The interns of stupidity relied heavily on their teachings. Teachings they purchased from self-educated idealists, who smuggled ideas from genius and disguised it as enlightenment. The students bastardized philosophy with narcotic tainted guesses at reality, and imagined atomic sized worlds on the head of a pin. They longed for the day when they would be able to crack the cocoon of tutelage, break free of the Mentors and spread their own wings in the sun.
Alas the Mentors, having become addicted to their own delusions and fat from clandestine feedings at the trough of the establishment, refused to pass the torch. The Interns would forever remain beneath the rule of the lysergic acid coated, store bought education, originally designed to negate draft cards.
One day, the Interns came across a dying Mentor, lying in the street. Starving and not wanting to die on an empty stomach, he offered them power over the masses; he offered them the blade with which they might hack away their cocoons. Should they fill his belly with wheatgrass and roughage and perhaps, a nice Sauvignon Blanc, they would hear his tale of woe and he would give them the key to Mentorship.
When his belly had been filled and his brains warmed with wine, he straightened a discarded cigarette and began his sad saga of betrayal and deceit.
Having been cut from the herd, for misgivings and concern for what would befall him after death, the old man was now at the mercy of the unknown. He’d begun to dabble in religion, a forbidden place beyond the accepted philosophies of the Mentors. The others had rejected his blasphemy and sacrilege, saying they could no longer endorse him as tolerant and acquiescent. They showed him the door and left him to die alone, unwashed and unwanted.
The wasting Mentor, who had amassed a fortune selling jars of the Piss Christ, had often worried and pondered the possibility that he had been fooled by the others and would someday have to answer for his denial. In his dreams he saw poor, impoverished camels passing through the eye of a needle, that he could not fit one of his money bags through, he feared his window of opportunity had passed.
His approaching demise compounded his worries. Just in case, in hopes that he might buy salvation, should it be for sale, he gave his money to the poor and chose to spend the rest of his days in a form of self-flagellation and atonement, he would beat himself with an empty money sack, he would also refrain from masturbation. However, thus far, no sign had been given him that his generosity, or his sacrifice of pleasure had been successful.
Once upon a time, before the revolution, before free thinkers had outlawed the possibility of eternal life, he had felt something, heard something. Once upon a time, he had been convinced he had a soul. However, had he still a soul, he felt it might be damaged, as he had been forced to ritualistically sacrifice it on the altar of Reason and Understanding, under threats of intellectual demotion. His fear of ridicule had been overwhelming, he feared he would be labeled superstitious and misled and he and his Piss Christs would be shunned by the progressives and the enlightened, becoming worthless. In the harsh light of day, it seems his fears were not unfounded.
Feeling he had no other choice, he had clipped the ring in his nose and pried loose the piercing. He followed the bold free thinkers, he closed his ears to the voice inside him and took his place among the smugglers and forgers and fakirs. He spent his days pissing on Jesus in tiny jars. He called himself an artist and prospered through intellectual intimidation, his true key to success, for he had no real talent. He threatened prospective buyers, that he would label them as fools and expose them as tasteless, mindless sheep, without vision, should they not see his genius and purchase his wares. Also fearing ridicule, the mindless sheep paid him handsomely.
The Mentor, spoke softly to the Interns, he beckoned them closer. The Interns quivered with anticipation, the old man was about to grant them access to their wings. “We pulled the ol’ switcharoo.” The Mentor whispered. “We told everyone that up was down and down was up and repeated it until it became legend, whereupon it became fact.” The dying Mentor reached into his jacket and produced a pamphlet. This is how we did it. Our Holy Book.”
Saul Alinsky’s 12 Rules for Radicals:
* RULE 1: “Power is not only what you have, but what the enemy thinks you have.” Power is derived from 2 main sources – money and people. “Have-Nots” must build power from flesh and blood.
* RULE 2: “Never go outside the expertise of your people.” It results in confusion, fear and retreat. Feeling secure adds to the backbone of anyone.
* RULE 3: “Whenever possible, go outside the expertise of the enemy.” Look for ways to increase insecurity, anxiety and uncertainty.
* RULE 4: “Make the enemy live up to its own book of rules.” If the rule is that every letter gets a reply, send 30,000 letters. You can kill them with this because no one can possibly obey all of their own rules.
* RULE 5: “Ridicule is man’s most potent weapon.” There is no defense. It’s irrational. It’s infuriating. It also works as a key pressure point to force the enemy into concessions.
* RULE 6: “A good tactic is one your people enjoy.” They’ll keep doing it without urging and come back to do more. They’re doing their thing, and will even suggest better ones.
* RULE 7: “A tactic that drags on too long becomes a drag.” Don’t become old news.
* RULE 8: “Keep the pressure on. Never let up.” Keep trying new things to keep the opposition off balance. As the opposition masters one approach, hit them from the flank with something new.
* RULE 9: “The threat is usually more terrifying than the thing itself.” Imagination and ego can dream up many more consequences than any activist.
* RULE 10: “If you push a negative hard enough, it will push through and become a positive.” Violence from the other side can win the public to your side because the public sympathizes with the underdog.
* RULE 11: “The price of a successful attack is a constructive alternative.” Never let the enemy score points because you’re caught without a solution to the problem.
* RULE 12: Pick the target, freeze it, personalize it, and polarize it.” Cut off the support network and isolate the target from sympathy. Go after people and not institutions; people hurt faster than institutions.
The Interns danced and hugged and sucked at each other’s junk, soon they would spread their wings, soon they would kiss the stars and be granted tenure.
Armed with their “Holy Book,” and a self-complimenting monologue, they preached and teached. Through excuses, perceived bigotry and disjointed verbiage, the Interns became convinced of their intellectual superiority and declared war on common sense. They threatened the majorities with politically incorrect designations and parroted chants of a false Utopia. They would gift the world with their illusory insights and demanded obedience in exchange for keys to secret, nonexistent freedoms. They would rule in the name of Oppressive Freedom
Those unwilling to accept the New Order, would be reduced to bakers and forced to build elaborate cakes for men who craved the taste of dick and women, repulsed by cock.
“Up will be down and down will be up!” They chanted. “Morality will be relative to the individual! We will rewrite the social norm! Racist, racist, racist!”
Helios is an award winning novel about a brilliant inventor of new technology, a fallen CEO seeking redemption, and an idealistic youth who comes of age in corporate America.
My second book is about a boy who has Asperger's Syndrome and is bullied to the point to where he shoots up his school. I have divided the excerpts from it into three parts: Before, during and after the shooting.
The interns of stupidity relied heavily on their teachings. Teachings they purchased from self-educated idealists, who smuggled ideas from genius and disguised it as enlightenment. The students bastardized philosophy with narcotic tainted guesses at reality, and imagined atomic sized worlds on the head of a pin. They longed for the day when they would be able to crack the cocoon of tutelage, break free of the Mentors and spread their own wings in the sun.
