scenery and its Zeitgeist – yup, around
here in-deed every-body is looking for something.
“Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This” – the vista of Sunset Strip/Holloway plunging
in the endless Santa Monica Boulevard is completely deserted and an eerie, perfect,
post atomic strike silence has molten over the surrounding, scorched-to-stillness
streets, macadam landing strips perfectly fit for the eventual landing of an intergalactic,
life (& intelligence) finding mission. Yes, very silent, very warm, very still, very
Salvador Dali, and the “Is Insanity Contagious?” volcano billboard, electoral banners
announcing the presidential election and the enormous “No Glove, No Love” poster
compete as assuring intelligence beacons.
Yes, very much light, very warm and very, very still – on the dwindling in the
distance rows of light poles, yellow banners, lazily swollen by the hot breeze, praise
the local philharmonic and the merits of said Gustav Mahler, yes, a typical Los Angeles
day…
Suddenly, on a banner, across mister Mahler’s haughty profile, a vertical, in
jolting advance a new element has appeared, an ten feet long pole, plastic, air inflated
animals tied up on it to its very tip – a little Mexican Indian, long, shiny black
hair, suckling a long, brown, pyramidal candy is earnestly walking uphill, the pole
like a lance on his shoulder, heading towards the beach to sell his things (a Quixotic
economical feet indeed: LA Realities, Part I: East LA to Santa Monica, forty miles
round trip, walking instead of taking the bus to save money and do some business,
and if the day’s good, one can score up to seventy dollars at the beach for those
funny things; LA Realities, Part II: after you deduct the forty bucks business and
pas-sing fees for the Venice and the McArthur Park gang-bangers, you’re left with
about thirty dollars for a long day’s labors, which is not that bad, after all).
In the blazing sun, the Indian has stopped on the hill, under the “Is Insanity
Con-tagious? Answer, page 27!’” eruption billboard, right by some “Lose Fifty Pounds
In Five Days”, “Death To The Breeders!”, “Rock-The-Vote & the Progressive Cause
Needs You!”, “My New Big Breasts!”, and “MoveOn.Org. Wants You!” posters, and he
rests for a while, suck-ling his candy, looking at the city of Los Angeles’ vastness
looming under the brown mist of muffler fumes, pole with funny animals on his shoulder,
the sun naughtily projecting the shadow of a penguin on mister Mahler’s face – and
as the Indian is quietly contemplating this city sprawling in the Californian now-here,
and the tall, glass, prismatic towers of Century City shimmer in the blazing sun,
a hum, inaudible to him and most of other Los Angeles City inhabitants, the mysterious,
deep, grave vibration that opens Also Spracht Zarathustra has began to ripple over
the sunny surroundings of this territory, followed by Zarathustra’s grandiose introduction,
together with a woman’s even, remote voice, all heard through a cell-phone’s tiny
speaker:
“Goddess Roxanne is benevolently receiving your anxious vibrations; lo and behold,
her overwhelming Ethe-real Spiritual Splendor is Grandiosely Substantiating through
the Unfathomable Mystic Mist Of Becoming – now, Mystical Seeker Stricken by Anguish,
have a moment of Rapturous Contemplation as Goddess Roxanne…” and lurking, idling
right behind the unaware Indian, parked in a back alley, is a massive, old, vintage
Bentley town-car – the car is entirely mauve except for the chromed
♦ Misanthropy Ever-Expanding Wings ♦ Prologue ♦ 31
bumper bars, a bit dusty, its upholstery is mauve, too, the elongated, finessed lines
of its carrosserie bringing to mind a by-gone, sophisticated Art-Deco world of progress,
electricity, bi-motor, aluminum clad airplanes flying refined groups over Sahara
for fun in some remote colonies, or svelte, wedge-like towering steamers splitting
the At-lantic’s waters, crowds of modern men and emancipated women in polo suits
