“Magic Man wasn’t about Hitler!” Krieg shouted, as he shouted everything when he was on one of his meth’ d out Taxi-man binges, one of his more successful multitasking schemes.
“I thought everything was about Hitler, you made music a video to “Magic Man” which prominently displayed Nazi imagery, black and white photos and newsreel photos of Hitler and swastikas melting into Chrysanthemum patterns and Ying Yang symbols” I said, wishing this was one of Gorta’s days behind the wheel, and my commitment to Esoteric Hitlerism, though the ancient vellum originals of the Vedic traditions, which resided in a lockbox within a safety deposit box in the family bank had demanded investigation, was temporarily questioned.
“It’s a metaphor! Also the use of form constants is meant to illicit a palpable senses of awe and wonder, the particulars are immaterial” he said as his eyes alternatively bulged and the veins about his face and neck throbbed to a silent beat.
“A metaphor for what! Missing my stop?” I said, exhausted only an hour and a half into my day.
“ The nature of a Buddha, the wisdom of violence, contemplation of the middle path and the ley lines of our lives and how great men cause them to converge in intricate yet predictable patterns” he explained as he jerked the wheel passionately to the right pulling a 360 and blasting diagonally into a back alley and throwing me my consignment, which I stuffed into my messengers bag as I exited the Taxi as he tore away into a narrow warren, thinking we had had the same conversation a week earlier about “Behind Blue Eyes.” Then again isn’t everything about Hitler.
Whether your pro-Hitler, anti-Hitler, Hitler positive, Hitler negative, receptive to your Hitler side, or ashamed of it, that man put a funny mustache and some strange ideas in all of us, his post-modernist side, a room filled to the ceiling with eyeglasses, that is an installation, meth fueled barb wired blitzkrieg, that’s metal. When he sits down with Buddha, Moses, Aristotle and the rest of histories teachers he is the asshole teacher that fails you till you rise to spite him, what were the Jews doing before him besides playing the world’s smallest violin, expertly mind you, but still, if you are going to call yourself G-d’s chosen you can’t take shit from no one, and he crafted an Eichmann just for them, their very own rage piñata. The Slavs, their name means slave but like the Mongols before him he taught them the price of subservience, hell a rifle for every two soldiers, you have to want your people to survive to fight like that.
Harlem schools, monuments, half rotting hulk, carved of juvenile belligerence, Ms. Kathy waiting at the door, first name before the last, bottom rail on top, brown children everywhere.
“No, donuts today?” Ms. Kathy asked.
I do try and pull a Dexter once and a while, good first season stuff, reveling in the masks we all wear, Huck Finn shit, but Donuts aren’t cheap, nothing is, according to the laws of relativity, that’s right, they have even figured out how to Jew reality.
Sign in. Get called a bad teacher, mention Rome, eat lunch, explain basic economics to a dead eyed retard. Puff. Puff. Go home…Unless, you want sniff out weakness, the Public School system is rife with it, broken families, abusive alcoholics, rape, violence etc.,etc. These people need drugs, a drug, some methylated amphetamine, better grades, awake with the will to fight, like putting a straight razor to the neck of the anthropomorphized “Fuck You!” Wrong for all the right reasons.