Unbreakable

 Have you ever heard of the "Selective-Service"?

It's been a program that's been in place since the end of the Vietnam War.

Simply put, if any male in America wants  to go to College

 (but can't afford to pay the insane costs for tuition/housing/etc), 

there are government-grants, and loans (notice how it didn't specify "government-backed" loans) that are available to  pay the costs. 

But... to access those grants and loans, the 17-18-year-old-boy, has to sign a statement that declares he will

 "volunteer"- 

himself, for military-service, if-needed, from that day until...

I signed that statement, 

...realizing that it was a horrible-trap; designed to, break my spirit, and let me know that

 "I" 

could no longer be an individual, and that my life could and would be, directed by cold-hearted, old White-men with sinister-intentions.

I signed that statement,

because I realized the alternative would be that I was thrown, "cold-turkey" into a complex world, full of angry, duplicitous-people. 

A world that my childhood had (purposefully)- not prepared me for.

I took that choice, (without reading the pages of fine-printed legalese), because I knew that understanding those words would trap me into the White-mans frame-of-mind.

I signed that statement,

and took the money 

and had an excellent adventure where I learned a lot about life and people. 

And in my soul I knew that I was never going to be forced into military-service because, 

Fuck-Them.

And after that beautiful-experience, 

I took jobs where I would never find myself caught in a lifestyle of big-money, asshole-people, and 

a language of lies.

I did this and suffered, because I realized all that other stuff was designed to break-me, and the pain was just part of the reward...

The reward being;

 that within the battered-shell of a,  

"poor, old crazy-man, that never amounted to much" 

Was the soul of a 17 year-old, that always knew what, "a righteous-man" should do. 

Battered, 

but never broken.

The manifestation of the Capitalist-ideal

 

I had this epiphany a few days ago.

"Race" is an invention of Capitalism, with Whiteness being a personification of the Capitalist-ideal.

This all stemmed from the competitive profit-driven mindset of Western European societies. That type of society focuses on the  individual accumulating-wealth. This is opposed to societies with a focus on cooperation that provides stability for the community as a whole.

Unfortunately, in order to be a successful-competitor  through capitalism (ie: maximizing profits)  a person must adopt an amoral worldview, manifesting as sociopathy.

Successful-followers within this society, must adopt a selective-ignorance (whiteness) as their modus-operindi (ideal), in order to realize benefits from this type of society; with the maximum-rewards going to those who can most-effectively blind-themselves to the anti-social, amoral (toxic) activities bringing wealth to their masters (the few) at the expense of the lives, health, and dignity of great numbers of other (lesser) human-beings .

Through this explanation it is easy to see how  Whiteness can and does adapt itself to new victims, by positioning poor/uneducated/morally-sound white-people as the other (lesser) human-beings. 

In this way Whiteness acts much like a vampire using human-"familiars" as agents whose actions satisfy the vampire's gluttonous-appetite.

Vortex-944, Zip-A-Tone, and Boot-leather

In the summer of 1988, I was on summer-break from Texas Tech, in Chicago, living with my (ugh) parents, and working and working at Burnham-harbor.

In late July, I took the long El-train/subway-journey to the Chicago comicon, thinking about the Warriors movie, the whole way.
Finally-arriving at the hotel convention-center, I was heading to pay my way in, when my friend (and fellow comics-aficionado) Ben Lewis, pointed out that one of the guests was a no-show, and his guest-badge was left sitting on the unmanned "welcome"-table. So (of course) I snagged it, got in free, and went walking around the convention hall.
The place was packed, and there were lines of fans at the various publishers'-tables; waiting to get autographs, critiques of their sincere but amateurish drawing-efforts, and (over)paying for their (shittily knocked-out) sketch-requests; $50-bills at-the-ready in their shaking-paws. They were all afraid of getting Soup-Nazied by their impatient-heroes.

I saw the Vortex table (Vortex, (a Canadian-company) published my favorite comic ever (Mr. X), and another fave, Chester Brown's Yummy Fur), and made my way over.

There were two guys sitting there, at a lonley-table that seemed to have some anti-fan force-field around it; as absolutely no one else seemed to notice their presence.

I walked-up, said hello, and read their badges; Publisher Bill Marks, and Yummy Fur artist Chester Brown!
They smiled and said hello  seeming to genuinely-want to meet me!