lying in modern reclining chairs on sunny decks, Martinis near-by, reading T.H. Lawrence,
Freud or flirting, days later, uniformed porters unloading on fancy hotels’ door-steps
travel trunks with colorful hotel labels (or quality shoulder bags with airline logos
given away by smiling hostesses – now we are talking about by-gone ages!) and as
the massive Bentley town-car is idling quietly, the driver, a woman closing her forties,
mauve beret, classy mauve deux pieces, is listening on her cell-phone, crying:
“Mystical Seeker, Goddess Roxanne in her shimmering tower is receiving your Anxious
Mystical Concerns – now recite the Spiritual Invocation you are hearing on the phone
then she will start to majestically guide you along the…” in the distance, the Century
City’s tall, sharp edged buildings shimmer in the sun, the mauve Bentley is faithfully
idling, and the woman in mauve at the wheel is crying, biting her lip, listening
on her phone Zarathustra’s majestic beginning – now the music has segued to its
softer, meditative part, appropriate background for Goddess Roxanne’s remote, grave,
even voice:
“Mystical Seeker Stricken by Anguish and Sorrows seeking Succor, Goddess Roxanne
will Re-Amplify and Re-Orient Your Mystical Torments on the True Meta-physical Thought-Might-SpiritPower
path, breaking the Negatives which hamper your Spiritual Growth and make you Prey
to Loneliness and Anguish, and She will guide you along this Treacherous and full
of Dangers Quest along the Celestial Way to the realm of Purity, Harmonious Peace,
Plenitude, Satisfaction and Fulfilling Love…”
In the blazing sun, the Indian with his air inflated animals on the pole is quietly
look-ing at the horizon bending Los Angeles, the mauve Bentley idling behind him,
the lady in mauve dress at the wheel crying, listening on her phone – then a sudden
gust of wind stirs some paper trash from a trash bin, and some loose LA Weekly pages
whirl around the Indian. The small man de-fends his face, deflects the flight of
pages, ca-tches a couple of them, and now he’s started again his Beverly Hills tangenting
march to the Pacific’s shore, suckling his candy and looking at the various photos
and offer-ings on the weekly’s page: Inguinal Hair Laser Removal, Body Sculpting,
MesoThe-rapy/ Elimination Of Fat/Troubled Areas, Love Handles, Buttocks, Abdomen,
Chin, Thighs, Neck, Credit Cards Welcome, credit available, too, Weight Loss Tsunami,
Exfoliation w/Care Credit Financial Aid, Radiance/Same results as Collagen but lasts
1-2 years longer, Micro Peels, IPL Photo-rejuvenation, Lip Augmentation (as seen
on Angelina Jolie/$175 month), Low Motivation, Difficulty Concentrating, Eyelid Surgery,
You Doctor May Be Good At Breast Or Nose Surgery But Did You Know What A It Takes
For A Successful Eye-Lid Intervention? Now Recruiting For A Methamphe-tamine Use
Research Study, Call so-and-so, Bi-Curious? Call so-and-so, Speed Dating, Get Your
Hair Back – Hair Will Sprout In Fifteen Days! David Eggers Reading, Dan Savage’s
Weekly Sex Advice, Colonotherapy, Breast Augmentation & Reduction, Lips Augmentation,
Face, Nose, Eye Jobs, Tumescent Liposuction, Vaginal Reconstruction As Seen On Oprah,
ages 7-78, Nutritional Workshops, Botox & Collagen, Tummy Tucks, Grief Counseling,
Hair Transplant, Penis (length & girth) Augmentation, Butt Implants, Fat Transfer,
Hollywood Black List Evocation Evening, Female Or Male Brest Reduction, Face-Lift
Without Incisions, Vegetarian Hamburgers, Buddhist Work-shops, Bulimia Workshops,
Fat Transfer, Anorexia Ateliers, Radiance [??!!], Micro-dermabrasion, Judith Lewis,
Steven Mikulan, Harold Mayerson and Dave Schulman articles, Endless Free Calls, The
Rolls Royce Of Screenwriting Workshop, Removal Of Facial Buccal Fat Pad, Acting Workshops,
Escort Services, Spiritual Workshops, Nasal Re-sculpture, peace marches dates and
gathering places, Rock-The-Vote! and MoveOn.Org recruitment drives and Rosenberg
Spouses Commemorative events.
