Philip by Tito Perdue

Author:Tito Perdue [Perdue, Tito]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: post-modern society, alternative right, Tom Sunic, Literary, Fiction, alt-right, Richard Spencer, Urban, Dystopian, New York
ISBN: 9781912079889
Google: iBx9tQEACAAJ
Amazon: B0771S86T3
Publisher: Arktos Media Ltd.
Published: 2017-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

Eleven

He has wended his way back home again and hath lain upon the couch. Would night never come? On the other hand, it was generally at night when C. James Martin carried out his experiments. For lack of other duties, he switched on the television and then quickly turned it off again and proceeded to disconnect the whole apparatus from the two-eyed socket with the tiny mouth. Where was he now — 31 years old? Or 32?

He snoozed, showered, eliminated and shaved, and when it grew dark gathered his checkbook and two savings accounts unto his breast. He had just four thousand dollars in one such account, $117,302 in another, and in still another some 28,000 French francs. He judged his Confederate currency to have about $2,000 worth of antiquarian value, but would prefer to starve than to be separated from that. He had a television set that might be sold or traded. And he had a smattering of old and current female acquaintances ready to “loan” him money, as the expression goes. A nastier person than Philip could have made himself rich that way.

On his first night he managed to inveigle a ticket for a performance of Berg’s Wozzeck, an experience that did nothing to anneal his mood. Nor indeed his second night, spent by him in his stark and dusty apartment. It is true that he could place himself in dreams with King Alfred, or Epaminondas, or other models of his, Lee Harvey Oswald for example, or E. A. Poe. Truth was, his mind and imagination, already larger than the world, were forever flitting back and forth among such persons as had been equal to, or maybe even better than, himself.

He had looked forward to his Thursday interview, even going so far as to prepare a fine meatloaf with beans and potatoes for his woman. Delighted with his efforts, she sat across from him at the little round table that also held a fruit jar with half a dozen flowers in it. Her appetite was good and soon they had advanced to the cherry pie and vanilla ice cream purchased especially for her benefit.

“Oh, Philip,” she said. “You’re my very favorite person!”

(Not “only person,” note.)

“More pie?”

No. Tonight, her schedule was particularly tight.

Friday, he stayed at home, and then on Saturday night he strolled to the “Village,” to watch the suburbanites and businesspersons hoping to participate in the world of art and immorality. He passed a painter at his easel, a genius with a beard, and then next an adorable little bakery vending new-made bread. He slowed to watch a busload of excited old ladies pouring out onto the sidewalk, almost colliding at the same time into a haggard poet made up to look like Verlaine. Already fifteen minutes had gone past and he had not yet been befriended by a single queer.

He hated to be out of doors past nine o’clock; even so he now turned into a down-at-the-heels restaurant that held just four or five people, all of them depressed.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.