WE ThE MUTHUR FuKiNG PEOPLE

     

Under the bridge, White River Junction, Vermont

WE ThE MUTHUR FuKiNG PEOPLE

     CONSEQUENCES MOSTLY GO UNANTICIPATED. Unless, of course, there be one ne'er-do-well among us, hapless enough never to've assumed the less vitriolic the cause, the less dire the outcome, ANY OUTCOME potentially is. 

     YET DO WE NOT REALIZE ALWAYS––with the same unspoken, soft, childhood melancholia like sadness, perhaps our very first outpourings of contempt knowing bitterness itself dare exist at ALL in this world that the inverse of this expectation––WE NEVER REALLY DO HOLD TO BE TRUE? 

    AND IF SO what explanation might we share as to the reason the truly incredulous, horrifically corrupt and flagrantly dishonest proliferate in the manner they have? And what does this say about the dream, our dream, the AMERICAN DREAM?

    For nearly my entire adult life I've stood-bye seemingly helpless witnessing the youngest of my two siblings tormented by the appearance of apparitions, voices in his head commanding outlandish behavior or viciously demeaning his personhood. I would not wish to trade my younger brother's life for my own; ALL this ordeal has wrought upon him, for me would be unbearable. 

   The world view he has fashioned, understandably, is an accumulative response to many years of extreme psychosis. A target of MK-Ultra experimentation, gang stalking, V2K technology, microchip implants & remotely controlled mood dilators logistically ALL unbound in one big, continually overflowing Governmental Conspiracy. Literally, for him, his subjective experience, is objective reality. 

  I am vexed (almost incomprehensible so) on an altogether different axis. As impossibly complex, contradictory and self-bemusing as my brother's construct of reality seems to me, how then does my own assumption of realness remain unencroachable?