Figures of the One Must Go

by Victor Living

  Being drawn into rough competition would testify:

  an automatism to catch useful information about competitors is the top rule to win—scrutinize facts.

  A clearness of business air should determinate:

  commonness and not theatricality to pick the best decisions connected with skills of a brisk grip on crucial points—the science of reliance.

  The picturesque behavior of those already on top would whisper:

  verticals of promotion work as metamorphoses in the measuring of opportunities—search for the strongest.

  An efficient hunt to defeat doubts would assert:

  any erroneous march attacks toward goals by swimming through a fast river, never do by its own body—determination of command.

  Uptakes to achieve great purposes could confirm:

  the mindset of young maximalist capitulates right after first tests about belief in the materialistic world. Don’t disregard diligence and insistence on work—success’s bond.

  The attention to privacy of capitalism would assure:

  even the tiniest atomic particles of your hold-care trade are never controlled by the boney hands of a stranger. Your burden: relaxation is impermissible.

  In closing, I hope such metaphorical concepts about personal capitalism can enrich your critical imagination. Remember, if one day you wonder why every decade more billionaires appear, at first find balancing consensus within your own mind. Justified capitalism is the biggest confusion for people living from one small paycheck to another. But if you become a capitalist for yourself, develop only your vision from what to begin and how it is achievable to get to the top.

  If you intend to sell only your own skillful hands, figure out how high practical levels go. If you are drifting to offer exclusive knowledge, count the risks for the competitive life.

  Always predestinate situations like, “What if?” But you’d better keep in mind that none of the biggest capitalists ever open confidences about their uppermost personal capitalism. So, to communicate with them, deploy intuition to catch any hidden opportunities and get answers. Do the most successful capitalists, while keeping ultra-tasks of quasi-payoff return, feel any natural shake-fright? Why is it normal for them to make mega-profits to support only their single environment? If we’re talking about the highest strategic revenues, will you ever be ready to push any human morals down and hold obligations only to yourself? And when your internal seizing of working capitalism pinpoints such observable facts, are you most likely to be able to comprehend why the blatant global exploitation of cheap labor makes such a useful link to the nobility of capitalism?

  18. Who Knows?

  The skepticism of expressions:

  WHO KNOWS?

  MISTER LUCK IS SHARP IN TIME

  WHAT KEPT?

  could put in your vision a formula of what to expect to receive from decision makers over our lives.

  Inexorableness.

  Even current traders of our bodies, in our own countries, sold themselves. It’s only at first blush that those heroes or winners on the apex look like the executors of our destinies. Later, their hard-hitting insides pull them to pay off by self-accusation, mortification, weird phobias, or self-assassination.

  Who knows? Who knows?

  WHO KNOWS?

  Who knows about all guiles in your catch soul? Exclusive, singular, without price and compromise, with sweeping acts in undertones, you over sacrifice! Who knows? Who knows? You know as you knew to plow your rows that

  MISTER LUCK IS SHARP at ANY TIME.

  You know what you did for exquisite joy.

  You know how common sense redeems the scope.

  So, why do you hide your eyes after a ploy of vile lies? You know what you did! And efforts get to running. Release, release, forget! Forgive, forget!

  No one, no man alive, a trickster cunning-stunning, has ever landed a breakthrough yet!

  And you don’t know and won’t to get responses for the reason.

  Don’t look for an occasion to look away — it’s full of you!

  And don’t create the treason for yourself: you tried it once by losing real views.

  You know what kept furtive sets for theft?

  Is that Mister Guilt just pushing you into a hurl abyss? Or, something else just causes pathetic dread?

  That is why you convulse in the dirty shed. Is that a toll to pay

  WHAT KEPT?

  19. Memory of 9/11

  Disconsolate.

  It’s already been sixteen years. Every next September 11th morning makes me apprehensive. And that is an actual ache. The remorse about the sly killing of peaceful people causes me intense anguish. And my heart still argues with reality: Why was I just powerless to cover the indefensibility of those innocent men and women? And now the years run and only my pain speaks:

  “My dear Symbolisms, I’m applying to you as conscious creatures. Help me be heard about my rough memory—9/11. It lives in the deepest warm places of the heart. My beloved imagery, you are as my child because you were born in days when the country plunged into mourning with tears. I was stronger in these days, and as a former soldier, I had vigorous efforts to rush forward and cover anyone, but I got only a pungent role to freeze and watch the screened slaughter.

  “My dearest Symbolisms, my kids, I believe only you know how intolerable it was to stay in front of the big television, and for the first time in life, consider no shame when warm tears dripped over my cheeks. Also, I remember how my fists squeezed to the crunch, but there was nobody to slam. My mind occupied the torturous idea; I couldn’t help it. That’s why I’m asking you—would you become my warriors in the uphill task to knock in the hearts of millions and retell the story of the flamed prolonged twinge of these days? Would you aid my beseeching voice telling about the painful sting of many people offended? Will you support me with the sentence-phrase-words to appeal to human souls to save people? Do you agree that the smallest manifestation of life’s spirit is priceless and, like inconceivable magic, breach our minds and seal burning grief as if a plea? Like resentment that turns people’s hearts against the latest form of violence, grief attacks the corner terror on humanism!”

