Had a conversation today with a teenager in my acqaintance and her mother. Both very pleasant. Always nervous though when the mom asks what I’m doing, what I’m reading, and what I write about.
At the time I was digesting tofu and waxing melancholic on the obscene writ that governs american culture.
On a point of confluence, I was skimming Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, a summation of an earlier nightmare.
Then comes the question about dear Mike and the role played in the writing of the word. What do you write about, Mike?
Gross indignities, factual and fictional. I write the world as a perverse horror novel where all the good men are degenerates and all the sadists kill with huge erections. I am largely apolitical because so is homicide sex.
There you have it, to a dear girl’s mother as I am introduced. I write of life in America, a thrill-kill fuckfest owned and operated by the alien pain farmers of our own worst nightmares. Cheers and fucking salutations, ma’am.
This is the honest version. The spouting at the time was more tame. But you can’t blame me.
Never, never ever underestimate a parent. It’s the fastest, easiest and ugliest way to force all rationale from a human mind. One whiff of dandy decadence and anarchic counterculture and hippie mommy phones the fuzz.
Oh, Reverend Bob help me…i just called the cops “the fuzz”.
Yep, it’s all done for we the people. The POV war has eaten the 21st century. We’re living in the neurotic fantasy of the Boomers until they die or run out of drugs to sustain them. No perspective but the forced, mediated mind of the PC hive. Everything, sex, violence and seething hostility, just don’t blister the paint or you’re a jail bird raped by a lifer from a pot and acid racket.
I am not entirely happy with how my present is turning out. The well’s run dry and I’m sick of hearing old excuses in some aging hipster’s stentorian rancor.
“Go out there and get some!”
It’s all been sold to the Chinese. The American Dream is made in China now, and its dual copyright is held by Walt Disney and the News Corporation.
I’ll get some, right from your fucking necks.
Words from Mike to the kids in the classrooms: the future doesn’t need you. Don’t bet on the world waiting for your talents. Nobody’s interested unless you have a way to breath new life into this old, dying American machine.
If you do, or if you know someone who does, this is where to find me. I’m Michael Bagen, and this is why this feed is called the Mediated Man.


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