My Personal Portrait: A Literary Medley
by Richard O'Donnell
December 14, 2007 06:16 PM EST (Updated: February 13, 2008 05:11 PM EST)
Richard O'Donnell's ProfileMy Personal Portrait: A Literary Medley:
This is the Preface to the Second Edition (still in progress) of the already published book immediately below, which is itself the fourth and hitherto only published volume in the series. Yet, more specifically and accurately, perhaps Idols of the Theater should be considered the core of a fifth volume, along with this introductory page; while most of the accompanying documents on this web site, being thereby incorporated into the current volume, are reproductions of, and, in certain places, amplifications upon, those to be found in the other, previous volumes; which slightly overlap in content as well, but this one to the greatest extent yet, although only a small fraction of even Volume Four is hitherto to be found here. Certain of the other documents are posted as comments on other documents, and interspersed with articles by other authors which prove instructively relevant, not to mention a few additional comments by a small majority of ill-mannered guests who dropped in to take a dump--right from out of their typically vile mouths! It's just about like being back with most of the other "students," in college! And, apparently, again, even this page is still under construction, just as all the other documents posted are subject to minor amplification now and then. I also hope to complete the already started transcription, available here as well, of Alan Watts: Zen, Language, and Philosophy, the Second Edition, a Formally Analytical Synthesis, into electronic form as soon as possible. To be sure, there is enormously more which could be added, including further details embodying the most formally, biblically prophetic patterning; but more than enough has already been, among other things, apparently quite ungratefully "received," due to which I might just be moved to draw the line here. However, for further amplified, updated versions of these documents, please go to Gather.
Philosophical Letters: The Last Revival, for a Nation in Abject Self-Denial, but Hardly the Kind Which Redeems!Richard O'DonnellFormat ISBN PriceElectronic Book (E-book Instructions) 9781403366146 $ 6.95Paperback (6x9) 9781403366153 $ 14.00
About the Book: In a world of conflicting religious, political, and ideological systems (I Corinthians 3), this volume is nothing less urgent than a breadth of rationally, professionally well-structured sanity; which endeavors to distinguish fact from opinion, and half-truths from those which may really be worth killing the other side in order to preserve. Extensive treatment is herein given to the teleological design of human history, as specifically involving the identity of the Biblical Beast with Seven Heads and Ten Horns, how the symbols used to delineate the actual shape of this beast, and their relationship to the Seven Seals, correspond to actual peoples, events, and institutions in history, and what basic lessons, of a primordially axiological nature, are meant to be realized here. Overall, this Philosopher's Stone of Master Craftsmanship far outshines the usual breed of commentary, while absorbing all the rest within its much more rationally, comprehensively, authoritatively well-divided gestalt. This volume is also written in the form of an autobiography, a journal of this author's own personal and professional minutes over the past twenty-plus years, as they relate to the many religious and philosophical issues herein discussed. Shall he dare hope, even against hope, that most of you, despite finding his views quite personally, even sensitively, painfully untenable, are more graciously willing than most he's encountered thus far, to at least respect his Constitutional Right to Free Expression? This is not a volume for the squeamishly, hypocritically "diplomatic," or those many-too-many whose pettily, lopsidedly, glandularly partisan sensibilities simply cannot endure the harshly, painfully uncompromising urgency of his candidness, the Primordially-Piercing Depth his Passion, or his wariness of what usually, resentfully, hysterically passes for the most "wholesomely optimistic" kind of reaction to his unwillingness to please and cajole at any cost.
About the Author: Having grown up as a real Christian under the Explicitly Pagan Roman Empire would have been perhaps a more harrowing experience for the body, but there's nothing comparable to the MIND RAPE of trying to make any honestly intelligent sense of things as a Christian Roman, with the correspondingly and necessarily as well as ORWELLEANLY implicit imperative of SYSTEMATICALLY SAYING ONE THING, AND NEVER DARING EVEN TO REALIZE THAT WHAT YOU MEAN IS THE VERY OPPOSITE (Isaiah 5:20-23). MOST very "Christianly" and "Graciously" adapt to the status quo, simply because their ONLY motive is to say and even believe whatever OPPORTUNISTICALLY and SELFISHLY "works," to the point where even the most flagrantly-transparent CONTRADICTIONS are not the least bit troubling. This author, to the contrary, has paid a heavy price, to discover the folly of having ACTUALLY BELIEVED they WANTED what they SAID they did, only to have been CHEWED TO PIECES even more for having given it to them. It's no wonder to me, by now, that this society violently, behavioristically rapes into young children what no morally rational individual could ever take seriously, at face-value, based on honest persuasion! . . . That's the kind of treatment he endured for six long years at "his" Alma Mater, and he has no reason to assume that the HATRED he experienced OF his GENUINENESS (John 15:18-20) is anything nearly as exceptional as the genuineness itself.
Free Preview: My manuscript is entitled PHILOSOPHICAL LETTERS: THE LAST REVIVAL, FOR A NATION IN ABJECT SELF-DENIAL, ALTHOUGH HARDLY THE KIND WHICH REDEEMS, VOLUME III, THE PHILOSOPHICAL APPENDICES AND POSTSCRIPTS. As a citizen of the United States, this is my message to every fellow countryman, one entailing the most indispensably-crucial insights, on virtually every level, of the nature of the society in which we live. The very letters themselves, which comprise this roughly 500-page, single-spaced volume of type, constitute a living testimony, on their face, as to the nature of what truly concerned and responsible citizenship actually should entail. There are letters to educators, politicians, pastors, theologians, celebrities, prisoners, newspapers, and, perhaps most extensively of all, to the President of the United States, William Jefferson Clinton. Every idea and issue emerging in these letters is developed and treated in a most formally well-disciplined way, while being likewise very reasonably-digestible on a level of common consumption. What I present is not only informative, but inspiring, and indeed dynamically-eccentric enough in form to at least sufficiently entertain those who are seeking nothing more.
In a further specific vein, this manuscript of letters embodies endless references to many of the greatest motion picture masterpieces ever produced; which, in conjunction with some of the finest television programming from the sixties, are imaginatively and creatively utilized to illustrate various things about our lives nobody could ever have conveyed any better. With all the castigation occurring against Hollywood today, as well-deserved as so much of it has lately come to be; it's much-too-wastefully and tragically easy to overlook what is, on the whole, one of the most fruitful cultural legacies in existence, one which rightfully deserves to be characterized as so much more than the mere entertainment it unfortunately is to far-too-many. One could only wish so many who attack the entertainment industry today, particularly from positions of formally-public responsibility, would rather much more faithfully emulate the many characters utilized to illustrate my purposes; while also learning so much more than they currently do, even from fictional characterizations which need to be no less urgently understood as a means of AVOIDING their emulation off the screen. The creative genius of this medium has an endless array of such quality to offer, and one must not so easily shortchange this by confusing it with the level of what far-too-many only show their own limitations by reading into as well as getting out of it.
There are even two letters to Charles Manson (Steve Railsback and Jeremy Davies, two excellent performances!), both of which he has answered (an anomaly, even a fluke, the reason for which he clarifies in his second letter, and which bears certain structural similarities with the way NOMAD, from Star Trek's "The Changeling," had mistaken Captain "Roykirk" for its "Creator!"), and which I could include in the form of an extra appendix. I wrote him as one who relates to his kind of anger and frustration, but also as one who clearly disapproves of his methods in acting out such otherwise legitimate and urgently-indispensable concerns as he fluently expounded upon at his trial. Most people are at least subconsciously fascinated with him, but while also lacking any real understanding as to the reasons why; at least not the deeper reasons, which always lurk beneath something much more superficially as well as reprehensively predictable, something which is reflected in the box office returns of films such as SILENCE OF THE LAMBS! Because of the extent to which Manson's own deeper message was wasted, we now see schoolchildren acting out the same thing on their campuses with much more alarming regularity. The simple truth of the matter is that none of us are really that nice to one-another, and much of it is by now being tragically vomited back out at all of us.
As a victim of this very thing all my life, for the past fifty-one years now, particularly in schools, churches, and the workplace, I have rather chosen to constructively channel all this desperately volatile energy into the most systematically social commentary available to date. Moreover, to spurn this kind of sincerely intelligent appeal, from one who is therefore automatically being told to hold it all in until he bursts, makes every ounce of alleged concern for why such murders and rampages are occurring with greater and greater frequency ring all-the-more-hollowly-hypocritical in form. Indeed, such a crime by itself demands in response that somebody be handed the Final Bill, just as surely as God Himself exists to inevitably perform the function. In many ways you can see and verify for yourselves throughout the pages of the text, I am the voice of the voiceless, and my own exceptionally skillful capacity at presenting what they are not at all articulate enough even to comprehend let-alone explain to others in any but the wrong ways must not be ignored! "Charlie," whom I at least respectfully-enough agree with him to look like no "Chuck," to me, either, has been extended, along with the girls, an opportunity to speak, not only because they are more "marketable" than I, but also because they are no longer taken credibly and thus "dangerously" at all, the way I would be, save for the disgustingly ironic fact that I have no "credibility," no "marketability," precisely because I've never done anything to anybody! About the only thing I do have in common with "Charlie," other than the fact that you hate both of us, is that you correspondingly turn my stomach every bit as much as you do his!
The trick of Satan is to behavioristically, subliminally pair, in the popular "mind," the legitimacy of my grievances with Manson, with the extent to which he's actually forfeited any right to complain, while "discrediting" my perspective in the process! He even threatened, in his second letter, to have "my head on a stick," because he'd come to the conclusion I was being motivated to parasitically latch onto his fame, as if I'm not, for that matter, quite emphatically owed the very thing I wasn't actually seeking at all, but which he should rightfully regard as a restitutional obligation on his part--to me--and to society! He's forfeited any right to complain, and so he gets to be heard, while I haven't, and so I don't! Talk about having everything systematically, unconscionably, brain-deadeningly--backwards! Manson had even gotten the false impression I was sorry he hadn't been executed about as methodically, ritualistically as the beef steaks he'd also written me are no different in principle from carving up humans. Again, Manson was mistaken about my disappointment, just as even his name alone is much-too-unaccidentally and revealingly symbolic in its signification of the very life a Divinely-Ordained Fate had obviously seen fit to spare. I could, however, have been more thoughtfully careful, at helping avoid such a terribly simplistic misunderstanding; not only by having more concisely phrased what I'd actually been attempting to convey, but also by having questioned even the accuracy of that; for, after-all, my statement, the one he'd so indignantly misunderstood, namely, that he should have been executed, long ago, fails to be so easily, predictably true, even in the only other possibly, coherently intended sense, and not merely in retrospect.
Moreover, while so many of you are shallowly, imbecilically, insipidly, and just plain disingenuously "equating" me with the "hate" in him, instead of causatively relating even it to the kind of hate you so "wholesomely" know how to mass-hysterically, self-righteously disguise, you lack even the basic, God-given horsesense to thank your undeservedly lucky stars I've been granted mercy from the Lord, the mercy of salvation, and understanding, and an irrevocably everlasting commitment unto Him! That's because my SECOND choice would have been at least the wish for a chance to show many-too-many of you what a real Leprechaun: Back 2 the Hood is like--to "think" you can continue presumptuously pushing around and taking so contemptuously, insultingly, mockingly for granted! But don't misunderstand me here, for it doesn't come easily at all, while my enemies continue at least "implicitly" receiving all the credit for my self-restraint, even more despicably than if they'd had me as literally sealed for life in the very dungeon of Plato's Republic as they currently do quite "figuratively!" I have to work hard for it (Romans 7) (I Corinthians 9:24-27), even from across this INFINITE GULF which separates me, even in my admiration of him! But "don't" worry, for you'll all be having to deal with this selfsame charmingly delightful little fiddler soon enough, if you can even begin to understand the depth of prophetically as well as axiologically reflective symbolism in this film, shortly before my Master returns to send even him where he belongs, along with all the gold nobody else had even been "nice enough" to consider returning, even when they were asked "nicely!" Not only does Manson fail to realize who actually wants my head on a platter, rather than his, and why, but most of you have no idea how disappointed Satan is, and wrathful against me, that most of those who ever "thought" they "knew" me have "inadvertently" failed, and shall continue to do so, despite their relentlessly, mindlessly mean-spirited efforts, to solicit my help, and thus my doom as well, in dying for him, their real master! Most of you very superficially, "sentimentally," "wholesomely," theatrically lack even the brains, let-alone the guts, to realize you actually have no hearts, either!
This manuscript also offers, perhaps most superlatively of all, a comprehensive overview of civilized history, and how the clearly demonstrable order and design involved correlates with biblical symbolism, but the Book of Revelation in particular. All other presentations of such material today, as informative as some of them are in certain crucial ways, are reduced to mere patchwork by the kind of highly-disciplined and formally-detailed as well as symbolically-dynamic content God has blessed me with the rationally-inspirational insight to offer. These calculations involve cycles and patterns, dates and timetables, which can all be rigorously and astoundingly verified, at least with what relatively little time we have not yet to waste. But this life didn't just happen, for the sheer hell of it; just as the answers are available, at least now, along with a challenge to study them rigorously, and see for oneself. That's right!--None of you have to "believe me," if you have the brains, as well as the honesty, to dare trying to refute the accuracy of my claims, quite meticulously, point-by-point! Moreover, since there's only one kind of "proof" even most professing "believers" have little if any choice but to "respectfully understand" at all, I challenge every single one of your "mega-buck ministers," if they have the guts, along with perhaps even the vast majority of those typically flat-footed little tin gods who "pastor" in their own separately, jealously, subjectively, whimsically well-guarded quarters (Isaiah 56:11-12) (II Peter 2), competing even against one-another to become the most "popular," or, "pardon me," the most "authoritative," to a REAL SHOWDOWN, say, from right out of Jeremiah 28, or I Kings 18! While I could begin in far-too-many places, I'll simply refer you, and virtually all of your so-called "Christian ministers," of whatever "denominations" (I Corinthians 3), to Jeremiah 23--and beyond! Your insufferably, perennially prevailing kind, all the way back to Job's "friends," and the exquisite sermons they'd given, bring to remembrance passages such as Isaiah 48:1-2 and Ezekiel 2:3-7! If there's anything, indeed, the only thing, I could ever want to ask of the Lord, in this world, for me, personally (Psalm 37:4-11), it's the rescuing of nothing less than my very conscience, as expressed in Psalm 41:11, in conjunction with Isaiah 66:5; rather than, if nothing else, the false appearance of Isaiah 40:27, stretching into more than half-a-century now!
