Dragon's Hundred

It's always the eyewitnesses to an event that can provide the most powerful testimony--Indoctrination

Hundred Days aired seven months to the day I was born, and of all the Outer Limits episodes in its initial tacky two year run, this tap into America's Maoist hangover made its indelible impression, cheap play on the Manchurian Candidate it may be, I believed the Communists were capable of such parasitic infiltration, haunted by the death masks and skin molded like putty, as laughable as it is, Pine shutting down a Washington engagement with a minimalism that would make Vice President Biden blush, and Sidney Blackmer using mincing eye movements as a substitute for Pavlovian stimulus. Childhood naivety superimposes itself on mature depreciation of camp. "Dragon," "The Mutant," and "Feasibility Study," these provoke powerful emotions still when they run at four am, whatever the popularity of Zanti Misfits as best in concept, lying to first professor. "What did you read coming up? Science fiction?" Yes I did but down played it with false pretensions, the only time, I believe. I read copious tomes of science fiction, filled my fucking bloody head with it, and God-genius divined that with one look at me. I wasn't about to give in, you see. Is it his memory I hate or my asinine, totally asinine worship-- if the man had told me Ho Chi Minh was a savoir, I would have went home to my father saying Korean servicemen were pigs and padre would have thrown me in the basement. Yes, I know, some students even fuck them, teachers, marry them, even in South Korea, wind up utterly disillusioned. Jerry was the only good thing that ever happened to me (or not). He was not Linda Dezenski, abusive manager, did not take advantage of me, encouraged whatever the fuck it was I possessed, and I'm throwing magnificent literary tantrums, my father cursing my every accomplishment, his dying guilt superimposed on my failing airways. "No one is going to put you away."

Dad has himself been putting me away, aged 9. Then 13, 16, my high school graduation. Consigning myself to a certain shorter lifespan, I had resolved to give notice on my lease this week, releasing myself to vehement castigation of Trudy Richardson, but one or two things dampen the pulse, Karina either being offline or blocked me, which I might reasonably expect, though she said she'd help me pack, nightmares of the Taipei crash play like a mechanized Seaworld kill. No one believes political ideology with such stark lines of demarcation, but this doesn't mean the heirs to Amazon and Google won't have a hard on for microchips, their implantation, stimulus, response.