Their attitude was diametrically-opposed to the almost universally-held attitude of the phony American-artists. The Americans talked to their fans with a thinly-disgused contempt, that shouted, "Shut-up, drop money  on the table, and get the fuck away-from me!".

Bill Marks addressed me by the name on the badge I was wearing. I explained the badge, introduced myself, and stated my admiration for Chester Brown's art, and the genius of the Mr. X concept!
They laughed and asked me to sit next to them behind the table!

I showed them an early, proto-Tad-Martin story, and 2 stories that would eventually wind-up in Tad Martin #1.
They seemed to genuinely like what I was trying to do, which meant the world to me.

Bill asked me if I was going to the premiere of the Comic Book Confidential- documentary. It was taking place that-night; downtown at the Limelight-club, and convention-guests got in free.
I told them that I hadn't even heard about it; I explained that the convention would be over hours before the premiere, and that I had to take trains back to my (ugh) parents'-house, which was way-off on the far-South-side of the city.
The Convention was taking-place at a hotel convention-center in the far-off Suburbs; and it was a pain-in-the-ass to get to, for an introvert like me.

Without missing a beat, they offered to put me up in their room..!
I told-them that I was flattered, but that I didn't want to impose on them.
Bill explained that they  had a huge-suite, and that it would be happy to have me as their guest!
This kinda broke me up. I wasn't used to people being unselfish, and treating me as a fellow human-being. If I wasn't so perpetually-shell-shocked I would have cried! Instead, I gratefully-accepted.

Later, nearing-sunset,  we were hanging around in their suite, getting-ready to  head-downtown. They were interested in seeing the famous Limelight-club, asking me if I'd ever been there. I explained that I was a neurotic home-body that was quick to get-lost (and panicky) in downtown-Chicago.
I told them that I only frequented the punk-rock club-Medusa's, on the North-Side.
They said they'd like to check-out Medusa's the next time they were in town.
Down in the parking-lot I was greeted by Bill's yellow, Autohaus Porsche-944 racecar. I wasn't a fan of European sports cars; mostly-due to my exposure to the rich college assholes that drove them around Lubbock, but I was impressed by this car! It was covered with colorful sponsor-graphics, and reminded me of something from Speed-Racer!
Soon we were on my way. Chester chating-away in the shotgun-seat, and me crammed into the cramped  rear-space (roll-cage digging into my bones, and ass pressed-against the hatchback-glass), as Bill slammed-through the gears, sending the  Porsche screaming through the nighttime.

Finally-arriving, Bill found a nearby parking-space, and I managed to unfold-myself into a standing-like position.
At the Limelight entrance, I saw a few Underground-comics-Illuminati entering ahead.
The doorman checked Chester's guest-badge and I.D., followed by Bill's, but stopped me, when he saw on my Illinois driver's-license that I wasn't yet 21. Looking (pleadingly) towards Chester and Bill, I reasoned with the bouncer to give me a break. But he shook his head, and motioned or the people behind-me to step-up. The guys gave me an empathetic-look, but I waved them on, stating that it was cool.

I was 3-and-a-half weeks from my 21st-birthday.

My belongings were back in the hotel-suite. I didn't know the area, and had no place to sit without appearing homeless.

So on the night that I'd envisioned-myself hobnobbing with famous Underground-artists, I instead found-myself; (dressed-in an olive-drab trenchcoat, dark-shades, and J.C. Penny engineer-boots) walking a thousand-laps around the block, waiting-out the 2-hour vigil, until the boys finally came-out.

When they did, they greeted me with surprised-looks, (never-imagining  that I'd waited-around for them, for 2-hours), and expressed their disappointment that I'd been left-out of the festivities.

I managed to smile-it-off, and we made our way back to the Porsche.

The Genu-Existentialist footlocker, in my head

 In my life, (mostly-since high-school), I've had to cut people out of my existence; for behaviors and/or mindsets that I found to be anti-life. I gave groups (jocks, gangsters, bikers, 80s-metalheads, etc.) three-strikes, but saw that there was always some underlying "evil" that they had, that connected them to the other fucked-up groups.

Since about 2011, when I started really speaking out about White-responsibility; i find that of the 100-or-so "Cool"-people, who are also White, there are only 7 or so that still talk to me. 

The rest all followed the same script of, hitting-me with logical-fallacies, in an attempt to hold onto both; me, and, Whiteness.

