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This is not Bigotry

July 14, 2017 Leave a comment

I am going to avoid forming friendships with two groups in the future. One group is the Jewish cult of Hassidic people. The other group is black people. I know how it can look like bigotry, but I am not against any kind of people in general. Let me explain.

I have had friendly relationships with three black people; two women and a man. All three disappointed me. They took advantage of my sincerity, my ability, and in general, they each, in separate friendships, disappointed me. Of course I will meet with and talk with other black people, but I will shy away from forming any kind of friendship or relationship. I have befriended three different black people in three different environments. They did not know each other. Each one, in ways similar to the others, betrayed my affection.

Similarly, I am never going to form a friendship with a Hassidic person. I have done business, and formed friendships with three Hassidic families. We enjoyed many conversations, teaching each other things from our separate societies. Each was a separate relationship, in business and in friendship. Of course, they knew each other, because they are all connected within their division of the cult.

In spite of very comfortable relationships, each of the Hassidic businesses cheated me. They refused to pay bills, even bills that I had to pay to my suppliers. They would pretend the colour was wrong, or the type was wrong, and used that to justify their thievery.

I did some research into how orthodox people can be crooked. What I learned is this; they have a connection with god, and their allegiance is to god. That’s why they pray 4 or 5 times a day. Their connection with society, however, is unimportant. It doesn’t count, as long as they’re in god’s good books. If one is not a practicing orthodox Jew, one does not qualify for honesty.

All religions, in one way or another, are built with the same self-importance.

Always in the Wrong Flock

March 27, 2017 Leave a comment

I came from an upper-middle class family. Sufficiently ‘upper’ to belong to a top country club, an exclusive yacht club, and to have a fine city home and a fine summer home on a lake. The catch is; I hated it. I liked having a speedboat, a sports car and a free credit card; after all, I was a teenager. At the same time, I hated the kind of people among whom I lived. I hated the country club ways, and the people that gathered there. If you’ve seen ‘Goodbye Columbus’, you get a look at what it was like. It wasn’t for me.

I like simple people. Honest people with car payments and rent problems like average people. So I lived among simple, hard-working people. I became a simple, hard-working person. I worked in a wholesale fabric warehouse, assistant to the shipper. But I was always separate. Most of those people are devoted Christians. I’m a devoted Atheist. I speak in a more accurate way than my neighbours, and it’s obvious to them. I know some things about art, theatre, and music. They know country music, agriculture and animal husbandry. The people in my area tapped the trees and boiled sap into maple syrup. I helped neighbours with that, just for the love of the experience.

After a few years, I had some friends in the area, but still at arm’s length. I dated women I met on the Internet, so I could seek some that were from a somewhat similar background to mine. They were just small social events among people who wanted to spend less time alone. I believe some of the women would like to have formed relationships with me. To avoid misunderstanding, I always made it clear that my intent was to enjoy with her, some dinners, some movies or concerts, some picnics and goodnight. Each always agreed that it was simply keeping company. These women were usually up to twenty years younger than I was, and a relationship wouldn’t work.

I felt fed up with being semi-accepted in my community and in my private life. I decided to change up, although I’m not sure that the wealthy community is up and not down. Especially during the era of Trump. In any case, I sold out and took my talents into advertising. I used my art and writing commercially. I also created and wrote a television series. I was soon able to buy my way into the pinnacle class of Private Clubs. The average member family had at least a billion dollars. I wore the right suits, I spoke the right words and dated the right ladies. Still, I was again on the fringe.

It was the reverse of the simple, hard-working people. These people never worked. They only lived high and wasted excessively on grandpa’s efforts and innovation. They collected art by price more than quality. They supported operas but rarely attended. Their children were ghastly and destined to replicate their decadent parents. I didn’t fit in. I couldn’t stand them.

Finally, I realized that I’m deeply antisocial, and all of these different levels of society don’t fit me, nor I them. I took a job as a lighthouse keeper. Now I sit out there on that rock, the sea around me leaping and dancing, while I make lunch. Sometimes I paint pictures. Sometimes I watch seabirds, plunging and rising with their struggling prey held tightly in their sharp beaks. I have my dog. He and I have an excellent, calming relationship, and all is well in the lighthouse. My flock is me and my dog.

Terrorists Have Changed My Mind

March 22, 2017 Leave a comment

I’ve enjoyed my life as an adventure. I never took anything too seriously, except my obligations and commitments. Those I took very seriously and fulfilled them promptly, to the best of my ability. To make certain I did the right things for my obligations and commitments, I refrained from wasting time and energy on things that were not my responsibility.