♦ Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings ♦ Chapter 1 ♦ 8
And now all that’s gone, the heathens own even the Harrods'! My god, one day
we may even hear about a raghead called Mohammad or Hussein running for the US presidency!
“Solange! Take your finger from your nose and look at uncle Milton’s camera!”
– then arousing spices of unknown languages, weeping, alas! parting’s sweet sorrows!
or merry laughing (the joy of sending on a never returning trip your in-laws acquired
in Kirghistan! those Fulbright scholarships’residuals!) or, as destinies diverge,
last vows, words of commitment, friendship, sharing, promise, love, regret, reunion,
wis-dom, laments, forgiveness, warnings, contention, disparagement, insult, hate,
loath, dread, contempt, scorn or despise… then again, sharp communiqués slash terminal’s
nostalgic harmony:
“Vomit at Gate B-12, cleaning crew at Gate B-12…“
Now the terminal has sunk in the tranquility and in an idle, mythical caravanserai’s
coziness, all gates are closed, behind counters, hostesses operate shuffling machines
that report to mystery headquarters destinies and luggage shipped to wrong desti-nations,
and flirt with spiffy limousine drivers awaiting for tardy flights. The trinkets
shops are quiet, too, allowing their post-colonial, global, tired staff (city-college
night classes, building an American GE track: anti-American studies, transgender
studies, homosexual Pygmy cowboys on the Oregon Trail, children philosophy, Ng’Glump
ru-lers, Great Islam Conquerors, home-made liquid explosives, vibrancy, Pygmy poetry,
human polymorphous sexuality, group storytelling, animals rights, public policy militancy,
‘Great American Democrat Party Presidents – From Abraham Lin-coln to William J.
Clinton’, etc.), to slo-mo fold and reshelf the strange things they are stran-gely
expected to sell – from the sunny, sleepy gulf outside, a few airplanes have laid
their black, soft, wet noses on the terminal’s vast side windows and slyly doze,
an eye half open, ready to snatch video cameras, hand-bags or kids, those tricky
giants!
“DON’T-YOU-HANG-ON-ME-AGAIN! I want to talk with the president of this fuckin’
airline and I’ll wait here ‘till you’ll get him on the phone, ok? I-DON’T-CARE!...
What’s your name? WHAT? ... It surely does! What’s your name? ... Heavens! There
isn’t one single person speaking English left in this country?”
“Vomit at Gate B-12, cleaning crew at Gate B-12…”
A gate ajar! A conclave of agents and hostesses hidden behind it wearily observe,
ready to shut the door and flee, a crowd of ragged, exhausted, hostile passengers
languishing on a desolate raft of wooden barrels and boards, a tragic oar as mast.
On rolled carpets, surf-boards, bags, boxes, coco-nuts garlands, India plantation
dreams, flutes, laptops, brooding in rows of grueling chairs, eating the weak, or
somberly reviewing on their video cameras yesterday’s McDonald breakfast in Honolulu,
these wretches! garlands of flowers show them coming from, and squandering in this
accursed airport the positive energies acquired in some sunny, exotic realms (the
strains of some exotic gonorrhea will kick in only later, amazing doctors in St.
Paul or Norwalk) – alas! another common airport terminal sight, this Nineties version
of the “Raft of the Medusa,” these languishing wretches, some still using their cell-phones!
