| Subject: my book II |
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archangel
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Date Posted: 09:25:26 08/16/02 Fri
i've been working on my book. If you compare this to the one before, I changed alot, but did not go forward. I started in what i know consider to be the future middle of the book, and decided it needed more foundation, more of a beginning. Here it is so far:
Introduction
September 11, 2001. A day which changed the fate of the world. It was the beginning of the decline. There was a fit of patriotism on the part of the plebes, followed by a fit of corruption and political machines by the government, which began to lose its mobility as nepotism become common practice and power was hoarded by a few embezzlers as opposed to a menagerie of intelligent plebeians. Corruption of freedom became so common that even the extensive amount of propaghanda let out by “PR firms” and “Private Sector Media” could not fool the plebeians. You can’t fool all the people all the time. And so, a set upper and lower class were established in a country that had previously only worked because of social mobility. There was no middle class of which to speak, although there were many wealthy plebeians. In a democracy, middle class is defined by political power and not wealth. This setup defied all previous rules of society, and was incredibly unstable. Without a threatening middle class opposition to keep the upper class humoring the lower, the power-hoarders begin to think that they can do anything they want with no retribution. They began to start lagging with propaghanda and the plebeians became more and more unsatisfied. A general disillusionment spread throughout the intelligent plebes, and rebellious factions began to split. This story is an example of mankind’s endless search for the ever-elusive utopias that defy their own greedy nature, and its inevitable failure to do so.
Part one: The suppression
Chapter 1: The fracturing
“You got it working?” asked the mayor hungrily
“Yeah. 1% of Chicago’s taxes directly to our pocket” said his intern, Dexter, the computer wiz.
“Excellent. Dexter, I trust that you will keep this little affair in your confidence.”
“Sure, sir.” Dexter said with a grin “This is nothing unusual.
Two days later Chicago’s mayor’s embezzlement became nation news. Interns and office workers in San Francisco, Seattle, Huston, New York, Atlanta and several other small metropolis reported similar felony with their tax collectors, mayors, and other city officials. In turn, these politicians knew and reported of crimes of all sorts going up the chain of command to governors, senators, representatives, and finally, members of the cabinet. The President was clean as far as anyone knew, but that only worsened things. It provided no figurehead for the public to blame and pretend everything was alright.
In a basement under a frat house of northwestern U, about 50 students and two professors laughed maniacally as they listened to Connie Chung taking a new look at the government with some bald bozo. They had formed a small rebellious faction called the CAG (Citizens Aware of their Government) in december 3, 2003, exactly one year ago. This group consisted of a couple of professors and such. It was a normal ragtag group of anarchist kids that often appear and then vanish on college campuses. The difference was Dillon. Dillon had started the group, and he was an abnormally sharp and devoted kid, who gave off an aura of power. He had big plans for the world. His name was Dillon, but some people in high places knew him as Dexter.
“Gentleman” proclaimed Dillon with all of his swagger. When he spoke everybody shut up. The kids, the TV, the professors, everyone. “Gentleman, this is the first step. And it is a mighty step. But we are not even close to finishing. I have big plans for the CAG. I think we are smart and strong enough to end oppression and all the injustices of the ruling and the ruled. I have composed a song. It reads: (here he began to sing in a low and confident voice)
From Chicagooo
To El Pasoooo
Gotta Gotta Overthrow
One voice of a revolution
Gotta Gotta ovethrow
Pro-po-gandha, killing sprees
Gotta Gotta overthrow
Want to liiiive truly free
Gotta Gotta overthrow
Violence, Bloodshed
Not for meeee
Gotta Gotta overthrow
Can’t be-lieve the lies they speaaaak
Want…to live….truly freeeee
What the hell do they want from meeee?
It’s all up to meeeee
It’s…all up to meeee.
He began to sing the verse again, and this time everyone joined. They were noble comrades. They knew the extent of corruption in the government and had begun to reveal it by setting a precedent. People were not scared to talk anymore. So, they sang a song of anarchy, they sang a song that would never be forgotten for its cosmic impact, long after the hymns of the bible dried up and died.