But when they saw, that I would counter their fallacies with facts; they all, "suddenly", got angry, and indignant; hitting me with an ultimatum to shut-up. 

That instant-"click" that they made, over to an unreasoning-monster, let me realize how so many thousands of (otherwise-kind-and reasonable) White-People, could all gather-together, within a few hours time, with food; and happily share the spectacle of a black-person being slowly tortured-to-death...

Just like that.

 I've seen that "click", happen in hundreds of White-Americans, over the course of 40-years of life. 

In person, newscasts; and on-film and TV. The White-characters; who are faced with defending a Black-person, come right up to the edge of suggesting self-examination...

-then don't.

 And then, (along with the white-audience) they silently pat-themselves on the back, for being "not-racist". 

It's so strange that I can hold so many of these existential-realizations in my mind; fully-aware, not going insane...

 while other people, don't,

won't 

or 

can't. 

Why Your Whole-Ass-Personality, Changed During Puberty

 My answer will differ from the others, even though the other explanations have truth.

Assuming you live in the Western-world, and more-specifically the United States, your childhood (true) personality was replaced by an egocentric-personality. This does not mean that you are selfish or conceited though. On the contrary, it means that your personality was changed so that your concern would be refocused on how other people see you, instead of how you see yourself.

This may sound horrible to you, because it is.

Did I mention that this change to the way you see (and enjoy) the world, was done on-purpose?

It may sound like a conspiracy-theory, but it actually happened to you, and continues today.

It was done to you through what is called “Factory-schooling”, which was developed first in Europe, as a way to efficiently turn children into cog-like adults, who would work in the newly-developing Industrial-Economy.

Which was bad enough. But, because all generations of teachers, from that point on, have been trained by Factory-schooling; they see this horriible-system is seen as “normal" and even “good".

Which is why any changes to it will have to be forced, by concerned-people that are outside of that system, and the government that runs it. Concerned-people like most of you readers (hint).

Note: during the intervening 200-years, some ugly appendages have been added to this already-awful branwashing. Which include:

-the teaching of white-supremacy as being biologically, biblically, and moral-truths.

-Presenting Consumerism as a proper, patriotic, and “normal”; first by corporal-punishment and flowery-description, then by the classic 1950's-2000 “Educational-videos", and currently, (and perhaps most-underhandedly) through websites, including all social-media! Look them up, your school is on twitter, and trying to stagger into Tik-toc.

-teaching war as being a “fact of life”, and then introducing R.O.T.C., (and later; cash-"Bonuses" to impoverished-kids, under-served kids, and kids of military-veterans.

-and more.

So, in conclusion, your personality changed because; adults with childlike-wonder, and independent-dreams don't give their money to monsters.

Dear, Generation-Z...

 Dude'z! ...I just had an epiphany! 

With all this  attention being paid to  Gen-X now, it go me thinking, "how does a generation of people go unnoticed?"

Is it because gen-x doesn't hype itself?

...partially. I think the reason that my generation is off-the-books, may be because we had shitty economic-lives. The fact that we didn't write a lot of articles about being broke, was exploited (taken as permission), by the money-machine as a cue-to-silence about the real state of the economy.

The fact is, when gen-x went to work, is when the boomers and silent generation decided to do a slow-siphon of all the money. 

1) We were the beta-test group for jacking up college-tuition, so bank-loans would be needed, to get an education that our parents were telling us was needed in a "competitive-ecomomy", but in reality-

2) -The boomers (i say boomers cause they call the shots, but grown-up frat-bros of all ages were doing the dirty work) were prepping us with their "competitive-economy"-psyops to also beta-test if American-workers could be driven as hard, and paid as much as the Chinese, who they were considering as replacements for us. 

They jacked-up manufacturing production, then:

- put us on 12-hr workdays.

-laid us off.

-and rehired us through temp-companies so they wouldn't have to pay us benefits.

In the end, they got fat off our desperation, then kicked us out into an economy with nobody paying anything-

3)-Except to the Millennials. Who they trained in high-schools to become code-writers, constructing their new "Digital-economy". 

Meanwhile, we are jumping from job to job, as the brick-and-mortar companies are falling like dominoes under our feet.

4) They tried to turn us against the Millennials, so everyone would be (further)-distracted from the economy by (more) bullshit. It didn't work, because we had more important shit to think about, like-

5) The housing-bubble bursting, leaving gen-x homebuyers (who often needed to take in boarders to help pay the mortgage-costs we couldn't afford because of the aforementioned student-loans, and chronic unemployment/underemployment. 

