Proud words (N3)

Primer Lesson

Look out how you use proud words.

When you let proud words go, it is not easy to call them back.

They wear long boots, hard boots; they walk off proud; they can't hear you calling

Look out how you use proud words.

~ Carl Sandburg (1922)

We all know of a moment in which someone says the wrong thing and can't take it back. Proud words aren’t easy to define, and the harm they cause isn’t easy to predict. Maybe we’re the one who’s guilty of saying the wrong thing at times but is it the other person who goes deeper into the crime of speaking and then doing everything possible to cover up for misspeaking? Let’s look briefly at the case in question. You can decide where the element of pride plays a role.

He said, “I need money” and it was enough for them to understand perfectly. He said, “I want money.” More confirmation. They could begin to act on that. He said, huskily, “I love money. They easily captured the lust in his empty eyes with that statement. They also saw the way he gripped his new wife’s waist like he might grip the curve of a life preserver if he ever dared to go swimming. Possession on the outside was his goal (note the hand clutching the waist, crumpling the expensive fabric), fear of being seen for what he was on the inside, wrinkling his heart even as he gazed down at his bride whose waist he gripped with needly little fingers. There are photos that show the discomfort (pain) on her face. Possession obsession, you might say. Yes. With eyes that did nothing but try to convince the world he wasn’t fueled by pure vanity.

That wasn’t all they saw as he strolled through the palms and other greenery on the terraces they invited him to. To wine and dine him in the manner he felt he deserved. His wavy black hair resembled that on the heads around him, but it wasn’t a disguise. They were all very close observers and eagerly watched as he stared at prepubescent youngsters rather closely, his lips moving in a way they shouldn’t have. They watched as he fondled anything that seemed to be gold and even attempted to ‘acquire’ an object or two of small size but high value. (They stopped allowing him into museums and libraries for that reason).

There are other things you should know. He had attended some college after high school for a brief period, but to be honest he was nearly illiterate, which was perfect because they could have the news articles read to him and thus control what he knew about the world they knew he wanted to dominate. He thought his illiteracy was a well-kept secret, but those things always slip out. He attributed it to not having his glasses handy, but then he didn’t have glasses because he felt they obscured his green eyes, the envy of everyone.

Gluttonous narcissism was what they saw in him and they used it to control him in an efficacious manner. It was easy to maintain that situation, even long after he’d returned home from his honeymoon. Phone calls from the country with the lush green terraces and the exotic food would work just as well as their hold on him that began during the honeymoon, as long as the voice they used was an assertive one. They were skilled, however, and were up to the task. His incredible weakness was their command, and they rubbed their hands together They asked and promised, threatened and prevaricated. It was all to bring him into line while simultaneously giving him marching orders. He was a thug, but he was their thug and a very useful one.

There were few rules to the game. They essentially could be boiled down to a single tenet: Do as you are told, son of Faust. You have no plan B and you cannot lie to us.

And so Hank would eventually receive an elegant car of a make that doesn’t matter now, but he wasn’t smart enough to figure out what to do with it because he couldn’t drive. He was used to being driven around. Driving was manual or menial labor, he didn’t know which. When it was promised to him, he only thought of possessing it. Or maybe he thought he could sell it for good profit, since he hadn’t made the millions he craved yet.

Another promise was to gift him some prize real estate that he could develop. The money to be earned from the unnamed project was inestimable. His eyes turned greener and it looked like little S shapes with vertical bars populated both orbs. His confidence bloomed, then metathesized. He was too frothing at the mouth to ask for details. His bride wasn’t allowed to ask any questions either, and she never would be able to get a word in edgewise. Vacant lot sold as hot real estate. That was the gift. An asphalt square in a slum, big enough to construct a skinny hotel or a casino. His handlers knew it was the thought that counted.

While in the land of his honeymoon, Hank was attracted to some unique examples of architecture. He dreamed of taking some construction companies back with him in order to recreate what he’d seen. So regal, so sensual, so costly. He developed a business plan: the companies would (of course) pay their own way and do the building for free, while Hank would get them on television and sell their skills to rich people he knew. It was like the companies were investing in themselves and he would be their manager because, after all, they would be in his country.

If this sounds twisted, it is. Hank didn’t know much about the other country nor had he cared to learn anything. Life, even when the honeymoon was over, meant little more than being an object of adulation and occupying a body that didn’t need to be in shape because it was already perfect. He knew how to be hungry and thirsty, but didn’t have much class when it came time to satisfy the hunger and thirst. A grilled cheese sandwich was like a filet mignon, just as a tall, thin blond of twenty was similar to a short, plump redhead. They shared the only feature women need, after all.

Like I said, I’m not human and so can tell this story with all its sewers and slime, and I realize it might surprise you to hear such words at this point when it appears this is merely the tale of a grifter. Well, appearances can be deceiving. If it weren’t for my condition of immunity, silence would be all you’d hear. I’ve given a few details about the exotic terraces on moonlit nights so you’ll start to trust me, because the real details are borderline grotesque. The way Henry Karl was able - allowed to - pursue his goal of making himself happy while those around him never laid a straw in his path is uncanny. Or eerie. Or shocking. It ought to remind us of the song by genius Leonard Cohen, “Everybody knows”:

Everybody knows that the boat is leaking

Everybody knows that the captain lied

Everybody got this broken feeling

Like their father or their dog just died

Everybody talking to their pockets

Everybody wants a box of chocolates

And a long-stem rose

Everybody knows

By this I mean everybody does know, but knowing doesn’t mean knowing what to do when the Devil walks among us. However, I can do two things for now.

First, I can remind those who might continue to hear my story that it mostly started with a very few proud words of an individual who sought to slather himself with the drool of the foolish and fearful. Words that earned him some of life’s pleasures while exacting a high price. Those words couldn’t be called back. Unfortunately, they created immense damage, inflicted harm on many, turned parts of things and people rotten.

Second, and must ask you to trust me on this, I have a solution, an antidote if you will. It’s going to be a big effort, but I think we can pull it off.

Until then,

Eye