Much time and expense has been devoted, from my end as well, to the kind of educational excellence I've achieved. Yet, despite my many university degrees, I've thus far been circumstantially denied an opportunity to extend the taxpayers who supported my efforts the most meaningfully-fruitful return possible on their investment. Thank you very much for your attention, and I anticipate hearing back from you very soon; or, much more realistically, you'll not find that which I represent nearly as easy to evade as far-too-many want to believe. Moreover, while I'm sorry to have to say that Manson, whose real reasons were not the same as mine, either, is at least currently no worse off than he, along with EVEN this society, rightfully deserves; he did turn out to have been much less problematically-inconsistent-a-disappointment than even his girls, who'll apparently say anything just to obtain the kind of parole no honest penitent would even dare so easily if at all accept, let-alone seek! Assuming they are truly sincere, then God certainly knows as much; but they should also be among the first to realize, thereby, and virtually to the point of outright insistence if necessary, the extent to which it would be quite tastelessly presumptuous, particularly of them, to expect any mere mortal to trust them--ever again! As for "Tex," he puts on a very impressive rap, with that bible in his hand. Yet, as my mother, who's right in line with Sharon Tate's, made certain to observe, there wasn't one trace of detectable remorse in his attitude, or concern about the horror of what he'd done! Perhaps that's just the Roman Catholic in her, but certainly not too much of it in this case; just as it required someone about as genuinely Liberal as her Church currently pretends to be, such as the daughter of the LaBiancas, to really bring out the kind of dynamically, harrowingly, transitionally New Covenant Tension which shall shortly be coming to a most nastily, violently, apocalyptically festering head! Moreover, one of the dirtiest little "secrets" of all is that the only reason I have even this much publicly accessible space is because those with the "unofficially," absolutely autocratic authority to order me censored even more completely are aware of the extent to which, in the popular "mind," as reflected, again, quite characteristically on this web site, in the few posted comments on some of my articles, I am only serving to "discredit" myself even more completely, and, in the process, to make all those who have personally "known" and hated me in the past look even more "vindicated," with every added syllable, while also serving as "proof" that, if even I can speak, then this must truly be a "free and equal democracy!" And, by those who actually make these decisions, I don't mean the "private entrepreneurs" who also have the "right" to censor anything they whimsically desire, while thereby arguing that their decisions have nothing to do in principle with the First Amendment; at least not to the extent that even they can be, shall I say, "overridden," if rarely-enough necessary, as much so as the perceived "imperative," per se, that, let-alone how, I be SHUT UP, even on this web site!
In the Spirit of Elijah,
Richard O'Donnell
On Gather, I'm looking for: Primarily and decisively, I seek nothing from any of you, neither your money nor your approbation; although, as mockingly, swinishly as virtually all of you would react, I'm here to try doing you a favor, albeit one I personally feel to be a total waste of time and energy! The reason I nevertheless obediently bother at all can be found in Ezekiel, Chapter Thirty-Three. I'm simply a messenger, and this is the message, the very information so vital to all. It's not exactly the most fraudulently standard or "pleasantly optimistic" one, particularly for most who believe they're ready to meet the Lord (Amos 5:18-27); but you can mockingly curse it all you want, now that I'm delivering it, and YOU are therefore ceasing to be MY problem! Quite "secondarily" alone, and while I'm certainly no longer holding my breath, I would greatly appreciate some meaningfully rare communication, and perhaps a decent lawyer; just for openers, one who cares about anything more inherently if not experientially sacred to the very nature of his chosen profession than money, of which even the most superfluously affluent among them quite ungratefully as well as complacently never have enough! The Office for Civil Rights, U.S. Department of Education, finally responded to my requests, after thirty years, only to inform me that the "Statute of Limitations" had expired! Never mind that, again, my requests had been ignored from the very beginninjg, from long before that "sacred" deadline date, and that I had even been academically threatend by certain CSULB faculty members for having "dared" exercise my supposed right, and even duty, to file complaints! I suppose one has to be an O.J. Simpson to expect anything approximating a fair trial, which I do believe it fairly well had been in his case, at least with respect to the verdict; save, that is, for the kind of Double Jeopardy (and that's "about" all anybody with an honest brain, or any kind of brain at all, can possibly call it; even despite a conveniently rhetorical "preponderance" of the most criminally inconclusive evidence, based on a Constitutional interpretation which is itself most carelessly "unambiguous" at best, even on behalf of the writers themselves!) which thereafter cleaned him out of every cent they could squeeze!--And that's not even to mention the damages he has coming, in addition to the money he legally deserves to have refunded, seven-fold, for the kind of spitefully malicious destruction to his reputation which resulted in his having been boycotted at country clubs and various other places!
Remember, also, that nobody ever looked more circumstantially guilty than Dr. Richard Kimble, either, even though he hadn't been at all! Robert Blake looked no less guilty as hell, too, even though the same viciously mindless herd of rabble have not been guided, by the same Pavlovian Bells, to start screaming for his head! So much for those who remain so racially biased in their "certainty," at both ends of this sinisterly-engineered pseudo-social experiment; even despite the very good albeit perhaps no less hopelessly inconclusive reasons they should see they have, after-all, for very strongly suspecting that even the murders themselves had been committed in his name, to precisely such a purpose! At any rate, "innocent until proven guilty" means nothing, any more than the actual decisions of their own courts necessarily do here; even to most who otherwise claim to take them as Gospel in any case, let-alone relative to the actual reasons even the minority undoubtedly have for cheering and perhaps likewise voting into existence his acquittal (or are the actual statistics here merely "coincidental?"), instead of continuing to venomously, salivatingly desire his head on a platter! And, on second thought, how can even the first trial be called very fair, either?--Not only given the strong possibility of a merely quite accidentally appropriate verdict, even if he actually is guilty; but also because, to be sure, about the only thing I heard, most audibly, every single day, was the "objectively impartial expertise" of Ron Goldman's father staring no less bloodthirstily into the cameras; and with not even a single venue to spare, at least for the sake of a "trial" that never "seems" to end! Had I been in Simpson's place, I would have welcomed at least a Henry Fonda, to help off-set, let us say, even nine or ten other Angry White Men! Moreover, I have little if any real doubt that the Powers-That-Be are gloating, just a little, that black people, beginning with most of the jury, instinctively seemed to take the side, regardless of guilt or innocence, even of one who appeared not to have considered himself any longer equal with their own, in addition to their "cultural" identification with the "likes" of one of the most symbolically, "liberatingly" questionable "professions" of all, just in case there's any "perception" of my own supposed bigotry in Simpson's favor here! And, speaking of the "Super Bowl," is there anybody left who still proves "idealistically" disingenuous enough to deny the virtually universal assertion that, as Arthur Kirkland (Al Pacino) put it, in And Justice for All, "Both sides want to win, regardless of the truth, and regardless of justice!" Indeed, it's superlatively bloodcurdling to contemplate how many of these same creatures, on both sides, would be just as typically gloating at the fact that I'll never have a day in any one of their "courts," at least not on my terms, and the very ones upon which America's survival by now no less imminently than symbolically depends!
Indeed, just use the highway as a gauge, in conjunction with some of the best laws on the books, of how many belong behind bars, "if" not in "letter," then "at least" in spirit, before they have any real opportunity to "graduate" to the status of the former as well, and for the sake of the well-being of everybody else, if "virtually" anyone to speak of, deemed worthy of being left alone, free, and on their honor. For instance, try driving at exactly the speed limit, particularly while signalling to make a right turn, into a parking lot, within precisely the required amount of time and distance officially prescribed by the law, and see how many nevertheless either "inadvertently" ram your backside, or else avoid doing so by a much-too-recklessly and thus accidentally unacceptable margin, quite typically only because there just happens to be nobody in the lane to the immediate left to block them while they're abruptly merging over to pass. The same goes for anybody "courageously" foolhearty enough to volunteer in a crossing walk experiment, on any major street, without a traffic light, and particularly when the traffic is thick. Even more, if you're among the many American pedestrians who actually go so far as to presumptuously defy the average driver to stop for you, at least for the sake of his own self-interest, in a way nobody in Mexico would lack the sense to do, then, again, just try waltzing out, between the lines, even with the first of the next upcoming stream of cars at least one-quarter of a mile away, being detained by the adjacent traffic lights down the street on either side. Just waltz out, as though those "Sacred Lines" which contain your own most clearly visible form, from reasonably far enough away, were alone sufficient to guarantee that not even one of those typically "good, decent, respectably law-abiding" drivers, let-alone "virtually" every last one of them, would ever have to be dodged by you, to keep you from becoming "inadvertently" splattered all over the road; by people as clearly "annoyed," and even put into the most murderously red-faced rages, by anybody for whom they ever need to slow down more courteously, as Dean Martin showed in his face that he was, when he needlessly, wastefully, and tragically blew away Marlon Brando, at the end of The Young Lions! Parenthetically, neither he nor Montgomery Clift even batted an eye of regret, upon having thereafter taken a few minutes to survey the damage, to an unarmed man they had quite enough time to order to halt. But, then, the real "reason" there'd been "no" cause for regret, rather than "celebration," was that the "tacit" and even "conveniently subconscious" rule of the moment had been to shoot at every German uniform on-sight, in an execution-style revenge for every concentration camp victim which had just been discovered. Most will, of course, contemptuously, swinishly sneer back that the timing was too close to call, and that a warning shout might just as probably have given Brando that extra split-second he would have needed to gain the drop; just as these same swine will be no less typically maintaining their "morally indignant" position on anything but the "basis" that they feel such a "filthy Nazi," and even a "filthy Nazi-lover," simply deserves to die! Again, while such swine do have a conveniently close call to cover their rancorously murderous tracks here, "perhaps" even and especially if not solely from their own kind which predominantly abound; just the expression on Dean Martin's face alone, as he was pulling the trigger, is enough to blow this "argument" away, particularly in conjunction with what appeared to have been the clearest glimpses of Brando, in-between the trees, just seconds before the shooting, and thus with no mere element of sound alone to much more understandably albeit much less certainly succeed at guiding the bullet so centrally on-target. Just as "incidentally," by the way, I've personally conducted both experiments, numerous times, while leaving myself only the most unreasonably tight margin of safety, in attempting to signal for a right turn, or to enter a cross walk. In the process, I've seen plenty of faces, and heard a curse or two as well, in addition to plenty of long honks on the horns, while they were whizzing by, minus, at the cross walk especially, even the slightest attempt to slow down at all! In fact, even the driving instructors, such as Tim Conway, In Speed II: Cruise Control, are probably becoming about as criminally though Fatalistically negligent as that ridiculously grotesque display of mindlessly unconscionable vanity he'd permitted to stay behind the wheel next to him for more than fifty feet at the most! Willem Dafoe was the most intriguing piece of work in that film, just as even the harrowingly hypothetical extent to which I can relate to the grievances he'd expressed would probably not be nearly as worth mentioning at all here in relation to any other actor. His question about whether most of you are suffering from a false sense of security is particularly poignant, alongside his indignance at the many who just don't know what he's talking about; although Dennis Hopper got in a couple of good lines, too, but especially that one about poor people being crazy (if they really "think" anything else matters, to anybody else, but particularly their own kind!), in contrast with such a genuinely Spartan and thus almost as truly American (save for the latter's more "Christianly," gutlessly, pseudo-ideologically, mass-hysterically, self-righteously mystifying smoke screen!) endeavor on his part to become just another of the most "eccentrically well-respected!"
I ask again, does anybody who's still lusting for OJ's head really believe in what is "normally" called "The Law?" It's "fine and well" that "The Law" has seen fit to sanctify Double Jeopardy here, by rhetorically and conveniently exploiting even a clear ambiguity of language; in a rancorously vindictive determination to avoid having even to call it that, let-alone apply the more reasonably and plausibly appropriate interpretation. And, of course, for this reason, it's a call, right or wrong, honestly-motivated or otherwise, with which everybody has to live. I'm simply expressing my own disagreement with it, just as I, in not being a formally-empowered Magistrate, have no wish to acquire any "informally make-shift" means of forcefully imposing this judgment upon anybody let-alone everybody else, over and above a simple attempt to rationally persuade. Not only do I disagree with it, but I also have an obligation as well as right to say so, while presenting my reasons why. And, yet, again, I still continue to live with it, contrary to what I believe to be a lack of the selfsame attitude on behalf of those whose abject contempt for OJ's initial acquittal is so very vulgarly, unacceptably disingenuous. Generally speaking, the many technical intricacies of law, which are more democratically formulated to protect potential suspects from the otherwise very certain abuses of a police state, are also most dangerously inefficient at bringing many cases to a just conclusion, particularly when it comes to falsely exonerating the guilty in ways never initially or theoretically intended. Yet, one would be rationally hard-pressed to insist that such technical safeguards, even as tediously and stultifyingly applied to such "apparent trivia" as the Miranda Rule, fail to serve a most historically, retrospectively verifiable as well as crucially indispensable function; that is, even despite the harrowingly problematic extent to which the "Kafkaesque" features of such a system, which cannot be avoided in any case, thereby fail to be addressed, and are even exacerbated by those who typically glory at the prospect of becoming nothing but the most strictly, mindlessly mechanical cogs in such "legal" machinery; rather than cultivating even the will, let-alone the wisdom, to individually and constructively master such a process, even with an element of personally intiutive applicability which can never by nature be as structurally "circumvented" as most quite myopically and erroneously assume; just as they uncritically embrace the fallacy that such an element is inherently antagonistic to such a process, rather than constituting one of the most important prerequisites of its enhancement; particularly where even the very nature of "legal" language itself, and a correspondingly rational openness to technically-defensible options characteristically unrecognized, is so dynamically concerned, if not also the potential dangers of a process of "Jury Nullification" which I'm nevertheless primarily and decisively disinclined to disparage! I must be careful, though, even in thought alone; as Hal Holbrook, in The Star Chamber, is also potentially much-too-appealing to me; save for merely the kinds of "justice" his kind would undoubtedly be seeking, in a manner more closely represented, also by Holbrook, in the Dirty Harry series! Even Charles Bronson, in Death Wish IV, just had to start going after "drug pushers," while misguidedly demonizing their merchandise, instead of fighting for legalization (preferably, in the courts!), taxation, and the kind of balanced regulation more responsibly capable of keeping it out of the hands of people such as Paul Kersey's own underaged victims. Alcohol is the most dangerous of them all, and the most lethally damaging in numerous ways, as even the futility of Prohibition helped serve to highlight, so that the methods of its legal regulation have been experimentally and painfully verified to rightfully serve as the only pragmatically and legally viable model in dealing with all psychoactive substances, while the individual rights of those who don't abuse (I reject the "axiomatic equation" of "use" and "abuse," the one they refuse to apply to alcohol, but only because it's legal, rather than the other way around, as it should be understood!--Although, judging by the current EPIDEMIC of OBESITY, it would seem the foregoing "equation" could apply to, if anything besides MONEY itself, you-know-what!) are given a Constitutionally Non-Negotiable break in the process! Besides, what Bronson likes to say about guns, in part V particularly, can also be applied to, just for openers, that very first glass of beer even a society as degenerate overall as this one still doesn't need any such "legal" vigilantes with badges in particular to help "control!" Of particularly pivotal importance, however, is the Line between what a person has indictably, even convictably done, and what he "might" do; since, in the most "formally theoretical" sense as well, nobody is immune to being an unjust victim of the latter charge! In the final analysis, only the Morally Intuitive Initiative of the Individually Spontaneous Element is even capable of appreciating let-alone acting in any decisively essential manner upon the fact that every instance in which the Law fails to serve Justice, rather than enforcing injustice in the name of Justice, is just another "single," thus "insignificantly imperceptible" cut, in the "Death of a Thousand Wounds" by now almost completed; just as the bitterness and disillusionment engendered, in every unjust victim of the "Law," as "invisibly" and "insignificantly" as they all continue to "hang separately," can hardly be conducive to any kind of meaningful social cohesion, in even millions of "participants" who are more and more firmly of the view that "All bets are off!"