  The following rueful story was delivered by my neighbor, George. It became support to my severe soreness about 9/11. He worked in Two Towers Place, about five hundred meters away. I will never forget his deplorable narration:

  “It was the morning of September 14, 2001. By the first-call order from the project manager of my company, I gathered fifteen available handlers. I was an asbestos supervisor. After the second emergency call to get together, I gathered my group of thirty-six workers. As we met in the central office, we all loaded into small buses. From uptown to Brooklyn to the designated point, we spent almost two hours. On our way there, we had many stops and checkpoints by police. We also saw several pairs of soldiers on the streets. When we stepped onto that work location, I realized it was a blanket of black glass up to the fifty-fourth floor facing Towers Place. That shocked everyone when, in front of our eyes, such a dire picture opened. All perimeters from our point of view and down to the bits and pieces of destroyed towers looked overwhelmed by dirty, wetted dust mixed with millions of debris of paper, wood, and plastic. I didn’t expect to see such dark colors in a pictorial scene. In many places, burnt fragments of unknown achromatic material looked like ash and covered almost half of the first floors around the buildings. I apprehended countless battered windows. Innumerable windows saw tremendous damage from the explosion. They, in the blackened glass, outnumbered pieces of stones, metal, or incineration subjects. But the most unbearable was the smell of flame mixed with a cadaverous scent. I remember that blend of odors afterward was a little easier to stomach, but in the first few days with the strong wind, it made quite the disturbance. I felt identified gasses emanating from towers. As I understood later, it affected my vision for a while. During work there, my eyes got red and burned, but I fixed this. One kind woman gave me special glasses for tig
ht cover around the eyes and drops to take out the redness and tearfulness at home. She was from the Red Cross. I was there almost two months, and on the next Thursday, we worked over sixteen hours. I won’t tell you about all the machinery we used for such cleanup work, but there were power wash apparatuses and big vacuums with special chemical filters. We scrupulously cleaned up inch by inch, yard by yard, that procedure was tedious.

  As I perceived later around the perimeter of the former towers gathered a few thousand workers. I have never seen such a large gathering with such a sad mood. At the line, Broadway workers assembled hundreds of extended tables loaded with wide boxes of food, water, and clothing. No one was asking for a dollar. It was donations from organizations and simple people all over the country. I realized nobody showed even a slight smile. Every person present appeared to be an inhabitat of the city with a dreary face. And I got a terrible insight of all those nonviolent men and women who had been killed inside the towers. I also remember one firefighter pronounced, ‘No more are our beautiful towers here. Instead of such a lovely place, it has become a cemetery. Do you know for whom? That isn’t only for those innocent sons and daughters of our country. It’s also a big grave for our hope that someone can defend us. And to whom belongs such guilt? I guess the stinking politicians…’ As I know, that phrase took wings for extended years. After a month and a half of work there, one morning we had a hard event.

  When I arrived at our job site, we could already use the subway. I noticed how workers surrounded the foreman, Adam. He was only fifty-five years old, but his hair was filled with gray. His face was dark-blue and full of tears. He was a very polite man and spoke with a cute Slavonic accent. He emigrated from Poland over ten years back. Today, he was in a severe depression and stuttered a little. Everyone tried to console him by friends’ honest sympathy. Workers told me that, in the left tower of the World Trade Center, his niece wasn’t working yet but had arrived only for a job interview. It was her fate. She didn’t survive. I got closer to him and hugged him with big sadness in my heart. From the beginning, he didn’t tell us about relatives there. He only said later that he hoped she was still alive and just missing. So, I suggested he go home, and I would make payment for his hours that day. I guessed he needed to calm down alone, but he refused. Later in small talk, Adam said, ‘Thanks for not sending me home. It was better being among people. That girl was like my daughter. Her father is my brother. Eleven years ago, he and his wife got in a fatal car accident in Europe. I adopted Eva and raised her. I am proud that she graduated from Columbia University seven months ago. It was a top program for finance. But in this accursed day, she had a final appointment with the committee of one prestigious company, and now…’”

  Oh, the civilization of honesty!

  Could we resent collective consciousness and stand up with indignant hearts against sneaky-ulterior motives to turn others into nonexistence?

  It’s sending live souls into numbness, in nihility, in cessation.

  It’s pushing peaceful strangers to nowhere.

  It’s getting a break from human crystal-eyes, a splash of capillaries.

  It’s bringing blameless in the blast of handmade infernos.

  It’s the transform of breathing hearts in hellish torment.

  It’s a proclamation of smoke-dropping protest-destruction.

  It’s stealing people’s self-defense to slam back! It’s a bang of antithesis by a significant amount of those perished.

  It’s a convincing disagreement that’s chilling to others.

  It’s a murderous monologue without an invitation to talk.

  It's spittle in the face of humanity.

  It’s executing blameless without a court sentence.

  It’s an immolation of people’s best hopes.

  And finally, let’s believe those innocent souls of foul murder became new stars of a sparkling reminder: stop killing!