They were now all smiling, and Dillon said in his usual charismatic way, “Yes, this is the first step. Now we must. There are many people who hate their government but have been given no option other than “go with the flow”. We must start recruiting in colleges and other places of intellect. I have my eye on Boston, NYC, and Los Angeles. Contact all your friends. Start chain letters. Start chain emails. Build websites. WE MUST TAP INTO AMERICA! To keep it centralized, we must be “the inner circle” from now on and only get special people into “the inner circle”, keeping the rest of it as “the CAG army”, I will be known as “THE LEADER” so as to keep the masses afraid. Are we clear?”
There were a few seconds of silence in which these people felt that there was something dreadfully wrong with all that he had just said. If anyone had initiated, he would have been overthrown right then and there. Instead, one of the more stupid individuals of the inner circle began to sing the anthem. They all joined in, and seemed to almost forget what was wrong.
For the next three years, the CAG grew and merged with other militant groups to become the Revolution Federation Party. On New Year’s Day, 2007, THE LEADER gave out orders to start the rebellion.
Many members of the non-militant public joined in these riots and afterward, scores of thousands of people joined the RFP.
Chapter 2 The beginning
1
Delilah lazily flipped through the channels.
“This is the weather channel. Today is January 15, 2007. The forecast is…”
“of a similar type in Boston and Detroit. These college riots are worrying citizens everywhere. Police chiefs have sai…”
“Stimpy I don’t think that’s such a good idea”
“I don’t think you heard me. This is a gun store, not a ballet concert…”
A pause
“Ren, what are you doing with that iron?”
“This is 20/20 with Barbara Walters. For those of you who haven’t been watching, today’s main story is the wave of political riots and protests in the last few weeks. Our sources say that this new militant group is called the Citizens Aware of their Government, or CAG for short. CAG is made up mostly of college students and professors, and is considered to be the brain of the collection of fringe groups known as the RFP, or Revolution Federation Party. RFP includes groups such as Greenpeace, the PLP (Progressive Labor Party of America), and various others. They have filed for candidacy in the next presidential election, and polls indicate that they will get a 4 or 5 percent vote.”
At this moment, Barbara Walters slapped on a stern expression and pushed her eirpiece against her graying hair. “Umm…this just in, ladies and gentlemen. A CAG protest has just turned into a riot in Ithaca, NY. CAG members from Cornell and Ithaca University have gathered and begun to loot the streets of downtown. Here is a live-video feed.” The studio vanished and was replaced by grainy pictures of massed college students yelling and shooting small firearms into the air.
Delilah, an Ithaca citizen, was now staring at the TV with a sharp look of disbelief. She put on her coat and stumbled out the door. She looked at her small, dilapidated 1 bedroom house and decided she could use some furnishings. She got in her car and drove into downtown. When she got out a hot wave smacked her face as structure fires blazed all around. She pushed through many hard-bodied college students and through a brick through an appliance store window. Hauling a TV out, she saw red and blue lights disrupting the yellow furnace of downtown Ithaca. Oh great! She thought It’s the fucking POPO. But black, cold fear struck her sweet young body when she saw tanks rolling along and casually crushing her ’95 Buick. “ALRIGHT, YOU CAG SCUM! WE’VE HAD IT!” blared the megaphones. “IF YOU DON’T CUT THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW, WE WILL MOW YOU DOWN LIKE LITTLE FUCKING ANTS! THIS IS NOT THE POLICE, THIS IS AN INTERNAL REVOLUTION! WE HAVE SHOT OUR TRAITOR CAPTAIN AND HAVE NO HESITATION TO KILL ALL OF YOU TOO!”
Oh my god Delilah thought their captain is CAG. They’re scared shitless. Things are starting to break down. The well-trained CAG rebels began to fire .38’s, .45’s, and even some heavy guns. “YOU LITTLE SHITS!” cried the megaphone announcer, now with a little hint of desperation “WE’RE NOT AFRAID TO KILL YOU! WE ARE STANDING FOR…” here he seemed to forget what they were standing for, with no captain to inform him “WE ARE STANDING FOR RIGHTEOUSNESS.” With that, gatling guns and rockets of all sort rained down upon the rebels, actually bathing the streets in warm blood. People shrieked “You can’t do this!” or “This isn’t right!” or just “AAAAAAAAA!”. Delilah felt hypnotized by the violence, and in some far off place a young woman carrying a looted TV was shot to death.
