Flight or Fight, 9.7.26

Preamble

In the movies, when faced with a Vampyr, as in the 1932 Danish knockoff, it comes down to a couple choices. If you want to be the hero, you drive a stake through it's heart. Or kill it in a grain elevator, was it?

Just off the top: inside every father is a little Vampyr – I would say a great deal in every single one – especially to his daughters. 'Support'. 'Protection' and so on. Save yourself for a gentleman. 'Concern'. Not in my case, but Moms have Vampyr tendencies, too. 'Detain'.

You'll always be baby to Mother. 'Trust'. She waits up until you get in. She'll make sure 'no one dirty gets through'. 'Respect (lack of)'. It's a kind of love, and it is true. But it is a death embrace too, after a fashion. Just stop worrying about me. They cycle of mutual care is too much.

Bad things grow out of smothering a child. They 'have time to think it out, yeah'. You tell them not to. They don't give fuck. And neither do your relatives. They've already got the right answers. They don't even know the questions – so you throw a brush back pitch and all they do is bitch and bitch. They violate a part of you again. And again. And again. Yeah.

And the real truth is this: 'Your weak will won't help heal her heart / I bet it really eats you up'. Doesn't matter who 'she' is, stupid savior. Why? Their motherfucking vampiric fathers taught girls how to love a boy. And so many just can't do it. Well, why pursue such painful matters? Assuming one does not have to...

But, alas, ordinary people are not so brave. And they are not an 'it' either, exactly. And bravery has little to do with it. Restraint and working memory overload, to say nothing of math anxiety and panic loops, for the first time, have more to do with it.

If you don't stop. And think. And play out the string, you begin thinking that the 3 witches in that manion on the hill in up there were teaching you lessons, because they were ghosts. They weren't ghosts of course, and neither were all the kind townspeople there trying to protect me. They were just old and wise and languid ladies who took pity on a refugee and noticed his polished manners and jokes and thought, ah hell, let's humor this immigrant.

The most interesting 'ghost' I encountered on a dirt road outside of Cabot, coming back from the annual 4th of July Parade. I'm guessing the anniversary has aroused a certain je ne sais quoi in me, given my despair. But you talk to ordinary people of a variety of backgrounds and they see through the shit. Is a Renaissance in the offing, I doubt it. But I don't dismiss it as lightly as I once did.

He was an Israeli hippy, with an Aryan looking Goldylocks boy in tow. I asked how he got there. He lay down in a creek up there and reflected that he belonged there and moved there 7 years ago. Ok. Uncanny. Why am I here talking to you – this conversation lasted 10 minutes tops, as a storm was brewing. He said, I kid you not, you are here because you are among The Righteous. That is what we say 'in our tradition'. Umm.

So, I'm thinking I'm hallucinating, this is my subconscious telling me something. I touched him gently. I was a human being. And so was he. I got verklemmt, I guess. I returned to the House and it was getting intense. My mind was racing and I was afraid because I thought I was going to die. But I took deep breaths, collected by belongings and fled that faded yellow mansion on the hill.

I couldn't comprehend the stillness and the joy and the fear and the people. I drove down to I91 and asked myself a / b questions for about an hour. I kept demanding it stop. It slowed down. Somehow I made it 30 miles down the highway, before taking a nap. I woke up exhausted by then a / b Q & A was over.

That night I decided to drive home through the 4th of July storm in New York. Pulled over twice and hid under a gas station awning. Arrived home at 4AM, happy but relieved to be home. So, there's a psychological explanation for all of this. I prefer to believe in spirit. Not ghosts, per se. Just good juju, that stuff. In the meantime, I know this was an illusion, a passing fancy. But it was valuable.

In the same way I never sell the best books, I never reveal the location of the best places, except perhaps obliquely. Even if you ask, you'll get the run around. 'Do your own research' is the too timely dullard's conspiranoia slogan. But really, figure it out for yourself. Wikipedia exists, tool around on it, assuming you have some free time, that is.

But for a while there it sure seemed like it. And it is a comforting illusion to imagine an invisible benevolent mafia of kind-hearted people out there protecting one another, which actually does exist, if you know how to look. See how simple that was.

It makes perfect sense, but is gibberish, if you've never been pushed too far. It goes by other things, 'shining' is one of them. The Germans call it an 'Ausstrahlung', which I've had as long as I can remember. God only knows what Americans call it. If I had to guess, I'd say 'charisma' or, worse yet, 'confidence'.

