From, "Don't fill Up On the Antipasta", a pending title for my autobiography.
Chapter I. The Allpha Nul (Unedited)
Three hundred generations since Adam and when I arrived what my family tree had accomplished in all that time was nothing. Nothing. Less than nothing. I arrived and what they told me was "Nobody ever gave me nothing. " I should have gotten the hint and then made it a study to observe and test the nothing hypothesis and see if I could derive a conclusion. Instead, I attempted to get something from nothing for many years until one day I decided to prime the nothing with something and start pumping for all my alpha-male energies were worth.
I guess that's the lesson here. It's all in the material dialectic. Mom was always into the material. Searching each little thread to see if one line was off somewhere and maybe worthy of a huge discount. Value you know ... vatican levels of value vested in the more mundane southern Sicilian sense of refinement expressed in the ubiquitous use of terms like "cazzo!" and "porca!" She meant well he said, but then he said he loved her. Try to tell him different. Try to say, Pop, it was more about porca than about amor. The vulgar has the kindest words to justify itself, the softest respect for its own interior madness. It jeers it jibes and shows affection considering itself warm. Any dumb cat will lick its kittens for heaven's sake. In brief, the toss up between material on the head, and God on the tail, when the nickel landed, my house was an anxiety disorder waiting to happen. My family was a hate crime full of love, good cheese and pasta. You were damned if you did and damned if you didn't have anything. You will embrace it and make it work to avoid the dissonance and one day, ten generations down the pike someone with your nose will look at himself in the mirror and say ... "Shoot, they left me nothing."
So that was the great legacy –the great inheritance I received upon my descent from the womb?
"Kid you're gonna have to make it on your own because nobody gives a shit about you!"
"Oh, Nice." I thought to myself. "Everybody's busting their asses to make money to pay the rent to buy food in boxes and pay for a bubble to ride to work in, and now I have to go out there –out into NewfuckingYork City and find a job with ten million other people in front of me? I was never that competitive. So I joined the army where they sent me to Viet Nam to make my life easier. I learned how to make my bed, shoot a clean rifle, and wear rubbers during fornication exercises. When I was released, I rolled along to college and thought about nothing but sex for the next five years. Got a modest share of it but nothing worth writing home about. I happened upon a series of delirious flower studded coeds who likewise had received goose egg from their family nest and thus we had "nothing" in common. Zilch! I managed to pull out of each situation with the usual vulgar bang ups and sought to improve my condition with courses in philosophy, mathematics and intellectual history developing an appetite for the eclectic, the abstract and the ridiculous ad absurdum seasoned with pinches of alpha null stirred and simmered in the great nuospheric melting pot of ever evolving elitist consciousness (... they thought ... Try telling that to your cute young dental hygienist the next time your bloody mouth is suspended agape for forty five minutes.)
I think it's that kind of rubbish that has kept us small for all those years. Success is way more practical. Even if you burn the heirlooms there's still the seeds of some pretty tasty tomatoes beneath the psychic soil. Whereas from my plot, the weeds were worshiped as cures for the diseases that never should have been. "Just steep this here thistle in hot wine for five minutes." See if you can remain loyal to your kin long enough for each one to forget you to your face a dozen times. You have arrived at the place of the alpha null. The realm that all common folk lust over, that all vulgar religions are founded upon, the place where a significant individual meaninglessness is consumately pleasing to the poverty, chastity and obedience god an it's stone faced sub-deities.
I guess that's the lesson here. It's all in the material dialectic. Mom was always into the material. Searching each little thread to see if one line was off somewhere and maybe worthy of a huge discount. Value you know ... vatican levels of value vested in the more mundane southern Sicilian sense of refinement expressed in the ubiquitous use of terms like "cazzo!" and "porca!" She meant well he said, but then he said he loved her. Try to tell him different. Try to say, Pop, it was more about porca than about amor. The vulgar has the kindest words to justify itself, the softest respect for its own interior madness. It jeers it jibes and shows affection considering itself warm. Any dumb cat will lick its kittens for heaven's sake. In brief, the toss up between material on the head, and God on the tail, when the nickel landed, my house was an anxiety disorder waiting to happen. My family was a hate crime full of love, good cheese and pasta. You were damned if you did and damned if you didn't have anything. You will embrace it and make it work to avoid the dissonance and one day, ten generations down the pike someone with your nose will look at himself in the mirror and say ... "Shoot, they left me nothing."
So that was the great legacy –the great inheritance I received upon my descent from the womb?
"Kid you're gonna have to make it on your own because nobody gives a shit about you!"
"Oh, Nice." I thought to myself. "Everybody's busting their asses to make money to pay the rent to buy food in boxes and pay for a bubble to ride to work in, and now I have to go out there –out into NewfuckingYork City and find a job with ten million other people in front of me? I was never that competitive. So I joined the army where they sent me to Viet Nam to make my life easier. I learned how to make my bed, shoot a clean rifle, and wear rubbers during fornication exercises. When I was released, I rolled along to college and thought about nothing but sex for the next five years. Got a modest share of it but nothing worth writing home about. I happened upon a series of delirious flower studded coeds who likewise had received goose egg from their family nest and thus we had "nothing" in common. Zilch! I managed to pull out of each situation with the usual vulgar bang ups and sought to improve my condition with courses in philosophy, mathematics and intellectual history developing an appetite for the eclectic, the abstract and the ridiculous ad absurdum seasoned with pinches of alpha null stirred and simmered in the great nuospheric melting pot of ever evolving elitist consciousness (... they thought ... Try telling that to your cute young dental hygienist the next time your bloody mouth is suspended agape for forty five minutes.)
I think it's that kind of rubbish that has kept us small for all those years. Success is way more practical. Even if you burn the heirlooms there's still the seeds of some pretty tasty tomatoes beneath the psychic soil. Whereas from my plot, the weeds were worshiped as cures for the diseases that never should have been. "Just steep this here thistle in hot wine for five minutes." See if you can remain loyal to your kin long enough for each one to forget you to your face a dozen times. You have arrived at the place of the alpha null. The realm that all common folk lust over, that all vulgar religions are founded upon, the place where a significant individual meaninglessness is consumately pleasing to the poverty, chastity and obedience god an it's stone faced sub-deities.
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