Installment 3
Dominance Games: An Essay on Power
A Novel
Disembarked
from Europe, the damned war, discharged, Richard Kenny went home. He
would pick up his life. He would pick up his wife. He would settle his
life.
Richard
Kenny’s wife made money. She made money for herself. She knew people,
Richard Kenny’s wife. She could take her pick of all different kinds
of suave, Richard Kenny’s wife. She could dance naked in the streets of
the Bowery when snow was in season, Richard Kenny’s wife.
Recuperating
Soldiers had been assigned to areas in the South of France. There was
aid and comfort given. Richard Kenny took pleasure, rest, recreation.
There
were not many people there not of French citizenry, sans armies; there
was one woman there, an expatriated American. She gloried in the life
there. Her money was safe. She was a political sparrow, a rare bird of
hidden prey. She respected her politics. She grappled with the
circumstance of war. She had been widowed in New York, had found it in
her best interests not to remarry. Her husband was precocious in
corruption, precocious in death. She had refined sensibilities,
Richard Kenny’s wife; defined realities.
Richard
Kenny’s wife had known Richard Kenny in New York. She had known Sweet
Amy. She had been seen and left by all of the usual snakes. There was
usual carnage she had seen on the battle fields of the slick and
willful.
The
once and past husband of Richard Kenny’s wife married smartly. He was
older, she, younger. Her own background had been moneyed, once. Much
of what held it went the way of all flesh. She was alluring,
attractive. She was lean and lithe, had sincere, perceptive eyes. She
was smart enough not to be slain by inches.
Rational
thinkers. She was descended from rational thinkers. She was educated,
fascinated, Richard Kenny’s wife. She knew pity. Never young and
callow, tribute was hers. Those who were not saved was not saved. She
garnered respect for the infinities of presumed strength. Richard
Kenny’s wife knew the games of her fathers, her mothers.
* * * * * * * * * *
There
were newspaper people, those with the key to plans for good and clean
living, blessed vision, truth, beauty. Faith, hope, charity. An
abundance of knowledge Richard Kenny’s wife had. She would enter
Richard’s party, sleek deviate, naked, fallow, susceptible to the weak,
marginal and strong, a scholar herself in the study and practice of her
arts.
She
was pleasant, perfunctory, Richard Kenny’s wife. She showed Richard
Kenny respect. He showed her the same. She was a woman of much
substance, Richard Kenny’s wife. Richard Kenny showed her respect.
It was more than respect for a wife. That she was the mother of Babe
only seems right. Babe was of her. Babe was special.
Like
her mommy and daddy before her Babe Kenny loved the dance. It allowed
her enjoyment, companionship. It gave her pleasure. Daddy, Richard
Kenny, was not heaven's gift to the goodness needed somewhere, somehow
on god's green earth but Babe Kenny knew that Daddy had the requisite
degrees of meanness and joy. Richard Kenny had his points. Daddy was a
good man. He had shame in his past. About such things as Babe was
concerned, daddy was one who understood.
Richard
Kenny did not want that his Babe should have the type of life that he
had had. He vowed to remove her from the types of pressures that had
made life for him, at times, a very trying experience. If little Babe
grew up to be just another run of the mill flighty little bitch then so
be it. He would try his best to help make her canny and wise to the
ways of the world as he saw it, smart enough to know when and how to
speak, to whom and for what reason to speak.
Richard
Kenny had great hopes that he would have his little girl grow up to not
be a damned little whiner, to not be one enmeshed of trivial
nonsensical banal emptiness. He did not want his Babe to be married to
the damned pretentious, the usual clowns and hangers on, the high place
and good breeding numbing flag waving absurd.
Between
the jumping fools he knew that paraded as men and the laughing idiots
he knew that paraded as women, Richard Kenny knew that it was a bad
proposition to expect that his little girl grow up to be anything like a
fine and decent person. For sure, Richard Kenny knew that there was
no damned such thing. He also knew that his dream was cock-eyed and
dumb and that if he had ever met such a woman as he had to himself
described he would probably kick her in the ass and try to turn her
into the damned no good whore that he would have been sure that she
had been.
Richard
Kenny wanted his Babe to have some guts. He wanted her to be able to
have a little bit of class, have some reserve, some manners. Given
what he knew of the damned world he knew he was hoping for too damned
much. There were many things which were simply not in the repertoires
of the worlds in which he lived, probably not in the repertoires of any
world in which anyone lived except for the little dream world he had
in his mind that would make and allow his little girl to be at least
bearable.
She,
Babe Kenny knew herself to be an American citizen and she felt that New
York, offering what she thought to be at least a different world from
the one in which she lived, offered the largest chance for her to attain
the understandings and plays she so clamored after. She, Babe Kenny
felt that someday she might very well turn out to be some poor little
rich bitch with some asinine Italian lover dangling from her rich
little arm and some other asinine little peccadillo with the cook's
little daughter to scream about to her worthless friends. For the
mean, though, she would look towards, for, something else. If she
failed there would be all of those rancid little pleasures waiting. If
she failed to find that which she was looking for she knew that the
cook would have an sick fuck assed daughter with death in her heart,
that the asinine Italian lover would be a stiff and that he would try
to steel her money and make her crazy.