Some scream in their cells at remote, unknown Dedicated Associates who commune
with tragic robins trapped in the service’s floor and pick their noses while dodging
questions; some just converse, speak loud, allow the others to learn about their
memories, plans, desires or remorse; about Klara’s, Jim’s, Gurbuk’s or Phoebe’s medical
concerns; alimonies, insurance, roofers, Harry, roads, Maalox, quitting, remodeling,
next year, college, elections, taxes and that bitch/jerk are also often loudly mentioned;
stocks, gas prices, menstruation dates and appointments for bomb attacks are also
now for public knowledge, while some are simply telling remote lovers:
♦ Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings ♦ Chapter 1 ♦ 9
“I’ll kill them all! This fucking airline! The fourth time in twenty hours! And
not a single English speaking human left in this country! And again the flight has
been de-layed!” – while others nurse revenge thoughts, nine bucks a piece bottles
of beers…
“Vomit at Gate B-12, cleaning crew at Gate B-12…” and others simply sleep in
painful, weird positions.
“Oh, mister Goldfarb, how are you… I’m fine, I took the liberty to call your
office to see how we are doing with my case at the court,” a woman’s voice is talking
on a phone: “I know… Yes, I know… Mister Goldfarb… Mister Goldfarb, listen… Mister
Goldfarb, what I want…”
“But mister Goldfarb, this is not possible! Money? Again money?... What counter-expertise?...
But mister Goldfarb… But mister Goldfarb… Mister Goldfarb…”
“Money? Why? Why? Money, money and again money? I just cannot afford this anymore!
I simply cannot, I simply cannot, I simply cannot!” the woman‘s screams now are accompanied
by the noise of some bottles crashing on the floor – a “Toco-Loco Bar” marquee
over a patio bar, “Bar Temporarily Closed For Remodeling” sign hanging from a wall-TV,
behind the counter, a woman edging her higher forties, appa-rently the “Toco-Loco”-s
barmaid is holding the phone with her shoulder, while trying to stop a cascade of
falling beer bottles she’s been arranging on a shelf, while she’s furiously talking
in the microphone:
“But mister Goldfarb, this thing never stops! Money, money and again money!...
I am not screaming, mister Goldfarb, but I simply cannot afford this anymore, it’s
just – just – just not fair, when the court allows something like the Perpetual
Insurance to rob innocent people…”
“Welcome to the Los Angeles International Airport, please maintain constant visual
contact with your properties…“
“I cannot afford this anymore, fees, experts, court dates, I am broke, this is
not fair! I cannot pay, I cannot pay, I cannot pay and this is not fair! ... No,
mister Goldfarb, I’m seeking justice, because I deserve justice, yet I’m robbed and
killed instead!... Be-cause my business and my life’s work have been destroyed by
a conspiracy and now I have to slave here in a second job trying to keep my life
afloat! – and fatten you, incidentally! and this isn’t fair!... No, you know very
well, everything is staked against the small people, it’s the big business that is
squeezing everyone else out, and the courts and you want only money, money, money
and I cannot match Perpetual’s huge pockets!... This isn’t only my situation and
what’s going on in this country is very wrong!... Oh, yes, it’s perfectly and tragically
true and I had it and I had it and I had it! No, you listen to me! Why? Because
I had it with everything! Because I’m sick and tired of everything and now you got
to listen to me!”
Serengeti cruel poetry – in the blazing sun, in the terminal’s desert, around
the shrinking pond, all animals, shaped as Almighty’s grace allowed, lost travelers,
janitors, airline agents, antelopes, hostesses, buffaloes, giraffes, “Medusa Raft”
wretches, the trinkets shops’ tired salespeople, all have become quiet, looking at
the barmaid, all reso-nating to the common, deep buried anguish aroused by the sight
of one of their fellows struggling, flailing vanquished, an arrow in her back, screaming
in the phone and now banging on the counter with a sink brush:
“No, you listen to me! Why? Because I paid you a ton of money so now you got
to listen to me, at least this!” the barmaid keeps yelling:
“This is so wrong, what you do, what the courts do, the government does! Everything
is wrong, this country is on the wrong track! ... No, everything, everything is going
wrong!”