The boomers got double-paid on that one! And the money kept rolling-in because, now-

6) -we were living in apartments, and rented homes, whose prices got jacked-up by Millennials moving to the "more-affordable, cooler/less full of fascists" cities.

Note: We were beta-tested on Seattle, so you guys could be maneuvered to move to Austin, Portland, Atlanta, etc., which-

7) -are a few of the cities that boomers have used venture-capital-investment-companies to buy up apartment-buildings and homes to be re-purposed for rental. These cheaper(-than-NYC/LA/San Francisco, etc)-cities, now new-homes to the Tech-giants, attract the millennial-techies, who gentrify, and Gen-z, gig-economy-working 

social/intellectual-refugees, who share space in rental-properties, whose prices are are now exponentially-rising, because that's how the boomers (and their psychooathic-sicophants) planned it! 

And guess what? When the housing-bubbles burst again, this time the Millennials will be under-water, and the fucking boomers will probably still get a double-payout, as the FED will probably deem their investments to be "too-big to fail"!

... just like they did in 2008.

So, now that I've established that gen-x and gen-z are family, I hope you guys can spread this knowledge, like you do.

That would be cool.

For your present, and the future of all

 It's  like how the rich could not exist without the poor, to measure against.

 Whiteness only has meaning, because it created blackness, as a permanent measure of inferiority, that gives value to the existence of "white"-skin, and thereby White-life.

 And whiteness created the laws that punish those that would upset that balance.

It's  said that "Race" doesn't exist as biology, but as a concept. Which is true. 

It is also a self-sustaining delusion, that whiteness forces all human beings to adhere to. 

Think about that.

 That is toxic-Narcissism in effect on a global-level! 

In forcing the world to conform to these toxic-lies, (through an organized system of terrorism called "Imperialism"), White-Supremacy has a global-machine in place, that forces all of humanity to live a lie. It forces humanity into accepting a toxic-delusion as reality.  

This is not a metaphor.  White-supremacy, and by the transitive-property, "Whiteness"-itself; forces all people to accept lies as truths, and immorality as the proprietary, (ie; the proper and approved manner of societal-conduct.

For example:

 There is an entire branch of law that deals with real-estate, and land ownership. But how can any real-estate law be valid, if the land in question is not "owned", but stolen by mass-murderers? Mass-murderers whose victims would have willingly shared the land. And shared it not as a commodity, but as a free human-necessity.

But the mass-murderers were  also Toxic-Narcissists and psychopaths.  They were liars, con-men and thieves, who terrorized the poor-masses, by creating rules and laws that guaranteed that their psychopathic-children would forever benefit; at the expense of the masses of the poor.

If you buy a house today, you buy it from the children of mass-murderers, who like their fathers, continue the made-up  reality, that the earth is something that can be sold.

 
And because of white-supremacy, you have been trained to see this as normal, desirable, and moral. 

Which makes you a person, living through a shared psychotic-delusion.
A delusion enforced by laws, which are written and enforced by the narcissistic,  and the psychopathic.

And that's what's common to ALL-people. The extra horrors, created just for the non-white people, to keep them in a state of permanent-injury... that's a book in itself.

Please share.

I think I ran into an Undercover Confederate-Hammer-Skin, at the bar last night

 He was with a fella I know, down the street, a guy I knew from college and a tomboy.

I complimented the tomboy on her androgynous good-looks, and told her that I'm an old-boy; which got me into the subject of my Wildboy-Theory.

I start explaining it to guy-down-the-street, but this bald-headed fucker could not seem to be able to absorb information coming from a masked-negro. He kept trying to one-up, me, or derail my focus. Finally; I  just said, "Stop trying to dominate me."

His response was, "I'm not trying to dominate you! I Just got started talking! You've been talking for 20-minutes..."

He was being a perfect example of my point: 

95% of Boys around 13, are conned out of their true-personality, and are sold an idea; an archetype of MAN, to conform-to. But since they're only 13 years-old, they can't fulfill the archetype, so they start pretending. Pretend-confedince, pretend-knowledge. They're like caterpillars; encasing themselves in a hard shell, and waiting to become butterflies, except wisdom doesn't magically-appear alongside physical-stature.

