The house was bright white, lying at the center of the esplanade, arcane and mysterious like a sphinx made of ice. Its smooth and softened shapes glistened in the moonlight, while its dome seemed to expand in a blurred glitter in the sun. It was many things all at once, two of which, defeat and devastation, remained well concealed, hermetically covered by the seal of enslavement. No shocking surprise here, the Thing of all things rules the game, and what was permitted to some was restricted to others. It was a matter of who kept in line with the Thing of all things, and who fell out of its graces.


The host announced, “Are you on-message? Great! Countless worlds are in there waiting for you. Here’s the Thing as you walk in, taste and experience all its wonders. It speaks all languages, it embraces all colors, it lays upon any valley, it raises over any height and sinks into any abyss. It knows all secrets, it resolves any doubt, and it feeds its puppies with certainties made by iron fists and cannon shot.”

As I entered, the concierge smiled at me and said, “Don’t look at me as if I came from  another planet. I am a footman and I wear this coat of arms that features the highest rank. Come, come in here and make a quick buck or two, and your life will be either richer or consummated into a dark and small hole. Did I tell you about the mugging? The poor blue people who were robbed and beaten and left out of the ballroom? I really should have! Oh, they are our strength and hope.” He took a bow and insisted, “Sir, will you step this way, please?” as his hand pointed to a gate I hadn’t seen before. It was ajar and a flickering light like weaved by a magic loom peeped out. Then he added, “Beware, there are sections in there I wouldn’t advise you to visit!”

That was a sumptuous hall, whose walls were a gigantic TV playing images and movies of all sorts. A man dashed in all about bawling, “It doesn’t feel like I am ever out of this place!” I don’t know why, yet I did know he was one of the minions. Incredibly disgusting!!

The map of Africa appeared like the skin of a lion hanging by a grey wall, and no matter the pictures followed one another in silence, I could perfectly listened in my mind to the sound of that voice from a time so distant, yet, again so topical. Was it all about stay and wait?


I let my eyes wander over to an old nightspot so empty and desolate, abandoned like a jackal in the desert. “That’s like an oneiric orgy” I thought, “I won’t pull back!” Until I met the woman whose dress was so admired and who swore to be faithful unto death. She leaned on me, “This is a gun” she said. “Oh, such an ungenerous lady” I uttered, but she didn’t give it any thought. “And I want to shoot it until it’s empty”, she maintained, and she probably would, as her fiery lips were approaching and her look was burning.

The diverted man entered the scene and said he had never seen his bosses ordain kings and queens around more shady footstools thirsty for fresh blood. He never did realize he was ordered in and soon ordered out, perhaps.

I walked down the TV walls that bordered every single scope in that incredible locale. Those dusty streets and all that mess at the market square caused a psychedelic effect in me. It was as if they had the power to break the screen and propagate the pungent and sweetish smell of spices, which I had always tried to respectfully accept but that I had never understood. The vile captain knew how to revere his master and honor the ancient and shining values for the sake of the greater good. No awe, that’s an art that entices the minions from all ages. Weren’t those the untouchable principles of the superior, for which killing is not a crime under the banner of tamed freedom? The supremacy of the dominant won’t waver. Here goes the main course of Common Good, and if it tastes too sour and rather bitter, no use in complaining, that’s the way it is meant to be.

Some music was gurgling from a room, and I decided to go in. Colored pages were stuck on the walls. Such a weird way for a story to read, yet quite inviting. That was an account that flew and flowed towards spaces still uncertain. “There’s always good music to listen to in every story of betrayal and damnation” I observed. It was the wording for a play and it depicted as nothing replicates the same again if not for the Thing of all things. The one, which can change everything letting everything stay unchanged. The cry from helpless creatures flooded mute the whole space and time throughout the whole narration. “There is a place to love each other, a place to leave, a place to hew your past to pieces, but hardly ever a place to hide.” the offstage voice was supposed to say. That was like a jellied sequence in which the wacky wish from a young man with holes in his pockets broke in, “Vividly, I hope for a no. Open that gap and let me see the pinky Paris” was his cue; while the dry actress was lingering and looking for the next bone to pick, stretching out the hands and ready to work.