2
Skyler weaved through flipped cars and evading the flaming rubble which fell like brimstone summoned by a horse of the Apocolypse. The cracked asphalt provided an unsteady surface, and he stumbled several times in his mad dash from the chaotic battlefield that was once a college protest. Adrenaline glands in overdrive, he began to sprint recklessly over the battlefield. His foot caught a pothole, and after a terrified moment of “hangtime”, he collapsed on the ground with a hair-raising “crunch”. He howled like wolf caught in a hunter’s claw trap as excrutiating pain radiated from his lower leg. He was sure it was broken, and crawled into an alleyway to avoid the onrush of popo stormtroopers that he could no longer take on.
In his secluded little alleyway the world’s volume was turned down as bullets stopped wizzing by and the heat wave was off his back. As his adrenaline levels started to let up a bit, the pain in his leg grew and to keep the pain off he thought of his cause. He was fighting for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. He was fighting for liberte, egalite et fraternite. Only this time it wasn’t a lie. This time it wasn’t just the middle class hiring the lower class to become the upper class, all the time claiming that they were fighting for those things. This was real war. This war was over everything that a war could be over: Land, Booty, Class, Power, Dignity. He was fighting for the noble cause, not the greediocracy. And he knew that the good side was going to win because this was a case of pure evil against pure good, and the good side always wins. The war had barely begun, and others were still so naïve.
He looked outside and saw his brothers and sisters fall. He saw 6 feet tall fucking stormtroopers come in and shoot those lying to ensure their death. This was not fucking democracy.
After the POPO had left, Skyler commando crawled for miles back to the Ithaca College Campus, where THE LEADER was to give a post-protest oration. And sure enough, when he got there he saw at least 100 wounded young men and women coughing and bleeding and vomiting, and THE LEADER standing on a soap box in the middle, with a look of sympathy on his charismatic face. He was wearing a torn leather suit, sharp shades, and rounds of ammunition. He was from Chicago but had a brilliant bronze tan.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMAN” proclaimed THE LEADER, and everything was quiet. The wounded no longer screamed, the torn no longer vomited, and nobody said a word. “TODAY WE FACED A HORRIBLE LOSS OF MANY MEN. WE HAVE LOST THE BATTLE” at this point many people erupted into silent fits of sobs “HOWEVER, THIS IS A GOOD SIGN FOR THE WAR. THOSE FUCKING PIGS JUST MASSACRED HUNDREDS OF INNOCENT PROTESTERS BECAUSE THEY LOST THEIR CHAIN OF COMMAND TO REASON. THEIR CAPTAIN HAD TURNED CAG!” everyone smiled, and some cheered “THIS WILL BE ON EVERY BROADCAST NETWORK TOMORROW, AND WILL CAUSE EVEN MORE CONFUSION AND REBELLION. PEOPLE ARE STARTING TO SEE JUST HOW FREE WE ARE!” everyone broke into wild applause. People who had just been worrying if they would die stood up and roared in approval. “PEOPLE WILL START TO SEE TROUGH THEIR FUCKING PROPAGANDHA!” the crowd roared in a hypnotic fashion, believing every word coming from THE LEADER’s mouth.
The began to the RFP anthem:
From Chicagooo
To El Pasoooo
Gotta Gotta Overthrow
One voice of a revolution
Gotta Gotta ovethrow
Pro-po-gandha, killing sprees
Gotta Gotta overthrow
Want to liiiive truly free
Gotta Gotta overthrow
Violence, Bloodshed
Not for meeee
Gotta Gotta overthrow
Can’t be-lieve the lies they speaaaak
Want…to live….truly freeeee
What the hell do they want from meeee?
It’s all up to meeeee
It’s…all up to meeee.
