DUSTY A Review: SLOW FADING - Outtake

DUSTY - SLOW FADING - HERE

A long outtake from Dusty's POV

YellowGlue is writing a very fine explanation of Dusty's cocaine addiction that while it may not be universal, certainly explains the addiction of so many young people.

THE TERRIBLE CONFRONTATION WITH DEATH

WITH THE VOID

WITH REALITY WITHOUT THE VEIL OF ILLUSION

A REALITY DUSTY SEES. A HYPER-REALITY DUSTY SEES THAT IS UNBEARABLE

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For Dusty is seeing the SCREEN

BAUDRILLARD

DUSTY HAS STOPPED FALLING AND HIT BOTTOM

And then, right there in front of everyone, it finally happens.

I'm not falling anymore.

I fall all the way down.

And the bottom?

The bottom is just dark.

Just alone, with chains and weights and locks you had every chance to shrug off and never did.

The bottom is keeping up appearances through a group picture with eight people who have no idea you just died so that the mother of your murderer can have a pretty picture to hang in her living room.

The bottom is feeling the person you thought for so long was love and home and heart and soul to you, looking right at you without any hint of an idea what she's just done.

The bottom is knowing she doesn't see you.

And if it's better this way, it doesn't even matter, because she never did.

If she had, I'd be walking to the Continental next to her instead of Petey.

I'd have her hand in mine instead of my phone.

I'd be kissing the pulse point I squeezed too tightly, instead of deleting her number and dialing his.

Edward has seen through the SPECTACLE of  graduation porno disguising the emptiness of the ritual. And he sees the horror of the ritual to be continued with marriage, children, your own children graduating, finding something you tell yourself you want to do, and all the while just  waiting for death. It is the awareness of DEATH in life that Malabou writes about. Is this what Jesus meant when he said, "Let the dead bury the dead?" Edward knows he is dead on his side of the window/screen, but so are they, only they are not aware that they are dead. So they do not require drugs giving the deadening of awareness. 

This is the theme of:

DUSTY Chapter 35

I try to remember the last time I looked at my girl through unaddicted eyes.

It's been years. I've been lit, guilty, spun, drunk-wasted the entire time. Every day. Through each I love you, through 

each touch, through each don't ever leave me. All the affection I have ever showed this girl has been habit-stained. 

It's never just been me. Ever. Cocaine has always been there. And before coke, it was bud or E, or shots of Jameson 

on my bedroom floor.

I've been dragging her though my bullshit for years, doing what I need to do to keep her, saying what I need to say to 

make sure she's always around. I dump all of my misuses on Bella because she's the only one who can carry them and still love me the same.

After everything I've done, she forever loves me back.

I take another drag from my smoke and pull at the front of my hair.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

I love her too hard.

I love her unsafe.

I love her to the brink.

Dope sick and tipped, I'm looking at her, and she's so small. She's a seventeen-year-old girl, cluttered with scars, manipulated into loving me. My stigma is all over her. I'm all over her. She never even had a chance against a monster like me.

I influenced her.

I sought and took.

I tricked her into loving me, because I did love her first.

I took advantage.

I've hurt her.

I just made her bleed.

That's not the first time. Cocaine smiles.

I've been with other girls, and I've chosen drugs—

I can make this go away, Dusty.

"Bliss,"I whisper with a throat lodged full of regret. I shake my head in an attempt to clear too many thoughts. I can think straight. I haven't had to think with a straight mind in so long.

"Hey," she says soothingly, brushing my too long hair away from my eyes. Baby smiles and my insides constrict. "Tell me," she says.

I clear my throat. "Princess," I say, brimming with anxiety and regret and self-disgust and how could she let me do this to her?

"Fuck," I moan into B's stomach.

Baby rubs my back and speaks quietly. "Tell me, Edward. Tell me..."

She turns my head with her hands on the side of my face, forcing me to be still, giving me no other choice but to look at her.

"I'm clean. I'm clean," I cry.

Looking at her is too hard. It's all there, on every part of her—our whole relationship. It's in the guilt behind her eyes, and in the purple below them. It's explained in her bitten-too-low fingernails, and in the dark bruises I kissed on her neck. It's in her cut lip and tangled hair. It's her sleeping in the back of this car when she should be at home in her bed. It's how she knows how to talk to me, a drug addict on a week long comedown. It's in the way she touches me, just right. It's in the life she's thrown away for this. It's in her uncertain future. It's in her broken friendship with Alice. It's in every lie she keeps.

It's in her beating-for-me heart.

It's in me, able to ignore all of it because I've been too fucked up to care.

And now I'm clean.