In the meantime, the sycophant and mellifluous captain knows how to appease and mislead the Kraut. If Rick is a drunkard, he has no motherland; he is citizen of the world. Such a stroke of genius!


All in all, I was just wasting time, not a clue about who had plundered my friend’s home, as I tried to be reminiscent of his words. Anyway, the ceiling above my eyes, and the numbness of my head, only suggested the picture of him avidly sucking from the amber bottle as the clock ticked away; just ten minutes till drunk. He said, “My wife used to get sick people on their feet again when she was younger. However, now, she makes them fly and cross the oceans, all for my best luck and pride!” My lips curled in a curious smile, I then replied, “If you didn’t exist, you should be invented, and your character, better than breaking hearts, would split people’s sides with laughter.” He burst out roaring in a mix of whooping cough and mirth, “Chapeau my friend, chapeau” he promptly came back. By then, he was drunk.

I glimpsed a porthole along the path; I got close, opened it and leaned in to watch outside. A man was furiously walking, “You are valued if you are valuable” he energetically shouted over the phone while loosening his tie. Then he said, “Don’t be so idiotic as to make distinctions, for if you do, calling you dumb may be the best compliment you’ll ever look forward to. Nobody, really nobody will ever draw you from the mire. I don’t suffer fools gladly!”

The casino is definitely deemed to be the non-white place, yet it is. Like a spot of coffee, it doesn’t spoil the milk, it spices it up instead. The small Ugarte had never disgusted me, many of us have always something to sell to the highest bidder, and the iron law of the Thing of all things imposes it. To be indignant is for the breed of moral pigs, they wallow in the same morass, and gulp down the same slop.


I would have gladly left that place for a spacious multi-floor abode, comfortable and clean, linear shaped and rather clear, with the sight of hills and mountains, and coastal plains caressing the sea. Not a problem, there I was, ready to start, huh, a home for me.

From my terrace I could see Jules running all the way through his porch where he had made his stand with shelves and desks on which he had placed all of his things, books, records, tin soldiers, and knick-knacks. The unceasing wind pulled down his trinkets and baubles, but he was there again to tidy it all up over and over like a frantic idiot. I saw him fuming, cursing fate and hell, as stubborn as a mule thinking to own his space like a fool playing a blind king in someone else’s kingdom. Were his maniacal perfectionism and his fanatic love for order that kept him from seeing what was just messing up his things? What had he become, and why? Yet, the unceasing and impetuous wind was real, strong and powerful, was he so insensible and also nonsensical so as not to perceive it? Anyway, it just took to take a look at around to detect many more frantic idiots, some even more disquieting than poor Jules himself.

I went back to my kitchen; I needed a tea, which I brewed as usual according to the old style, as my Mother had taught me. Just in time to hear Ilsa’s gentle voice begging Sam to bringing back the good old times, “Play it once, Sam. For old times’ sake.” How many Sams I had known, who all alleged they were “a little rusty on it” not to make their fellows look like suppliant wrecks that drown in the foamy sea of nostalgia, to avoid them to feel like beggars at the doors of nothing. Yes, things change as time goes by, and even a kiss does not remain a kiss, as it can reveal to be a lash on the lips. Yes, it keeps being a case of do or die, but, who is actually the world always willing to welcome? Time goes by, and we’re constantly in apprehension, and, changing what needs to be changed, we should all be on familiar terms with which fundamental laws still apply.

I squeezed a juicy flavored lemon stopping nearly spellbound looking at those tiny drops plunging in the reddish infusion inside the white pearl cup. Its vapors timidly lifted on the air, smelling of colors of earth and sea, and of skies where the clouds are only spare bows like silky ribbons to trim an astonishing landscape embroidered by the glow from the sun.


I cast my look beyond the esplanade, there was the place where they agreed over the limits and benefits of their independence, and a few yards ahead the ruins of the slave market buried under layers now unknown to the most. They have never really been antithetic if not to the eyes of the foolish. They the People lived their dream of sovereignty, ignoring its empty notion would never set them free. Thus, as the ages went by, those who were deemed giants kept making fun of their ingenuousness through those who detained the seal and the club, to whom they blamed their discontent with harsh censure and contempt. Through the soft and mild veil of their supposed conquests, reality still unwinds according to the needs and wants of the Thing of all things, but the hand that arms the arm shows its palm, and thus, although it shoots to kill, it keeps being welcomed with smiles and cheer.

