It seems Simon took up my advice to the far right, and wrote some fiction. More power to him, the far right at this rate is just becoming an depressive circle jerk with no art of it’s own, at this rate.
Anyway, so as not to feel left out, and to prove I am not bullshitting about writing my own story, here, in all it’s unedited glory, is the very first part of a short story I am working on.
– 1 –
The bus was diverse. Somewhere in the narrow streets of Seattle the bus went in and out and around street corners, ferrying it’s diverse cargo of white female-black male miscegenators, Indian computer programmers, white liberals, and middle easterners.
And there on a cramped seat sat “J”.
Who the hell was J? Jay? Jacob? John? It really wasn’t a relevant detail, since most people called him simply “J” anyway.
Eventually, the bus reached it’s stop in one of those areas that are not quite the city center, but not quite the suburbs either. J gathered his bag and stepped off, breathing in the cool winter air.
The block was made up of mid rise buildings, mostly done in a pretentious post modern style, with large glass panes shining light into lobbies. It was neither the serious dystopianism of brutalism, nor the beauty of the architecture of old. Just like Seattle, just like America, just like the West, it was the horrible not so-sweet in between between a hard totalitarianism, and a soft cuddly comfortable liberalism.
Maybe the city was purgatory.
J went inside one of these buildings. This particular building housed a technology company, and like all the other companies in Seattle, nothing was particularly special about it. It was mostly just a bunch of young hipsters and Asian immigrants making software for everything from home finance to industrial management. J had even heard that they did some minor work for the Defense Department. Something about steering controls on some Army vehicle.
Making changes to the company website was pretty easy. However, J had to step away. He had never intended to be a web designer, but things could have turned out worse. J remembers back in 12th grade his fierce desire to join the Army, and his father saying no, because the Iraq war was raging. J never truly forgave his father for denying him the communion of the warriors, sitting at their bars and restaurants, discussing the mysteries of life, and self mastery in combat.
What the hell was life here anyway? His last girlfriend had left him a long time ago, and most of the women he was surrounded with always tried to act like men, always trying to enhance their careers. Always messing up brotherly bonding with emphasis on regulation and consensus. Every year the rent went up. Every time the prospect of making money to start a family or buy a house became more distant. Ever more bills and taxes piled up, and the streets always became gradually worse. Everything always spiralled downward in almost every sense. But, such is the modern world, and damned if you will escape it in this highly bureaucratic age.