[We'll get to 'Blake' another time. Just to say, as a premature preamble within a preamble, he wasn't lying when he said he was on 'a mission of mercy'. Firing their 'fuckin' faggot asses' would be the kindest thing he could do for them. But they want to 'play in the man's game', don't they now? Good father, fuck you. So was Himmler, very devoted to his little bunny and she repaid that loyalty all her life. Blake is a good superior person, after a fashion, and the plebes can't hear it or see it. -Klamm suggests that this was not Mamet's intent, but we haven't looked it up because what difference does it make / it makes none...]

Not when I'm too sad, or too happy – that is vulgar when it burns too bright. You can get and do whatever you want in that state, until the inevitable crash. Which sucks. So, you steer it once you learn what it is, and you get on a roll, mind your money and your relationships the best you can. And you learn that Blanche du Bois sexualized sick version of it was a cautionary tale. Rely on the kindness of the right strangers, not the rong ones.

But there's a right and a wrong way to do everything. Just ask a German, they'll tell you. Believe me. And I tell them back, too, sometimes to a fault, just to set boundaries, which are important for the children of sometimes Vampyrs, who didn't ask to be here, and put up with all this stuff, but the movies say you 'invited them in', well, no. But not all Vampyrs are evil, did you know this? They're split, right down the middle. In fact, like Dr. Jekyll being around during the day, Mr. Hyde only comes out at night – like the Maneater, for instance – and has a crude sophistication about him or her so that ordinary people glide on by and call it charisma or whatever.

But people who 'shine' can see. You might know it by other things, which we endorse: the merging of intuition with instinct and the discarding of intellect and 'the heart', whatever that's supposed to be good for. But, people like romantic fantasies of togetherness in lurve. But what do too many invariably do with it?

Torture one another; fight for control. It is the motto of every billionaire and every unhappy married couple (or unmarried couple, for that matter). So you listen to the boys and girls and their anguish in the bars and all it takes nowadays is a stink eye or a warm eye to get the ball rolling. They know.

Naturally, women all have this in spades and it's very easy to talk to them. The boys require words, but they get there soon enough. It's a silly little parlor trick that every confidence man since time immemorial has known, and it is as a rule a misused talent.

But that's just a guess, and what I'm really trying to say is that there is no substitute for slowness and compassion in the face of aging insanity and life long manipulation. Sure, they get away with almost anything and everything, but the key is to pin them down. Pose relentless lawyerly questions, elicit the contradictions, the reverse affirmations, the fake admissions, do it for hours on end on video, for evidence, for clinicians one day – nobody else – why?

Well, why does anyone do anything anyway? Ruminate on that – it's a simple answer but you'd be surprised how many simple answers cannot be elicited. You'll never get a straight answer out of a True Vampyr. Ever. So why bother? Indeed, why bother. So it was light fight – a love tap here, a jugular press there, just fun and games designed to get the point across, which is pointless.

A King or Queen Vampyr – aka malignant narcissist – cannot be saved. It can be killed, because often times it's not a boy or a girl, necessarily. Neither is it gay or straight, exactly. It is attuned to both sexes, but it neither desires nor loves either.

It feeds on both for it's own self-aggrandizement. It is there to glorify itself at the expense of others. It is a very boring creature on some level. It is very predictable once you get into rhythm. You can beat it easily and start gaming it. Then you send an annihilatory rhetorical flourish at it (second one in 13 years) and what happens?

It boo hoos, if you can believe it. Vampyrs can dish it out, but they most definately can't take it. Which is a great delight to heros who refrained from legal entanglements, which extricated him or herself from a sticky wicket. See, there's a little (or a lot) of Vampyr in everyone.

But the road to hell is paved with bad intensions, too. So, you tool around, do this and that, play a game with the Vampyr for a while, just to keep his/hers on a string. Let the wheels of justice grind slowly, and go from ashes to ashes and dust to dust. The Vampyr's fate is oblivion. In fact, oblivion is his residential address. So, this is getting long-winded and too sincere. So let's end this epistle, as my mother calls this sort of bullshit. Some 'preamble'. Verbose blah-de-blah is what it is. So, on to our Feature Presentation...

Anne Rice was right that they had homosexual tendencies. And Gore Vidal was further right that there is no such thing as homosexuality, simply homosexual behavior. Making your sex life, such as it is, the central node in one's existence, seems... Odd.