Sophistry is inherently built into the very nature of language, but not of the kind of Truth which it is so eloquently capable of obscuring, even to such a "laughably" and "perhaps" no less typically mediocre extent that it is hardly uncommon to behold an "argument" so superlatively, self-evidently absurd, on its face, as to crudely embody the act of merely doing whatever one wants to do, while "undisprovably" calling it anything one wants to call it, and "legally," even "socially" prevailing in the process! Only the inherently unavoidable "intangible" of individually, morally free will, coupled with the necessary skill at utilizing language, is capable of guaranteeing the kind of objectively correct employment of which it is just as amazingly capable. But judgments and interpretations are occurring at every twist and turn, in ways minus which, whether self- and mass-hysterically recognized or not, the machinery would automatically grind to a halt; and it's nothing but even and especially the most "educatedly" feeble-minded Bad Faith to seriously attempt to argue that even the typically subservient decision not to judge, or interpret, rather than leaving that inherently indispensable function to still another, is anything, itself, but a judgment call, and a rather poor one at that; just as surely as it no less typically fails to recognize itself as being such, after the selfsame manner as a Roman Catholic trying to lay all the responsibility on the Pope, because the latter had commanded him to do so, as though his own judgment and decision, in response to the Papal Command, were any less "absolutely" and "infallibly" part-and-parcel of the process! One of the biggest turkeys on the faculty at my alma mater, and that means bigger even than the most typically, "almost" exclusively gigantic indeed, accused me of being the sophist, when I answered his "argument" (a series of contemptuously, wordlessly dismissive hand gestures), against the one I'd offered in favor of the element of directly irreducible intuition, and its structurally indispensable function, as well as the logically consistent imperative that one refrain from necessarily equating such a function with merely subjective and relative truth, just because there is no other way of testing it, with the challenge that he logically or objectively demonstrate, then, how it can possibly be he is not essentially utilizing mere intuition, and no better logic, either, to self-contradictorily contend that mere intuition cannot yield any kind of objectively sound knowledge. Thank God for Captain James T. Kirk, of the Star Ship Enterprise, not only for reminding another that intuition was formally a command prerogative, but also for having been the kind of man who utilized it so superlatively well in the process. It's the individual who makes the primarily decisive difference, regardless of how many laws, numbering even into the hundreds of thousands, are currently being formulated to replace the need to "interpret," although it is also in the very nature of language that the screws can never be tightened snugly enough, any more than they still quite characteristically manage to become much too "unambiguously" turned into place. Moreover, a law is not real just because some "Papally Infallible" Legislature arbitrarily though formally declares it so (Isaiah 10:1-4), which is why I can name far-too-many "laws" the Supreme Court should already have long declared--never to have been laws at all! Still, I am Scripturally obligated to do my most soundly reasonable best at respecting even the most technically illegal of what should be no less formally understood to be these hypothetically rather than categorically legislative imperatives, the former ideally being meant to augment rather than inhibit the latter. But, again, don't confuse my obligation, in this sense, with the quality of the far-too-many supposedly quite "categorical" imperatives which must somehow be accommodated, if not just as lawfully and creatively "circumvented!" Also, as surely as the buck correctly stops, by necessary definition, with the Judicial Branch of government, and its rightful business of upholding every Categorical Imperative which by its very nature can be legislated neither in nor out of actual existence; it really wouldn't hurt to see more "activist" judges as well, at every level; unless, of course, you really do believe, after-all, that their supposedly professional views are nothing but "opinions," and undoubtedly bad ones, far-too-often, at that! Even more candidly, if only Hal Holbrook, from the previous paragraph here, would consider taking out enough of them, their already quite mechanically one-dimensional concept of "Law" could be brought a superlatively gigantic step higher, by replacing them with REAL computers; which at least would "judge" in more consistently, uniformly, even predictably falsifying ways; minus any of the whimsically arbitrary elements of "human" subjectivity which currently and regularly as well as no less "invisibly" than twistedly continue rendering "justice" so much less, again, at least "consistent," if only, again, by way of the most bloodlessly dehumanizing standards, as opposed to the highest kind of consistency, which proceeds to judge all the relevant facts and details of each uniquely individual case. While the kind of "absolute uniformity" in sentencing currently and even quite disingenuously lauded in theory would not thereby be quite as mechanically easy to measure, it could, nevertheless, potentially succeed at being reasonably close enough, on the whole, given a most unprecedentedly adequate quality of judges, to where even Justice Itself could most acceptably afford to declare that whoever breaks the law is simply asking for whatever he gets, regardless of whatever anybody else in a similar situation received. But, short of a principle of letting judges actually do some real judging for a change, perhaps NOMAD, from Star Trek's "The Changeling," is the only viable solution, in attempting to successfully weed out every human imperfection!
Again, I ask, do you believe most judges have only opinions to offer, and objectively bad ones at that?--Or, do you rather believe that all human judgments, particularly regarding "oughts" of any kind, are inherently nothing by nature but subjectively relative views? If the latter, then how can you consistently advocate any judging whatsoever, least of all by a judge, let-alone against any of his judgments, and least of all as pertaining even to a mere interpretation as to what the current language on the books actually means? Were Dean Martin currently residing where I do, he'd be next on the hit-list, too, for lighting another cigarette in his own apartment after June 1, 2008, and thus suddenly attempting to gas-chamber the residents of the other apartments with his second-hand smoke. While I don't believe this to be a decisively Constitutional call, however, I have little if any serious doubt the Supreme Court, if applicable, will uphold as much, in accordance with its prejudices, involving a case of the kind for which good arguments can be formulated either way, albeit, again, only in accordance with the prejudices alone which each side would impose upon the other, with the Force of Law, as autocratically as pragmatically feasible; instead of ruling, even from the greater democratic strength of either side, that they must both live together, with as much reasonably well-balanced compromise as possible--and plenty is possible here! But, then, on the other hand, call it just an opinion if you will, even one which, in yours, should be extended as little opportunity or right to exist as you can possibly succeed at arranging; as I reflect upon the characteristically, humanly "judicial" inevitability of there being a great deal of "impartially," self-righteously, bitterly blood-curdling revenge involved here; the kind which is battling relentlessly, day and night, to give Ted Dancin', from Body Heat, the eternal "sweetness" of such, after which he vindictively lusts; particularly due to how characteristically William Hurt, Kathleen Turner, and the others just went on cynically, swinishly smoking their heads off, even in response to his excruciatingly self-constraining "humor" about not needing a cigarette of his own, when offered, because he could just "breathe the air." Many who simply enjoy a good smoke now and again are in near-to-total agreement with the argument that he has every right to the courtesy of not being compelled to breathe such air in a public building or room, just as it's an equally incontrovertible reality that most, per se, and that includes most who smoke as well, are nothing but the kinds of pigs who need formal legislation compelling their compliance, when, again, nothing more than a freely-extended act of courtesy alone should ever have been the most optimally and normatively viable solution. But, then, again, the tides are still even more radically turning, now that the anti-smokers are getting the upper hand for a change, in their by now clearly transparent determination to totally phase it out, step-by-step, by doing, to quote a key line from the film, "ANYTHING NECESSARY," despite the fact that even the most typically swinish smoker never had any legal right or even incentive to force another to smoke in his own place of residence! Moreover, it's totally disingenuous to mask a simple prejudice, in order to gain it the Force of Law, by arguing, in this case, not only in favor of the rather dubious contention that second-hand smoke is so superlatively deadly as such, but also that it can affect people from one separate apartment to another. That really was a good "joke," though, at least for as long and hard as he's able to continue laughing, now that William Hurt is in a cage and Kathleen Turner is on the lam; that is, until they finally get around to outlawing--even Ted's Danson--with "arguments" he'll find even more outrageously astounding than those of his own; for instance, as to what he'll be legally and humanitarianly permitted, in the name of his own personal hygiene, to store in his own ice box. Most pertinently here, it is actually Meathead himself, Rob Reiner, who should have gotten the part, along with his equally inflated JUNK "FOOD" belly! There are other kinds of issues, of course, on which both or all sides involved cannot have their way, while one side alone inevitably must; and any reasonably civilized individual, whose side fails to be accommodated in such cases, of pragmatically, structurally unavoidable necessity, rather than any objectively moral imperatives, has no quarrel whatsoever about gracefully living with the results. But that's not at all the situation here, as the current anti-smoking Nazis who once had more of a legitimately defensive argument are maliciously and rancorously overstepping, in an atmosphere which really only encourages the finding of any convenient excuse to continue screaming out for still more blood! In such a modernly, industrially polluted environment, there are even greater culprits available, but they'll hardly be needed, for now, with such an absurdly, self-evidently exaggerated war against second-hand smoke to capitalize upon all the blame; any more, for that matter, than they'll ever be desired, as objects of blame, as long as those who regard such things as being more personally profitable than expendable continue to wield the upper hand. The Blood-Lust shall always be around, demanding that it be insatiably and thus perpetually appeased, as well as conveniently utilized and manipulated in the process by those who rule on the basis of dividing and conquering; but the problem is in selecting adequate scapegoats, which satisfy this most intrinsically-rooted need of the mob's Blood-Lust to be appeased, while also just as instrumentally succeeding at focusing the necessary attention away from the most powerfully real culprits.
President Bush, in particular, is currently striving to erode the traditionally American safeguards of law as completely as possible, just as it's anything but entirely inconceivable that one could have even the most legitimately pressing reasons for such an urgently and normatively as well as reactionarily discordant perspective. Yet, when the most urgently indispensable advantages are weighed against the deficits of being so rigidly and pedantically, knit-pickingly technical, there can be no rationally plausible doubt that even such a perspective as that of President Bush should nonetheless operate on the premise of resisting an erosion of these legally and formally technical perimeters as much as possible, rather than assuming the exact opposite attitude. If such a system does ultimately and decisively degenerate into a quasi-judicial dictatorship, or rule by fiat, it will undoubtedly be due, at least as much, to the fact of there being simply too many reprehensible people in the docks who cannot be "proven guilty," as well as even more of them who never make it even that far, but who nevertheless rightfully deserve to be convicted and sentenced, even if it be falsely assumed that legitimately as well as successfully convicting and sentencing at least as many as half the country would be a functionally viable solution. Again, the blame would have to be placed at least as decisively upon this, as upon any diabolical, top-down conspiracy to maliciously sabotage even the otherwise reasonably-acceptable functioning of such a system. This is not to downplay the critical role of the latter feature just mentioned, or to deny its currently all-too-dismally-real existence; but, again, it is to say that an erosion of overall conditions in the former sense, particularly as the "long-term" as well as "indirect" and thus "imperceptible" consequences of such prove sufficiently severe to warrant even a most legitimately understandable suspension of all Constitutional Amendments, provides the most dangerously, perhaps even indispensably fertile soil in which the latter feature is capable of taking root, and thus virtually guaranteed to do so, even where the most prospectively benevolent despot would have been antithetically motivated to take measures no less extremely urgent! Again, though, what can be expected from the likes of a Bush, or even his "rivals," is nothing less than what most and virtually all of you no less desperately than "unwittingly" need than deserve! In fact, Mr. Bush is better than most of you deserve, at least to the extent that he really is out to defend the indefensible, to save America, by utilizing whatever "legally" makeshift means he, as "The Decider," deems necessary; while pursuing as much entirely on America's own inflexibly ubiquitous terms, the same ones which have always relied upon force as the primarily decisive means, for purposes even no reasonably fair individual would otherwise accept, in a manner which breeds the need for only more force. He may even need to believe he's actually a "Christian" in the process, dutifully obeying his "Inner Voice" from "The Lord!" Either way, however, it's still a falsehood, and perhaps even the very inner, "conscious" belief that there is no God (save maybe Satan himself!), from which he'll finally have to Awaken, much the way Judas Iscariot finally had to Awaken! Moreover, the majority of professing, Fundamentalist "Christians" who characteristically follow him, are in for just as Dismally-Rude-An-Awakening!--Isaiah 30:8-14!--Matthew 15:14!--II Thessalonians 2:1-12!--Revelation 3:14-22! It might even turn out, after-all, that he's been "covertly" transferring more and more of his assets into Euros, while "hedging his bets" in the process, as a sinister "Manchurian Candidate" of "some kind," or a knowing "Agent of London," in exactly the way LaRouche describes, with the very intent LaRouche also insists to be the case, namely, the destruction of the very Nation-State Principle itself, and of America's in particular, by way of its very own hand!
Favorite Music: All music has something uniquely inspiring to offer, in accordance with the uniqueness of its very nature. And, of course, what a barren world it would be without the many dedicated musicians who inhabit it, with all the finely-developed skills so many others depend upon them to provide, as they strive to help keep the Inner Soul alive! In fact, my father used to tell me stories, the like of which I'd only heard Burt Lancaster ever repeat at all, let-alone verbatim, and with the same irrepressibly enthusiastic vitality; stories about how the operatic musicians and performers characteristically take their bows looking up, at the cheaper balcony seats, occupied by those who come to HONOR the ESSENCE of such Arts, rather than into the equally vigorous applauses of those who are merely so very "well-cultured" in a way which can only be seen from without, just as the most expensive accommodations alone are capable of reflecting this kind of "value," of being "WORTHY" to BE "HONORED" by it! Yes, I, too, veer toward Classical, and the deeply inspiring genius of composer Bernard Herrmann--who's right up there with George Gershwin--just for openers!--As well as for various unaccidentally-interrelated reasons which shall soon become obvious enough, even to many who yet remain to require so urgent-an-enlightening. I'll be eternally grateful to him, and the God who gifted him so abundantly, for the countless stories, both on television and the big screen, which only he could have brought to life, as deeply as they continue to move and teach me! Serling, Hitchcock, Harryhausen, and even Quinn Martin, to cite but a few of the very best as well, owe him just as pricelessly-incalculable-a-debt!--Just as, for instance, The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad, and The Three Worlds of Gulliver, are two of the greatest, most ingeniously well-crafted Morality Plays I was ever Divinely blessed to have encountered as a young and impressionable child! Like Richard Eyer, I longed to sail the seas with Captain Sinbad, again and again!--Until it had come time, again, again, and again, to exit the "darkness" of the theater, emerging back into the "light" of--Plato's Cave! That's about the only thing I didn't like about the film, as there was never nearly enough of it; or, contrary to what Amadeus was told, there were too few "notes," save for the most artistically and philosophically well-proportioned of requirements, which rightfully take first place; thus serving to make it so much easier to forgive, nevertheless, even than it had otherwise quite thankfully never been fated to require. And, still again, at least Three Cheers for The Three Worlds of Gulliver, of which I'm reasonably certain even the great Jonathan Swift himself would have felt honored; in a manner equal to the reciprocally overwhelming honor of being so honored by one of his most meaningfully, insightfully ever-creative stature! Of course, while a characterization such as that of Captain Sinbad was nowhere to be found for real, save for a mere resemblance to the Reverend Robert Tilton (takling about the outside of the cup as such, although especially the finest cuisine is just about as wasted going in as well!); the same thing could not, unfortunately, ever have been said about the innumerable midgets "and" equally Gargantuan fatheads whom Gulliver likewise required no kind of voyage to escape; although he did have somewhat more need of the same than even he'd formerly realized, in order to more completely "appreciate" this particularly or rather far-too-generally sordid fact!
