Free The Jerusalem Syndrome by Marc Maron

stone and I lunged. “Jim, do you understand what’s going on here? These guys?” I said, pointing at the statues behind me. “These guys were a cabal of renegade deist freaks. They used to have ritual circle jerks, kill goats, wear the silly hats and chant incantations. That’s why they all left England. Because they couldn’t practice Satanism. Then they came here and built a government based on it. I mean, come on, the Pentagon! Pen-ta-gon. The Military Industrial Complex is in the business of round-the-clock human sacrifice with the U.N. security force. Wake up, my friend. Listen to me, I know.”
    “What are you talking about?” Jim said. “The founding fathers had nothing to do with the Pentagon. It was built much later.”
    “Yeah, but it’s
all
built on the great secret keepers’ original mystical momentum,” I said confidently.
    “What
momentum
?”
    “The founding fathers knew it. They rode the momentum. They were all out of control. How could they not be? Think about it, Jim. After the Revolutionary War, when all the leftover soldiers and mercenaries went up into the hills to fuck Indians and create hillbillies, these guys had all the land. They were partying because they knew they would run the world. Ben Franklin was a freak! Every other day he’d send his boy out. Picture it, Jimmy.”
    I pulled my glasses down to the end of my nose like Ben Franklin.
    “I want you to go over to George Washington’s place and pick up some reefer. Tell him you want the good shit and not the kind he makes rope from. Tell him Benny sent you and he’ll set you up with a nice bag. Then stop by Tommy Jefferson’s. If he’s coming, tell him to bring the black chicks. Hurry now. If you get back here before the party, I’ll hook you up to the kite again. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Toby? Now go, score, Godspeed.”
    “Come on, Marc. That just isn’t true,” Jim said.
    “You come on, man. They were all Masons, all of them. Dirty, dark Freemason spin-offs of Weishapt’s Order of the Illuminati. Ben Franklin was an old-school Hellfire Club kinky Mason. Jesus, Jim, you want me to pull a dollar bill out of my pocket and show you?! The fucking eye in the pyramid is the mark of the Illuminati. Get it? FDR put it on the dollar. Roosevelt was Mr. New Deal modern Mason, ushering in the one-world government, opening the door for Trilateralism. You gotta listen to me, man. It’s true. I read this in a book written by a guy who writes books.”
    “I don’t think you really understand how politics works,” Jim said dismissively.
    “So what?” I yelled. “Is that what this is really about? Politics?”
    “No, Marc. Why don’t you tell me what it’s all about?” he said, trying to provoke and placate me simultaneously.
    “Wake up and feel the momentum, Jimmy! It pacifies the masses with entertaining psychic terrorism delivered by the media industrial complex until no one knows what’s real or who they are anymore. They go on thinking they know, but they are unable to care about anything. It leaves them walking through life as controllable husks in search of their souls, with ghost limbs for hearts to guide them. Then Big Business and the big banks sell them back to themselves piecemeal in the form of products and designed ways of life. Then the excited husks will begin to feel as though they are whole again, but they will only regain as much as they can afford to buy back, yet still be in debt. That’s the core of it. The hope of getting all of themselves back keeps control intact and self-actualization nearly impossible. That’s what democracy is protecting now, Jim, hungry fear. That is the American way. That is the pursuit of happiness. The President of the United States is just the highest level of middle management. This government is just placating the people and keeping them lost so the insiders—their families, their friends, business associates—can feed. It’s the momentum, man!” I smiled,