BULLS and BULLIES: a TALE of TAURUSES.

Yesterday was the centennial anniversary of the October Revolution. It was all so the 104th birthday of Albert Camus.

Personally, I no longer self-identify as a Leninist. I have become too lazy and complacent. At any rate: an outing to the Beach, with Robert Pesta, had long ago awakened in me a profound respect for the institution of Possession. I was not surprised to find that his Zodiac Sign ruled Possessions. So I supposed that, even though both Lenin and Marx share the Taurus quality, their philosophy was only ever an attempt to actualize the Taurus yearning to Own Everything. In the words of Trent Reznor: I want to be everywhere. I want to know every thing. I want to fuck every one in the World. I want to do something that matters.

I am reminded all so of the futility of capitalism. Were it not for Camus' Absurdism, this contradiction would not sit with me. But the only way I can hope to honour the memory of so great a man, and so unusually civil of a Scorpio, is by embracing the Absurdity. And that is, in accordance with Camus' philosophy, by Protesting Absurdity. Not by accepting it.

My first keyboard is broken. Robert was the first to notify me. He was good that way. It was my possession, but as was the case with every other belonging that I had allowed to come across Kresten Taylor, it is damaged beyond repair.

The reason that I did not take it back myself? It was stored in his Mother's Condominium. My keys were the fetus, alive and kicking, yearning to see the Sun. But the Condo was the Mother's womb. And Kresten was the righteous abortionist.

What act of love had put my keys in his mother's womb, you might ask?

I did it for Alanna.

She wanted that band.

So I jammed in the Womb with Kresten and Robert, knowing only one of them was at the time participating in her plan to win Kresten back.

Kresten had vowed to love Alanna. He had owed that to me. In any world, communistic or capitalistic, public policy applies. Archetypes apply. The Rule of Nature is thus: that once you have taken a woman to be yours, even if only temporarily, the option of apathy is closed to you. Your involvement is tempered by HER needs, not your whims. Because all of her rival suitors will hold you to the providence of those needs.

But what do I care now?

Alanna is dead.

So be it?

I have given up on Love and have taken up a new hobby: Hoarding musical instruments.

It's what my best friend in High School, Jeff, would have done. He taught me not only the world of Indie Music. He all so taught me the Virtues of Laziness.

I love Tauruses.

So: I am sympathetic to the capitalists. And I shall model my response to this Absurdity after my favourite C.E.O: Gustavo Fring.

THE CHICKEN MAN.

Kresten will provide me with a new LK-43, I am sure. He might have allowed Alanna to die on his watch. But he is not one to make the same mistake twice. And I shudder to think of the consequences of an other failure to atone. Had he atoned previously, Alanna would still be alive...

Of course, Kresten is not without conscience. It was his guilt, surely at having involved me in a competition that I had not consented to, that had driven the first wedge betwixt me and Alanna. But the guilt, like Lenin's post-Revolutionary economic policy, only drove the wedge in deeper; she was left with the impression that he was serving me by oppressing her and aggravating her depression. So it took about a year to prove to her that I had a sense of camaraderie with my fellow Revolutionary. But by then it was too late; the guilt had absolved itself, MIRACULOUSLY, and so had cleared his name of any warrant for my rage. So my rage, now unjustified, became HIS rage[, in self-defense, of course]. Not only was every victim turned into a victory; the Right towards Spite was itself seized as though it were a Throne.

Well played, Old Friend.

UNDER MY VERY NOSE.

But it truly IS a shame. After all: had that guilt lasted as long as my love, Kresten might have cleared his name with me by agreeing to Alanna's plan to get the Old Band together. She would have been Happy. The Adoration of her Fans would have kept her Alive. She was smart; her only danger was, CLEARLY, herself.

But so be it, Russia. Lenin lost, as did Alanna. We can do what Walter White does: Blame the Government. We will move on. We will forget this ever happened.

PEP TALK. (2:22)

And Kresten will surely buy me a new keyboard. I shudder to think of what might happen otherwise. The World Itself might split in two, and something will come out from the rift. Or maybe that's just the Device of My Imagination.

Dm.A.A.