I'll even mention number two, now, as well, in the form of Beethoven's nine symphonies, and violin concerto; but mostly numbers one and two, and almost as much of number four, as well as of eight; since, after-all, the rest are much more intensely exhausting as well as invigorating, before not-too-long, even for me! Not unrelatedly, what I have really been looking forward to, for so many years now, is the ultimate opportunity to see Beethoven's face, when he's able to hear his own music, anywhere but in his own therefore very own tortured and agonizing soul, for the very first time! I should really footnote this one, too, as I'd inherited it from my late father, who was even more a connoisseur of all the great classics (and, quite symbolically, about the only thing my parents had so bindingly, enduringly, and no less endurably in common); just as he had taken me to such great films at night, when the darkness outside hadn't been quite so blinding! Parenthetically, the few films I can recall his having lauded in any distinctively emphatic way were El Cid, Lord Jim, A Man Called Horse, and Swiss Family Robinson, way back when even Disneyland had been capable of striking a note of somewhat meaningful awe. Both my parents said their final farewells, many years later, watching Fanny, over and over, arm-in-arm. Even Mary and I could hardly resist the tender charm of such a Family Institution! But, then, back to music, I'll not say Paganini comes in third, however, save to the unavoidably arbitrary extent that only one can be stated at a time. This linearly ever-abiding principle applies, for me, with an equally relevant vigor, as well as gentleness, to the beautiful piano concerto of Robert Schumann, and the subsequent gratitude which about as inspiringly led to Grieg's! I musn't neglect a Mendelssohn violin concerto, either, any more than the first one produced by Bruch!--But especially if not even quite exclusively the final segment!--Just as I equally savour the overall magnitude of Strauss and Chopin, along with Bizet and Handel, as well as Tchaikovsky's Pathetique, and violin concerto in D major! Amadeus isn't "too bad," either, with exactly the right number of notes; although any further explication, here, would perhaps be far-too-much to absorb, particularly given, also, the loudest performances of Wagner which mankind only yet has to endure; save for the single "modification" that, in the words of Governor Schwarzenegger, it's not Hitler's power, per se, which constituted the problem, but rather the way he used it! However, even he's about to discover the real meaning of those words, as his time so rapidly approaches to thaw; and it won't be exactly George Clooney standing over him, but still a most terribly well-convincing imitation, even of that, if not rather the first "real thing" of all; in much the same way Barry Fitzgerald had been abruptly compelled to face, given only the most craftily well-timed convergence of circumstances, something he'd formerly delighted, no less conveniently, at realizing, all-along; about the kind of black-hearted devil, in Wolf Larsen, to whom he'd just as naively, trustingly, and no less laughably been informing. God, for that matter, even controls the weather, you see, as clearly attested to in so many places that just about all should be able to pinpoint enough chapters and verses, entirely on their own. How He does it is quite His business, regardless of how much help He has, to give it at least the equally well-masked appearance of a much more "natural" touch. Again, while George Clooney may be the most impressive imitation yet; it's still the case, as with Superman, that there's only one "real" Batman, too!--Perhaps merely from right out of The Young Savages, after-all!--Even though, by now, he would be about as old as Alfred!
Not unrelatedly, especially given the kinds of apologies I sadly anticipate would probably be demanded of me, at least from various benefactors who may yet remain alive long enough to find they're rather being compelled to hand them over to me (Revelation 3:9) (Matthew 13:12), as well as to certain others who've already been gone so creatively, innovatively long they'll even more worthily as well as no less unaccidentally have to be raised; I only wish I could feel even the least bit freer to explicitly catalogue the greatness of the entire legacy of Burt Bacharach and Hal David, including certain relatively later gifts, to the equally, and about as contemporarily, belatedly, commercialistically, thus, perhaps, as dubiously grateful Miss Dionne Warwyck!--But Alfie, first of all; a cogently synthesizing masterpiece of the most essentially, superlatively philosophical simplicity as well!--Although, for all that, good luck, as the world shall need even a real long-shot, if even that much is actually possible at all; in the absence of a God of love, along with the most urgently indispensable kind of power to back it up (Matthew 25:31-46); but in a manner which only the most fruitfully as well as clearly Pagan Roman mind, such as that of Tribune Marcellus Gallio (Richard Burton, in The Robe), had been incapable of failing to appreciate sufficiently, even while subsequently assimilating enough Bible Doctrine to make alone possible the kind of meaningfully-coherent basis for conversion he'd found; minus any of the merely "Sentimental" or "Christianly" Muddle-Headed concepts of "Idealism," today, even from "Liberally Democratic Progressives" who presumptuously fancy they have the best handle of all on who the Real Jesus was--or rather wasn't--save in their most questionably self-supposed "hearts!" Don't confuse Marcellus with today's typical "Fundamentalist Christian," at the "other" end, either; who tends to focus on only the power of "love," in a manner Marcellus would have had at least the sense to fear (James 2:19), minus any of their substitutionally ritualistic, no less sickeningly "sentimental" patronizing, with the lips alone, of the kind of strictly egotistical self-projection of a "God" they characteristically idolize! Dr. Erich Fromm did the best job formally possible, at trying to formulate an alternate option, only to have yielded the weakest as well as the most fundamentally decisive aspect of his entire world-view. I should also warn that, when He does arrive, He'll be regretfully, even tearfully angry enough, contrary to Satan's slickest act yet (Proverbs 27:6), to where most of today's quite "Christianly" degenerate panty-waists, with, again, their strictly "sentimental" versions of "love," the same ones which have been so very "wholesomely" demonizing my kind all this time, now that they've already long beaten so much of the real "wholesomeness" out of us, just because it had started out so much more "contemptibly tender," even than theirs; shall be taking the bait, hook, line, and sinker, as Satan calls Christ Himself--nothing less than--the Devil Incarnate!--Matthew 12:22-37!--Revelation 16:8-11!
I'm not necessarily drawing any prematurely negative conclusions here, you see; although I don't pull any punches, either, with regard to the kinds of candidly-expressed suspicions which anybody truly worth his salt can easily handle, and even very gratefully embrace, contrary to the many who have characteristically and most overshadowingly delighted at nurturing precisely such suspicions; as I deliberately strive to help all the rest weed themselves out, in a manner they might not have done quickly enough to suit even me otherwise! But, then, after-all, it's at least as decisively a matter of the most subjectively, lopsidedly partisan politics, including "Liberals" with plenty of Cash, and "Conservatives" with an equal amount of "Patriotism" Alone; particularly even for most, on either side, who carelessly believe they have the slightest use at all for art, even for art's sake alone!--Just as I have far-too-much Rosie O'Donnell in me to go down very easily, perhaps even for Nat King Cole as well, let-alone as an acceptable "Apprentice" in the view of Donald Trump; although not quite exclusively enough, nevertheless, even for her. I'd rather have much more hope in, say, Harry Belafonte, had I not already encountered more than enough "Liberally Progressive Humanitarians," too, with their own no less lopsidedly opposing version of the same "mono-polarity," to shatter any of my own very carelessly sentimental delusions in that sense; back when I had nowhere else left to turn, and yet still quite erroneously felt I'd needed one; which they'd conned me, almost as much as themselves, into embracing, just like those damned "Christian Conservatives" before them! I've read some very sharp cookies from their end, too, such as Fritjof Capra and Theodore Roszak; whose books have only served to demonstrate, in conjunction with certain other "strictly personal" experiences, that even the best of all possible talk, and really good stuff indeed, is still nothing but--talk! My Lulu and I also had occasion to attend a lecture, in the mid-seventies, given by the great Herbert Marcuse, and another, introducing him, who looked almost like Martin Heidegger (poor Heidegger!--Really!), at USC, up in Los Angeles; only to have experienced the like of such cynically, vulgarly mocking obscenities, coming out of both their mouths the entire time, but especially during the question and answer session, that she finally had to approach the former, afterward, as he was autographing copies of his latest book, like some kind of a movie star, just to tell him how disappointingly alienating he was. That was when he snapped back, with a final, and very bitterly scathing insult, by replying to her--you're alienated! I had previously been of the emphasis that a One-Dimensional Man was anyone who typically, even quite "educatedly" needed to ask; but, at this particular juncture, it had been most unmistakably seared into me that the definition must include far-too-many who just as exceptionlessly "think" they "know." Fritjof Capra, whom I quoted extensively in my Masters Thesis, was just about as coldly, insultingly disingenuous in attitude, while on one of his visits to "our" so-called "university," during the question-and-answer session; after Lipski, in particular, had finished having a "private little chat" with him, not three months subsequent to the last one he'd had with me, which I'd truly appreciate a chance to recount in some real court of law, if any! As for "Liberally Democratic Humanitarians" in general, even Belafonte's Calypso is totally first-class, in a manner uniquely all its own, and I've savored it from a very early age! Yet, even that doesn't necessarily prove anything else, least of all contrary to the more statistically probable; just as, again, I hardly require any further proof that even the most otherwise very giftedly improbable is, to say the least, entirely possible here! Both sides, for that matter, continue to sneer about how hopelessly "bi-polar" I am, but minus enough sense to realize just how inadvertently complimented I thereby actually am, and have every sound basis for feeling!
Rick Nelson is an extremely well-polished musician, too, all the way through to his Garden Party!--Just as I agree with him completely, and no less bitterly, regardless of what most, or even any, may at all "happen" to "think" or "feel!" It had taken both of us much too painstakingly long, while stuck like glue to all that beautifully-narcotizing bubble-gum music; but we finally managed to come to reality, only thereafter to discover it, too, is at least as much of an upper as it nevertheless is a downer! Even John Lennon mostly wasted his time and energy, trying so desperately to no less abrasively scratch the most "appreciatively" ever-itching ears, beginning with those of Sir Paul! But I can also very deeply identify with what George quite complementarily meant as well, about this Wretchedly Material World, and the kind of Grotesquely Absurd Masquerade which Leon Russell tried so successfully to unmask, in his great Carney album! Also, consider The Five Man Electrical Band, if you also want some of the most important Signs which even most "Liberally Progressive Humanitarians" are continuing to miss, "at least" in Spirit!--Jeremiah 12:1-2! I'll end, for now, and most reluctantly, since so many are in need of a break, but not in exactly the way I am, with The Turtles! Just Let Me Be, at least I can only wish; since, after-all, it's really His Very Spirit, moving as Uncontrollably as the Wind! Moreover, I'm still just as helplessly waiting, at least as much as anything else, as God Only Knows What I'd Be--Without Far-Too-Many of You! As much as I'm truly among the kind of otherwise extremely lucky People who need people, there's no possibility of exaggerating the hell most of them have perpetually turned out to be; which is my most decisively compelling reason for needing to see just about anybody I've ever had to know at all, if at all, entirely From a Distance; as they correspondingly "grow," if possible, by now, even uglier and uglier in the process!--And, besides, this Wretched Wasteland of a world is already overpopulated, with far-too-many who are about as "Beautiful" as--most!--Although I'm sorry to have to say they're still much too "Unforgettable" as well, but not for very much longer! Indeed, I've got more Humphrey Bogart in me, from Key Largo, than I can bear; although the many accompanying impurities, of a strictly internal nature alone, are not enough to hold me down for long (Jeremiah 15:10-21). Moreover, like unto the proverbially weeping prophet himself, I also very genuinely mourn for a country and a heritage I love, regardless of how loudly even my most painfully unavoidable rebukes continue to be overshadowed by an entirely antithetical form of cynicism, which only sneers back at me so much more popularly as well as "positively" in return!--Matthew 7:6! But, then, He also tells me not to hide my Light under a bushel, either!--Matthew 5:10-16!--So, therefore, what can I do? At least I have Matthew 10:11-15 upon which to fall back, assuming I don't make the mistake of hanging around in any of the wrong places too very long!--John 6:63-71. In this particular vein, I also thank God I know better, even if such is about as totally impossible to feel as well; than to long for a Claire Trevor, who's likewise had more than enough, to finally slip me the drop, along with a strong temptation to thereafter go over the very edge! But, then, as excessively "Anti-Romantic" as this might sound, even for Mr. LaRouche Himself, let-alone that Beautiful Black-Widow Spider of a Spiritual Wife-Mother-To-Be of His (even Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa, whom we are about to see again, totally notwithstanding!); I have no complaints whatsoever that my Christian Commission officially Empowers me, contrary to Marx, or to those Bourgeois, Capitalist Idolaters of the "Free Market," who are anything but very "Christianly-Ever-Loving," themselves, with the Authority, that is, the Ability Per Se, if Any at all, at least of That, merely to Interpret the world, rather than trying to Change it.
