in this day and age the word revolution is boring. it gives the police something to shut down. i want the world to see my drawing of an autocrat. i will label it autocrat so that they know its a drawing of an autocrat. it could be a drawing of a field worker, a walker or an eavesdropper. it could be a drawing of anything. it is too subjective to be universal even though i think anything personal is political like seventies feminism. i don’t know who the world is but they are there. they have email accounts and heads. the heads have eyes that can see everything and that can think faster than it takes to take a standardized test. they can see my drawing and think the drawing they see on paper is unusual and effective. they will think i’m effective. they, the world, will want to offer me a safe space where i can evolve as i grow older and my life fails and disappoints me and i won’t be raped by angry men or women who want to mind rape me or have other men hurt me for them. i have had men try to break me down because the women they were with wanted me to believe in them and i couldn’t believe in them. they sensed that i was critical of them. i grabbed a woman called jenny like that once, she had taken hold of my face with her two hands, and she grabbed my hands and licked them and nothing became of it. we decided we didn’t hate each other enough. it was like boredom but without the pain of knowing we were leading a meaningless life to death or the regret. we had no shame in front of each other that made us want to kill each other. we weren’t ashamed that we were shameless. we had no standards. it was hopeless. she left me kind messages. i sent her money. jenny shocked me when she killed another woman. they were talking and walking and her good friend said that she didn’t like the look on her daughter’s face. she said that she was neglecting her eleven year old. jenny didn’t remember how it happened. her friend had a broken skull and had blood in her eyes. she died instantly from a deadly blow to the head. jenny should have gone to prison. she fled to mexico. the autocrat is still looking for her. he has vowed to find her and to punish her for killing her friend. no one has told her daughter about the crime.
they are worried she will feel responsible for it. there is a small bald man looking to
hurt me because a jenny told him i mind fucked her. she penetrated my grandfather’s painting with handle bars and pretended nothing happened. she hates me because i told her i was impotent when i’m not. she hates white women who feel guilty about oppressing her. the social worker is underpaid, needy, and a drunk. jenny is tired of paying for gas money. the social worker likes brown women more than he likes white and black women. he wants to save them. he is the white knight par excellence. he takes the brown women’s children away from them when they are addicts and they want to kill him. usually they kill themselves. he has a temper. he fights with men who are five foot five or taller. they make him jealous. he’s five foot two. he has thick wrists. he takes an anti depressant that has a pleasant affect when he drinks cheap whisky. he is close to the autocrat. they get drunk and talk about white guilt and debase beautiful white women they can’t have. the autocrat says democracy is robust in his kingdom. he thinks that anyone who is critical is an opportunist. he is going to give the working class an allowance. they won’t have to work or to learn skills. the money they will be given will be satisfactory. he will legalize bordellos and casinos where everyone wins.
the transsexual lorn came out of the autocrats head and waged guerilla warfare against his regime. she started a transgender communist movement. i’m a lesbian, i’m gay, and i know how to use a handgun.
lorn appeared in my dream. i was her pursuivant. the nightmares were consistent. they cancelled each other. one was more violent than the one that came before. she sated my lust. i forgot about them.
lorn and i looked at the medieval paintings in the portland art museum. i knew i would forget what object the men and women in the portraits were holding and that i wouldn’t be able to descry them when i went to see them later not having remembered what the object was. it would simply be a portrait without a context, possibly i would remember the flatness of the medieval portraits.
the autocrat talks policy: we are a new country. we are fifty years old. the greater powers made the demarcations. we abide them. we have no history. we have the history i think. what i think is our history. my sons are our history. you are all my children. i will take care of you. i care about you. we have no memories. i haven’t remembered anything since the first, second, and hundredth reformation. crowd control is a mathematics.
it would be grand if we can get all of the upper middle class white women to strike, said lorn.
the autocrat and the nanny baby serial killers are both snobs. they hate each other. they have the same blank face.