Recently I have been bothered by urges to care about things that are not my responsibility. The behaviour and the words of the Murderous Muslim Fanatics make me care about things that go on far from me and my loved ones. I don’t like to feel that I want to do something to stop them.

Of course I can’t do anything about it. That’s frustrating and irritating. I’m old ‘way beyond my ‘best before’ date, and I’m a peaceful, non-violent person. I can draw and write, but I don’t have access to media distribution. What a feeble thing it would be to write blogs about how I feel about the present state of the world.

The USA is totally nuts. The Eastern areas of the world are totally nuts. The cops are trigger happy. Billionaire sociopaths are ruining morality among lawmakers and courts.

Wealth is an addictive commodity. People who are addicted to it become sociopaths under the illusion that they’re correct about everything and are more important than other people. They are wrong about that, obviously, and must be taught a lesson.

I believe that the pen is mightier than the sword, and the only thing I can do for the resistance against the oligarchs is write. Unfortunately, I haven’t the patience to figure out how one ‘promotes’ their blogs. More importantly, I just don’t want to waste time promoting when I could be writing… which I enjoy very much.

Here I sit, safe from some kinds of attacks. We live in a tiny village of small homes. A wide, former highway runs through the middle of the village. Now it’s just an enormous road that is a quiet ‘main street’. There are no stores, markets, gas stations or restaurants from end to end. There is, however, an enormous, cathedral-like church, and a delightfully picturesque, ancient cemetery behind it. The village is virtually like a little cluster of homes in the midst of broad, fertile farmers’ fields.

We live a lower risk way of life, so we feel fairly safe compared with our former ‘big city’ homes. I can now only fight the oligarchy with my pen. I would never take up a sword.

Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 26)

May 7, 2015 Leave a comment

In the afternoon my cellphone buzzed. It was Aileen Schachter, sounding cold and indifferent. I was relieved at that. She said that I was to attend a meeting of N3 at a synagogue banquet room. I wanted to ask her if Naomi Cheslow was to come along, but I refrained for fear it might touch off a jealous tirade. I needn’t have done it, because Naomi’s phone buzzed before I’d rung off. She was also called to the meeting which was called for eight that evening, so Naomi and I had supper together before we proceeded to it.

The restaurant was called ‘Little Sicily’. We chose a table in a little alcove not visible from the entrance. I ordered fettuccini Alfredo and Naomi ordered Veal Marsala.

“I’m sorry I caused stress between you and Aileen,” Naomi said.

“It’s not your fault. Aileen feels she has a right to me, whether I agree or not,” I said.

We ate in silence. The food was wonderful. I love Italian food, and ‘Little Sicily’ knows how to make it properly.

We left the restaurant feeling satisfied. We arrived at the N3 meeting just before Aileen called it to order. There was a large, rough-hewn hardwood crate at the front of the room. On a sign from Aileen, two of the guys opened the top of the crate and began to unload firearms of various kinds.

“The time has come, friends, to establish our position in this society,” said Aileen. “We have been asked by the Jewish Defense League to ‘ride shotgun’, so to speak, for a peaceful protest. A group of orthodox and Hassidic Jewish people will assemble at nine o’clock Sunday morning.”

“Where?” said Naomi. Aileen glared at her.

“At the north end of Riva Goldstone Park near Eisenhower Avenue. The Aryans have sworn to crack every skull in the group, so all of us will be armed and ready to shoot on command if a desperate situation arrives. Please make your way to David and Sheldon to get your armaments.”

“I don’t like this,” I said to Naomi. “I don’t want to shoot anybody.”

“Nobody wants to shoot anybody, Sweetheart,” said Naomi. “I’m sure the show of force will dissuade the bikers from attacking.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” I said.

There was nearly five hundred people gathered in the park when I got there with Naomi. More than half of them were Hassidic people, the men in long, black coats, white shirts and black vests with the tassels (tzitzis) hanging out. Their women wore heavy dresses and skirts to their ankles, with kerchiefs over their wigs. The other people were just ordinary people that you’d not notice were Jews. Except for orthodox people, where the men all wore yarmulkes on their heads, and some wore fedoras.

The mob had just begun to spread from the park onto Barnard Avenue and began the slow walk to city hall to bring recognition to the suffering of the Jewish citizens at the hands of the Aryans. The earth began to tremble as the Aryans on their Harley-Davidson motorcycles rumbled up the Avenue. They stopped half a block away and parked their bikes together, right across the road so no one could get by.