Yes, I've Got to Get Out of This Place, this Miserable Whorehouse of the Rising Sun, If It's the Last Thing I Ever Do; which, of course, in my case, it certainly by nature shall be, just as I've required much less time than Serling's Walter Jameson (Kevin McCarthy) to cease internally fighting it! As for the absence of the plural, here? Well, just as only one as nobly dignified as my Honey, Varinia herself, would have been the first and also the last to say, in response to a part of me no "Christian" I've ever encountered has even the brains to respect at all: Despite the eternity of her absence, save for about the only day in my life I'd ever care to remember, if I Had to Choose, I'm still more than strong enough to be weak!--Or, in an equally symbolic reversal, here, I'm more than weak enough to be strong!--II Corinthians 12:9!--Even minus something the wife of Spartacus had been left with, as the only other thing for which I could have wished, in addition to a faithful scribe such as Baruch, or even a Sancho Panza, though he had been no bigger than the delightful Tom Thumb, or she, as big and sweet as Glumdalclitch! But, then, only the rich have any kind of Passport to Life in This World, just as they would even have to do their own work for a change, rather than being supplied with such a massive surplus of modern wage slaves to more cheaply compete in fulfilling the demand, were there enough more at the dirty end of the stick who appreciated our sense of responsibility, first of all, to those who shall never have to be aborted, either! I should also add the other reason I'd refrained from utilizing the plural, which is that Rita, Lulu's structurally prophetic replacement, in an unbroken line of "benchmarks" or "signposts," is, as Lulu had been, currently very sick, perhaps even dying, the way Lulu finally did, shortly prior to Operation Desert Storm!--Ezekiel 24:15-27!--And, under such circumstances, it isn't exactly easy to "Feel Brand New!" I can only wish I had my life to offer, instead, again; just as, for that matter, and as I have recorded in the first volume of Philosophical Letters, from almost twenty years ago, I'd felt moved to pray, just after Lulu's departure, for her Resurrection, as a Sign, and it turned out to have been her Reincarnation, instead, in ways too numerously involved to delineate here, let-alone wish to live over again! In fact, to jump, from The Stylistics, to Blue Magic, it had all turned into nothing but a "Sideshow," long, long ago, as I continued reading on, into Jeremiah, Chapter Sixteen! Indeed, I couldn't disagree more with Mr. Nelson than I do here, save to the extent that only fools really do rush in, while even the wisest invariably have to learn the hard way, whenever they're much more rarely given even the flimsiest chance to prove the credit was never really theirs, either! Yet, it's also like what Lieutenant Philip J. Minns, whom I'll be covering, even more, at the very bottom of this page, had described to his stockbroker, Mr. Jessup, as "pattern." Special "thanks," also, to the many who enjoyed making it as difficult for us, under such circumstances, as they are continuing to do; but, especially, the apartment managers, where I reside, along with all those who gleefully, maliciously, spitefully supported them, in their ability to circumvent every "law," as no less possibly than necessarily, thanks to the fact that such "laws" are simply ignored, regardless of how persistently patient the appeals, for the purpose of having her removed! Most very and only "inadvertently" realize they haven't had quite enough hell yet, going by the way they so ungratefully continue treating even one-another, in the most Divinely-Blessed country in the world; and, unfortunately, this kind of insistence, however, again, "inadvertent," upon soon having so much more than they ever could have "thought" they were bargaining for, let-alone "tough" enough to handle, is much-too-easy to fulfill! America is, for that matter, the historically and symbolically unique epitome of all the "living" proof any real human being could "want" that what most of you call "blessings" upon yourselves are simply curses-in-disguise, as most, who are "comfortable" at all, are correspondingly as presumptuously, complacently, even brutally spoiled-rotten as ever, including the worst generation of minorities to date! It's required more Divine Grace than most could ever appreciate, to have held what's coming upon the entire world at bay nearly this long! The fact that I go on living is, hardly a pleasure of any kind, but "merely" a Duty (Philippians 1:23-24); although how much I envy Paul in the process, as it all appears to have been nothing but a waste in my case! I'd pray, "I'm just a soul whose intentions are good, O Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood," if only I could believe that was the real nature of the problem! But I don't believe that at all! What I am much more decisively, overwhelmingly, dismally persuaded of, is that the most thoroughly abominable reason there could ever possibly be by nature, is what necessitates that particularly most professing "Christians," let-alone all the rest (I Peter 4:17-19), no less self-misunderstand, for the sake of their own "good consciences," the actual motive for their hatred of me (II Thessalonians 2:7-11)! That's the actual nature of my Burdon, as even the most thoroughly uncivilized Animals would be at least so much more honestly refreshing! Therefore, as Captain Kirk had once so urgently put it, "Take us out of orbit--and hurry!" Meanwhile, I wouldn't expect even the greatest crooner in the world to have any real idea what I mean, even if he is the only non-operatic singer for whom my father had any use; but, there are things very much worse, even than being A Man Alone; as Ray Milland had likewise expressed it, in a rotten town, with a lot of rotten people in it! For me, it's never been a Very Good Year at all, but "at least" I did it so much more primarily and decisively, not "My Way," but God's Way (Matthew 26:39-44); just as this is not the Eve of My Destruction, but of the real problem, instead! To everything, there is a season; and things are shortly about to Turn, Turn, Turn, for the last time!--Ezekiel 21:25-27!
Favorite Books: Philosophy, Religious Studies, Political Science topics in general; but, most Foundationally and Uniquely of all, the Book of Books Itself, namely, the Bible. Try also The Politics of Experience, by Dr. Ronald D. Laing, A Short History of Decay, by E.M. Cioran, Notes From Underground, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, This Perfect Day, by Ira Levin, The Stranger, by Albert Camus, Ceremonial Chemistry, by Dr. Thomas Szasz, The Wisdom of Insecurity, by Alan W. Watts, Culture of Narcissism, by Christopher Lasch, Madness and Civilization, by Michael Foucault, The Greening of America, by Charles Reich, and The City of the Yellow Devil, by Maxim Gorky. And here's still another I'll openly as well as belatedly "sneak in," namely, The Devils of Loudon, by Aldous Huxley. The film does great justice to this priceless masterpiece, but there's still no adequate substitute for the rich philosophical reflection with which Huxley embellishes his unfolding historical account. I'll also "sneak in," even more belatedly, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, by Paulo Freire. I am overshadowingly more of a Classical Authoritarian in Principle than he, but the quality of "authority" to which I've had to quite typically, wastefully, insultingly, and no less unaccidentally submit, in conjunction, symbolically enough, with the rudely vulgar reception Paulo Freire had received, when he arrived, to give a lecture to a group of "professors" as well as "students," at CSULB, many years ago, leaves no doubt that some kind of "tensely precarious medium" is urgently in need of being as symbolically and forcefully imposed as necessary, much less simplistically or rather "idealistically" upon them as well! Indeed, for more elucidation upon what can be said, in a very symbolically and dismally real sense, to amount to this very point, please refer to The United States and Britain in Prophecy, by Herbert W. Armstrong. While I am by no absolute stretch an "Armstrongian," the kind who is at least as much in need of the immediately-abovementioned form of edification as anything else, he was certainly on target in this book, just for openers, and at least as far as it goes. Where to stop is the question, and so the line must be arbitrarily, unavoidably, even quite obscenely drawn somewhere. Besides, the few, listed immediately above, are more than enough to keep even me very fruitfully preoccupied; just as I wouldn't want any of these particularly well-penetrating needles of insight to become any more obscured, here and now, in the kind of haystack which almost rivals the sheer quantity of films to be found in my personal library. I'd attempted to record every valuable item I could, in rightful anticipation of the time when it would no longer remain available. In this process, I'd succeeded quite remarkably, but also failed about as miserably, too, having not been quite on time to capture far-too-many of such priceless gems, such as Ben Gazzara and Stuart Whitman, in Convicts Four! I also failed to acquire 20, 000 Years in Sing-Sing, with Spencer Tracy, or Castle on the Hudson, with John Garfield, which I preferred, from between these two; although I do have the original version of The Last Mile, with Preston Foster, unlike, for still another instance, Riot In Cell Block 11 as well.
In fact, I even had an audio recording of The Last Mile, with Mickey Rooney, before videos could be made; but which I had discarded, after about a year; for much the same reason I may, therefore, merely be psychologically projecting onto Mickey Rooney himself, as discussed in Idols of the Theater. I can only hope, for his sake, that I am not just psychologically projecting, however; assuming the only possible alternative is that he, himself, couldn't care less, and even had nothing to do, after-all, with why such a valuable item is no longer available--anywhere--and hasn't been, since about 1971! Just in case any acquired disdain for one such as John Mears truly animates him, it should be considered that even a falsely condemned man can be sadistically pushed to the brink; as, for instance, in the case of Herbert Morrison (Brian Keith), in Hitchcock's tragically ironic story entitled "Cell 227!" I made a big mistake, not only for the reasons later discussed, but also because, in the case of this particular film, I should have foreseen such a probable contingency, let-alone cared, enough, at the time, about its extreme likelihood! Perhaps the only copy of the audio I'd made, and sent to The Walrus, still has about as much chance, given its glaring cruelty to animals alone, of being extant, in the care of an "Anti-Social Darwinian" such as he, as he does, of having more coherently crossed over, in the processing, from being a devoutly atheistic evolutionist, into even "theistic evolution," let-alone Creationism, even though it allows for a necessary inclusion, in the only genuinely, coherently, comprehensively synthesizing sense, of everything positively essential his kind also dislike, while his position allows for the necessary inclusion only of that which he doesn't like, contrary to the assessment of his own glandularly, sentimentally arbitrary whims, or expressions of basically egocentric weakness self- and even quite mass-hysterically masquerading as the most "idealistically altruistic" forms, of "kindness." Still another ex-acquaintance of ours, also discussed further below, whom we'd called Ratso Rizzo, might have much less of a problem, symbolically enough, with the Classically Roman Catholic manner in which Mel Gibson had flagrantly cashed in on The Passion of the Christ, "Jesus Junk" and all, Circus Maximus or Coliseum-style; yet, it's no less symbolically doubtful that The Walrus himself has nearly the same kind of a problem with Michael Moore, and the way he so "selflessly" cashed in on Operation Iraqi Freedom, speaking, again, even upon the perhaps quite appropriately built-in duplicity of meaning to be found in the phrase "Anti-Social Darwinian!" Indeed, for a "Pure Naturalist," even William Joseph "Honeyboy" Willard (Robert Blake), in The Purple Gang, made more sense, in a way only a sentimentally gutless weakling just as typically passing to himself as a "Purely Optimistic Idealist" could possibly be disingenuously feeble-minded enough to vehemently deny! The only other serious mistake I'd ever made, was in the mid-nineties, when I passed up the first and undoubtedly the very last copy I'll ever see, for ten dollars, of Richard Basehart's Hitler, just because I'd already had a much inferior copy, along with far-too-many tapes, as well as not nearly enough. But, then, the best copy yet is about to hit this world scene, in a final demonstration of what fundamentally amounts to John Locke's observation, in An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, that, when one begins with nothing but "matter," as the Solely Primordial Foundation of everything else, it's Marx and Aurobindo who unprecedentedly bear the rightfully impossible burden of proof that any kind of "qualitatively dialectical change," axiologically speaking, not from one form of individual as well as class competition to another, but truly from at least the hitherto prevailing intra-species competition, to universally constructive cooperation, can ever by nature occur, or that the "useless passion" of every attempt at collective improvement, on behalf of Dr. Jekyll, even can let-alone must succeed at correspondingly weakening rather than strengthening the Immortal Mr. Hyde, or rather Hegel! Moreover, for all of LaRouche's perhaps even most nobly well-intentioned bluster about replacing Locke with Leibniz, he'll undoubtedly succeed, at least for openers, at elevating the minimum slave-wage, along with various other fringe benefits, in a glorified re-play of Star Trek's "Bread and Circuses," for essentially the same reason President Clinton undoubtedly wished he could have done as well; that is, until the real test of his loyalties finally strains him to the limit, accompanied by a few painfully embarrassing reminders, from his real master, whose actual identity and nature he is about to quite "realistically" and "expediently" overlook!
The big problem, even with being inadvertently careless enough to falsely appear one is trying to explicitly cite everything, is that such only serves to heighten the correspondingly false impression of doing a grossly intentional injustice to those who fail to receive the same notation; from out of the virtually endless list of others who equally deserve no less, but who are much-too-blessedly abundant in quantity as well as stature to viably accommodate. Indeed, even the possible argument that "free association" serves to speak for itself in such matters, deserves incalculably less emphasis than, again, mere appearances would tend to suggest. Perhaps it would have been so much more accurate, as well as less, simply to have said nothing; although even that can hardly be considered synonymous, in such an instance as this, with having included rather than excluded everything. Thus, the only way I can move, and yet can't, is by stopping, right here and now; instead of attempting to go any more forward, while thereby only falling behind even more! Again, there's simply no substitute for the equally impossible, here, of continuing into infinity, by naming everyone as such, let-alone blending them all into the kind of exquisite literary medley they deserve! In fact, just to help illustrate what I mean, I'll provide a few unmistakably choice examples, from both music and the cinema, which have been hitherto quite "implicitly" compromised. Therefore, at the risk of appearing biased, not only against the many-too-many who shall still remain at least more anonymously insulated, save to the extent that even they undoubtedly know very well who they are, but also against those who have, albeit only somewhat "belatedly," to be specifically mentioned now, here goes: In music, Paul Simon is among the greatest, most inspiring of creative geniuses to be found; just as, for that matter, even Art Garfunkel's remake of "I only have eyes for you," is anything but inferior to the original. Moreover, take a look at how far down on the above list David Clayton Thomas is finally appearing, even though "And When I Die" belongs right up there, next to "Alfie," and for exactly the same reason mentioned there; just as, "God Bless the Child" is an equally monumental tribute to, among other things of a strictly personal as well as generally philosophical nature, the amazingly aesthetic refinement, to every conceivable extent, of the entire album which includes both! The form and style, as well as the content, are indescribably superb! But, overall, what a murderously senseless tragedy most have no less unnecessarily, malignantly, unhealably made of it, at least for the relatively few who would really have loved to enjoy an otherwise beautiful little song such as "It's All In the Game," or "Venus," or "Johnny Angel," or even "Crystal Blue Persuasion!" Yet, while I "truly, regret" having to almost as mean-spiritedly, spitefully disappoint such typically abominable creatures; I still intend to end up, nevertheless, singing along, even more unsinkably, with all the rest of The Champions We Are--Beginning With and Thanks Eternally only to Norman Greenbaum's Spirit In the Sky!--And, to be sure, contrary to virtually every "Moralist" who even more Humorlessly strove to smother the possibility of anything as Painfully Cathartic as the experiences portrayed in A Summer Place, along with plenty of Immoralists to Mockingly Sneer with infinitely more vulgarly dehumanizing alacrity (as only the already typically dehumanized ever by nature can) at the vulnerability of anything so openly, melodramatically sensitive! While such an aesthetically moving legacy as the music, in particular, is ordinarily said to enhance the sweetness of one's memories, by way of a behavioristically-pairing association, the continual appreciation I have for it is rather compelled to endure the scathing bitterness of the same!
Of course, I certainly do have the deepest self-doubts, and an array of painfully hard-earned insecurities, against which to struggle! Yet, before typically snorting, too loud, about what a "fraudulent hypocrite," even of faith and hope, let-alone love, I therefore simply "must" be; try more honestly considering, yourselves, for a change, exactly how presumptuous it is to assume God Himself is not the one continuing to drive me onward, nevertheless, in ways I certainly could not ignore, even if I wanted to, or how much you actually only reveal, and not very flatteringly at all, about yourselves, in the process!--For, if I can thereby accuse you of merely desiring to believe the worst about me, for the most unwarrantedly destructive of "reasons," about all you can accuse me of, in return, is the fact that I'd have been dead, long ago, minus precisely the kind of faith, hope, and love which continue holding onto me, even more tenaciously than I continue striving to retain them in return! Many have only very provokingly "gotten off," from beneath their own hysterically, gutlessly, self-deceptively "moral indignance," for years, upon how much like Rod Serling's "The Howling Man" I sound, even while I'm howling!--But, what they conveniently fail to notice is how much like him one cannot at times avoid merely sounding, while in the process of so fiercely, incessantly fighting him off--in them! Moreover, contrary to the commonly "Christian" conception, there is nothing necessarily evil about a "beast," per se, at all! Their kind, in particular, should be able to recall at least four, off-hand, who are portrayed, most symbolically, and just as neglectedly, in exactly the opposite kind of light!--Revelation, 4:6-11! Yet, not at all unlike even one so otherwise refreshingly, aristocratically far above most of them as David Ellington (H.M. Wynant), these abjectly hypocritical first-stone-throwing herd-animals are rather the very kind who so prevailingly and "unwittingly" continue listening, on both sides, even "Christianly," let-alone "Progressively," to entirely the wrong kind of lion, too (I Peter 5:8)!--Or, should I rather say, to the most cleverly diabolical kind of two-faced lyin'?