But I don't know how I can stay this way.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

For Edward to tolerate then access his power to be, to be an ubermensch (Nietzsche) this is his task in becoming "clean."

To quote Foucault on curiosity: it evokes "a concern", it evokes the care one takes for what exists and could exist; an acute sense of real which, however, never becomes fixed; a readiness to find our surroundings strange and singular; a certain restlessness in ridding ourselves of our familiarities and looking at things otherwise; a passion for seizing what is happening now and what is passing away; a lack of respect for traditional hierarchies of the important and the essential.

Eric Packer cannot reinvent himself either; find the "restless identities stirring":

Maybe he didn't want that life after all, starting over broke, hailing a cab in a busy intersection filled with jockeying junior executives, arms aloft, bodies smartly spinning to cover every compass point. What did he want that was not posthumous? He stared into space. He understood what was missing, the predatory impulse, the sense of large excitation that drove him through his days, the sheer and reeling need to be. (C. 209)

Dusty has decided to leave Bliss knowing she will suffer and knowing what she will realize from it. To become herself. To free her of himself. As Badiou says:

At the heart of love à la française lies the idea of 

freedom. To love truly is to want the other free, and this 

includes the freedom to walk away. Love is not about 

possession or property. Love is no prison where two 

people are each other’s slaves. Love is not a commodity, 

either. Love is not capitalist, it is revolutionary. If 

anything, true love shows you the way to selflessness.

In his recent book, “In Praise of Love,” the French 

philosopher Alain Badiou 

reminds us that love implies 

constant risk. There is no safe, 

everlasting love. The idea 

that you can lock two people’s 

love once and for all, and toss 

the key, is a puerile fantasy. 

For Mr. Badiou, love is 

inherently hazardous, always 

on the brink of failure and 

above all vulnerable. Embrace its fragility, wish your 

beloved 

to be free and you might just, only just, have a chance to 

retain his or her undying gratitude, and love

Now Dusty is out as a book - Innocents

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19214578-innocents

THE SCANDAL: Follow the Money Trail! It's Hot!Liberty Ross WINS Bigger Than BIg

HALO Combat Evolved 2002 -
Campaign by Rupert Sanders for Bungie

REVIEWS:ONE OF THE BEST GAMES IN RECENT TIMES, ON ANY CONSOLE, BAR NONE.
2. "This is the most important launch game for any console, ever."
3. "Microsoft created the Xbox so we could have games like HALO."
4. "...HALO's single-player game is worth picking up an Xbox for alone."

About Bungie:

"Bungie was founded in 1991 with two goals: to develop games that combine brilliant technology, beautiful art, intelligent stories and deep gameplay, and then sell enough of those games to achieve our real goal of  total world domination."
(From Xbox manual for HALO Combat Evolved 2002) This was a Single Person Shooter Evolved to control the market. It was not expected to be a fantastic success but it was.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

HALO 1: $40 Billion sales worldwide
HALO 2: $60 Billion sales world wide
HALO 3: $120 Billion sales world wide
HALO 4:IDK
HALO 5: Just came out.

Rupert Sanders made about 1 million per year for 1,2,3. HALO 4 about 5 Million

screenshot HALO 5

HALO 5

Now here's the kicker folks! 

After 10 years of selling, his contract kicks in for Centennial benefits of percentage of sales from HALO 1 on up. So we are talking about 1 to 2 Billion dollars. The 10 years were up in 2012. And what happened to Rupert in July of 2012? SCANDAL

Rupert Sanders was already married to Liberty Ross BEFORE he worked on Bungie's HALO. California is a Community Property State. 50% of assets go to each party. When they married Rupert didn't have anything much and Liberty had a lot. Liberty had a pre- nup but probably Rupert did not as he did not have anything. 

But does he ever NOW!

Without the scandal Liberty Ross would get 50%. A very nice piece of change. With the Scandal she got even more. You can bet your farm on that.

Who wanted to move to California, a community property state, but which still abides by pre-nups? Who had everything to gain and nothing to lose?

Who had everything to gain by that SCANDAL and nothing to lose? 

Who had a fortune to lose?

Follow the money every time!

Who is a superlative Gamer, who was not upset by the Scandal, who seemed to revel in it, who tweeted it?

Saving Mackenzie Foy From Lolita Land

 

multi pics posed of Mackenzie Foy

Geared up for pre-pubescent Lolita sexy!

Lolita Sucking a Lollypop

Lollypop is a Euphenism for ahem that male part of the anatomy that can be sucked,and licked.