My cup now rendered the intense aroma of tea, lemon and honey, like a blend mixing up pleasures and memories, while the stretched face of Rick showed reproaching Sam, “You played it for her, you can play it for me!” Poor Sam, do you want to bell the cat? You are not the pilot, you can’t take the risk for the passengers’ sake, and the master can even order you to hurt him. Still, at the end of the day, it is your body to lie on the dust again. There is no country for you Sam, “If she can stand it, I can! Play it!” This is the gist of the question, either sugarcoated or embittered, certainly strengthened by the zest of occurrence.

Then I got to hear the unmistakable voice of Mrs. Woggle harassing her husband, “Why did you do that?” “Why not?”, he snapped, and carried on, “The only opportunity they give you is buy today and pay forever!!” Whoa, well said, Mr. Woggle, well said! You certainly haven’t failed to recognize the Thing as the most proactive of all things one may ever stumble upon.

Oh, Rick is a myth, his expression so bitter like thorns whisked by the wind, and his countenance so tart like that of a general who lost many battles to an unfair enemy. He doesn’t remember anything about last night because that’s so long ago, and he doesn’t know what he is going to do tonight because he never makes plans that far ahead. He came there for the waters; he didn’t know there was the desert. His watch always runs fast.

I just needed a while to rest. The radio crackled rusty words from blathering crooks, too much weight to bear. Down there, in the town seven times lifted up, hacks and quacks tried to hang on tooth and nails to a glory train, smoothing down the buttocks of a mean cheater who tied his siblings, and loved to kneel before the bearded god while the horned god waddled behind him.

What’s obscure in the ruthless rapport of dominion which all buys and sells? What keeps the exploited from sending to hell those leading beliefs, along with their aberrant values and codes? What stops them from freeing Mankind? But the ravens have become white, and the provoking invitation that the unruly young tried to convey met up the phantoms of destruction, for the glory of the mavericks that have never resisted its violent allure. So anodyne and useless in they’re chic intellectualisms, unable to see that discipline and order are but the pissed-off face of the same power that smiles and feigns to slumber before larceners and whores. Never be so dumb to underestimate the force of those who look to be blundering and walk clumsily around. That liberal and bloodthirsty tyrant got tangled up in the net. If life is a tenacious avenger, history is an ongoing trial that does not know any acquittal. The vile and the coward always return home.

A cortege paraded past the bright white house, eagerly waiting to celebrate the noble Lady. They moved like draughts, no eyes but for her. She was one of those blondes that would capture your mind; nonetheless, she was authoritarian enough to be an ice queen. She made her point very clear, “Force is imperative to earning a seat at the table and securing a larger purse. Getting there is the challenge, no cost is high enough!”


Lo! The annihilated being can be seen. The non-being par excellence, filled with agreed meanings, granted so that the everything may go through the mortal creature as a notice of transience, and the pressing desire of liberty staying murky and wicked. Those who would see the bright house only in one place, or perceive it like a black eagle whose wingspan could dim the Mother Star, failed to discern their frenzied visions dominated by a far more obscure and threatening thing. The Thing of all things, the real obsession, one in being with Evil itself. Passion, yet not fad, craze, yet not trend. The Cult of all cults, the only one that can confound any politics, and make the Mother Star shine over blue skies for the next take-in to occur.

Oh, Vic, dear Vic, you’re too convinced that to stop fighting enemies means to stop breathing. Who are the enemies, Vic? Is Rick’s vision too gloomy? Stop breathing and we’ll be dead? Why’s fighting like breathing? The world could soon be out of its misery, but this is not your battle. So, Vic please, answer the question, “What’re you fighting for?”

You chapmen and chubby guys, who chose to choke off the chucker. Did you know the chaplain was chapfallen while he was waiting in the chaplaincy under the chapiter, but there was nobody there to chaperon the girls as many chaps, too many, were there faking and so chuffed to chuck away their chaplet?

