Installment 4
Dominance Games: An Essay on Power
A Novel
Johnny boy, Rachel. I trusted them as much as I could, as much as circumstance allowed.
Johnny boy found himself to be the attenuated hero of his dreams.
He had landed in New York at the age of six as had many before.
He hustled. He was a smart boy, in his element.
Johnny
boy was three years old, stuck in the hell hole of North Africa. One
who once knew the captain of the ship that brought him there spotted
Johnny boy, claimed him, made arrangements for his custody. Johnny boy,
a much traveled little boy, made his way from the steppes of central
Asia to a house on a hill outside of Washington, D. C. He had a set of
neighbors at great pains to insure his happiness. He had a home, a
maid. He had an abundance of friends who knew not why they liked him
so. Life was good. New York City. The city was magic, then, the place
to be. Wonder, madness, darkness, light, dreams. Johnny boy came
shortly.
Johnny
had been graduated from college with a degree in Mathematics. There
was a comparative ease of economic pressures in those years. The school
offered him necessity, not fellowship which he did not crave. The
students with whom he came in contact were nice enough, a bit banal,
some naïve. Mirrors of sophistication, they offered little more than
the continuation of the sophomorics he found so prevalent.
Johnny
boy found no particular use for them, no particular need to sift
through the chaff to get to the wheat. Johnny boy was quite content to
let college boys and girls be college boys and girls and he was quite
content to allow them all to exist as happy little children,
knowledgeable and all knowing, the cream of god's creatures on his green
little earth. There was chatter and interests. Tonics. Flatulence.
Johnny boy, Rachel.
There
were times when they had felt themselves very much apart of each
other's lives. There were times when the thought of the other brought
no more than a nod of recognition, a remembrance of pain. Together
Johnny boy and Rachel had finally conquered the devil, so it seemed.
Too wise they were to be running around like two little horses asses.
Johnny boy would not be bothered with demonic nonsense. There were more
and more liabilities to deal with, situational liabilities.
Rachel
had done, seen. She too loved the help. Marriage was something. It
could exist without having to immerse itself into the world of eternal
indulgence. They would run the game for a while. They would be
romantic.
Johnny
boy fought a war. It was a mean little war. It was everyone’s
favorite little war. He had enlisted in the Army. The life he found
after college was not overpoweringly fertile
Emiliana Garcia, his maid, had died. He was left with no one that he cared for. Emiliana Garcia was his family.
He
was empty, Johnny boy was. There were no great distractions. There
was a lot of noise. Johnny wanted to do something with himself, to
fight. He wanted to be a proficient killer. The knowledge and the
discipline would not hurt him. He might spend his life drifting. For
this he was not ready.
He
learned. He served. Johnny fought a mean little war. It was a dirty
little war. It was everyone’s favorite little war. He was enlisted in
the Army. Life was an indulgence.
He went. He returned. A commissioned man. He learned a great deal, Johnny boy.
Soon
after he went to France, then to Africa. He served. Mercenary life
was an indulgence. He acquired some money. He went to enjoy the
offerings of the Mediterranean coast. It was warm. There was sun. In
Spain he watched searchers of truth and beauty cover the southern
coast. Exotic pleasures offered much. Pleasures, dreams.
Johnny
boy did not begrudge the new order of the lost, their fun, their
enjoyment, their style. Pleasant in some ways, interesting, the grasp
at life. He had knowledge of many things, Johnny boy. Not yet the full
degree of greatness promised. Banal predecessors had managed to cross
his path. Emiliana Garcia was his maid, was his family.
He
bade his time, Johnny boy. Johnny boy found in the companionship of
some of his friends some understanding of the trials of man that he did
not find elsewhere.
There
was the understanding of the way of life that went with trial, trouble
when it was a constant. The world had many sides to offer the lovers of
all things porous and knowing. Johnny boy had reservoirs of mean
confrontations in his wake, reservoirs of mean kills.
Johnny
boy left from Spain and returned to the United States, to New York, to
the Village which had been his home. He stayed only a short while. He
moved to Washington. D.C. He knew people in government work. He found
an apartment. He looked for things to do. The cynical and the snide.