THE WORST ONE OF ALL

• 
  

In 1937 Greene was a film reviewer for Night and Day magazine. In a review of the Shirley Temple vehicle Wee Willie Winkie, he wrote:

 "Her admirers – middle-aged men and clergymen – respond to her dubious coquetry, to the sight of her well-shaped and desirable little body, packed with enormous vitality, only because the safety curtain of story and dialogue drops between their intelligence and their desire."

Twentieth Century Fox sued on behalf of Temple, then aged eight, on the grounds that Greene had implied she played deliberately to "a public of licentious old men, ready to enjoy the fine flavour of such an unripe, charming little creature", Cavalcanti wrote.

Wee Willie Winkie Doll

 He added: "Thanks to vigilant, quick-witted friends, Graham was warned that the Americans producing the film had introduced a writ of libel against him, meaning that not only would the backers of Night and Day pay a large fine, but he, Graham himself, faced a prison sentence. The only solution was to find a country without extradition. They chose Mexico and our poor Graham went away very quickly indeed. Very likely Shirley Temple never learned that it was partly thanks to her that, during his exile, Graham Greene wrote one of his best books." : The Power and the Glory
http://www.independent.co.uk/n...The entire article is/was in his biography.

Jon Benet Ramsey

Would she have been sexually assaulted and killed if she 

hadn't been advertised as a Lolita? 

All these children have had their childhood stolen in 

homeopathic doses. Invisible theft. No thief. 

The Perfect Crime - Jean Baudrillard.

Mackenzie Foy- zine in a slip - vintage

Kristen Stewart Panic Room Premiere Age Nine

Stimulus/Response: Slave and Superpet  - John Holt

Excerpted from ESCAPE FROM CHILDHOOD, 1974

Free the Children;They Need Room To Grow

Children have always been owned and controlled by adults

But the family of which most people speak now-Mom,Pop and the kids-is a modern invention. The family of 100 years ago was in turn very different from the European family of 300 years before, when the whole notion of the home and the family as a private institution had not yet been invented. There is much evidence that the modern nuclear family is not only the source of many people's most severe problems but also is breaking down in many ways or changing into new forms. (Holt is thinking genealogically here anticipating Foucault.)

FAMILY: a SOURCE OF VICTIMS

The family was not invented, nor has it evolved, to make children happy or to provide a secure emotional and psychological background to grow up in. Mankind evolved the family to meet a very basic need....to make sure that as many children as possible were born and, once born, physically taken care of until they could take care of themselves.

...But the family was not invented to give people someone to love, or to make them happy,...To the extent that happened, it was extra. (Here we have Foucault's genealogy of the family intersecting with the growth of capitalism which needed healthy workers and consumers.)

Basically the family was and is a tiny kingdom, an absolute monarchy. It is this version of the family that people most heatedly defend. Most people who talk angrily about saving the family or bringing back the virtues of the family do not see it as an instrument of growth and freedom but of dominance and slavery, a miniature dictatorship, sometimes justified by "love," in which the child learns to live under and submit to absolute and unquestionable power. It is a training for slavery. 

What we need is to recreate the extended family. Or rather,  wee need to allow, encourage, and help young people create extended families of their own. There is no reason why the adult friends of a child should be friends of his parents. Parents generally want friends like themselves..

There can be no adequate protection against the abuse of authority, by parents or the state, except to give the victim the right to escape it.

She is NOT a victim of programming

All these Lolitas create the demand for this at a car show in Asia:

Child Exploitation at Car Show in Asia

A little more explicit eh.

How much more explicit try visiting the sex tourist trade there for children

AND

Children Models

DUSTY REVIEW: A KISS Is DANGEROUS

DUSTY BY YELLOWBELLA HERE

Garrett doesn't let me go, though. He's still kissing 

my face, closer to my mouth. Little by little, perfect 

presses…

Until his lips are on mine and his tongue is parting 

my bottom from my top. Until he's inside of me the 

only way this boy has ever been—the only way he 

ever will be. (DUSTY chapter 37)

Step back: the pattern in the tapestry

won’t tell itself till more of it is made.

Although it’s eighty-seven in the shade,

we have to work this hard making the hist-

ory we need till, trusting it, we’re free

to kiss each other better than when we

imagined kissing when we hadn’t kissed.

Marilyn Hacker in Love, Death, and the Changing of the Seasons 

HERE Maria Popova.

Now do you imagine what it might have been like to kiss him for a long long time because you didn't dare to find out

Or do you find out and let go of it?

Would you rather your lover wondered in their imagination? For a long long time?

BRANCUSI   THE KISS

THE KISS - KATE CHOPIN

“The Kiss” — Kate Chopin

BY BIBLIOKLEPT

It was still quite light out of doors, but inside with the curtains drawn and the smouldering fire sending out a dim, uncertain glow, the room was full of deep shadows.