That hissing siren seemed to dispel the clouds, reminding everybody the world was enclosed by a dome. As in a malevolent game chances were that to be in meant to be soon out, yet not alive. All the time the big fleet at the service of the seal of enslavement patrolled coasts and skies, mindful so that the tide would not invade the living space, for the con of all cons could always be working for the sake of the Thing of all things. Oh, Carl, I beg your pardon. I won’t override your objections any longer, as the day is certainly honest even when it is short and unlucky, disgraced as it may be, it never brings a lie that’s born out of the blue.

I went out on the terrace again, to spot Mister Ryder frantically busy over his topiary art. Now his hedges featured a rabbit and a fountain. I thought that old Ryder was always looking for the source of happiness, being doomed never to find the least short lapse of good time. He was more afraid of losing than he ever was of being pleased about himself, worn out by the exhausting competition with his neighbors who could afford to pay for a professional gardener.

In that Cour des miracles where dreams were sold in exchange of fresh meat and young blood, lenient and fair swine got together. The lechery of the lenient and the values of the fair had the same purpose of perpetuating the repetition compulsion by the Thing of all things, or, according to the divinity they adored, the Wild Beast. Up above in the landing Sir Burns ordered to carefully aim his heavy artillery, for each and every enemy was scattered, so that glory and happiness would reign forever to defending their fair laws and giving them a cause for the rebels to crush and any sedition to hush. The missionaries of communal peace came to the rescue of the holy order of the Thing of all things, as the undisciplined troops were gormandizing a little too much, loitering and rollicking at the brothel, singing at the top of their voice their filthy wish for God to save the Quean. Yeah, the luscious Quean, who would raise her colored hats keeping the mob happy.

Ah, as easy as tearing up the bill, and very convenient. I don’t want to inhabit a land whose trees are offered to be hanging and whose roots sink into soils flooded with blood. To the principle of the highest good I prefer the human favor.

Down there where the esplanade meets the park I spotted Jeannie wheeling Mrs. Blot all the way from the square to home. When they got her front door the old woman cut in, “C’mon, you’re good to go, break a leg, or something!” “I’ll try not to, ma’am.” Jeannie came back in a soft kind voice. “Divertissement”, shouted the man with a funny moustache, and then he repeated once again loud and clear in a strong French accent as to spelling out the word, “Divertissement!!” Then, while the sun was setting before his eyes, he made his way towards the whitest house, which, seen from East, gave the impression of a stern and sturdy hoary elderly man crouching right in front of a rich banquet. The young lady walked out of breath, her whispering faded away late in the evening, like a whist kiss sweet and zapped enough to burn still waters and calm down wild waves. She hailed him from across the street and he nodded. Then, he turned around disapprovingly looking at the rogue boy by Hadrian’s Wall for such stupid words. Long ago the man by the hoary cloak had ranked his demons, and started fighting for the sake of the exchanged freedom, that was his gift to history. Until the great bear decided the journey had come to an end, the depraved empire was now hackneyed, yet not for the Thing of all things. The conductor said, “No worries, I shall put things right!” They went hob-and-knobbing, and a new song echoing the same old notes became the latest hymn. The thaw could now set in.

The pictures still streamed on the walls like an unremitting cascade, now the French chant erupted drowning the German tune. I had never joined head cutters. Between assassins and Jacobins I arrogate myself the right to choose none, as they’re both stirred and played by the same Master. I’d rather merrily unite with my fellow ones. The expected revolution pushed the car ahead, but only for stopping it where the new servant could comply with every single whim from the unappeasable Dominator. Don’t ask for gentleness, whereas it is called for, because force is all you get, all the time, all the way. In case of contestation, reference will be made to the laws in force. Nothing more than the dangling head of yesterday’s dictator can show the excessive power of the Thing of all things, but to the blind traveler, who walks past before any thought, it doesn’t add up to much.

When Rick will walk the road that takes him to the place of crucial decisions, Sam won’t be there, because no Sam can sit at that table. Rick and his figure cut like a statue that enlivens at night. He was said to be unconcerned, one who would never stick his neck out for anyone. He hurt like an infected blain, but he would do what he deemed to be done. That he hid a tormented soul, or faked his own desires, either way, he knew how to play his cards, as a long experienced player who recognizes what a bet is like.