  20. Democracy

  Would you agree that modern democracy is guarded only by honest people of integrity? If you wish to discuss the place of uncomplicated crowds in authority, rethink the clauses:

  WHO is DEMOS in DEMOCRACY?

  WHAT is a REAL BOOST?

  WHO is the FIRST PAYER

  WHY is that SUPER EXPENSIVE?

  It helps to clarify the substance of whatever your position about democracy.

  Discontentment.

  In the beginning, let’s find out why the most prominent branches of today’s working class doesn’t pay attention to or convey open hatred for summits of the political establishment. Perhaps, hard-working people receive enough historical and current paradigms about democracy’s outcomes. Even mass media bears testimonies as shining examples of good; it depends on what a regular population puts into introspection: legitimized political lies or a personal way to survive. Would you like to envisage a good weighing machine like the Lady Justice? I hope you already know the statue portrays a woman who wears a blindfold, and in most pictures, she holds a sword in her right hand and a scale in her left. I won’t retell allegorical principles but let me remind you that justice needs to be fair and equal. Is that possible to ask? Imagine yourself as a giant who keeps a significant scale in hand. On the right plate sits the legitimized lie—including tons of checked historical facts, statistics, or unwritten, cooked-up legends of the past or current situations of democracy. And on the left plate is loaded full of information about you. There’s the country where you born, your nationality, education, social status, heritage, gathered background, credentials, and even political positions. I guess without question, you will confirm the left side. As I repeated, the only value of yourself, strangely, would outweigh a different plate at once. And only you know why. It’s the result of all you’ve learned from reality. Oh, it doesn’t make a plea for mercy but demands strict, serious thinking about self-preservation. Would you like to talk about your stances then?

  It’s no doubt many reasons for your private settlement will anywise explain. But if you tried to worry about the whys of participation in political actions, you would find that many posters have no solutions. But when you get info about the cul-de-sac situation that happened in minutes, you contract the feeling that political development touches your full body with organs, bones, and skin. Isn’t that offensive? Yes, but it is our reality.

  Even when you want a dispute, everyone in the democracy has their alternatives; nothing changes from one second to the other when somebody offers something practical. Okay, let’s check what choices you have. The finest way is to enter any political organization is to “push, push, push”—run to the top of the hierarchy in the establishment. And who knows if your deductions will bring the public better ideas about the constitutional ruling. But if you like to struggle against the existing system alone, you can become a blogger, journalist, or a political writer. And whatever you knock into the people’s intelligence, it’s possible that one day your vision will become an influence for millions. Or you can open a private video channel on YouTube as the easiest way to bombard the public with your critiques or progressive proposals. You should believe your time will arrive if you take deliberate steps forward. But that is only mechanics. Let’s underline content.

  First, keep your eyes on political tendencies. I trust you realize already the biggest conquests of democracy achieved only by flexible ways. When the fiery problems show up, there’s always no solution while it becomes a conflict. But while both oppositions create fatal danger, we like to turn off our brains. Then we fully rely on censors of our feelings. You know, while keeping silence, things work against you. It’s a common thing: in the circle of ten men, there can be ten divergent views. In rounding to the nearest thousand, it’s only one hundred that will match the right opinion. And the principality is that they are not regular folk anymore. Doesn’t the ancient Greek definition of democracy stand as the only state in the dictionary? Has anyone tried to guess it as a mistake? Isn’t it time to dig up a novel determination for democracy? Why not? Th
e dominant way to discover such terms is to arrange them almost by a lens amplifier. Let us, for a minute, imagine how experts of psychology and philosophy check new candidates in secret by use of anonymous quizzes. It’s like they propose hundreds of tricky logical questions about our reality. If they find someone, they will send a nominee to the honorable council of elders. These well thought of grandfathers and grandmothers would bombard him or her with easy-to-ask questions about life for modern folk. And then, people resume whether the person is compatible to lead the democracy or not?

  If you are concerned about today’s leadership, you have to prepare to create a new, blameless demarcation of democracy.

  How does that sound for your expression of government first? I trust the purpose is for regular people who must set straight all the demo-expectations and must forbid naming us folks—claiming their rights only in “general.” History teaches that democracy founded in ancient Greece by the finest citizens called oligarchs. And they were paramount to keep loyalty and interests for their natives. Let's paraphrase an excerpt from a quote of ancient time. “In a democracy, the poor will have more power than the rich, because they are the majority and run supreme,” said Aristotle long ago. But when we transform this opinion to nowadays, we find most poor have no power at all. In opposite, this greater part is under total control of small groups presumed as the oligarchy. Isn't that a degradation for not custody the interest of citizens? What are we getting from the twenty-first century from our demos as representatives? As it’s possible to betide, the simplest outcomes show, after we have delegated those demos to represent our rights, they jumped to the highest level of achievement in their lives and (it’s obscene, sorry) forgot about our existence. From this point of time as regular citizens, we can’t control even the smallest aspects of their political obligation. We can manage zero. It is worth it to underline all that had happened when we tied our trust to the advanced electronic voting system. So, in closing, we have only to state our self-defense has been stolen.