Theatre of the Absurd

2 October 2025

Theatre of the Absurd: Almost Halfway There Chapter 50

There are 110 chapters in THE DAWN.  This morning, I opened up my digital file for Chapter 50, and paused to celebrate being Almost Halfway There — to my completion of this mission.

It’s been a long journey since early 2016, when I was still living in the Peach House, and I boldly, but placidly, embarked upon Book 1: Camille.

The road forward from that day moved steadily toward illumination, and the light of truth just keeps getting brighter, even on this rain-soaked day in Placer County, California.

As I’ve reviewed my translation of this Master Book into the French language, I consistently encountered pieces of my past, the distant past, and the extremely distant past, portions of my life that I’d once thought irretrievable.

I’ve since realized that the moments in my life that I’d given up for gone aren’t really gone.  They’ve been waiting for me to reclaim them, not that I’d willingly, or even consciously, forsaken them.  “Abandoned” is too strong a term to describe those interludes of my life when I was in flight, through an instinctive drive to survive.

I laugh a whole lot more than I did during the first run-through of Composing L’AUBE.  Back then, from 2016-2020, I was witnessing the transformation of my nation from corrupt chaos into more orderly, but just as corrupt chaos.  Being the intuitive observer than I am, I took note from time to time of the utter panic among the Political Class that, during my entire lifetime, has been marginally competent, but always crooked.

The sponsored online ads that I was forced to observe whilst using My Hotspot to access The Internet during Election Year 2020 were soooo telling:

Call my Elected Representative to Keep Abortion RareSafeandLegal for Hispanic High School Cheerleaders.

By 2024, I no longer had to subject myself to that taxpayer-funded vulgarity toward the female sex.  The online-headlines screamed for more Americans to agitate for whatever-you-want-your-sex to be — to be paid for by the taxpayer.

Do these rip-off acts always have to be subsidized by Someone Else?

Do the Pigs at the Trough ever get a clue that they’ve stuffed themselves as full of con-artist cash as any human can manage in one lifetime?

I find it so telling of the Toxic Hypocrisy of Our Times that while The Younger Generation(s) cannot afford to buy a house (real estate), the Piggish Ruling Class Members were given houses by those Almighty Donors — 2, 3, 4, 5 to each Politician-Parasite — to shill for the Corporation (which is Always Wrong: The Corporation is Always Wrong).

About eight years ago, I didn’t set out to set off digital alarm bells — SENSITIVE AND OFFENSIVE CONTENT WARNINGS — when I electronically checked the proper syntax/word order to describe:

a small black female cat

Which was deemed so obscenely vulgar that the website locked me out of their domain.

I guess it’s a good thing to not have found the Digital Dens that would welcome me with furry open arms!

The faux-language triggers have only gotten more preposterous, as time has passed by, and The Woke Corporation Came to Chain-Own the Internet.

Ah, those good old days of 2010 when WordPress ruled the rake-in-the-innocents-with-their-money ether-sphere!

I get all kinds of guff from the translation sites, based in Germany and France, over any of my exquisite literary text containing these Linguistic Offenses:

slave

slave labor

spike (as in lavender, not protein)

Fascist

Nazi

death camp

assassination

When you’ve written a novel, of historical fiction, about the Dark Years in France, 1949-1944, when the REAL Nazis ruled that nation, and most of Europe;

when you’ve worked intensely hard during the decade of your 20s to elevate yourself out of the GS-3 slave wages of the U.S. Government (just enough on which to starve);

and when you’ve witnessed the true horrors of what desperate and demented people do to one another, and might do to you, should you speak about what you saw them do to one another — 

the Absurdity of Online World takes on the definite French sensibility known as Theatre of the Absurd.

Totalement absurde !

Liberation is no longer just a word, or even a dream.  Even in California, especially in California:

It’s reality.