Andy Nowicki-- Low-Status Novelist, Assassin and Gigalo

by   Andy Nowicki Continued from parts  1 ,  2 , and  3 Even if one ignores nakedly draconian "stay at home" orders still in effect across much of the world, and defiantly opts to leave his place of residence whenever,however, and for whatever reasons he pleases, out of a certain quaint belief in an unalienable right to personal liberty, he will still run into certain difficulties, given current circumstances.

by Andy  Nowicki Continued from  Part 1  and  Part 2                             One day in early March, I was chatting with an acquaintance who is an avid sports fan. By that time, I had already heard an earful about the much-ballyhooed "Coronavirus," as it was then exclusively being called: these were the days before the subsequent coining of "Covid-19" as the formal designation (though jocularly irreverent sobriquets for this condition, such as "the WuFlu," "the Kung Flu," and "the China Syndrome" were already widely in use).

Heroic nurses dance the "Big Booty" whilst a  "deadly pandemic" rages around them. by   Andy Nowicki Continued from  Part One I will not treat here of the matter of whether the virus is a true "novel" phenomenon, or the various problems with testing for it, or other disputed aspects regarding its origin. Let us simply, for the sake of argument, stipulate Covid-19's reality as an authentically newly-formed microbiotic phenomenon. Certain concomitant truths about it are nevertheless well-nigh indisputable: 1) the lethality rate of this supposedly novel disease is quite low, and 2) those who die with this ostensible condition tend, as with most flu-related deaths, to be elderly, already in poor health, and/or already suffering from underlying health-compromising conditions.

Five years ago, I published  Conspiracy, Compliance, Control, and Defiance . In that extended essay, I put forward my observations regarding the psychology of those who set out to arrogate to themselves dominion over the rest of the population. I attempted to make distinctions between what is commonly known as the “sociopath”-- the sort of person bereft of conscience but also not typically possessed of excessive ambition—and the superficially similar type that I called the “reptilian,”  whose absence of moral scruples is matched by a boundless desire for power and control over his fellow man.

                                 There is a notable glut of self-help books available today. I’m sure that some of them are, in the main, inoffensive, and a few might even contain the odd jot or tittle of wisdom. But on the whole, the enterprise seems built upon a faulty premise: that a person can “improve” himself by reading books which instruct him concerning the alleged art of “self-actualization.”

When you say that you are lost, buried, pummeled badly, in wretched shape, that you are unlikely to recover, that you will soon perish, that nothing shy of a miracle could possibly save you, you are seldom believed. People think you are merely being grandiose and melodramatic. Or worse, you are believed, and they ask, or more commonly command, that you “get help.” There is an unspoken presumptuousness in the invokers of “help”-reception, which I have grown to find deeply galling. First, there is an unearned presumption in the notion that said “help” even exists at all. (By that I mean, “help” that is truly helpful, not as is unfortunately more common, “help” that advertises itself as helpful, but in fact isn’t.) Then there is the presumption that someone in need of help wouldn’t already actively be looking for it. Think of someone who endures chronic, crippling pain. Does one not presume that a person who suffers in this manner wishes to find relief? Yet somehow a pe