Classical Nacho
I’ve been asked to return to “Classic Nacho” for the front page. Something that’s a bit hard to do when I’m also plugging away at the 12,000 words a month project. But then I got to thinking: It’s structure on the GS front page that’s been the enemy in the past.
My whole life has been carefully structured, actually. Initially, it was designed to help me get through each minute of each day and survive agonizing nerve pain. With that pain now cured, the structure remains. Kind of like… Well, kind of like having a bloodthirsty former KGB officer running Russia. Talk about same as the old boss. But, as with everything human, it takes time to break down the psychological walls that enable such insane transgressions. We work our whole lives to change the world – even if it’s a change that just takes place in our own personal worlds.
Actually, it’s kind of pathetic. I blame the Catholic Church. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a priest because I thought I’d be free of the guilt and horror or our serf-like existence. I could own vast tracts of land, rape small children, bully the local lords, get paid with iron chests full of coins… That’s what it’s like being a priest, right?
Great Society is not about structure. It never was. It’s the Colonel Kurtz part of my mind. Malarial, hiding in the jungle, writing a never-ending book about how everyone should die, then reading passages of it out over the shortwave.
If I relax, then “classic Nacho” is possible, and in tandem with the 12,000 word project. If I relax, many things are possible.
April 19th is the third anniversary of the surgery that ended my pain and brought me back to life. The memory of the pain, the fear of it, the death-like trance that froze my soul for 12 years, lingers. It’s the aging KGB officer still ruling my body and mind like some mad despot.
The first step to healing, I think, is to let go and do whatever the fuck I want. Something I haven’t done in, oh…36 years? Yeah. About that. I need to bring my mind out of whirring, smoking overdrive and concentrate on the simple, beautiful things. Which may really be what the GS front page is about. The journey of my mental and physical health. The healing process. Under this assumed name, pain or no pain, I can do and say anything.
Well, nearly. It would help if my fucking co-workers weren’t reading the page. But, to be honest, they probably can’t read this far anyway. I lost half my audience after 250 words. By the time I hit 500 words, I’ll personally know the three readers who are still chugging through this. So “Classic Nacho” should just be 500 words about how I like oranges, and spring rainstorms, and perfect days in May. It should be about kittens and puppies and lovely trips to the UK and New Orleans and…
Okay, that’s 500 words. So after all of that, I can abruptly shift into how I’m planning to blow up my office building using illegal fireworks bought at Harper’s Ferry. Which suddenly conjured the image of me naked, in the main lobby, shooting bottle rockets out of my ass. Man, that would be a statement! I wonder if that would make the internal newsletter? Pet Corner! New Births! How Susie Creamcheese Greens Her Office! Nacho Shoots Fireworks out of his Ass!
Sorry, I’m just bitter because they rolled our salaries back to the 2008 rate. How about our CEO, who is the highest paid CEO in DC and one of the ten highest paid CEO’s in the entire publishing industry, roll back his salary? Newsflash! Taking four grand away from someone who makes 39 grand a year hurts. If you want to pay us poverty wages while you rake in Spanish doubloons with your artificial, platinum-dipped mechanical cock (and who doesn’t?), then you can at least move us to Buttsville, TX or something.
Um…where was I? Oh, yes! I was about to have my mid-morning gin and tonic because, Jesus Goddamned Christ, that’s the only way I can get through the day anymore. And it’s not any of the above ranting that makes me crazy… It’s the fact that my office mate set her phone to play the Doogie Howser, MD theme song everytime she gets a text message. And she gets about one text every five minutes.