The Madness of Envious Bees - 2 of 2

Now, since the root of all enlightened political action is vanity and venomous envy of the Gardener, the fluke extraordinaire is bound to flourish in that realm. The Great Fluke Rebellion of the late 1700s provides exceptionally good examples of this. Every condition of the Garden was thought to need significant reform, and since flukes extraordinaire are predisposed to assume leadership roles in all theoretical social remedies, the persecution of the bees and the beheading of their nobles began. Bolstered by good reasons, if not good intentions, extraordinaires were at the forefront of the mayhem, making clear to everyone (especially the roses) that the real enemy of the Revolution was the Gardener, who is, after all, the primary roadblock to the ascendancy of any creature’s personal universe.  Indeed, one of the most intriguing of the revolutionary leaders, a brilliant but demonic egomaniac named Maximilien the Fire Ant, eventually concluded that a more dynamic and “user-friendly” religion was needed to replace the antiquated faith of the rabble. He tried to establish what was known as The Cult of My Divine Revolutionary Platitudes, a religion that was entirely the product of Maximilien’s diminutive and surprisingly unimaginative personal universe. Although the new faith was enthusiastically hailed as a political home run by the ruling party’s precinct captains, it was jealously mocked by Maximilien’s rivals and fell into permanent disfavor after the old fire ant’s inevitable suicide in 1794.

The Extraordinaire   I think I am an island, As I seem to be alone   Except for toadies in my head That prance around my throne, And sing of my ascendancy In worlds, I would awake,   In which the others dance for me And curtsy when they break.

 

There is also a less dangerous form of fluke extraordinaire called a fabricant de vers or lowlife.[1] He is much like his more refined cousin, but his potential for engendering widespread destruction is limited by his need to immediately satisfy whatever base desire pops into his head. He is full of hatred and resentment and wishes he could be the Gardener too; but because of his childish impatience and intellectual paucity, he does not represent a danger to everyone but only to those who are physically nearby. He is in every way a narcissistic sore loser who thrives on personal revenge[2]. … What? … From whom? … I cannot … But …

I have this very moment received a love note from the blabbermouth Andre De Foi. He says that he is concerned that “my little speech” may drift too far into unhappy political discourse and suggests that I avoid that part of things altogether since Paris does not care much for the subject.[3]

 

Fine!

 

 

But among the reasons I do not easily express affection for anyone is that creatures like Andre often ask you to do things for them and then find fault in how you do them. They do not understand that although you may merely be a useful concept in their mind, you are your own universe, too. I cannot honestly say that I am always mindful of that fact, but I do expect others to be.  Creatures like my Andre are endlessly annoying in that way, but he is scarcely a fluke extraordinaire; and if I may say so, that is not a small point; for if he were, he would be a more discrete gentleman who can keep secrets to himself. But Andre is merely handsome in his way and to some degree pitifully charming, and those things could never win a discerning heart like mine.

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[1] In English, worm maker.

 

[2] Politically, Paris was eclectic. He opposed every war that occurred in his lifetime, but he despised both American political parties, particularly as they manifested on network TV news shows and Superbowl half-time extravaganzas. Still. at 16, he attended The Poor People’s March on Washington alone, and later became an active member of Students for a Democratic Society, arguing on behalf of that organization’s anti-war objectives for nearly two years. However, Paris’s outspoken contempt for the Woodstock Music Festival and his mean-spirited ridicule of Mao’s, Little Red Book, resulted in his expulsion from SDS in the autumn of 1970. As he aged, Paris grew increasingly suspicious of those who “raise a fist to signify their noble intentions” and devoted his remaining political energy to opposing the goals and objectives of globalist neo-Marxism.

 

[3] After the 1970s, Paris seldom discussed politics with anyone other than his brother, as he believed that such discussions inevitably involve a “self-righteous inner-demon” pitted against another’s “tortured personal universe.” Put another way, Paris did not think well of himself when he engaged in serious conversations with those who seek existential meaning in the dyeing of hair, the spitting of hate, or the flying of pastel-colored flags. And he was regularly hostile to anyone who expressed political opinions in otherwise pleasant social situations.