Babe
Kenny felt that there was not much more to be had for her, her father,
in the South of France. It had become a poisoned well.
She
had then a fondness for the English speaking peoples, and she would not
have been adverse to either London or Paris if Richard Kenny could
find some cause to see either of those places as desirable. Babe
Kenny knew that daddy was not one who held New York as his favorite
place, having long since given up its ghost, and from what she could
make out, having long since given up its ghost with pleasure.
Babe
Kenny, then, would try to find a way to force movement to London, or at
least Paris, but she would hope for a way to return the family to New
York from whence it came. She would, she knew, be able to move where
and when she wanted. She was free, she had means. She could do as she
damn well pleased.
* * * * * * * * * *
Babe Kenny was facetious. Her mother had left her.
She loved not too wisely but too well, Babe Kenny.
She eluded the grasps of wild eyed men, Babe Kenny.
Queen of sustenance and honor reaped by worship, Babe Kenny.
She
baited and cooed, Babe Kenny. She, laughed, darted, promised lusts
with her hips, said goodbye with her lips, Babe Kenny. She, inspired
trust, Babe Kenny, her voice aching want. Specters, false bravados,
itinerant needs, Babe Kenny. A past that wished only to collect on its
debt to itself, Babe Kenny.
She
liked doing business with men who would conquer the world, Babe
Kenny, liked helping flies lose their wings, Babe Kenny; liked helping
megalomaniacs get stronger, liked getting with those cynical, perverse
to a point, Babe Kenny.
She
dealt with policy makers, Babe Kenny. It behooved her to
skepticism. She reserved special insight for those special individuals
with wholesome abilities, Babe Kenny. She saw and did intelligent
things. In matured and intelligent splendor she found time to exhibit
depths of understanding, sharpness of vision. Demure and outstanding,
Babe Kenny was fascinated. She was tempted to throw herself at the
feet of all overriding capacities, all overriding capabilities. Her
honor easily marshaled, her awe easily overcome, she was a rotten
hostess to money and power.
Babe
Kenny, a young woman of twenty five. When not pursuing the ferocious
games she was involving herself in, she was involving herself in what
she thought to be conditions in her world which could justifiably be
called wanting. She did not usually throw off the gains and relics of a
misspent past. She did not put on herself the mantel of St Joan,
cloaks of sack cloth and ashes, purposes enmeshed with deep burning
desires to right all of the inequities, the inequalities, of mankind.
She did not commit herself to the creation of a new and better world,
did not place altruism upon the list of virtues towards which she
aspired.
Much
curious as to the nature of the United States, her country, her people,
the well from which Daddy sprung, his problems sprung, Babe Kenny,
involved herself with some groups involved in aspects of the coming
social upheaval. She involved herself with some groups which had
primary interests in preventing evil, in maintaining right.
She
traveled much, also, in those years, Babe Kenny. She established for
herself a satisfactory ability to survive, neatly, efficiently. As a
means of continuity, she involved herself with the fields of publishing,
running errands, doing some light research for friends connected with
national organizations.
She
was able to produce what was asked of her without making undue demands,
Babe Kenny. She established satisfactory loose relationships that
served adequately the aims and desires of all parties involved, Babe
Kenny. She went often to Washington. Often she stayed for protracted
periods. She did not find herself over weaned, overwhelmed. The many
bright young things, the many bright young smiles ran up and down the
highways and byways of goodness and charm. This was not a heaven to
capture Babe Kenny's fancy.
An
occasional congressman, an occasional sterling thing from State,
Justice, tried to convince Babe Kenny of the goodness of his heart, the
warmth of his purpose. Babe Kenny was not overly eager to be in the
clutches of the idealistic, the cynical wonders who smiled so brightly,
worked so feverishly, championed so greatly the dignity of justice, of
man, of mankind.
There
were media people, there were those with the key to god's own plan for
good and clean living, the revelation of his wonders. In their hearts
they knew that they were blessed with vision. Truth and beauty followed
in their wake. All would lead the way ever after to the foundations of
the noble and true. All bright young things were of firm beliefs.
They all saw through sham and injustice.
Babe
Kenny, also in Washington, met many of the many who lobbied for the
cause of all things great, all things which would make all things
greater, all things which would be guaranteed to be great. She met
those representing things that had made America what it was.
They
were bright and they too were young, the heroes of Babe Kenny.
Anxiety jumped upon practicality, strength triumphed reason, disorder
was a mother. Disunity fomented. Spring was cherished. The earnest
and so pure. Babe Kenny liked them best. Babe Kenny dealt with
policy makers. It behooved Babe to skepticism. She reserved insight
for those special individuals with wholesome abilities. They saw and
did intelligent things. Charmingly lucid. In matured and intelligent
splendor they found time to exhibit the depths of their understanding.
The earnest and pure. Babe Kenny liked them best.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dominance
Games…..politics, news, commentary, analysis.... The dumb ...... the
honored creed. The rancid bastards ...... the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/books… http://bschiff.com/
Books …… Dominance Games: An Essay on Power A Novel …….. Lust Games: An Essay on Honor A Novel ……… Void Games: An Essay on Revenge A novel ….
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