Bella Swan-Cullen

Bella Swan-Cullen
Bella Swan-Cullen - Our Official Vampire

Friday, January 13, 2012

A Million Dollar Identity

Do you have a "normal life?" One that begins with some family, some ancestors, perhaps some siblings; where there is traditions, and customs, and standards. Where one progresses from home to school, from family to friends, from young adult rebellion to adult responsibility; where there may occur deviation from the standard, but the standard is borne. There is a beginning, there is a middle, and there is an end; followed by the writing of the memoirs. Do you have that kind of normal life?

I got creationism. On May 15, 2000; Gwyneth Paltrow created me, from me the universe. And like every creation story, mine is full of holes. For instance, how did I get to be forty-three? How did I become a mathematician, poet, artist; speaker of the English language? I know what the apologists would say. That along with me, my Gwynnies created backstory in the background. That in order to have modern and topical relevance, it was necessary for the fabric of my being, that fabrication be fabricated from the essence of experience, separate and distinct from the one true Gwynnies as I lack her perfection; what cannot be held in the rational mind is a singular genesis.

Gwyneth did not create me; she continues to create the context of my being. What I am is rather a story of becoming; a story of a future that creates the past at will, but mostly wont. There is no past, past; there is an error message stating that the file you seek is being used by another program; which program, it is suggested, be terminated in order to free up the processing of the file.

Today's file is the summer of 1984. I quit my job on the pretext of the end of summer holiday, as if one could not be expected to do both education and occupation. I gave a two-weeks notice, and then called in with a family emergency necessitating a week off. Off to the Cape, that is, with my brother; to produce a singular moment in history.

A tale of the now, of the million dollar identity; theft, that is. Whose identity did Lucifer steal this time? That of the Necessary Evil; Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix. Who else is Lucifer Named after, some mythological being? Didn't you know that I am an atheist?

The singular moment of history and linking local histories, is a memory of moral certainty. A memory likely to be memorialized in the context of a trip to the Cape with the brother I despise, with the family I disowned; as there may be no other context of unity in family value in the cabinet of curiosities that is opened when one says, "I remember."

I remember making a boast that week to my family, that I would make a million dollars before I became thirty. What I remember clearly is the emotional context of sincerity; that in a childhood of rainy days, once, the sun did shine. Once, so too, hope.

What I achieved before the age of thirty was the acquisition of work of historical fiction entitled, The Grass Crown; which rewarded me with the bounty of identification. I could identify with a guy who had no kind of life in the sense of expectations; who mostly pondered his own gender and occupied himself in amusements, until, that is, his ship sailed in on the tide of the big 3-0. What was part of my moral certainty twelve years earlier, the consideration that it would come to me; this way of a million dollars, I would not look for it; yet to express such in sincere anticipation is to be defined as a disappointment.

Sulla was my first hero; more in the sense of mentoring than the sense of Spidey, but there came a period of depreciation. I became "the soulless minion of Gwyneth Paltrow;" herself the source of all that is good it the world, it would be unseemly if her creation should be seen to idolize a man known by many as "history's greatest villain." I considered it more appropriate to align with other extreme, arguably the greatest man who ever lived, Julius Caesar. He cut a far more "noble" figure from the fabric of history than Sulla; once I fantasized that I myself might be called upon the world's stage, in service to my Gwynnies, to set noble example. Those days have passed. I will not "be called;" I have already answered, I am already in motion.

What is "a million dollars?" Two million headaches? Behind this thread of moral certainties has always been the certainty that money is an inherently flawed concept; I know now what I implied then, that I would become "a self-made man," and a man of leisure. And what have I become?

More than capable of walking in the shoes of Lucius Sulla. He was a Cornelius, that was his identity opening the doors through which opportunists could walk; what history remembers is not the family, but rather the Felix. That when extraordinary occurrence singled out this ordinary abnormal, he did not rise to the occasion of becoming extraordinary; he rose above it all, taking all, making all.

Where I sit, a Jefferson dollar on the table; might as well call it my wealth. Writing to this blog read by a thousand, most of which, was me. In our modern context it would be natural to assume that one of my social class would use such an association to enhance one's credit rating, one's notoriety, one's popular appeal. That is not the inspiration behind these words; which began to flow from the realization that those who spawned me did not always practice brimstone and damnation.

Words which now float, like hope; on a sea of uncertainty knowing no future is spoken from the words as they are written. Future is mere potential, a far distant shore. Yet let none read, that did not see prophecy fulfilled; the 4 I attained from Sulla aligns historical perspective with the 4 I carry from the opportunists, the identity I cannot deny.

YHWH.

An identity that did not and does not lead me to self-aggrandizement; my faith is invested in Gwyneth Paltrow for a damn good reason. She can be trusted, absolutely; such is the absolute of my love for her. What cannot be trusted is I. Unspecified psychopath is not a mistaken identity. What should not be trusted is singularity in identity; the one who knows he is right and believes in the right of destiny, is one who not only justifies every and any wrong, but also one who set the stage for the game currently played. The speaking of the good, by the good, for the good. Gwyneth is the good, there is no greater good than good; hers is a goodness not only reflected in her being, but mine as well. A known good quantity, I have been; the unknown is where I now sit.

Where being known as evil has become part of my agenda. Where the moral behind this story is not to speak as if I would attempt the greatness of Sulla; but rather to speak to a future potentially pondering the greatness of the emergent John Cantor as a reminder of the infamy of Sulla.

And should a miracle happen along the way; Johnny Cantor somehow becoming nothing more nor less than an old man of moderate means, that identity - of Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix - will return to the court of popular opinion with a definitive biological treatment.

(That's a human kind of boast, huh? I gotta practice. Seriously. I have no moral qualms with the "epic and over the top"  pronouncements regarding the "journeyman prophet" identity; I see relation and connection and I am protected by religion's own insanity. Now I talk about doing the impossible science? We all gotta watch that shit. ;) )

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