The adventurous and cruel. The smart and the just. Nonchalance and
complacency. Simpatico. Virtue shined upon the great unwashed in the
lands of dreams.
There
was poetry in the spirit that loved to implement for all the best of
all possible worlds, the spirit which so nobly implemented the hopes and
dreams of mankind with devotion to duty, with little implementations of
fond little wants.
It
was very good, John had grown to think, that there were so many who
were so assiduously spending so much of their time looking out for gross
deployment of noble honor. The domesticated pets were facile and they
were happy. They were domesticated. They were frivolous creatures who
opposed the good. They were all around.
Johnny
boy had often seen the dregs of unbridled, beloved ignorance valiantly
go into battle, time after time, with the greater dregs of same. Johnny
boy, in America, was becoming more and more fascinated by unvarnished
confrontation, unvarnished abilities to make magical the beat, beat,
beat of bloodshed, the beat, beat, beat of beloved ignorance.
Johnny
boy, Rachel. Surprise, not necessarily delight. Rachel was a
wonderful girl in her way. Rachel was smart, he had met few smarter.
She was good, very, very good. Rachel demanded much in return for her
goodness. She wanted much in the way of hard and cold reserve. She was
warm when she had to be warm, Rachel. She was not always to touch.
She could be ice, ice which well protected vestiges of movement.
Rachel
was good, very, very good, but Rachel was wary and Rachel was one who
liked being wary, one who could manage to be wary. Rachel was good,
very, very good, but Rachel would not let the thoughts of her heart come
out and play. Rachel did not care to be among those who demanded that
she be wise, very, very wise.
Rachel
was good, very, very good but Rachel was not going to let anyone
prevent Rachel from following the paths she set out to follow. Rachel
was good, very, very good but Rachel was not going to open up her little
heart for the sake of anything or anyone because Rachel shared her
little heart with none and nothing and Rachel maneuvered from the
outside looking in. Rachel was sublime.
Johnny boy, Rachel.
Rachel, Johnny boy.
Rachel was not happy.
Johnny
boy was true, very, very true. Johnny would stick. Johnny would stay
and do what had to be done. Johnny would be there if needed. He could
leave if not. Johnny boy was true.
Johnny
was a cynical bastard who was rotten and self centered to the core but
Johnny boy was true. He was a wanderer, a panderer, a bum. He was lazy
and he cared not to move. He was unimpressed by the joys of
interaction. Johnny boy was intent on being left alone. He wanted his
peace. Johnny boy wanted not to be put upon by anything or anybody.
Johnny was what his god had made him. The world was full of poor lost
bastards. Johnny boy owed his god a fine steady trek through his world,
sneered at the conversations of man, was not about to be anybody's
helper, chose his company carefully.
Johnny
boy did not care to be to be anyone's holy redeemer. He didn't trust
the beautiful. He worshipped the damned. He thought that he was a
idiot for even opening his eyes in the morning.
Johnny
boy, Rachel. Rachel, Johnny boy. Johnny boy was true. Johnny boy was
good. Johnny boy would stick. He would stay and do what had to be
done.
Sometimes the mirror got too ugly, sometimes too nice.
Johnny
boy, Rachel. Rachel, Johnny boy. God’s gift to each other. Johnny
boy, Rachel. Rachel, Johnny boy. There were more and more liabilities
to deal with, situational liabilities. They would run the gamut for a
while. They would be romantic.
They were exhuming the dead, Johnny boy, Rachel .
Rachel
provided experience, experience pressed with flowers in the photograph
album of my life. Johnny boy, in America, more and more fascinated by
unvarnished abilities to make magical the beat, beat, beat of his
heartstrings.
My
Rachel was a moment in time. She was a quick fix of a moment and she
was open to challenge and she was the sweet young song playing, a riff
in mood, a haunting melody, a delicate tune..
Johnny boy, Rachel.
Johnny boy, Rachel.
Rachel, Johnny boy.
Sucked the life out of each other.
Sucked the death out of each other.
“I will be lusts depository for you, Johnny boy,” Rachel said to Johnny boy to make him smile.
* * * * * * * * * *
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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