Like 95% chimpanzee stuff. Then again, chimpanzees never shoved children into gas chambers or incinerated entire cities in split seconds. So, you know, whatever. It betrays a certain, shall we say, overreliance on so-called sensualistic ambiance. Sad.

Pehaps it is because they are cowardly? Maybe. Perhaps they do not wish to have to explain themselves, or be accountable, for murder, as Van Helsing was, once the threat had passed in Herzog's 1979 telling of Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht. Yeah, that's the ticket.

For the frenzy invariably passes, this is old hat by now, and then a new round of questions commence. The supernatural elements fade in the glaring light of official reason, psychiatric guess work, and the scrutiny of retrospect. The fools who never knew what it was in the first place, somehow transpose themselves in the night, back into the wisemen of officialdom.

But you explained it to them in real time, and they didn't know what the hell you were talking about. Oh, no. They're back in the saddle again, and ready to explain you to yourself, better than they can explain themselves to themselves. Which is very boring.

More likely, there remains some residual fondness, for no vampire may tread where he was not first invited. Or so the sayings go, for what they're worth, which is very likely everything, but just a fantasy of an odd duck to all of the rest of them. Which is totally cool, and totally normal. Predictable 'n predicted by moi. For decades.

Physician, heal thyself. Take the lessons of old country to heart, if you had one, which you don't – in the final analysis – because not the wine, but the narcissism has take full control at age 86. That's why elders abuse their children, their real selves emerge near then end. And mostly people knuckle under to this madness. Well, fuck that. Adore this song & video.

III

Just leaving this fragmentary and episodic. Editing isn't of much use at the moment anyway. Go bag spontaneously prepared after the thousandth macro-aggression. So anyway, left home on Thursday, got my fob back, Rudolf had wedged it between the carseat and the middle console, or whatever it is. My Kinderausweis and my mother's old passports are still missing and I'll bet dollars to donuts my father threw those documents out to complicate my getting German citizenship. Whatever, it's merely a back up plan since this country is fucked.

So, got fast food for simplicity and hopped on the Lincoln Highway to Abbotstown, home of the Altland House, a civilised manse serving drinks and so on. Nice bartendress, but the night is young and the goals are far away yet. And sobriety is the only way to go. 2 drinks / 1 water. Never's failed yet. Just take the edge off, the rest is wonton self-indulgence (and expensive!) anyways.

Onward towards Mercersburg. An old pal, the only one who kept in consistent touch out of all of them, lo these 13 years. And by consistently, I mean once a year for the last 3 or 4. People wash their hands of repeat offenders. My friends and family have shown more patience and kindness to me than I had a right to. I had no rights and no right, for a long time. And that was just. Because nobody makes you feel any hurt. That is a choice. And all you have to do, abuse victim, is walk away. It's not easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. So, that's a happy ending. Lemons into Lemonade as Weltanschauung, if you will. As long as you will want to, that is.

He was off on the other side of the earth on vacation, as many of my old palz are, nowadays. They're propersous well educated upstanding people, bereft of insanity, granted, but they do ok, I guess. They're very busy, these people. Barely have time to come up for air, it seems to me. But then, I'm just a retiree since 42, with lassitude in his heart, like most people. Only I got to bring it off due to the years long sufferance of my parents, who never bugged me once when I was quasi-catatonic, for about six years. Then Covid hit and I had to rally. They aren't killing my Mom and Dad. So my mother and I recovered simultaneously, which is hardly surprising.

But back to the show. He was gone so I visited his town and snapped a photo of the Academy's 'Headmaster'. So naturally The Smiths song as a light tease. He got it and we shared a nice virtual laugh, via the 'magic phone', a coinage of Daddy Dearest. There's good in every Vampyr. That actually is true. If they were pure evil, they'd be one dimensional characters, wouldn't they. It's merely a pragmatic choice: can you live in harmony? No. So the perpetrator, who remembers nothing, always, no acknowledgement of sins past or present, and you can fuck yourself forever waiting for an apology. So you drive.

[It's dawn now, time to drive with coffee, a water-Gatorade elixir, American Spirits, and Copenhagen longcut (Wintergreen). You know it's big fun when you feel obliged to alternate those last two all day, every day, for two weeks running. It's good though, probably 4 drinks have sufficed every day. Weening yourself from alcohol with tobacco. Within reason, a clean brand, there's nothing wrong with 3 smokes a day. Hell, doctors on the tee vee used to recommend it to all those burnt to a crisp father, with their lovely vicious mannequins. So much for now.]