After that there were hours of parley about how they didn’t need that system, and how if everyone knew that they were living for a good cause, government was completely unnecessary. Some people died that night from bloodloss or internal injury, but they died smiling and listening to THE LEADER prophesize the CAG utopia that was to be had for their children.
At about 3 in the morning, as people began to leave, THE LEADER came off the stage. Skyler watched THE LEADER approach him, and felt all at once scared, anxious and unbelievably happy. He had fallen hook, line, and sinker for THE LEADER, and was now building up the nerve to say something to him. THE LEADER moved towards him with a sure swagger, and Skyler felt his bladder twitching in anxiety. With great effort, he managed not only to avert peeing his pants, but managed a stifled “hello, great one”. THE LEADER turned his head and smiled. “I saw you out there, soldier.” said he, “You did great. What’s your name?”
“Skyler, sir”
“And so…humble”
“Thank you sir”
“Height, weight, IQ, meaning in life?”
“ six foot three, 205, 93, to serve the CAG and all it stands for”
“You” smiled THE LEADER, “have passed the test. Welcome to the inner circle. You, my loyal man, shall help overthrow those fucking fascists. And quit the “sir” crap. My name is Dillon. Dillon Greene.”
Skyler wept.
Chapter 2: the preparation
As Jim flipped one of the hearty burgers over his grill, he basked in his triumph. He was a well-adjusted, normal person with a respectable tract house in the suburbs. And now this. This grill-up was not just a grill-up; it was a joyous celebratory barbecue. He had been voted “town’s best citizen” of 2009 for his ardent patriotism in this time in which patriotism was a rare commodity. So, he found himself cooking succulent grilled meats for the mayor of his town. His twin children whined, but with the help of a joint he completely forgot to scold them. The mayor, who loved children (probably a bit more than he should), lifted a child onto his knee and gave her a puff of stale marijuana. He put on a very simple expression and said, in the voice that adults use with young children when they’re not vexed with them, “pot was illegal when I was your age. Did you know that?” the child looked as if he had just said that dinosaurs still roamed the plains in his youth, but, to be polite, she just said “thas weird”. Jim cut in with some delicious hamburgers.
After about 10 minutes of no talk other than mumbling of how good the food was between fits of mastication, the mayor put on a serious face and sternly said “Patriot, shall we go into the parlor?”. Jim’s face grew serious, mimicking the mayor’s. The joint seemed to have lost its effect.
As they entered the parlour, Jim had that nostalgic longing that he always felt when he entered this dry vacuum of a room. This room had been his wife’s pride and joy before she died.
Back in 2000, Jim’s life had been pretty good. He was a stockbroker, his wife a firewoman in hectic midtown manhattan. His wife was bearing children and Jim was hauling in enough money to buy the kid a platinum crib if he wanted. Yeah, life was pretty good. But then, in September 2001, an unspeakable disaster struck. As downtown manhattan became a fiery furnace of chaos choked by thick oily smoke, his wife rushed in with no hesitation to save the innocent souls of the office workers in the world trade center. As the buildings collapsed, she was torn and cracked open before dying in a hail of steel, office supplies, and corpses.
Jim dropped his life that day like some uninteresting toy. He took his worldly possessions and two infants to rural Pennsylvania and dedicated his life to the country that propagandha had convinced him his wife had died for. And now his chance to really aid this land of freedom had arisen. He grew anxious and full of meaning.
“Jim” the mayor ordered, and Jim snapped to attention. “Jim, I am sure that you are aware of the growing unrest that his been growing in this fine nation. People are turning rebellious. Luckily, we are far away from riot zones like Boston and Los Angeles. Still, the federal government has ordered every county to collect a group of dedicated patriots for the upcoming martia…unrest. Now Jim, everybody is this whole damn county loves you because you strong as a bull, sharp as a whip, and vehemently patriotic. For those same reasons, I would like to offer you a position as captain of this county’s mega-SWAT team. I hope you are willing.”
This well-rehearsed speech brought tears to Jim’s eyes. “Yes. Yes of course I will. Of course I will do what is right for my nation. I will give my life for freedom.”
This made the corrupt mayor fidget a little as his weak, worn down scruples cried and kicked inside of him.
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