Little Aileen was carrying an Uzi as she strode out ahead of the marchers and saw Clark McCracken standing proudly in the line of ruffians.

“McCracken!” said Aileen, “are you crazy? Do you know what I’m going to do to you now?”

“You ain’t gonna do nuthin’ you piece of Jew shit!” said McCracken. He ran at Aileen brandishing a machete. Naomi raised her nine millimetre Luger and dropped Clark in his tracks. Suddenly, Aileen turned and shot Naomi. I was shocked and automatically raised my AK47. Before I could squeeze off a shot, Aileen nailed me with a burst from her Uzi. One went through my left eye and knocked a chunk of brain matter out through the large hole it made behind my ear. Another went through my heart and left lung and one in the groin an inch above the willy. I was dead before I hit the floor, and I have no idea how the protest went, what happened to Aileen, if anything. You know what? I don’t care. I realize that nothing really matters much, and my frustrations, my burdens and my concerns are all gone. This is heaven.

Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 22)

April 30, 2015 Leave a comment

I found myself standing before Naomi Cheslow, not knowing what to do or what Naomi was thinking or feeling at that moment. In the space of about thirty seconds, she learned that I had been an occasional lover to her associate, Aileen Schachter. She learned that Aileen had assumed that she and I were going together on a mutually exclusive basis. She knew that I did not share that assumption. On the other hand, I knew almost nothing about Naomi.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you. I didn’t know you were in a relationship.”

“I wasn’t in a relationship,” I said. “I had no idea that Aileen had put that much importance on it. The truth is, I thought she slept with me just to get me to join N3.”

“Is that why you joined?” said Naomi.

“Not really. We met when I went to visit my old neighbour, Mr. Hahn. The Aryans had brutalized him and raped his daughter, Molly. Molly was just a little girl on the street where I grew up, before my family moved to the suburbs,” said I. “Mr. Hahn was a friend of my father’s, and was the barber who gave me my first haircut.”

“And Aileen showed up and recruited you?” she said.

“That’s it in a nutshell,” I said.

“Do you want to go after her?” Naomi said. I thought for a moment about that possibility. I was forced to decide to let it be. I was very fond of Aileen, and she aroused me partly because she was so petite. I found that her magnificent body in miniature was very attractive. I have to admit that it was probably because it made me feel bigger. I was not small, just average at five-foot-nine. Beside Aileen… naked in bed, I felt like a male animal. I’m sure that’s what made my lovemaking with Aileen so effective. I ‘took’ her, as they say, and that was exactly what she wanted, it seems.

“No, I don’t want to go after her,” I said. “It would give her reason to believe that I want an exclusive relationship with her.”

“Do you?”

“No. I’m sorry that I had to hurt her, but I think she should have seen the affair for what it was. We had talked about not getting ‘too involved’ with each other. She must have been insincere about it,” said I.

“Are you involved with someone,” Naomi said.

“No, I’m not,” I said.

“Neither am I,” said Naomi.

“That surprises me,” I said. “Why would a striking woman like you be unattached… unless that’s what you intend.”

“You must know that being a ‘striking woman’ as you say can be a burden. Every dick, dork and dirty old man takes a shot at you. It’s not easy to find a sincere man who cares about more than having a big hunk of ‘arm candy’ with him.”

“I understand,” I said.

“Could we have some wine?” Naomi said.

“Sure,” I said. “Red or white? French; Italian or German?”

Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 19)

April 27, 2015 Leave a comment

I didn’t sleep very well that night. I have to admit that knowing a splendid amazon was asleep in my guest room at the other end of the hall was the cause. As you can imagine, I suffered with fantasies of her coming down the hall to my room and crawling under the covers with me. Fantasies also of me going down the hall to her room and crawling under the covers with her. I didn’t like that scenario. I preferred the scenario when she comes to my bed. Anyway, neither thing happened and I finally fell asleep about four in the morning.

I woke up at almost nine to the pungent fragrance of bacon frying. I felt fried myself. I dragged myself into the bathroom and made myself presentable. It wasn’t easy. Anyway, I wasn’t about to seduce Naomi Cheslow. She was ‘way out of my reach. She’s rich and smart and beautiful and tall and strong. What would she want with me? On the other hand, she came to my apartment with delicatessen treats and spent the night here. And the fragrance of the very not-kosher bacon must be caused by Naomi. So now she’s making breakfast for me. It was as though a night of sex had just ended and my lover was making breakfast for me. I wish. I jumped into a jogging suit and went to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she said when she saw me. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw that you were a secular Jew like me when I saw some of the things you have in your kitchen. There’s nothing Jewish in the place except for the menorah.”