Obligatory disclaimer: Probably 25% of marriages are functional, perhaps 15% are happy and why not. Whatever works. There actually is zero prescription in this, in the end, when you get to the bottom, it's just an idiosyncratic biography I'm telling myself and then to you, dear reader.

Hell. Out 76 / 70 / 68 to the WV border. Rest stop rest and onward to Fairmount, VW in the middle of the night. Innovated night snaps for the first time. Not like the greatest personal growth discovery exactly, but I like being alone, and what better time to view a place than when people are utterly absent. Helpful!

Travel too has been hopelessly systematized. Reading wikipedia on every destination. Marking out all the sites, libraries (business travel!) and antique markets – you'd be surprised what manner of merit badges can be had for a song in these river towns. Just stupendous stuff...

Few know much about European stuff around here – but they're selling off their grandparents legacy out of desperation. And so a Yankee vulture-vampyr swoops down and swoops up treasures. Fun!

Also, too, the people are so nice and helpful. I actually had a bartender in McConnellsville, WV pour out half my beer because I portrayed too much sadness. Never had that happen in the Tenderloin. Shit, everyone was 'sad' there; the bartenders were passed out at the godamn RJ's sports bar and the patrons were pissed that they couldn't get their medicine. Fuct.

Still the only neighborhood I'd live in today. But why? RJ's is a motherfucking bistro now, indistinguishable from 10,000 others. Fuck embougoisiement. The only thing I remember from transit graduate school at SFSU that was worth a damn.

Just to finally fuck the shut up, after detailed preparations are made, map notations down in red and black for contrast, the day is allowed to unfold with no more deliberation or feeling to it. Simple melding of intuition and instinct and you never know where you're going or what you're doing. Probably people do this all the time to one degree or another. But this is a specificly honed technique which is still evolving and improving.

So, it's all just a bunch of stuff that happened. Day 3 should be close to a conventional travelogue, with a few meanderings here and there. Everybody's got some Vampyr. As for me. My inner Vampyr? It's appeared 3 times in my life. Once to a woman 13 years ago. And twice to my father. So, you know, disgression.

Just a few more jabba jaw things to get this out and away.

...

So, this Herr Klamm rigamarole. It's just a mockery of the overdeveloped German Pflichtbewustsein. You know, that stuff. A sense of duty and honor linked to notions of The Good. One wag dubbed it my 'Nazi Moral Absolutism', or some such. She's the only one that noticed it. And I drove her away. But that is not sad.

I think she thinks she's done what she can do, and it meant the world to me. But time passes, people change, her values maybe are not your values? Anymore. Her life has settled into a host of patterns. More likely it is too painful to remember the life she too could have led?

Or she's most likely still wiser than me and realizes I'm going to figure it out and she needn't be caught up in that slipstream. She's got that in spades as it is and has for a long time, as I suppose we all have. These are all speculations and while everyone has their shit, this shit is on blast.

So this so-called freedom of doing this and that, comes at an extraordinarily steep price. Enormous self-directed work efforts over five years have catapulted me into the, what? Lower Middle Class. Booyah! First lengthy vacation in, wait for it. 22 Years. So, you know, it takes colossal self-denial to win tremendous self-determination. Whatevers, not gonna lie: it totally fuckin' rules nowadays. It's better than ever and no reason to believe it won't improve from here.

No drugs or psychiatry necessary, still unnamed relatives of mine. You really screwed the pooch with those repeated onslaughts on my dignity. I'm not a Christian. I don't forgive. I don't forget. And I love it. Got enough Vampyrs here in PA that the Colorado Klan koennen mir gestohlen bleiben. Restlos Entgultig.

So, I'm applying the Mysterious Stanger routine in the South. Heading to Hannibal today. A long time coming. A very long time coming, indeed. And then on to Nauvoo – another sacriligious site. I get people going, mostly with quick witted jokes to librarian ladies of all ages. They're the glue in the community, a role I'm incapable of playing. Too sedentary. You have to answer to somebody, which sucks, so long as you are flying right. And if there is 'collateral damage' in the family, well, you know you had every opportunity to suggest something other than the failure of drugs and the failure of psychiatry. Weltschmertz cannot be helped. It's a gift and I'd rather suffer for realz than be dead inside and 'happy'.

There's more, but we'll get to that tomorrow.