A Feeble Characterization

As a hack writer of a few short stories and poems, I know how difficult it is to put yourself in someone else’s shoes.

The addage that each character in a story represents some facet of the writer’s personality may be true; I also know that I’ve drawn on the rich set of characters I’ve known throughout the years.  People who have impacted me in some way, good or bad.

I don’t often think about their motives, but more about their simple actions.  It is, really, only actions that make up a story.   No one really cares about motivation, they are just interested in a good story.

Of course, there are those stories that do delve into the human heart, and when well done, they can also be good stories but they also tend to try our own souls just a bit and this makes them a little more difficult both to write, and to read.

I had often said over the years that the one character I’d never be able to handle very well is one who was a homosexual.  I suppose Freud would have all sorts of arguments to make over this, but the simple fact is I just can not find a frame of reference.

It would not do justice to “pretend” that his or her situation was or is anything like my own relationships with women.  I just don’t think that would work.

Now, take the case of other characters, say, a Black man, Latino, Irishman, Scotsman, German, Russian, Greek or Israeli – off the top of my head, I might be able to make a semblance of correct characterization.  I’m sure I’d get some things wrong about their cultures, religion or affairs, but I bet I could build a character the reader would believe is actually Irish.

I woke up this morning and thought about another group, like gays, who I would have a great deal of trouble relating to – the liberals.

I have no idea what it is like to wake up in the morning, look in the mirror and see flowers in one’s hair.

I have no idea what it is like to wear a moo-moo, or a bunch of scarves around my neck.

Growing my own tofu…it is just not going to happen.

Living in a collective heap is also something to which I just can not relate.  Imagine waking up in a heap on the floor.  My only frame of reference is the Manson family, walking around in a daze and desiring more than anything else to kill rich people.

Amazing parallel, isn’t it?  Think about what we learned about the Weather Underground during this campaign.  They did try and kill rich people (a judge, wasn’t it?).  I’m beginning to think that the entire election was really about killing rich people (look at how the liberals are killing the markets – did you see the DOW yesterday?).

My big question is, what really separates them from the Mansons?

The Mansons had this perceived Messianic figure in Charlie.  He was their savior and taught them a new way to “think” (I suppose maddness is a form of thinking). They wanted to live in their murderous collective on a farm.

Weird, isn’t it?

Well, I look at the markets this morning and I think everyone must have reached the same conclusion.  There can simply be no mixing of the collective with the marketplace.  A bunch of dregs with flowers in their hair simply does not “make the garden grow”.

I think the markets are responding so unfavorably for the obvious reasons that there is zero confidence in the collective state-of-mind (unless it is a bunch of capitalist behaving in a similar fashion to one another – a collective based on individuals of similar ilk rather than individuals who are based in the collective and to serve the collective alone).

Printing more money and pumping more of our hard-earned dollars into the system can hardly even be considered propping it up.  It just is not the answer.

I heard a plan yesterday where the government is talking about giving us our taxes back for two months.  If I had that money, I could actually pay my mortgage for four months (maybe more).  Sure, it is buying time, but look at the payback.  My bet would be that the markets would respond very favorably to this sort of responsible budgeting (rather than bailing out bums, they would be bailing out the very people who “actually” constitute the market place – the only “collective” I care to recognize).

No, I would not spend my money on more LSD, bomb-making materials or copies of the Communist Manifesto.  I would not even stock up on beer, tempting as it may be.

I’d take care of “me”.

Oh my, did I actually just say that.  That disgusting “me” generation.

We are so corrupt in the way we treat Mother Earth, and how we refuse to join in with a bunch of filthy pigs wallowing in their own filth.

Well, I’m sorry:  if given the choice between pulling myself out of the muck and mire or continuing to swim in it like some maniacle cultist…I’ll be one of the one’s climbing over the fence, every time.

If these markets are to recover, they will do so by the grit and determination of the individual “me’s” out there.  They will do so by the backbone, and sweat and determination of those willing to fight their way out of the quagmire.

But if we continue to swim in pig swill, it is my sincere belief that all we would serve to do is drag everyone into this sty with us until we all become essentially nothing more than manure.

I am reminded yet again of a relationship I had where this person said that she would not be happy until everyone is just as miserable as she.

I know that this is probably a terrible mis-characterization of the hippie-lib, but hey, I’m a writer, after all;  I’m going to get a few things wrong, but it makes for a fine story (and I like the kind where the good guys climb out of the shit).

So why don’t you come on along over the fence with me.  There is a clean world on the other side, and it is refreshing for me to remember that even here we can have a little piece of heaven, if only we try.