Which is just as well, because the ability to think-independently, is considered a handicap, and a boy-weakness. So for the next 4-years, the man-ling is tasked to become a "disciplined", rule-following order-obeying, test-taker. 

Essentially; he is lobotomized. His thoughts are no longer his own. His purpose, is to become whatever his society needs him to be. He becomes his; EGO. The image he has of himself, is based on what others see him as.  His true-self is discarded, and quickly forgotten. He becomes a competition-machine, and upon graduation, he is set loose to become, an aggressive-competitor/consumer, and sire of future-generations of agro-comp-cons.

Which is what the baldy was doing while I was attempting to explain my plan for a future of humane-individuals. I actually  had to tell him, that I was stopping because he was getting so worked-up.

While I was trying to quickly spit-out my thesis, onion-head was interrupting me in (what seemed-to-me) a timed-pattern. 

The weird thing was he kept moving the subject to be his daughter, instead of his son.

I've  dealt with that particular-vibe, all my life, so things came to naught. 

It's just eternally fascinating to watch a White Man become unhinged, because a "Black"-man speaks with eloquence and authority. And I  don't think that I'd be wrong to suggest, that in his mind, I was making him look mediocre. 

A short INTJ-rant

 *please excuse any spelling-errors. I wrote the below, on the fly.*

I was watching the unused Joker-scene, from "The Batman"-movie.

It's one piece of the teasers and trailers, that caught my eye, as a continuation of Hollywood's innacurate-portrayals, of mental-illness.

In the clip, the Joker is obviously a Sadist, but also an extreme-masochist, (a "pain-freak") as he is covered with healing-wounds, which are presented as being compulsively self-inflicted.

Self-mutilation is an unconsious-neurotic thing,  a conscious dissociative-thing, or a sexual-fetish. 

The Joker character is mutilating himself because he gets off on pain, even if it is his own. 

Which, other than Albert Fish, is unheard of amongst Organized Psychopathic serial-killers. (Fish only managed to elude police as long as he did, because of the ineffective investigation-techniques of the early 20th-century).

That part bugged me because it's  positioning an extremely-deviant-behavior in the place of an actually recognized mental-illness. 

Typical "Hollywood-crazy" bullshit. It comes from writers being raised on TV-show/Movie-versions of insanity, but never actually having much (if any) actual contact with real-world people, displaying symptoms of a recognized form of Mental-illness.

 A person that takes so much pleasure in pain, that they continuously rip their flesh, to get-off,  would not be able to function in society, and would probably die young in a homeless-camp.

No way could they have the focus to pull off ingenious criminal-capers.

The closest I've ever seen ANY actor come to portraying a true-to-life mental-illness, in a Supervillain, was Frank Gorshin's portrayal of Riddler.

People focus on the goofy laugh, but pay attention to what he's doing in the clip below. 

In my opinion, it is an excellent portrayal of a rapidly-cycling manic-depressive.

https://youtu.be/oJ-_sj9jUIM

 

Finding good comic-books is like spotting Bigfoot. And that depresses the hell out of me

When I was 13-16,  I managed to get ahold of every issue of Raw, and the Raw books: Big Baby, Jimbo, Invasion of the Elvis-zombies, Maus, and Francoise Mouly's "X".

There might have been more, but I forget. The books were very well-done.

Raw magazine, (however) was overrated NYC-bullshit. It reminded me of cocaine; seeming to almost reach something important,  but never getting there.

Which is my problem with 99% of today's indie-comics, and why I was ambivalent about being included in those Best American Comics volumes. The material has no objective-value. Poorly drawn, poorly-designed, "experiments" created by people who have bypassed the learning of fundamentals. 

The creators are self-congratulating hacks, who have successfully used social-media to build an audience consisting of both- 

A:) People  who are dedicated to being "nice", (and therefore hold only ad-hoc tastes, and opinions), and

B:) People who buy comics because the creator is seen online as, cute/sexy/popular/etc.

This is a situation that builds egos, and prevents the owners  of those egos from improvement, originality or innovation, because they've  built around themselves an audience lacking any depth, or discernment. Or in other-words; each hack-creator is encased in a cocoon of mediocrity. 

