In the near future, race has replaced religion and identity has become politics. America settles in as a nation that acquiesced disorder through political correctness and the coddling of its youth. Having arrived at a point of no return, the citizens of the United States double down with their intolerance for differing ideas, through weaponizing language and a total remaking of the intersectional landscape. With Civil War II underway, the story is told by a government propagandist, chronicling dispatches from the comfort and safety of Westphalia, a one-percenter’s resort for wartime secured living. As the Resistance battles the Patriots, the pent-up doom of global strife arrives at America’s shores with unimaginable consequences. A tale both thrilling and disturbing, it challenges the most cherished assumptions of our fellow citizens. If you cannot win your personal battles how can you win the war?
WHEN WE RAN THE MASTER PLAN
The Reverend seems to have it all, a beautiful family, solid career and his amplified role in the online church, but behind this ideal life is a quiet boredom and lingering desperation. When a homeless encampment sets off the Blacker Plague, society must turn inward, and in this collective shell the Reverend goes after redemption in the doomed terrain of a traumatized society, while visiting his inner demons in hope of emerging from a private catastrophe of dreadful illusion.
Set amid the voyeuristic static of a post-surveillance world, we follow our anti-hero’s online encounters with a virtual jihadi and the journey of his cis-identity’s surrender to the ambient virtue signals and gaslighting from his new Islamic pen pal...beginning a languid mental and physical transition in how to better cope and survive surrounded by these newfound spiritual awakenings while his pleasure receptors are quickly burning out, his radicalization manifesting a more righteous version of himself, under a new glorious light, or is it a new darkness verve...
Excerpted from the novel WHEN WE RAN THE MASTERPLAN:
To understand what is happening it is important that we understand that we fear what we cannot comprehend so we put these things, like money-sex-govt into a taboo category to feel better about being stuck in the dark. The cohesive illusion of the mainstream narrative clouds the truth. Public relations is the new propaganda while it isn’t easy to believe in nothing when you believe in everything. The *philia of millenia has been to keep the chambers and maids of our minds suspended in the shadows, when the agents of subliminal coercion sneak their suspicion into your transcendental secular culture of information age psychosis. We gain our control and significance in the reflection of our expectations versus the reality of our companionship when we decide to build or destroy. In the transformation of despair from the played out role of isolated individual ingredients in the simmering ‘Murican melting pot to the tribal megaphone blasters of socio-economic critics that we have become, undergoing the most massive and aggressive mediamorphosis ever known to (wo)mankind--a nearly unfathomable collective lobotomy of our ancient minds into a post-electronic world. The warped online millionairization of the poor set (self help 101: mindframe equals bank account) and the filtered fantasy world of distorted visual aids amid the obsoletion of your own private thinking, the nullification of speaking your true mind--afixed in the blowback from the bullhorn and thought-shaming online police, a task force of virtual signalers, espousing a more dogmatic righteousness than you. Your device’s screen is a needle. Your religious background and beliefs up for short-term lease. The personalized rumors from your friendly circles and your mythos steered in subversive directions by big business interest and group target. The artificial intelligence in the psychographic targeting of you. If you feel the agitprop (agitation propaganda) amid the controlled opposition, you are a victim to the trigger words, pulled into the contradicting side. The political correctness in the memetic warfare, awash in a perceived glasnost of misinformation and false flags. The transmission of our collective anxiety on high, strung out and self-medicated by opioids, alcohol and herb, fueled by the mainstream mediation of local news fear factors into explicit terms, attractive middle-age female newscasters talking of homicide and abduction, analog murder porn at its finest. Conspiracy language of interconnectedness, the net neutrality and encryption algorithms as secret relationships in the web of allusions. The physical embodiment of every sleepless night when your interpretation is null and void by the gaslighting from the foreign national bots, the poster child thesis from the third world, the new world new normal. The quaint boutique vibe of your mind gone dark to relight in a new #woke state of bloodletting for the sake of a more sheep-like follower mindset. Your beliefs that resonate with the neocon hawks and the angry left, the welfare state and the one percent, your ideology somewhere in the alt-middle, where there really is no there there. Your self-declarations of anti-this and anti-that in a breezy first world bind of longer Starbucks lines and slower wifi from a collected despair of lunatic excess and progressive ruin amid the govt implants of fever dreams. The blending of scattered and autonomous thinkers into a shared post-colonial body politik, worked and awoke by a technocratic network of assumed and assured mutual destructive chaos theory. Our cultural visions of self-help and life hacks, when the root problem is childhood trauma and the rippling wake of drug abuse to get more sedation still. The masses in an arrested state of development, a whole lotta baby boomers holding onto their hippy status and Gen Xers working check out at Trader Joe’s, their arm sleeve tattoos the only sign of their rebellion and flair for alternative living. Can you expect much more from the emotional intelligence of a tween? The millennial portrayed as full of anger and rage but crippled with an inability to take part within society, better left for more xanax, gaming and chain vaping. We are all mere cogs in the crapitalism machine, taught to spend and consume for a wink wink “promised” better tomorrow, the skyrocketing debt a mere byproduct of the ripple from the ground zero nipple teet to enhance the mainstream narrative. Income inequality another side casualty of the war between the haves and the never have hads, the most epic rupture of a gap between the downsized and the nouveau-riche. The delusion thrives in the reality that the poor are obese and can pay cash for flat screen televisions. You see, there is plenty to go around. We become skeptical of the system because we see through the delusion that the politicians have our backs, knowing we are irrelevant to their lives and marginalized by a manic logic to consume the crumbs from their cake pops. The obituary of the American Dream written with the fake blood of a counterfeit empire, the end of the arms race fueling an easier invention of violence, a farcical doom and glooming of looming paranoia in the illicit and the legalized, the laced radiation on your fingertips. Somewhere in the half slumber of anxiety and delirium from the social reality of the media fiction are the hocus pocus mood swings for the deep state swingers, their digital juju rhetoric a sublime timeframe for a collective new world mindset. You there, as the manifestation of the first generation of cyberprophets. The surging moral signals amid the blowback and sensory overload as we wake to nightmares of #islamofauxbia and pop culture lunacy at the fraying of the seams of the connective tissues of our merchandised lives. We hold the paper plate candle burning at the vigil of the death of our dreams. The dripping wax’s whimsical shapes as a metaphorical participation trophy to our bodies’ atrophy. The paranormal non-entity never tasted so good. The only certainty is uncertainty, and the never-ending promise that it will get worse, there will be no final annihilation rather a slow going hospice situation. There is nothing of non-meaning and the interwoven loose ends of a history written out for you like a manuscript with a clinging ending, a cover story for the media’s portrayal of betrayal, a system to the bigger magic spell and catastrophe for psychosis. We seek out the safety of small minded groups, the so-called herd mentality of decentralized instinct. The high road effervescence of blending in without the full stripping of your identity, the anti-clone mindset behind the face of falling tears. Have one for me, judge me not for my athleisure and recreation time spent, regardless of the approval ratings. Somebody somewhere is in charge. Within the sordid fantasy we are periled with a gilding of our age, a 3.0 version or better, between the overdrawn and the booming, within the waning moments between the cartoonish and the nightmarish. Be a wolf on a full moon night and cast your silhouetted howl through the shadow ban to allow for your dreaming mind.