Feb6 2022
Sunday to Sunday, pastor only want one day
Grandma praying someday
But God can't hear it over gun play
“what happened to YOU!?”
Jesus, I thought. I’ve only barely stumbled into the living room. Is it even noon yet? We is he hollering like this. I turn to the voice. It was my associate. He looked bad. Ripped shirt, dirty hat refusing to stay squarely on his head, slumped over a bag of fast food with grease stains on the side. That’s why he’s so lively. The slime ball had snuck out and reverted to the bottom of the nutritional pyramid.
What happened to HIM?
Wasn’t worth asking, I knew mostly. He’d made a fool to himself last night in typically youthful fashion. To be admired! We’re here for this! “Where you boys from” Asked by a seemingly sweet group of middle/older/whatever aged adults. It’s all a blur once they pass 38.
“Do we look like boys to you!”
What the fuck? He’s taking it there. And wrongfully too, I have a boyish face. Something I’m grateful for.
Clean shaving youthful chad > greasy beard covering rounded jaw virgin.
“To me you are a boy!”
“I’ll show you boy.”
“My son is older than you, you’re nothing but a punk headed kid”
“Why don’t you tell your son and your baby grandkids to come here and get their asses kicked with dad.”
3 minutes ago I had no goal for the night other than order my next whiskey. Now we’re either going to brawl with 6 50 year olds over a word.
The leader of fossil squad gang pushes my associate. A hefty shove. Why not knock him out? Now we’re stuck in physical limbo. This was only 10 o’ clock. My friend pushes back. “Pussy” “Bitch!” “You won’t do anything.” His gang of hooligans is semi circled behind like an army strategist model. Outnumbering us 3:1. Aggressively verbal. Both sides obviously didn’t want to erupt to pure bar fight. I’m in it for the ride.
“What the fucks going on here?”
The bar Dictator hollers as he fumbles over. As graceful as a country hick in a New York ballroom. But for a man sized like that, brute force is his only option. He gets between us. Tells the younger studs to leave. It’s an older bar anyways.
Don’t these people have back yards, or beach houses to go to? NGMI
We were on the street. Where else to go besides the 20 other places on the block. So we persist. Punk pirates in search for a treasure chest of excitement. This is the last of which I remember. Except taking some notes on napkins. I’ll need to find them.
“what happened to YOU!”
If my associated is acting this animated something must be up. I do notice my head is sore.
Finding the nearest mirror I see the cause for hooblah.
My left eye is black. From the outside corner of eyebrow down to the top eyelid. Nothing brutal, and not like a punch. Wasn’t swollen enough or wide enough to be from a fist. What the hell. Did I run through a window? Get elbowed on the dance floor? The whole image intensified by the blood caked around my nostril.
What did happen to me?
I don’t take my phone out during nights. Keeps it more raw. Technology has negatively impacted the social aspect of Life.
Don’t even get me started on when people bring 3 giant sized video cameras to a place and say “act natural,.”
Impossible! You’ve already made it a technocratic hellscape recording everything. Potential future evidence.
Regardless. No phone, no text to prove who i ran into or prove what I did. I’ll usually check my phone in the morning and have a couple messages from new numbers. “Hey it’s ____ from ____”
“heeeyyyyyy haha do you remember me?”
Things of this nature. Is fun game.
I remember the notes though, scribbles of marker on napkin.
To preface; the past two days I’ve been sitting on the idea of a ‘manifesto’ not in definitive, concrete terms but just an impulsive listing of what I believe I should be writing about, leading readers toward, and taking part in myself.
How can we create influence and change in the real world? What should our pillars be?
It looks like the napkins of last night were used to get some ideas out.
“underground revival…”
“silent minority; group of voices.men women outnumbered in clogs of Machine”
“cultural revivalists. art, expression of beauty. doom is E N E M y.”
“combat enthusiast”
“social dictators, the scene is yours. reality loyalists fuck meta”
I’m doing a write up off these today. Deciphering the madness. The page/ two page long raw output of ideology will be posted tomorrow.
GODSPEED,
Winston
Souled Idea
Wild Anglo Dripped in Sauce
Rooftop Shootah