The Archie blogs

 https://theartoffankastye.blogspot.com/2011/04/just-wrong.html

https://theartoffankastye.blogspot.com/2011/04/to-future-and-beyond.html

https://theartoffankastye.blogspot.com/2011/04/archie-or-escher.html

https://theartoffankastye.blogspot.com/2011/02/just-say-no-no-way.html

https://theartoffankastye.blogspot.com/2011/01/did-you-hear-that-my-jenny-got-drawing.html

https://theartoffankastye.blogspot.com/2011/01/youre-just-like-me-only-you-get-to-sit.html

https://theartoffankastye.blogspot.com/2010/12/go-girlfriend-get-her-good.html

https://theartoffankastye.blogspot.com/2010/12/white-editor-be-keeping-brother-down.html

https://theartoffankastye.blogspot.com/2010/12/veronica-lodge-teenage-escort.html

https://theartoffankastye.blogspot.com/2010/12/why-archie-why.html

Memories of Tomorrow

 I was just thinking, about how I discovered and became a stoic. But it would be decades later until i  connected this thing i had been doing to an actual school of thought. Same thing with yoga and meditation. I used to have long hours of disinterest in anything when i was  kid, so i would contort my body into knots. Some of the poses became ecstatic and I'd fall into a deep meditative state, (although i had no idea that's what it was) and in that state my conscious-mind would go into a rescess, and i would hear the voice of my subconsciuos, as though i was in a sound-booth. I had no idea what it was, but i was instinctively aware that Christian-thought would see it as what they called "demon-inspired" activity. But with my conscious thinking under lock and key, none of this concerned me, because i knew, from some greater pool of understanding that all of what was happening had a name, if not presently, then at some future time, or alternate-existence that existed all the same.

In that deep state, i would ponder things that a 10 year-old could not logically be pondering, which were (even at present) beyond the limitations of the scientific-method of physicists. And i would pack these understandings away, knowing that they would be somehow retrievable to me at a later date.

That said, along with puberty came a change in both interests and perceptual-ability, and i would eventually disavow what happened as "kids-stuff" or "fantasy". And it wasn't until college, when i started smoking weed, that my mind once again was able to return to that lost state of enhanced-perception. But even then, i didn't connect it with what had happened during childhood. I'd forgotten.

I didn't remember until maybe 5 years ago, when i started taking notes during my trip-spurned meditations. 

Forward to last month, i was on a low-level trip when something i saw triggered an implanted-memory.

This will probably sound fantastic, (as if it already hasn't gone beyond that point) but i recalled clearly a time right on the cusp of puberty where my parents had taken me to some godawfully bleak psycho-thriller of a movie, which was digging its way into me, ans i did what i always did; i pulled my knees to my chest, clenched my eyes, placed my palms firmly against my ears (thumbs-down), plugged my ears with the tips of my pinky-fingers, and softly-hummed.

I went into my subconsciuos-mind, and was pondering my situation.  One realization that i had was that there was a specific age at which humans would be old-enough to be invaluable to the economy, but not yet be locked into dependence on jobs for survival. It would also be an age at which they were still young enough to retain some part of the morality and sense of optimism of children. I also realized that such a group could cripple the system by refusing to participate in its evils. Just sit down and refuse to work or buy. I didn't know how they could possibly contact each other to set the plan up, but i made sure to store the thought for the future. All of this is taking place in my subconscious-mind as a series of overlapping full-color images. The thought went into a crate, and the crate went up, and rushed down a muticolored-tunnel, past minutes, hours, months, and years, and i felt it place itself in the correct location for retrieval at the appropriate-time. 

And last month was when the memory unlocked. In a time, where youth are dejected, unemployed, and being used as acceptable-losses in dying-capitalism's last-ditch psychopathic effort to retain a hold. A time where these young-people are easily able to plan and execute a mass-revolt.

I went to work crafting a meme, that on it's surface seemed humdrum, but to a few perceptive 18-23 year olds would hit them as as the spark for something doable.

I posted the meme on Facebook, twitter and Instagram, at 4am (to make sure it would be the first thing on people's feeds when they got up) along with a caption briefly recalling my memory, asking people to PLEASE just share the post with their friends. And I waited. 

And 24 hours later i quit all social-media, because not one person had shared the important post.

This may sound like a joke, or a story-outline, but it's not. Everything happened just as i said. And now I've realized, after 35 years of trying to tell people about vital things that they don't want to hear,  that they won't listen. They are to selfish, stupid, or broken. I did the best i could, but I'm done now.