♦ Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings ♦ Chapter 1 ♦ 10
“These Clinton years of progress and prosperity! The tide has lifted only the
yachts and left millions of boats on the shore, the rich get richer and the normal
Americans are working two jobs to make ends meet and still are sinking in debt! We’re
a nation of fools, of rats, rats, rats, rats running in spinning wheels! ... Yes,
exactly, this is what we are! I’m sick of being for ever at the receiving end, together
with so many other people! Everything is stacked against us – I barely take a check
from here and I’m sick of hearing that I belong to the brave American middle class!
Middle class – milli-ons of people are laid off or struggle and the management
scumbags leave office with tens of millions in the pockets!”
“Attention Vancouver flight 81 passengers, attention Vancouver…“
“Yes, we’re entering a new century and this country is on the wrong track and
the world is on the wrong track, too! ... Don’t you hang on me! I paid you a fortune
and now you listen to me! This country is on the wrong track, I’m sick of driving
around in Los Angeles and finding myself in Hong-Kong, Samoa, Yemen or Chechenia!
We’re not anymore Americans! I’m sick of all politicians who are nothing but cheats,
crimi-nals, crooks, liars and buffoons! I’m sick of seeing – ”
“THE-BAR-IS-CLOSED-SIR! CAN’T-YOU-READ-THIS-DAMN’-FUCKIN’-SIGN?” and now this man
is running for his life!
“NO! YOU listen to me!” the barmaid’s back on phone: “I’m sick of seeing the
DA-s busy sniffing around the White House and Congress, I’m sick to hear from liberal
rags like Los Angeles Times that we at Pearl Harbor were too primitive to understand
the Japanese, I’m sick to hear from Los Angeles Times pounding and pounding that
we’re a genocidal nation, I’m sick of Bonnie and Clyde, she seven years old and preg-nant
and he five and gunning with a nine millimeters guns a family at Wendy’s!”
“Mister Ahmed, please come back at the counter 23, mister Ahmed…“
“I’m sick of rappers, I’m sick of hearing of teachers shot or raped in schools,
I’m sick of homos paraded in the kindergarten and shown as model families, I’m a
sick of American history being under constant and contemptuous revision, I’m sick
of seeing children finishing the high-school not being able to read and write and
having the iden-tity sense of a piece of shit floating in a cesspool! I am sick and
tired for apologizing that I don’t speak Farsi, Chechen or Malgash here in Los Angeles,
I’m sick and tired to see jobs which can be perfectly done by folks in Ohio, Dakota
or Virginia go to so-me mumblers in India, I’m sick and tired to see that the ballots
for vote in Los Angeles are written in Arabic, Chinese or Blamblamram – ”
“Mister Ahmed, please come back at the counter 23, mister Ahmed…”
“No, you listen to me! I am sick and tired of this country – which is me and work-ing
people like me, and not the American Trial Lawyers Association members and who knows
what other critters like you – I am sick and tired of this country being taxed twice
by a greedy and lazy world, once by showering the United Nations cannibals with billions
and billions of dollars in aid and getting back only scorn, hostility and more greed,
then, being taxed a second time by exporting our jobs and prosperity to other realms!
We don’t owe anything to anyone! We don’t owe them development, we don’t owe them
modernity, we don’t owe them progress and we don’t owe them en-lightenment! They
owe us! We don’t owe them anything, they owe us everything, yet these days it turned
out that we must pay, pay, pay to lift them from laziness and squalor! What we got
doesn’t fall down from trees, we worked for that, and we work for that! They owe
us, we keep the peace in the world, we keep the sees open for tra-de, we stop them
murdering each other which is all they know and Lord! how passio-nately they do that!
I’m sick and tired to see how our servicemen after sacrificing
♦ Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings ♦ Chapter 1 ♦ 11
their lives to keep those tribes from gutting each and placing bombs in kindergartens
other get jailed for not providing them with their global rights, those frenzied,
turbaned baboons – hey, but since we’re here, now even baboons have more rights
than a law-abiding American, courtesy to ACLU, Amnesty International and the United
Nations!”
“No, you listen to me!... To hell with diversity, multiculturalism, planetary
fraternity and sense of mission! Why should Roxy work like hell to pay the medicine
for a benighted imam with twelve shrouded wives and forty retarded children in Waziristan?
