Black Sun Rising part 4

“We shall see them again at the epoch of the Revolution.”

The Bolshevik Empire had ostensibly collapsed under the doddering puppet president Reagan’s relentless idiotic posing. An intelligence community that should have known better relaxed its grip. Things were made available to the intrepid that should have been kept secret for a hundred years. For a brief moment in time the veil was pulled back, allowing the ordinary a glimpse of the extraordinary that moves the world around us.

- Abbé Louis Constant (Éliphas Lévi)

In 1974 I had seen a family I grew up with slaughtered in their beds while they slept the sleep of the dead. My best friend, even though he was only fifteen years old at the time, was suspected of being the perpetrator, until the drug addled surviving son confessed. We were anathema in St. Johns High School after that; leaving a trail of hushed whispers as we moved from class to class. Mercifully the dark teenage melodrama came to an end when the school auditorium burned to the ground right before the much anticipated Easter play. They blamed us, all the kids from the Amityville- Copiague clique and asked us not to return for the following year.

1975 was a big change in my life. It wouldn’t be the last but it was the first. No more expensive private catholic schools. I was now attending a high school where the student newspaper featured an obituary column. The stairwell at the front entrance doubled as a memorial for a kid who failed flying lessons. You only got in after being scanned with a metal detector. I had made the A-list socially right off the bat when two weeks in I was cornered in a cafeteria hallway by about a dozen Black kids, some who would finish their high school education in Clinton Dannemora, and slapped around as they tried to force me to eat cookies they had picked up off the floor. I didn’t eat the cookies. Instead Joe Demiglio and Joe O’Riely along with about two dozen other White guys had come charging down the hallway facilitating a bloody brawl that had to be broken up by the police, canceling classes for the rest of the day.

I was now one of the cool kids. I was only a sophomore but I had already learned scholastically more than I would ever need to graduate Copiague High School at seventeen years old. I never went to class, I would spend the first four periods in the school library reading about WW II, till lunch time when I could play handball outside.

I was a child of TV, 1960’s style. Vietnam and communist incursions, Yellow devils that lived just to die, a master race who’s god was a madman that would stop at nothing to enslave us all. The realities or at least what I was told they were, of my mother and father.

All through elementary school we would practice hiding under our desks for what we were told was the inevitable attack of the Soviet Union. Hitler and Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill, Emperor Hirohito and Bushidō, I wanted to know. I read all six volumes of Churchill’s The Second World War. I read Mein Kampf twice and a couple of biographies on Stalin. But I never read nothing like I’m about to tell you.

Those that know don’t speak, those that know nothing

write books that make the NY Times bestseller list.

http://www.veteranstoday.com/2014/03/10/black-sun-rising-part-4-2/