You remember Wayne, don’t you? We last talked about Wayne last month, near the end of his life, in the article “Love and its Substitutes.” We talked about his disastrous relationships with women that in the end turned out more disastrous for the women that they did for Wayne.
I take that back.
They ended up killing Wayne and damning his immortal soul, so… I guess it couldn’t have been more disastrous for the women if you want to get technical, but the consequences for Wayne were pretty much chosen, up front, intentional and fully merited. And a lot of the women were pretty close to purely innocent victims who look, at least on the surface to have been guilty of little more than having their paths cross Wayne’s.
I take that back.
Most of his girlfriends were walking on the wild side. The Wild Side of their own lives, I mean, doing what, in their hearts they knew they shouldn’t, but thought would benefit them in the pursuit of their desires.
Sort of like neoconservative foreign policy.
I mean you can’t blame America, er, I mean, the women. We can prove that Wayne was the bad guy, or at least, “a” bad guy, a very, very bad guy, in fact. And that absolves the women for their recklessness with their twin towers. Er, I mean those forays into places that their founding mothers told them to avoid. But they were adults, after all, with the right to choose.
But I digress. Because the real reason I bring up Wayne, in all his predatory sexuality, abusing and being abused, is to point out that he himself had parents and we did not mention them. No, we focused on what Wayne had done to become himself, leveraging his opportunities like any crony capitalist in a fascist economy, to the exclusion of the interests of his target “consumers,” the girls and women from whom he only wanted one thing. But he came to that “orientation” sexually in the absence of guidance to the contrary. His parents did not show him the alternative, the culture of Love and Life. They were strangers to it.
Wayne’s parents had lived their lives, albeit a generation earlier, on their own Wild Side, which of course in retrospect wasn’t very wild, at least not by today’s terms. Neither of them ever had group sex or robbed a convenience store or broke a retailer’s window to protest cuts in government handouts.
They just cut the cord of morality.
They hoisted the anchor and set the boat adrift, albeit very close to shore and only in the harbor. What good had “religion” ever done them? What need did they have to subject themselves, weekly, to the disapproval of the “righteous”? And that, they thought, was the essence of “religion.” It had not occurred to them, perhaps since childhood, I mean when not explicitly confronting the idea of Death (like in that short earthquake in the ‘90s), to consider the objective existence of God. He could not be mathematically proven, after all.
And so as both their children drifted slowly out into the bay, Wayne’s parents said to themselves that it was not up to them to “judge,” and that moorings were “old fashioned” and that you really couldn’t define the “dock” or the “bay” certainly not for other people. And as that whole generation of children drifted, each of them alone, in the general direction of Open Sea, Wayne’s parents took advantage of the opportunities to cheat in a less judgmental culture. The advantages they found, availing themselves of the freedom to lie about stuff, alone, were consistently profitable. They could point to their “gains.” The objects in the living room and kitchen and the driveway that were their reward for open-mindedness.
It was, in fact, their pay. The only compensation they would ever know for destroying the hope of their children, socially, morally, politically, and spending their futures by indebting them and tying that debt to the whole financial structure of the Keynesian miracle, the “Neoconomy.” What harm could it do?
Part Three: Children vs. The Damned, et al