Or pick up the tab for other creeps from who knows what countries who’ve been pushed
on our rolls by this stupidest thing there is which is decolonization, multicultu-ralism
and global rights? You know what? I just read that most of the terrorists in France,
Britain, Italy and Germany are actually welfare cases there! And here, too! So we
pay them to kill us!”
“I’m sick and tired of seeing how what we used to practice as charity has become
a mandatory thing, I am sick and tired to hear the liberals and lefties here how
much we need is some wisdom from Beluchistan, I am sick of those stupid women with
tchador hectoring us that we’re materialistic and immoral, then see them walking
to collect welfare checks – welfare checks drawn from my taxes! We don’t owe any-thing
to anyone, particularly to those wisdom-laden teeming masses from Latin Ame-rica,
Indonesia, Africa or Arabisbamtanmam-bam! Heavens! No one works there! And when
they’re not busy screwing, doing dope, or chewing betel and watching the tube, all
they do is running on the streets yelling and burning American flags, this is all
what they do! And on the first of the month they cash the checks send there by the
State Department!”
“I’m sick of TV, cheating us day in day out, I’m sick of the world changing and
slipping away amongst our fingers, here in the country and abroad and everybody ha-ting
us, crowds of idiots as they are – abroad everybody killing each other and drag-ging
us in that mess, and here, in the country, the sight isn’t better, look a few minutes
at the TV and you realize that we’re under assault, in a war, attacks, bomb threats
– and these are just the small things! Much bigger ones are yet to come, trust
me, we’ll hear and see more about this!”
“Welcome to the Los Angeles International Airport, please maintain constant visual
contact with your properties…”
“Yeah, I’m listening,” the barmaid has relented: “Yeah, I know very well the alter-native…
What can I do, miracles or what… Yeah, I’ll try… Give me a few days… Thank you,”
and she throws the phone on the counter.
Under the “Toco-Loco Bar” marquee, arms crossed at her chest, she is somberly
gazing over the terminal – giraffes, agents, buffaloes, all creatures around the
pond avoid her eyes, quickly return to their previous activities. She cleans the
floor of bro-ken glass and beer with a mop, then takes from under the counter a glass
with Marga-rita, does a slurp with a large straw from it and CRUNCH-CRUNCH-ing a
nacho, she gets her cellular phone and punches numbers, somberly waits – no one
answers, so she nods as acknowledging something, then speaks to an answering machine:
“Robby, you are busy calling me then hanging on me, and I know that it is you,
sergeant Hauser. Stop doing this, I don’t want to see you anymore, I set up my new
life course and no one can sway me. And also, be aware that I remember you saying
repeatedly that big things like you at LAPD can remove people if they want and no
one would touch them, ok? I remember this so if you make more moves on me I’ll take
care of this, ok? Everything is over, you are a freak and they shouldn’t let you
on the street, but this is Los Angeles, and now LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE and
♦ Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings ♦ Chapter 1 ♦ 12
don’t call me anymore, neither on my private line nor on my business lines, ok? Don’t
harass me anymore, sergeant Hauser, ok, you are a freak and a psycho and everything
is over, ok?” – she has ended her call, ponders, then dials another number:
“… Ginny? Yeah, me – where! At work at the airport, front line, USA, in my spin-ning
wheel, rat two-billion-ninety-six running in her spinning wheel… How’s that? I just
saw a photo ad in New York Times, a rat running in a spinning wheel, they were pushing
something, a medical plan, but the image, the image, it was so true, applying for
everybody, I mean, just look around, everybody running and actually it is life run-ning
from under their feet, this is so stupid! SLUURP – nah, the bar is still closed,
it was full of mice, but I am in and out everyday, doing errands, taking care of
every-thing, cleaning, washing, dusting, painting, primping – and HATING everything.”