Brantain sat in one of these shadows; it had overtaken him and he did not mind. The obscurity lent him courage to keep his eyes fastened as ardently as he liked upon the girl who sat in the firelight.

She was very handsome, with a certain fine, rich coloring that belongs to the healthy brune type. She was quite composed, as she idly stroked the satiny coat of the cat that lay curled in her lap, and she occasionally sent a slow glance into the shadow where her companion sat. They were talking low, of indifferent things which plainly were not the things that occupied their thoughts. She knew that he loved her—a frank, blustering fellow without guile enough to conceal his feelings, and no desire to do so. For two weeks past he had sought her society eagerly and persistently. She was confidently waiting for him to declare himself and she meant to accept him. The rather insignificant and unattractive Brantain was enormously rich; and she liked and required the entourage which wealth could give her.

During one of the pauses between their talk of the last tea and the next reception the door opened and a young man entered whom Brantain knew quite well. The girl turned her face toward him. A stride or two brought him to her side, and bending over her chair—before she could suspect his intention, for she did not realize that he had not seen her visitor—he pressed an ardent, lingering kiss upon her lips.

Brantain slowly arose; so did the girl arise, but quickly, and the newcomer stood between them, a little amusement and some defiance struggling with the confusion in his face.

“I believe,” stammered Brantain, “I see that I have stayed too long. I—I had no idea—that is, I must wish you good-by.” He was clutching his hat with both hands, and probably did not perceive that she was extending her hand to him, her presence of mind had not completely deserted her; but she could not have trusted herself to speak.

“Hang me if I saw him sitting there, Nattie! I know it’s deuced awkward for you. But I hope you’ll forgive me this once—this very first break. Why, what’s the matter?”

“Don’t touch me; don’t come near me,” she returned angrily. “What do you mean by entering the house without ringing?”

“I came in with your brother, as I often do,” he answered coldly, in self-justification. “We came in the side way. He went upstairs and I came in here hoping to find you. The explanation is simple enough and ought to satisfy you that the misadventure was unavoidable. But do say that you forgive me, Nathalie,” he entreated, softening.

“Forgive you! You don’t know what you are talking about. Let me pass. It depends upon—a good deal whether I ever forgive you.”

At that next reception which she and Brantain had been talking about she approached the young man with a delicious frankness of manner when she saw him there.

“Will you let me speak to you a moment or two, Mr. Brantain?” she asked with an engaging but perturbed smile. He seemed extremely unhappy; but when she took his arm and walked away with him, seeking a retired corner, a ray of hope mingled with the almost comical misery of his expression. She was apparently very outspoken.

“Perhaps I should not have sought this interview, Mr. Brantain; but—but, oh, I have been very uncomfortable, almost miserable since that little encounter the other afternoon. When I thought how you might have misinterpreted it, and believed things”—hope was plainly gaining the ascendancy over misery in Brantain’s round, guileless face—”Of course, I know it is nothing to you, but for my own sake I do want you to understand that Mr. Harvy is an intimate friend of long standing. Why, we have always been like cousins—like brother and sister, I may say. He is my brother’s most intimate associate and often fancies that he is entitled to the same privileges as the family. Oh, I know it is absurd, uncalled for, to tell you this; undignified even,” she was almost weeping, “but it makes so much difference to me what you think of—of me.” Her voice had grown very low and agitated. The misery had all disappeared from Brantain’s face.

“Then you do really care what I think, Miss Nathalie? May I call you Miss Nathalie?” They turned into a long, dim corridor that was lined on either side with tall, graceful plants. They walked slowly to the very end of it. When they turned to retrace their steps Brantain’s face was radiant and hers was triumphant.

Harvy was among the guests at the wedding; and he sought her out in a rare moment when she stood alone.

“Your husband,” he said, smiling, “has sent me over to kiss you.”

A quick blush suffused her face and round polished throat. “I suppose it’s natural for a man to feel and act generously on an occasion of this kind. He tells me he doesn’t want his marriage to interrupt wholly that pleasant intimacy which has existed between you and me. I don’t know what you’ve been telling him,” with an insolent smile, “but he has sent me here to kiss you.”

She felt like a chess player who, by the clever handling of his pieces, sees the game taking the course intended. Her eyes were bright and tender with a smile as they glanced up into his; and her lips looked hungry for the kiss which they invited.

“But, you know,” he went on quietly, “I didn’t tell him so, it would have seemed ungrateful, but I can tell you. I’ve stopped kissing women; it’s dangerous.”

Well, she had Brantain and his million left. A person can’t have everything in this world; and it was a little unreasonable of her to expect it.

Now Dusty is out as a book - Innocents

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19214578-innocents