About 3 years ago i found out that the Latin-root of monster, is "munstrum". Do you know what a munstrum is? It is a warning, or portent to man. A thing born different as a warning messenger to man.

Our White Folks, Schuyler pdf

 https://www.unz.com/print/AmMercury-1927dec-00385/

Pen and ink

Please share with a teen you know that is bulliwd for being "Different "

The story of my miserable adolescence.
Purgatory: Casanova Frankenstein: 9781683960355: Amazon.com: Books
https://www.amazon.com/Purgatory-Casanova-Frankenstein/dp/1683960351

Cobalt-Teardrops and Human-Ivory

Autumnal

Autumnal


The early encroachment of
darkness arrived hand in hand
with the naked black fingers of the
tree limbs.
Those fingers married to
the unmuffled wind
which now gasped and screamed
in fits of vitality (like
some terrified animal fighting
a trap) as it scraped itself across the frigid
concrete and over
the stiff dry blades of yellow grass,
and echoed that awful moan
across each and every hard
unforgiving surface
so that it could find the window
of my dark bedroom.

My nine year old self, under covers
eyes staring at the soft edged
steely-colored ceiling shadows
of streetlight-cast venetian blind windowframe.
Tar colored shadows pooled in the crevices
between the greys
extending in feathery obsidian tentacles
like summer pond leeches.

The crying wind carries with it
a cacophony of disparate portent.
From the train-yards, the
deep dead cello of the engines
burrowing deep into my soul
accented by the prison door slammings
of coupling cars, and the off key
bellowing of the air horns.

In the alley the clashing metal of trash collection
percussion overlaying the robotic-dinosaur call of the garbage truck.

Sirens piercing in the distance with
visions of blood and violence.
So alone, in the darkness in my mind
this lullaby of horror
Carries me into oblivion. 

Tad Martin Super Secret Special Issue

By Casanova Frankenstein

Stella

In that store
twilight reigned.

Brick corner building
caged windows
caged-doors
scissored-open
in the daytime.
Buzzer locked door
for foiling robbers
and shoplifters.

Her wide yellow
face
framed by short
black
curly hair.
There was an energy of
menace in her
that nobody except
me
seemed to notice.

If left in her
care  I was
assured confusion as
I was introduced
to a world and
reality
so counter my own
that I could feel it
as this time-stopping
malaise and anger
overlayed with yellow
sunlight.

Yin-Yang two-face
smiling slash scowling.
This clearly evil
yellow woman
married to a simple
black-faced
man.
Running this prison
of a ghetto
store.

Comics in packs of
three, wrapped
in plastic
mastheads torn off.
Even as a kid
when you read them
they felt dirty.
You felt dirty
and wrong
like scoring with a
homely girl with
zero personality
felt
ten years later.

Sour, curdled
Yoo-Hoos in the
cooler.
Expired lunchmeat
ready to expire chips
bread
everything perishable
really.
It was like she
was teaching a
Master-class on
the cheapness
of life.

This yellow-faced
vampire
living on Nigger-
blood
was family
and somehow
respected.
Despite all the stolen
TV's
radios
bicycles
in the store's
back room
she was respected.

Old TV's
radios
appliances
that were obviously
the belongings
of some
very poor
people.
And I'd like to think
that she was
a secret
angel
taking old coffee-makers
and turning them
into food
but
those curdled Yoo-Hoos
and illegal
comics... no...
If she was trading
food, she was
trading it for
blood.

She always looked down
her nose at
me and my
mother
as though we were
suspect or
less than.
My mother the poor
country girl
from a criminal family
who married into
THE family.

The blessed family
locking arms against
outsiders like
perverse royalty.

The insanity that was
her existence
 filled me
as a child
with dread.
As a young man
a sense of perverse
spectacle.

In the end I thought
of her
not at all.

except...
She wouldn't die.


she held on for
years, "living" in a
nursing home
in a semi-vegetative
state.
Ambulatory but
empty.
A zombie living
on pudding and
the life force
that my grandmother spent
during her frequent
visits.

But in the end
there was
an end.

And with it, all
those kind empty
platitudes
about Miss Estelle,
Sister Martin, or
just plain "Stella", went
into the frigid earth.

As was her character
when she
decided to
go
she went during
a brutal
Chicago
February
ice-storm.

Secret of the Crimson King

5x6" stickers, and 20x24" prints available.