Yet, the Major was resolute at learning the meaning of such cryptic words. His justice could but deservedly join up with the highest morals and honors. No sight enough to see the chasm is far deeper, because he is unable to conceive that the Thing of all things succeeds even under dissoluteness and decadence, and its strength never fails. Brutal or soft, its order is never less authoritarian and strict. It is the limit of every moralist; the absolute idea cannot but be blind and cruel. The ethical swine may build any kind of reasoning, and resort to extreme measures if need be. What’s the difference and where’s the border if social equality is just an ideological ruse through which the divided and alienated society occults the true face of power?

Find your place, chase your prey, and elate yourself with victory. We would then have one more beast whose tamer will hit and starve it out, so that it may deserve its ferocity. Rise up your hopes, bend your head, teach your offspring the worth of sacrifice that they will look forward to, and we would then have new victims or hangmen.


Where is Wordsworth’s heaven, whose gentleness broods over the sea?

I cast a look towards the west end, and I could see the compound of reddish blocks like knotted reptiles, whose knots seemed to tighten up and up until blood spilt out. However.,not this potency, nor the overwhelming oppression made the mole see other than a neutral technology, mere means for reducing complexity. How many moles for just one hole?

We’re forced into this marsh, while the benevolent look out from the masters under the seal of enslavement delivers the egalitarian options, “If you don’t like it, you will have to lump it, or else, we will sort you out.”

When times get hard, Rick must give up the game, and there is no more place for Sam to play, as Sam is what Rick makes of him under the undisputed dominion of the Thing of all things. Until all the Sams realize it is not about starting nip and tuck, but about accomplishing their humanity through the liberation from need and want. Unplug it, let it go unfed, and it will soon be the past.

The despot of the white alliance knows that the minor servant tends to become the butler, so that they may have any say in the matter, thus, his speech is immediate and plain, “Let’s keep this short, gentlemen. Family, friends, religion are the demons you must slay if you wish to succeed in business, but, they’re also the demons you have to feed if you wish to be at the helm of the ship.”

Where’s the scandal? If the Thing of all things owns everything, and can do anything, it then can buy and sell any property, people or stones are not different at all, as thoughts or illusions, and all is good to go. On balance, weren’t those the dreams of their fathers? Wasn’t that the stuff their freedom was made of? Did the forefathers fail to distinguish the means and the purpose? Was it weakness, was it shortsightedness, or convenience? Ah, how sweet it is to give in to the impulse of triumphs. The disgrace is the dominion as such; dare no more, for fear of falling in displeasure with the King!

“Did we leave the dream to grow up decent persons?” Asked the woman by the sailing ship.

I don’t love the bright white house, but I pretty much love this plain and fresh shaped abode, its wide spaces, clear surfaces, mild and contoured corners and its clean light. My babe’s there drawing pictures, and I can plunge myself into a spanking new world. It’s like a cruise through never seen colors, and forgotten harmonies. I behold slopes sliding sweetly down to lakes moved by feeble breezes, and soil turned by tiny creatures as I go through woods of huge trees and briers with fragrant berries and roses. Pure water should never be muddied.

The intricate device of the Thing of all things is not meant to work effortlessly, flesh of slave is its fuel, and blood its lubricant, nor is it designed for letting everybody in and admire the fruits of its greatness. It lives out of shortage and pain; the more dearth on the widest end the more abundance on the narrowest one. Even the harshest punishment is there to show the conscience is fed by the miserable condition of existence, despairingly dragged and cruelty abused. From the just war to the vilest terrorist attack, from the society of rights to the darkest dictatorship, from the highest heaven to the nethermost hell, the power of the Thing of all things evens it all and is there to remind you that you will never walk alone.

Thus, these are my hands, and that’s what I made, leave my store if you think that none of these things have ever happened.

The end and the beginning roll up into themselves, the bitter night owl and the sparkling soldier dive into the dark, and a new friendship commences.

Let’s stay and wait, for this is the beginning of a beautiful something, or just an old movie caught by the sharp sands of time.

Where on earth are you Sam?

Raise the glasses, down the hatch!!


Bob (22)

Data Analyst, Project Manager, Author. My life amidst work, study, literature and rock'n'roll