“No! Everything’s awful, awful, awful, my lawsuit is not doing well, and that
thief Goldfarb wants more and more money… And you know what, Robby keeps harassing
me, the creep, and this is pretty scary, you know, because I remember him telling
me how cops like him hire killers from the street to fix their private affairs and
no one touches them… Oh, yes, oh, yes, I sure think that he’s able to do this, I
know him well, he’s a freak and now he hates me and I was so stupid to stay with
him so long – and frankly, I would kill him with no remorse, he’s a psycho and
a dangerous one, and if he pushes me over the edge I may do it… Yeah, anyway, we’ll
see…”
“My business? This lawsuit has basically shot it, but I still do a job or two
– these remodeling weeks is easy to jump out from here and do it, my place is close
to the airport… Right, talking about a rat running in a spinning wheel, hey, but
I got companions, ain’t I? Juggling, juggling things, but even with this second job
I barely survive, oh, how do I hate everything – SLUUUURP – the money I make goes
imme-diately elsewhere – my new thing? Check my website, it’s so pretty, but it hasn’t
ta-ken off yet, hopefully it’s gonna work… The little actress? You know how Hollywood
is, basically a morgue scurried by necrophages, but who knows, I might become her
manager and get a cut, we’ll see – ”
A whiff of Everybody-Is-Looking-For-Something comes from the TV, she makes it
louder.
“Can you hear the song? ... Yeah, that’s the one – you know, this song should
be the theme song for the rats running in the spinning wheels, we’re all running,
looking for something, but actually we’re all rats, running in spinning wheels, and
there isn’t anything to run for… Well, this is my business mood, I’m in a pretty
furious, criminal mood – but I control it, I’m the optimistic, hopeful type, what
can I do? Pay this, pay that, pay that, I’m in debt over my ears, I run in a spinning
wheel but I may escape one day…”
“Passenger Amoq, party three, passenger Amoq…“
“The bar is closed sir, there is another bar at the end of the terminal,” then
she’s back on her phone: “Listen, they just showed on TV again those savages in Somalia,
dragging in the dust those dead American rangers, and those savages dancing and yell-ing
around, and you know what? Some of those cannibals are baggage handlers here at the
airport, I don’t know, I mean, this is SOOO insane! It’s unbelievable, and why we-re
we there, in the first case? Let them kill each other, none of our business! Anyway
– SLUURP – we’re so hated, we’re so hated! And the entire world is screaming,
is against us, at United Nations, everywhere, then they’re bombing our embassies,
then, they come in America – remember the World Trade Center bombing plot? I tell
you, something bigger will happen, I’ve been stuck here at this airport bar long
enough so I can see this, and hear it from people from every part of the world, and
there is some-thing brewing here – we’re so hated! We’re so hated by everybody,
even by those stupid Europeans...”
♦ Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings ♦ Chapter 1 ♦ 13
“And this is only the beginning! Last week a guy from Bambarambambam, member
of the United Nations, Jesus! This is what he said! He showed me a business card:
member of the United Nations! I mean – a cannibal with penis sheath, Nordstrom jacket,
neck-tie, chicken bone through the nose, sun-glasses, attaché-case, walkman, cellular
and business cards! Can you believe this? Michael Savage is so right! So right! So
right! This diversity thing is totally out of control! So that critter – with two
friends, some rag-heads, the oil, twenty-seven virgins types, stopped here for a
glass of wine, Chablis chambrée, oh, monsieur, Chablis chambrée – he was coming from
a foreign affairs workshop in France, obviously paid by our State Department – I
mean I’m totally serious, chambrée, penis sheath, sun glasses, chicken bone through
the nose, attaché-case, and favoring Chablis at room’s temperature-I-AM-TO-TALLY-SERIOUS!
AND-YOU-WON’T-BELIEVE-WHAT-HE-DID-TELL-ME! HE-SAID-THAT-WE-AMERICANS-ARE-LOOKING-IN-A-GUN-BARREL-AND-IT’S-ONLY-A-
MAT-TER-OF – wait – wait!”