“I hope you were comfortable,” I said. I poured myself a mug of coffee from the pot she’d already made.

“Very comfortable,” she said. She stopped and looked up from the frying pan and straight into my eyes. “Seriously, I’m kind of frightened. Can I stay here for a while? I need to hide and I don’t want to be alone. I promise I won’t get in the way. I’ll stay in my room and…”

“You’re being ridiculous, Naomi. You’re very welcome to stay as long as you’re comfortable. Don’t hide in your room. Just enjoy the place. Order anything you need, on line. Personal things, clothes, things like that and have them delivered,” said I.

“I could have Aileen Schachter go by my place, pack up some stuff and bring it here,” she said.

“Bad idea,” I said. “If they’re watching your place and see Aileen go in and come out with stuff, they’ll follow her here.”

“You’re right, of course,” she said. “What would I do without you?” I believed she was schmoozing me. How could a powerhouse like her, need me?

Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 18)

April 27, 2015 Leave a comment

I couldn’t resist the fragrance of the pastrami sandwiches that Naomi Cheslow had brought to my apartment. Before she was done taking the deli out of her tote bag, the table was covered with thick, juicy sandwiches, sour dill pickles, coleslaw and French fries. I didn’t believe she was there to ‘court’ me as she’d said, and I wanted to know what her true motivation was.

“There are several reasons why I’m here,” she said. “There are other places I could go right now, and I chose here because I want to know you better.”

“And your other reasons?” said I.

“I want you to stay in N3 for one thing.”

“Why am I not surprised? But why me?” I said. “I’m not a shoot-em-up kind of guy. I’m a sitting in a field with an easel and pallet kind of guy.”

“Because we need an intellectual,” she said. “The people we have now are great in the field, as witnessed when we blew the barn, but we need someone to record and disseminate our tragedies and our efforts.” This was a direction I never would have imagined. In truth, I thought it was a great idea, and I was eager to do it.

“Who would I answer to?” I said.

“Well… nobody, really,” she said. “I’m sure you wouldn’t object to Aileen and I proofreading and fact checking.”

“You’re sure of that, are you?” I said.

“Let’s move on to my final reason for being here, remembering that it was a choice I made from among several friends,” she said.

“I got that message,” I said. “What’s your final reason?”

“The Aryans have put a contract out on me – twenty-five thousand bucks for my head on a platter. My informant tells me that because I shot the tracer into the gas puddle, they’ve chosen me as their number one target. It seems it really pissed them off when I destroyed leader’s bike and singed the hair off a number of the boys. Although we destroyed their whole building and millions of dollars in its contents, the fact that I melted leader’s bike is heavier, to them. Are they assholes or are they not, I ask you?”

“So you want to hide out here?” I said

“Yes, please,” she said. It was a peculiar position in which I found myself. Naomi Cheslow was unique. She had an extremely beautiful face that was surrounded by coils of ebony black, smooth, shining hair. Her complexion was ruddy, with the healthy, outdoor look of a sailor. Her physique, what I could see of it, was toned to the point of having a flat belly, solid arms and firm breasts that shimmied when she moved.

“I’m a good cook,” she said, “and I’ll clean and do laundry and dishes and all that.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, “how long do you expect this visit to last?”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll pay. I’m rich, you know. Ask anybody.” I had to admit that I was attracted to more than just her six-foot-two pillar of pulchritudinous perfection. Her flippant way of saying bold things like, ‘I’m rich you know. Ask anybody.’

I didn’t know if she was rich or not. Nor did I care.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” she said, patting the sofa upon which she was sitting.

“No need,” I said. “I have a guest bedroom that you can have for a while.”

“Wonderful!” she said. “I could use a shower. May I?”

“Come down the hall, I’ll show you your room. You have your own full bathroom en suite. You’ll find towels in the cabinet and a robe on the back of the door. There is also soap, toothpaste and a new toothbrush in there.”

“My goodness,” she said. “Do you have a lot of unexpected overnight guests?”

“Usually, I expect them,” I said. “You, on the other hand, are totally unexpected. I’d offer you some of my pyjamas but I doubt you could get into them.”

“I don’t like to wear pajamas anyway,” she said “Thank you for your kindness.”

“Here’s your room. I hope you’re comfortable. I’ll see you in the morning,” I said.

“Where’s your room?” she said. I pointed to the door at the opposite end of the hall.