On the screen, how can any list, regardless of how conspicuously abbreviated, ever dare exclude The Seven Faces of Dr. Lao, or still another gem of Tony Randall's, entitled The Brass Bottle? His was a genie virtually anybody would have been much-too-overwhelmingly tempted to employ with too-much-more of the kind of profoundly well-directed efficiency his actual master so disdainfully spurned! And, after-all, that's really the most decisive reason he was so passionately adored, contrary to the total havoc his character in No Down Payment would have propagated just as vindictively, as well as desperately and graspingly, without hesitation, by even the most independently self-willed of any would-be slave, even in conjunction with all the latter's most persistently ever-annoying appearances to the contrary. Moreover, on television, Frank Sutton is one of the most talented artists to be found anywhere, just as Private Gomer Pyle would have been absolutely nothing without Sergeant Vincent Carter; or, to expand upon the very same problem even more, Joe Cartwright said it well, to Sergeant Keenan Wynn, in a Bonanza episode entitled "Alias Joe Cartwright," namely, that, "You've been in the army so long you don't think for yourself anymore!" Had I not known better, I might even have been tempted to try enlisting myself, if only for the purpose of attempting to do everybody a real favor, by bringing out the very best in him, and that's about the only thing I no less extremely tend to hold against him! Next to Sergeant Carter, only Deputy Barney Fife (who may not, for very much longer, remain merely on the "other side" of the Rubicon!), along with Lucy Ricardo (and a band leader, "a-politically" straddling "both" ends, or rather "neither!"), are symbolically needed here, to complete the most satirically comprehensive trilogy, one embodying just about every dangerously childish folly threatening to so "harmlessly" and "amusingly," even quite "innocently" devour us all!
Where books are concerned, I deliberately tried to illustrate the relevant point here even more obviously; by avoiding any mention at all, just for openers, of the very ones which had been penned by the very few authors I nevertheless listed, immediately below. And, of course, even here, I thereby ran the risk of having been no less self-defeatingly perceived, if not as one who was simply trying to sneak them in, after-all, then as one who was rather being nothing more than the most carelessly inconsistent. But, just to help demonstrate my sincerity here, I'll resist the overwhelming temptation to reveal who my favorite director is, and also my favorite film of all time, which is, of course, one of his. As for the main character involved, I won't say this particular superstar turned out anything near to being a total undisappointment, but there was still something about him, in particular, which I even curse myself, perhaps for real as well, in my inability to entirely dismiss. Moreover, I seriously doubt this is due to the mere fact that he was one of the few who ever answered me at all, even with a most kindly and thankfully as well as personally, individually humble reply for one so "untouchably important." Again, I don't believe anything so vainly subjective on my part can accurately serve as the real incentive here, but it is entirely possible, perhaps even probably more than possible, that the real reason I feel this "preposterously unthinkable" incentive in his case is the same one which impelled him to write back the way he did, at least while he still could, which was apparently not for very long thereafter. Two millennia ago, he was essentially the one who instead had the opportunity to reply to Jack Hawkins, "Row well, and live," in return for essentially the same kind of favor he would perhaps do me now; despite my strongest inclination, nevertheless, to continue characterizing him as "at least" the most "hopefully" unpredictable "cross" between a modern-day Quintus Arrius--and the Judas Massala I'd then called him in my letter--which made such a politely humble reply on his part even more unexpectedly, thus believably, refreshing! Moreover, anybody who "thinks" they "know" me at all, and plenty "do," even as they tell themselves I'm the one who's too conceited to hear it, to be the least bit worth bothering about whatsoever (I Corinthians, 12:22-23); but, who would even have to guess--correctly--once--as to who this director and his main actor are, and which motion picture correspondingly applies, even given the many close ties for second place; could, nevertheless, perhaps receive all the assistance, which any of them should require, on the basis of a single clue it is even more difficult for anybody who "knows" me at all to miss!--One involving the number one philosopher on my list, the most formally well-disciplined mind of them all, from between, again, several close seconds; and despite even the few relatively incidental "touch-ups" he could also use, but which haven't at all decisively thrown me off, nearly as much as I've been just as genuinely trying to throw everybody else off, contrary to the "anciently primitive" notion of there actually being certain Eternally, "Abstractly Mystifying" Values at all!
Moreover, I wouldn't quite rule out a most harrowingly-unanticipated repeat, for the sake of today's "Eternal Capitalists," of a most prophetically as well as anciently-patterned unfolding; one which, were they to take it seriously at all, they would thus undoubtedly respond to by believing in "good luck charms," albeit just about as uselessly and fatally as John Dehner had rather elected to discard his, as engineer Alan Richards, in Serling's "The Jungle," with the same carelessly presumptuous impudence displayed by, say, Albert Salmi, as Mr. Feathersmith, in Serling's hour-long episode entitled "Of Late I Think of, Cliffordville," or Gary Crosby, as Floyd Burney, in Serling's "Come Wander, With Me," or Richard Deacon, as Wallace V. Whipple, in Serling's "The Brain, Center at Whipple's," or even Bryant Haliday, as Mike Stacey, in Curse of the Voodoo! Many of them may even begin to feel "home free," as they near their death beds, in a manner which also helped Pinochet "breathe easier," even with relation to whatever Absolute Justice this world occasionally and foreshadowingly has to offer, as seen also in the case of Oscar Beregi, Jr., playing the part of Lutze, in Serling's "Deaths-Head Revisited." But, then, John Dehner, again, has still another at least as inevitably ever-certain surprise in store thereafter, even one they'll not like quite so enthusiastically, for real, as they did in Serling's "Mr. Garrity and the, Graves!" It might even be sportingly fair to warn Russell Johnson, "The, Professor," and Charles Grodin, but rather more "secularly" and thus "realistically" as well, as Mark and Davey Dunigan, unrespectively, from an old episode of The Big Valley entitled "The Good Thieves," as well as the entire Nevada town of Sunflower, which heroized them for bankrolling the place by very "discreetly" doing their stealing and killing somewhere else, like over the state line, in a more "deservingly Yankee" town such as Stockton, California, back to where there were then no interstate extradition treaties to make possible their legally-enforced return, that Nick and Heath Barkley are nevertheless about to arrive! And Nick, particularly, is just itching for a Final Showdown, either way, as the kind of "pre-civilized" anachronism most typically domesticated, modernly brain-dead herd-animals today would have confined to a strait-jacket in no time flat!
And, no, I'm not referring to The Lord Jesus Christ as, again, the number one philosopher mentioned above, and certainly not even as the very one who has been the most passionately central to the purpose of being my decoy! Like Virgil Sollozzo, even I'm not nearly as sincerely clever as President Bush is, in that sense; not any more, for that matter, than he's ever really been a "Godfather" to me, either. Even worse yet, "mine" actually insists upon "saving" the soul, even of an "animal" such as I, despite the extent to which it may prove to be so riskily bad for business; or, perhaps, merely very well-calculated to appear to be, in an exacerbation of the very "Conflict of Interest" such is likewise designed in the process to conceal! In fact, I truly wonder whether he has at least enough "understanding" for it to be capable of cynically, even consciously eating away enough at his craw not to make me die laughing, even at him, when I perceive just how much like nothing but the very "religiously," moronically uptight prudes who push for such "laws," as the "inadvertent" partners of the Mafia they are, he must look and sound, in order to keep up such an abominably, victimizingly farcical front! Moreover, it would undoubtedly "shock" most typically, "morally" idolatrous worshippers to have to discover the real reason for his having invaded Afghanistan, that is, to save his poppies, and never-mind even his precious oil pipelines!--Or, of course, Osama bin Laden! After-all, it was Osama bin Laden who had been striving to eradicate this crop, even though he has by now been forced to increase his dependence upon "royalties" from the newly-revived harvests, while also being conveniently available to blame for their existence; just as Manuel Noriega undoubtedly had too many well-deserved plaques on his office walls, for fighting drugs, in addition to having refused to help in the Contra effort! Indeed, the, current program of "eradication" in Afghanistan is somewhat comparable to the oil industry artificially setting refinery quotas as "viably" low as possible, while thus reducing overhead, and raising prices at the same time (with virtually no reduction in demand for such a vitally indispensable necessity), save for the fact that the "eradicators" of this even more serious (than with the mindlessly brutal narcotic of football, too!) addiction to oil have so much less to brag about in the processing! To be sure, this technique of "eradication" serves to filter out whatever "unauthorized" middle men they'd rather turn into what Mel Bernstein (Harris Yulin), from Scarface, cynically and "parenthetically" referred to as "snacks!" Moreover, please deliver me from one of the most intrinsically repulsive as well as instrumentally dangerous menaces of all, namely, the "reformed" addict, who is out to "save the world," or, if "necessary," just as fanatically, self-righteously destroy it in the process, simply in order to maliciously, scapegoatingly avoid having to actually face rather than reaffirm the Bad Faith of his blaming of a "drug" for his own contemptible lack of character, and unwillingness to personally take the responsibility for himself! Not unrelatedly, here's still another dirty little secret, to supplement the one immediately below: Harrison Bergeron is no more "futuristic" than "fictional," as must be said of the Eloi verses the Morlocks, too, in The Time Machine, even with the same sense of urgency which more believably, than at the end of the original, finally overcame Kevin McCarthy, in his dynamically cameo-length return for the remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers! For just one glaringly "minor" example of another real "Harrison Bergeron," recall Jim Garrison (Kevin Costner), struggling through an extremely similar kind of scene! Perhaps Hitler couldn't win his war, at least not quite on time, or even quite yet; but the most dirty little secret of all, in the meantime, is that, if not even a pimp such as Tattaglia, either, then "at least" Barzini himself--as well as Hyman Roth--actually did!
But, again, I am referring to the Lord's closest second, above, in the most rigorously formal sense, the very one I can only no less dispassionately succeed at putting first!--Or, rather, again, second--and alone so!--For essentially the same reason Dostoyevsky so much more instructively as well as palatably succeeded at leaping, even over him, nevertheless; just as, for that matter, even the pompously "anti-entropic" Lyndon LaRouche, in his otherwise extremely perceptive determination to "transcend" every "axiomatically a-priori" limitation upon his style, is overcome, along with his own even more presumptuously implicit and inherently unverifiable axiom, in a single bound, by certain of those he most loves to demonize; swallowed up, in one gigantic gulp, by the very kind of Mysteriously, Miraculously Unaccountable Totality, and the Enigmatically Astonishing fact that Something rather than Nothing can even Exist at all, which only a philosopher of Martin Heidegger's magnitude is actually capable of appreciating; even if Heidegger, in turn, fails to take the next step, of making that necessary "Leap of Faith," which is the only way of penetrating this Absolute Barrier! Moreover, as for those foundational "axioms" so disdainfully dreaded by LaRouche, Aristotle grasped very clearly the structurally inherent fact that no kind of discursive reasoning, including, by extension, the most experientially, "anti-entropically" scientific form, is possible, in the absence of a basic premise, which must be axiomatically, self-evidently accepted, to begin the dialectical process itself; any more than one can coherently speak, say, of a "pragmatically viable" formula, where its goals are concerned (as distinct from the strictly scientific means of achieving them), and, by necessary implication, a set of inherently accepted values; for, otherwise, one would have to say such and such "pragmatically works," but with relation to--what? From one humanly-ineradicable perspective, indeed, the most powerfully and perennially predominant of all, Machiavelli had as much to say about "Natural law" as anybody else; including Mr. LaRouche, with all the unfootnoted references on his part to what he may not even be coherent enough, after-all, to recognize as the Categorical Imperative of Immanuel Kant, even in conjunction with the latter's own admirably well-disciplined religious and political treatises; just as Mr. LaRouche's insistence upon the "basic goodness" of human nature is to be as seriously mistrusted as his correspondingly, "Eternally Optimistic Conviction," along with Kant's, that Leviathan can even be subdued, at least any longer than Serling's "Howling, Man," let-alone destroyed, or, for that matter, bargained with in any meaningfully, hopefully, reliably constructive way! Broderick Crawford, as Governor Willie Stark, in All the King's Men, comes quite relevantly to mind here; for essentially the same good reason, and one just as excellently performed, as John Wayne antithetically had, for doing the movie a favor, by refusing the part--just as it appropriately ended up leaving even more egg in his face thereafter!
Oh, LaRouche is good, at making the most formally impressive case, stretching all the way back into antiquity, for the legitimate function of the "Complex Domain," and its capacity to experientially discover and synthesize the various "Universally Physical Principles" involved; just as, for that matter, he is the most coherently, theoretically consistent, when it comes down to applying Kant's maxim, that "Concepts without precepts are empty, and precepts without concepts are blind," as anything better than the very empty kind of concept Kant himself makes of it, with a "Philosophy of Science" which amounts to no more, at bottom, than an elaborate--begging of the question!--Or, what Alan Watts liked to call "putting legs on a snake," and, in the process, trying to "make a knife cut itself." One doesn't coherently "evaluate" the "legitimacy" of the very "basis" of sound science, or, rather, of that very discipline which, itself, does the evaluating--on entirely its own concretely, experientially self-vindicating terms--that is, from within the very formally-inherent perimeters which exist by its very nature--and which can only be "verified" in the strictest pragmatic sense. While Kant's formula defines the very foundation of science itself, to absolutely, unconditionally, dogmatically enshrine it, as the sole basis of all possible knowledge, is thereby to establish a Religion of Science, which the latter discipline is inherently unequipped to either confirm or refute. In this sense, even David Hume makes a most successfully gigantic leap over LaRouche, as surely as Kant, himself, is "symbiotically," inseparably wed, to the very Hume he'd tried so unsuccessfully to "transcend," just as Hume, in turn, with a formula which, by way of its very own standards, deserves to be committed to the flames (save, that is, for its undisprovability as well), is "leaped over," in the most formally, concisely, technically unassailable fashion, by the non-dogmatic skepticism of the ancient Sextus Empiricus! Essentially, the synthetic a-priori is as inherently undisprovable "in itself" as it is equally impossible to "establish," in any sense more "apodictically certain" than that provided by the fact that, as Nietzsche says, Life Itself cannot possibly function in the absence of just such a postulate; which is, for all anybody can by nature "prove," either way, nothing more, nothing less, than indispensably as well as reliably workable. LaRouche may certainly be dealing in the discovery of Real Universal Physical Principles, rather than the mere "synchronization" of "linear thought" and "wiggly reality" (as distinct from the former being necessarily capable of "explaining" the latter, in terms of anything more "prescriptive" as well as "descriptive" than orderly, predictable, and thus manipulable "probability patterns") no less coherently and defensibly postulated by Alan Watts (in his likewise by nature no more "provable" than "disprovable" shifting of the Kantian paradigm, so that concepts are the "phenomena," and precepts are staring right into the Essence of the Ungraspably Indeterminate Void of the Noumenon; to which all concepts inherently fail to apply in any "literal" way, save the concept that all concepts inherently fail to apply; but only, again, save for the concept that the paradoxically literal or objective applicability of the anciently and also modernly "Wittgensteinian" analogy of, as it were, being able to climb up the ladder, and then leave it behind, is also no more "provably" than "disprovably" postulated to apply); but what, in turn, actually, if not so "verifiably," after-all, serves to sustain them, other than the kind of "explanation" at which only Rod Serling himself so superlatively excels!