She is examining the screen of her cellular, apparently she has another call
on the line:
“Ginny, I got to leave you,” she hastily says: “I got a call – nah, for these
days the bar is closed, so I can juggle things – I call you later, bye… No, sir,
the bar is clo-sed, I don’t know, I got to run…”
“Goddess Roxanne is benevolently receiving your anxious vibrations; lo and behold,
her overwhelming Ethereal Spiritual Splendor is Grandiosely Substantiating through
the Un-fathomable Mystic Mists Of Becoming – now, Mystical Seeker Stricken by An-guish,
have a moment of Rapturous Contemplation as Goddess Roxanne in her shim-mering tower
is receiving your Anxious Mystical Concerns, then recite the Spi-ritual Invocation
you are hearing, and She will Majestically Guide you through the Challen-ges which…”
and Zarathustra’s all mystical concerns & anxieties answering hum, then majestic
blast resounds among the stacks of Hair Dog and Sleazy Weasel beer cases – in the
cramped storage room of the “Toco-Loco”-s bar, the barmaid is stand-ing, listening
on her cell, between two stacks of cases, on top of which, by a large cardboard box,
a tape player and two loudspeakers deliver Zarathustra as musical background for
an unseen caller’s Spiritual Invocation.
“Welcome to the Los Angeles International Airport, please maintain constant visual
contact with your luggage…“ remote threads of airline announcements and rumor seep
into the room as Zarathustra’s mighty blast, converted by barmaid’s cell phone in
electromagnetic waves, now ripples throughout the fresh, morning air over the Los
Angeles county.
Zarathustra has entered its quiet, meditative part, the Spiritual Invocation apparently
is over, too – the barmaid nods, she has recognized the caller and for a while she
lis-tens, rummaging in the box, selecting and readying some audio tapes, various
news-papers clips, cards with cut-outs, photographs and pictures tacked on them –
then she gravely acknowledges in the phone:
“Mystical Seeker, Goddess Roxanne advised you that these days you will be traveling
through a strong negative vortex… Well, those 99-seats little stage plays can make
for a stepping stone in a film career, like any indie, but this S&M thing was a bit
shaky from the very beginning, wasn’t it?... Oh, yes, I agree, you went through a
miserable experience, completely so, and SOO! unnecessarily adding to your already
difficult journey… Honey, I know, an aspiring actress’ life in Los Angeles is a harsh
journey of constant rejections and quashed aspirations, and unfortunately, in top
of that, one may encounter also these kinds of crappy incidents… That S&M play and
that jerk of Hungarian director – oh, well, Hungarian, Serbian, Mongolian, what-ever…
No, my dear, Goddess Roxanne does keep focusing and shielding you from the negatives
you encounter everyday, you hired me for doing this, but remember, Goddess Roxanne
is just a medium...”
Goddess Roxanne’s Channelings (A)
(A Situation From The Index of Unsettling or Incendiary Facts, Events & Situations
recorded by
MISANTHROPY’S EVER-EXPANDING WINGS REPORT)
Copyright © 2005, 2007, 2009, 2010
* 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.
------------*------------
* The Misanthropy Institute/ QUO VADIS, AMERICA?/ Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings
Report *
Website copyright 2010
All rights reserved
Site designed and maintained by Jarring Visions & Anticipations
Hear Goddess Roxanne’s spiritual salu-
tation music...
To purchase a copy of
Misanthropy’s Ever-Expanding Wings Report...
The Misanthropy Institute/contacts
Comments & Guest Book: misanthropys.feedback
E-mail: misanthopy.institute@yahoo.com
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”
* Toxic Sample # 3: —
* Toxic Sample # 4: —
* Toxic Sample # 5: —
* Toxic Sample # 6: —
* Toxic Sample # 7: —
* Toxic Sample # 8: —
* Toxic Sample # 9: —
* Toxic Sample #10: —
* Toxic Sample #11: —
* Toxic Sample #12: —
* Toxic Sample #13: —
* Toxic Sample #14: —
* Toxic Sample #15: —
* Toxic Sample #16: —
* Toxic Sample #17: —
“...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
