In the myriad levels and frequencies of spaces and places, the Now-Dance reigns through all. In the place where night and day are one, differences in doctrines are dissolved in the process of aligned experience.
“For Pete’s sake, Ebenezer Rothchild is not even a real person!” Thomas said, slamming his fist on the table in front of him.
He took a moment to collect himself. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and remembered that he’s not one of those angry pundits trying to stir up bad vibes. He’s a part of the solution, not part of the problem.
He looked back at the camera. “I’ll edit this part out.”
“I just want to know… where this is going.”
Tom and Gwen sat at their usual table in what appeared to be a coffee house, but the food was so good it might be a Michelin three-star restaurant.
Gwen was once Thomas’ high school crush who he’d finally gotten the courage to ask out to prom. Then, there was college. Then came the YouTube channel.
Thomas held up one finger, and continued chewing his avocado toast, stalling for time. He’d been dreading this conversation for weeks.
Finally, he came out with it. “Look… I know you dream of a house with a white picket fence and all that.” That hadn’t sounded the way he’d intended. “What I mean is… the Algorithm…”
“I know.” Gwen put her hand on his. “I know.”
Tom hadn’t expected to cry, but he wasn’t embarrassed. That would be gender normative.
She wiped his face with a napkin. “So, this is it?”
He looked at her for a moment. He loved her, there was no denying that. If it were up to him, he’d be with her for the rest of his life.
He shrugged. “I guess so.” And that was the end of that.
Tom checked his phone, and reached for his wallet.
Gwen said, “I got it.”
Tom said, “Thank you.” To do otherwise would be a microaggression. “Sorry, I gotta…”
“Deadline, I know.”
“I do NOT align myself with Nazis, whether you mean those of World War two era Germany or those who call themselves that today.”
The Press Man pointed to the Swastika tattoo over his heart, and the surrounding runes on his well-maintained torso. “How do you explain this?”
“When I was eighteen, I dropped outta high school, and went to India. Lived there for seven years. This tattoo was given to me by the same Brahmin who gave me these Mala beads, after I climbed a sacred mountain, chanted Om Nama Shivaya well over a hundred thousand times, and a lot of other things.”
“Okay, I see, so it’s nothing to do with Nazis,” the Press Man said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow to his audience behind the camera lens. “So, then, why is your perfectly spiritual, not racist at all, Swastika tattoo surrounded by Germanic runes again?”
He crossed his arms, standing tall and proud. “Because I honor my ancestors, like the Bible taught me. Like Confucius, and anyone worthy to be called human, or any animal taught me. And my ancestors came from England, Scotland, the Netherlands. Germany too. Runes are part of my heritage. And see here and here are Celtic knots. Because Celts are part of my heritage too.”
“So, would you say you’re proud of being… White?”
“Hey those are your words, not mine. Yours ‘n’ Carl Linnaeus’.” The Wolf paused, like he expected Press Man to say something. “Nothing? Really? You should Google that. Look, if it came down to a race war, I know what side I’d be on, but if you respect me, I’ll respect you. And being your rival du’n mean I think my ancestors are better’n yours, or my genes are superior. It just means I look out for my own. Just like you do. Ultimately, I look out for myself.” He thrust his thumb into the center of his chest.
“I see. Is that why you call yourself The Lone Wolf? Is that a real wolf’s head?” the Press Man indicated the taxidermized upper jaw and head of the grey wolf that the tall bearded White man was wearing as a hat.
“Just ‘The Wolf’. I am The Wolf. When you look at me, you are looking through me at the Great Wolf Spirit. My ego died a long time ago. I killed it. Meaning I, The Wolf, killed it. Now I’m just The Wolf.”
The Press Man tried to stifle a laugh, but also seemed to be a little bit afraid. “Well, that’s about all the time we have, thank you for taking the time to talk to us here at WOWT…”
“FAKE NEWS!” The Wolf got the last word in, then proceeded to howl and return to the chanting crowd, pouring two beers over his own head.
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