One of Serling's best episodes, in illustrating this point, is entitled "And When the Sky Was Opened," with Rod Taylor; just as James Howard "Fats" Brown (Jonathan Winters) summed it up very cogently, in Serling's "A Game of Pool," to Jesse Cardiff (Jack Klugman), when he said, "Nothing's impossible," at least insofar as such can be, by nature, apodictically verified, either way; "some things are less likely than others, that's all." Even more, such things could actually be occurring all the time (Hebrews 13:2), like right out of Highway to Heaven, or Touched By an Angel, albeit, still, as the kinds of exceptions without which there would be no rule. However, just let even one with the most impeccably well-known reputation for veracity, who has had such an experience, try telling anybody else about it, who has not had such an experience; and he'll be "received" about as "credibly," even by way of the remotest of all possibilities, in his "first time" at "crying wolf," as Andy Devine had been, in Serling's "Hocus-Pocus and Frisby," unless, of course, he makes it into The Enquirer, a most craftily-conceived vehicle, even quite Centrally-Planned, a la Edward Bernays, for spreading even more confusion and mystification. It's quite certain nobody will ever be reading anything by Carl Kolchak (Darren McGavin), from The Night Stalker, precisely because of what a "hell of a reporter" his editor, Tony Vincenzo (Simon Oakland), correctly characterized him to have been; at least at the very end, and indeed only at the very end, again, for precisely the very same reason, as well as much more momentarily "overwhelmingly" even than grudgingly! Barry Atwater, as Janos Scorzeny, charted quite an ambitious course, too, with as much vigorously stimulating zest and zeal as, say, Frank Langella, Gary Oldman, or even Richard Roxburgh, let-alone Gerard Butler, as the "undead" Judas Iscariot, in Dracula 2000, or, for that matter, Bela Lugosi, from Mark of the Vampire, in his determination to drain one of the most richly bloodsucking cities on earth; in a way I'm almost tempted only to wish, or, perhaps even somehow manage to hope, were any more "realistically plausible" than even Danny Ocean (Frank Sinatra and George Clooney), let-alone those invaders in Mars Attacks!, or Ace Larsen (Dane Clark), in Serling's "The Prime Mover" (contrary to Everett Sloane, as Franklin Gibbs, in Serling's, "The Fever"), or even Nicolas Cage, as Cameron Poe, in Con Air, giving Las Vegas such a bankruptingly expensive run for its money! Yet, even were it possible to reduce every Universal Physical Principle to the status of a few basic Equations, as in that ingeniously well-crafted, hour-long episode of The Twilight Zone entitled "Valley of the, Shadow," one would be no closer to "conceptually grasping" the Inherently Elusive Mystery of what holds it all together, or whether such principles are maintained, with the Force of Law, by nothing more than the Will of an equally real Creator, rather than being inherently and inalterably self-sustaining. There are, more accurately, certain kinds of things so fancifully "hypothesized" by Serling which, for theological reasons, appear very arguably and apodictically beyond the realm of factual possibility; despite the didactically axiological utility of incorporating them into some of the finest Morality Plays, if what Plato would likewise emphasize about the danger of permitting Myth to get too uncontrollably out-of-hand is also adequately remembered.
In the final analysis, while LaRouche's Devil has only a single horn, mine more correctly has two; just as I've had to learn, the hard way, that, if you probably can't trust anyone who insists human nature to be basically evil, then you definitely cannot trust anyone who insists it is basically good, or even at least "unequivocally neutral," initially. I'll add just one additionally-clarifying item, concerning his Devil; but without elaborating, in turn, or any more secondarily, upon this particular piece of the most basically-rooted foundation: Not only does LaRouche very grossly, over-simplifyingly lump all these "Devils" together, but he equally, insistently, falsifyingly validates their greatest "admirers," as, "admirers," as well as their greatest "detractors," as "detractors," in a manner which hardly serves to "centre" him nearly at the kind of pinnacle he thinks! Let's also get no less relevantly, even glaringly "aesthetic" about it as well, while we're at it!--For Elmer Gantry, as portrayed by Burt Lancaster, is seen as one with nothing more than the look of a ravenously devouring wolf in his eyes, particularly in his response to a young lady who openly lamented that "nobody loves nobody," by "believers" and, "unbelievers" alike; and no less shallowly as well, even by a Schiller Connoisseur such as yourself, Mr. LaRouche, speaking of the most typically, mechanically linear, one-dimensionally sterile kind of "thought!" You, too, could profit from a bit more of the very Spirit of "Romanticism" you so scornfully repudiate, for much the same reason even you're likewise as alternately impressive as anything else. I would have thought to present the equally noble (to Gantry, that is) Jim Lefferts (Arthur Kennedy), as the closest personal analogy to you in the film; but, then, unlike you, he "at least" had the soul to understand Gantry's, despite their differences, in one of the most meaningfully-inspiring friendships which far-too-many, of even their own statistically rare caliber, are never so wonderfully graced to find. Otherwise, you could just as easily have written that splendidly honest and lucid newspaper commentary of this eminently deserving Pulitzer Prize winner, as read by him verbatim in the film. One of the more seriously wasteful oversights of Lefferts, however, was when he permitted Gantry to fast-talk him, in front of his publisher, into "overlooking" a totally false accusation against him. Lefferts, you see, had quoted I Corinthians 14:34, in objection to Sister Sharon Falconer's claim to being a legitimate preacher; after which Gantry accused Lefferts of utilizing, in the words of Lefferts, a "source of information" which he'd believed to have been unfactual. Yet, the issue had not been what Lefferts regarded as a credible source of information, rather than whether or not professing Christians themselves abide by the very book in which they are the ones claiming to believe! Sure, Gantry had some extremely serious foibles, in answer to those who carelessly and "perhaps" just as "conveniently" assume I'm not acutely sensitive on this very score, too; or, for that matter, at all unaware that, one way or another, nobody ever "gets away" with anything, particularly if that's precisely the most primarily decisive extent of one's intention. But, then, the film also goes on to demonstrate some of the ways the Lord has of constructively and even quite "artistically" dealing, to whatever "perhaps" even statistically rare extent is individually, freely, even redeemably more than incorrigibly unsalvageable or just plain nimble-mindedly unteachable at all, with precisely the kinds of inherently Savior-necessitating deficiencies which the typically mediocre "plastic saint" never even begins to face at all, despite the vast extent of what he fails to realize is nevertheless so glaringly showing, let-alone meaningfully overcome in the process; due also to the same lack of imagination, and dynamic intensity of instinct, let-alone any real sense of moral decency, in its most essentially poetic flow of Spirit, which serves to make even his comprehension of evil no less banally and shallowly insipid. Bill Morgan (Dean Jagger) had been substantially refined enough to endeavor taking on Gantry in a meaningfully antagonistic way, but not quite deep enough to have withstood certain at least as meaningfully and cleverly substantial counterattacks; even if, nevertheless, he did manage to just as appropriately get the last word in, after reminding Gantry about who the "boss" was, to which Gantry replied, "Why, the Boss is God, I'm just His messenger boy," and to which he'd replied, with such bitterly "lighthearted" sarcasm, "I'm sure G-O-D will be, relieved!" If you really want to pick on somebody more your own style, Mr. LaRouche, then try the only kind of Babbitt (Edward Andrews) who can't even discern the difference between Gantry and himself, save in his own about as "laughably" falsifying favor!--Or even Lonesome Rhodes (Andy Griffith), as you strive to more "optimistically" challenge even his most dismally accurate assessment of what the dreadful herd of "humanity" actually is on the whole, and how vulgarly and confirmingly of his accusation they responded by hating him in return!
Moreover, as for all that "Evolution Jazz," as Gantry once referred to it, I "wonder" if even the great Henry Drummond would have come just as urgently as well as objectively to the defense of the other side by now, in exactly the way he'd somewhat hypothesized, a side which actually has more science of its own to bolster it than most are being led-by-the-nose to "think!" Indeed, even a few Foundational Postulates, which cannot be "scientifically proven" as such, can nevertheless be argued to have a rightfully-indispensable place, even in a science class. Perhaps God's argument, to Job, that the latter hadn't been there, in the beginning, and thus alone can't really know what happened, doesn't seem very "scientifically compelling," although anyone with at least half-a-brain should appreciate the fact that the question of ORIGINS is UNIQUE, and also MURKY enough to warrant a bit more of the kind of GENUINE HUMILITY which is at least willing to hear both sides, as well as recognizing the difference between speculation, or even the consideration of legitimate evidence, and "APODICTIC PROOF," either way! And, after-all, it's these very modern sophisticates who are the first to insist upon the formula that, as knowledge and understanding increase, one's ability to formulate more questions than he's able to keep up with, or ever really answer at all, correspondingly increases exponentially, and as surely as the most competent of any intellectual tyrant must be the very one who most rarely grasps the extent of his limitations, with the most rigorously and thoroughly well-disciplined form. Not only is the question of Origins unique, but it is where science and theology converge, assuming there is a God to have at least set a Beginning to this entire process in motion. Let the natural scientists calculate so ingeniously how old the earth would have been, and how it would have occurred, had it all actually happened naturally, even without a God, and we are in deep awe of the intricately laborious strides they make. Yet, there is inherently no way of proving it had to have taken that long, and undergone all those natural processes, as opposed to God having made it LOOK that way. He did create the ape, too, after-all, assuming He is the Creator. And, just as even the giraffe is, or would be, another grand testimonial to His Primordially Swaggering Sense of Humor, even the implantation of a few key fossils here and there just may turn out to have been, all along, a possible truth which perhaps still conveniently and thus accidentally (as a truth, although having the truth to so use does normally, if not so unexceptionally here, look much more plausibly effective) fit into the fabric of whatever nonsensically Medieval myths (I Timothy 1:4; 4:7) were likewise considered "necessary" in "salvaging theology" from the overshadowing tide of science. Of course, these "theology-salvaging apologists" saw fit to attribute the possible "stunt," immediately above, to Satan, perhaps fearing that it would have quite impossibly made God into a liar (Hebrews 6:18). Yet, more of exactly such a case can be made, albeit still quite dubiously, for the notion that God lied to Abraham about wanting him to actually kill Isaac. Indeed, the Master Semanticist is self-descriptively so notorious for helping pave the way for erroneous interpretations, as well as His reasons why, as to make any thoughtfully honest person take a more soberly cautious pause, just for openers, at the "naively childish" language of Genesis; just as the language, to cite still another foundationally pivotal kind of instance, in Matthew, Chapter Sixteen, is among the most cleverly enigmatic of all in this sense; as cross-referenced, for instance, with Isaiah, Chapter Twenty-Eight, and also Ezekiel, Chapter Twenty-Eight! Moreover, what real evidence let-alone proof is there that any let-alone all species biologically evolved from still other species? What of any of the same is there that life spontaneously generates from dead matter, let-alone, and only therefore, that its existence would have to be statistically probable, far beyond this infinitesimal ball of dust? Indeed, as for scientifically indemonstrable and even prevailingly unrecognized yet just as arrogantly, nimble-mindedly venerated "axioms," which already dominate science classrooms: Why is it, really, that most, who couldn't defend "evolution" to save their souls, nevertheless "automatically know" it "must" be "true?" The answer is that because, since there "cannot possibly" be any God, it "simply must" have happened in the only other way there "naturally" is left! What an example of "pure scientific objectivity" indeed! Only the Vatican could have successfully one-upped that one, when It held the just as Tyrannically, Monopolizing Upper-Hand; just as It's still at least as counterfeitingly good at religion, at systematically camouflaging the most lethally, "subtly undetectable" errors within the very fabric of the most crucially essential truths, as many evolutionists are at science; and, for that matter, about as good at it on the whole as even the best kinds of scientists who are nevertheless beset with its own corresponding array of errors! Yet, It failed to learn, even from Its mistake verses Galileo; then rationalized that it had been a matter of science, rather than of "Doctrine and Morals," but while conveniently forgetting to ask why, therefore, It had made the strictly theological error of being so "Infallibly" and Threateningly Involved in the first place! What Matthew Harrison Brady failed to learn, was the extent to which one can be even as right as he is nevertheless wrong, at least to the extent that any evidence in support of whatever theory, minus the actual existence of physically scientific proof in a given direction to cut the competition short, should be admissible in a strictly scientific setting! As for Bertram Cates, at least he should have been transferred, if not to the Hillsboro jail, then to a THEOLOGY Department class on the "NECESSITY" of Biological Evolution; as both sides, here, have actually been concerned with just about everything but science! That said, I'll even offer one additional clue, about someone who also did it Another's Way, instead of by "playing the odds," or in the most "sanely, predictably empirical" fashion; even if he did embellish it with more than enough Josephus, and the most brilliantly well-crafted script, to where it almost should have happened in exactly such a more glamorously poetic way; a form of "life imitating art" which, for instance, Burt Lancaster had to "spoil," with a much more closely, banally mundane point of view. The "gambler" being referred to here was the most uniquely and symbolically authoritative foreshadowing of Christ, the Lord Himself (Hebrews 3:1-6); the latter constituting the solely living embodiment of the most perfectly, tragically, and paradoxically ironic synthesis of what Leibniz called "the (perfect) will of God determining the outcome," and "the (permissive) will of God being determined by the outcome."
Favorite Writers: The existentialist philosophers in general, but Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, and Sartre, in particular, just for openers; contrary to the Many-Too-Many, Most, and Virtually All, in my own undoubtedly All-Too-Dismally-Characteristic experience, who are being so very "Professionally" Well-Paid even to actually believe they understand, let-alone appreciate, the Essence of such thinkers, with their mechanically superficial and pedantically trivial tinkering. Hell, even the One Supreme Axiom of all, the Categorical Imperative Itself (Matthew 7:12-23), is nothing more than a matter of mere "speculation" to them, if even that much! But they certainly lift not even the slightest finger to live by it at all! About the best they're willing to grant, at least if it's "convenient," is what Nietzsche referred to as the pig "philosophy," the "philosophy" satisfied, of John Stuart Mill; just as "virtually" all my past "professors," in particular, self-righteously, herd-animalistically fancying themselves the "solemn moralists" they weren't, held Nietzsche, and anybody who had the slightest "use" for him, in the most venomously, vindictively bloodcurdling disdain, for the very reasons he'd so astutely diagnosed, or rather SMELLED! But all philosophy, like water, seeks its own level in Immanuel Kant, just as The Critique of Pure Practical Reason is the closest book to the Bible, for me, in this sense. Moreover, this is where Gigot (Jackie Gleason) comes most relevantly, movingly into view!--A totally worthless, despicable creature to the world, let-alone the "Christians," precisely because he embodies only the very quality Kant correctly points out to be so pricelessly valuable-in-itself; next to which all other positive attributes, quite typically in its absence, are reduced to nothing but even the most impressively glittering refuse! Not only is it the only quality he has, or shall ever eternally require; but he's about the only one who really has it, while we both continue, very solitarily, laughably, pointlessly, Waiting for Godot, along with Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy!--Or, if you're not in such a typically, sadistically, murderously, laughably entertainable mood, then the alternate refrain is, "Oh, he's so annoyingly, disgustingly bitter!," just as even Gigot had been nothing but a thief, anyway! It required his death for any of you to need to believe you cared, but even that concern was nothing better than a worthlessly-fleeting sentiment; once you grotesquely ridiculous caricatures had found you'd been mistaken, about any need to wash your bloodstained hands; since he was still around, after-all, to continue tormenting, even in all his unending anguish and despair! I've seen some extremely good films over the years, but only The Green Mile turned out to have been as meaningfully and profoundly moving as this one!
About the best which "virtually" any of these "tenured professors" I've had to endure can do, if even very much of that, is exactly what they solely insist upon, from everybody under their charge, while no less "authoritatively" prohibiting all else; but, of course, in everything but their most "solemnly" self-mystifying words alone to the contrary, in an equally, mass-hysterically self-righteous display of the most mediocrely, vulgarly insipid form of theater! What they demand is a merely memorized accumulation, of so much of what they at least call even the most accurate information per se; but, minus any real will, or thus even the ability, to synthesize it into any kind of coherently let-alone accurately meaningful pattern. As Edward Mulhare said to David McCallum, in The Sixth Finger, learning is worthless without the brain capacity to use it. Moreover, even Hitler displays an incalculably greater level of competence, where he advises, in Mein Kampf, that one remember the essential, and forget the non-essential; which advice, I should add, he had more than adequately taken himself, even if only from the most twistedly, tragically ill-fated perspective. Nevertheless, even he's hard to knock, as opposed to appearing to be so much more candidly refreshing, when one finally comes to realize exactly what kind of people are still being paid to teach classes, even in "Ethics," let-alone the meaning of "Existential Authenticity," which even the Devil would actually love to be able to fold, almost as much as God Almighty Himself inevitably shall! Hitler was actually no different from most and "virtually" all of them, but simply better at being the kind of little tin god they all so "democratically" aspire to being; just as, of course, he was at least one-thousand times more competent, when it came to having even the brains, let-alone the guts, to know as much at all, or, as Scarface said, to really "Be what he wanted to be!" In the meantime, it's nothing less than a crime that even the vast majority of their "students" are learning so appreciatively, as well as "competently" enough to make them even more dangerously as well as repulsively full of themselves; at least about how to "read" per se, but to an extent even Wolf Larsen had enough sense to regret, alongside the much more common idiocy of believing he'd so superlatively mastered, nevertheless!
And, while it's not my way to mock even the "intellectually" air-headed mediocrity of the typical bourgeois "scholar," who presumes to sit so laughably, self-righteously, hypocritically in judgment upon Hitler, even to the nauseatingly, "Christianly" herd-animalistic extent that I can no longer feel very passionately anything but even his kind of imperfectly-understandable indignance toward them in return; again, the fact still remains that, where the most viciously, unconscionably mean-spirited hatred and resentment goes, along with the murderously backbiting slander which they'd been the very ones to unanimously initiate against me, minus any morally or intellectually justifiable reasons at all, I therefore feel not the slightest compunction against bitterly mocking and belittling them to scorn, minus any of the mercy let-alone justice I could never as much as beg let-alone beat out of any of them, for the fact of just how plain stupid, per se, they really are! While I deeply relate to Nietzsche's meaning, about the imperative of being able to hate even one's friends, before the idea of loving even one's enemies can be elevated above the level of anything but the most sickening kind of joke; such a formula can scarcely be said to apply to those who still hate me so venomously to scorn, as they gloat about how helplessly, frustratedly held down they've insured I must remain, to this very day; if only through their perpetual "inaction," and a "solemnly technical" concept, as to the very perimeters of their duty, due to which even so many more worthy day laborers would be uselessly, even detrimentally sacked in an instant! These swine despise me precisely because of what they can sense to be my extreme dedication as well as competence, even while "self-sanctifyingly" refusing to call what they are anything so indefensibly vile as that on its face to themselves! Moreover, the very System they typically, idolatrously venerate, in exchange for their most viciously, victimizingly unwarranted privileges, demands no less from them; and gets it, for the most part, precisely to the extent that most, who are employed, to this very purpose, would never have the "conscience" to "knowingly" participate in the kind of maliciously-underhanded collusion, and discrimination against the most authentically "threatening," which they otherwise "merely" very "instinctively," or "subconsciously," and no less sadistically, spitefully, pettily, mean-spiritedly enjoy, nevertheless, from beneath the array of cheaply superficial rationalizations and "technicalities" to which they so very "desperately" or "morally" as well as "legally," and, of course, just as "unambiguously" cling!
Yes, there are legitimate departments of knowledge at their universities, but only in those areas where actual competence is no less actually vital, for the same reason it is equally, unmistakably verifiable, even in the eyes of the most shallowly, narrowly incompetent; and yet dedicated only to the harnessing of a strictly physical power which, by now, threatens, in its absolute megalomania, to no less absolutely finish the job of corrupting and destroying them completely! And, again, as for the worst incompetents from among them? They characteristically take refuge in areas such as the Liberal Arts, where, by now, they're not even nearly as impressive as they "think" they are, at rhetorically, "sophisticatedly" camouflaging themselves, save in the "sight" of most! While I refrain from Swearing to God too carelessly often, for essentially the same reason only the typical fool is in danger of hellfire, for presumptuously daring to call even another such typical fool the same; I do Swear to God, here, that there was scarcely any "tenured professor," of the entire lot, who hadn't been thoroughly dedicated to vindictively, venomously, slanderingly murdering all the most genuinely creative energy within me! The "Degrees" they predominantly issue, in the Liberal Arts, are mechanically cranked off the assembly line, as mere commodities meant to keep the funds flowing; just as they no less unaccidentally treat the relatively few exceptions to this rule, from among the "students," as the very ones who mainly if not solely deserve to be regarded accordingly! It's like with the places which are less euphemistically called prisons as well, where so many real "graduates" finally end up, when they've failed to "adequately adjust," under more "wholesomely persuasive" conditions; all operating in a dysfunctionally interdependent complex of economic rationalizations, upon the single premise of self-survival for its own sake, regardless of how genuinely qualified perhaps even as many of the "Big House" residents, too, let-alone the SCREWS, really aren't! For that matter, it's no great surprise I'm totally unable to find a single copy of Robert Stroud's book on the subject anywhere, which I've always been desirous of reading, ever since the marvelously enlightening preview given of it by Burt Lancaster, in the film Birdman of Alcatraz! It's just about even anybody's "guess" as to what Warden Harvey Shoemaker (Karl Malden) must have done with it, which certainly wouldn't have included giving Tom Gaddis (Edmond O'Brien) a copy! But their most "civilizedly," victimizingly self-indulgent "foundation" (Matthew 7), is about to come crumbling down, right from beneath their feet!
Here's just one of many places in which Nitezsche totally unmasks their kind: "What provokes me to look at all philosophers half-suspiciously, half-mockingly, is not that one discovers again and again how innocent they are--how often and how easily they make mistakes and go astray; in short, their childishness and childlikeness--but that they are not honest enough in their work, although they all make a lot of virtuous noise when the problem of truthfulness is touched even remotely. They all pose as if they had discovered and reached their real opinions through the self-development of a cold, pure, divinely-unconcerned dialectic (as opposed to the mystics of every rank, who are more honest and doltish--and talk of 'inspiration'); while at bottom it is an assumption, a hunch, indeed a kind of 'inspiration'--most often a desire of the heart that has been filtered and made abstract--that they defend with reasons they have sought after the fact. They are all advocates who resent the name, and for the most part even wily spokesmen for their prejudices which they baptise 'truths'--and very far from having the courage of the conscience that admits this, precisely this, to itself; very far from having the good taste of the courage which also lets this be known, whether to warn an enemy or a friend, or, from exuberance, to mock itself." (Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future, trans. Walter Kaufmann, New York, Random House, 1966, pp. 12-13)
Here's still another: "I come in contact now and then with German universities: What an atmosphere prevails among its scholars, what a barren spirituality, grown how contented and lukewarm! It would be a profound misunderstanding to adduce German science as an objection here, as well as being proof one had not read a word I have written. For seventeen years I have not wearied of exposing the depersonalizing influence of our contemporary scientific pursuits. The harsh helot condition to which the tremendous extent of science has condemned every single person today is one of the main reasons why education and educators appropriate to fuller, richer, deeper natures are no longer forthcoming. Our culture suffers from nothing more than it suffers from the superabundance of presumptuous journeymen and fragments of humanity; our universities are, against their will, the actual forging houses of this kind of spiritual-instinct-atrophy." (Friedrich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols and the Antichrist, trans. R.J. Hollingdale, Baltimore, Penguin Books, 1968, pp. 61-62)
He also points out that, "In every country of Europe, and the same in America, there is at present something which makes an abuse of this name (free spirit): A very narrow, prepossessed, enchained class of spirits, who desire almost the opposite of what our intentions and instincts prompt--not to mention that in respect to the new philosophers who are appearing, they must still more be closed windows and bolted doors. Briefly and regrettably, they belong to the levellers, these wrongly named 'free spirits'--as glib--'modern ideas': All of them men without solitude, without personal solitude, blunt, honest fellows to whom neither courage nor honourable conduct ought to be denied; only, they are not free, and are ludicrously superficial, especially in their innate partiality for seeing the cause of almost all human misery and failure in the old forms in which society has hitherto existed--a notion which happily inverts the truth entirely." (Friedrich Nietzsche, as quoted in Gould, James A. and Truitt, Willis H., ed., Existentialist Philosophy, Dickenson Publishing Co., 1973, p. 13)
Try this brief one, too: "To children I am still a scholar, and to thistles and red poppies, too. They are innocent, even in their wickedness. But to the sheep I am no longer a scholar: Thus my fate will have it--blessed be my fate! For this is the truth: I have left the house of scholars and slammed the door behind me. Too long did my soul sit hungry at their table; I have not been schooled, as they have, to crack knowledge as one cracks nuts. I love freedom and the air above fresh soil; I would sleep on ox-skins rather than on their dignities and respectabilities." (Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra)
Favorite Movies: Many of them are listed in my published article, on this web site, under the tag of education, entitled Idols of the Theater. I'll refrain, as stated before, from bogging down most, with quite the list of music, or books, that is to be found, more familiarly as well as exhaustively, in the films, and television episodes, below. But I did want to point out, for now, that I'm nevertheless not necessarily finished with these other sections, either; for, despite my greater, more decisively, even redeemably personal identification with Martin, as well as with Bruce, I still embody more than enough, at least temperamentally, if not morally, of the Seth Brundle who'd sired the former, as well as of the David Banner who'd sired the latter; to where, in the words of still another, whom Martin had misguidedly loved as a father, I'm no less "erratically" capable of at least a few additionally but stiffly wholesome surprises!--Entirely free of, charge!--That is, until you finally receive the bill! Go ahead and laugh, at least until it inevitably and imminently comes time to discover just how expensive-an-entertainer I really am! In this spiritually wretched though materialistically "glittering" wasteland, even the most "religiously" unaccountable "authority" presumes, any way one turns, to try and get something for nothing, from you, by promising you something for nothing in return! Then, it has the cynically unmitigated audacity to try searing your very conscience even more, if it can't get to even whatever meager pocketbook you have, by accusing you of being "faithlessly defeatist," and, thus, "unrepentantly damned," even in this world; just because you have at least the sense, if not the decency as well, to know there's simply got to be a catch!
Unlike the most thoroughly positive influences, such as those briefly listed above; the more "negative" ones are actually not nearly as simplistically easy to classify, save to those who even quite sincerely yet erroneously believed they were doing the lion's share of the damage. My father had been the chief accuser in this respect, due primarily to a morbidly pathological aversion against anything "morbid," which his mother had thoroughly instilled into him! The biggest, most wasteful tragedy of all, however, was the extent to which the actual causes of my later problems had been so disingenuously as well as ignorantly "exonerated," in deference to the brutally inordinate demonization, so intimately related, in fact, to these other, more actual causes, of such unjustly, shallowly victimized scapegoats. The first, and, for me, most significant such instance, from between even a few other, almost equally impressive seconds, is Lon Chaney, Jr., as The Wolf Man! Even Henry Hull, as much as I identified with him, and with the equally profound symbolism he so archetypally embodied, in Werewolf of London, must nevertheless take a closely second seat to Larry Talbot; particularly given the kind of man he was, on a strictly personal level. There were a few films which did so violently traumatize me that I'll not give any the "satisfaction," let-alone the outright ammunition, of specifically naming them here. Yet, there is one I shall specifically mention, for one thing, in that it was so far from being the very worst of the lot. In fact, Steven Spielberg hit it right on the mark, in one of his interviews; as he expressed his amazement at watching a preacher being reduced to ashes, in the original version of War of the Worlds, while holding up a Cross and a Bible, in one of the most moving expressions of faith he'd ever so shatteringly witnessed. Yet, it was the superbly moving narration of Sir Cedric Hardwicke, particularly at the very end, which helped cushion the blow of this most formidably theological level of shock, by placing it within a more widely, plausibly, and meaningfully digestible perspective. Parenthetically, while I'm sorry to have to say it, even one as otherwise magnificently creative as Spielberg needn't have bothered at all with his own particular remake of this one. There was only one original, here, alongside other such uniquely intriguing productions as The Day the Earth Stood Still, Forbidden Planet, and The Angry Red Planet, as well as Planet of Blood, and even Ray Milland, as Dr. James Xavier, The Man With the X-Ray Eyes. But Amistad, on the other hand, is one of Spielberg's most meaningfully well-crafted achievements, right up there with Tamango; as a preview of how many Americans, who shall soon have been "fortunate enough" to survive the upcoming "Panic In Year Zero!" at all, are likewise going to be "privileged," this time, and also undoubtedly much more "non-discriminatorily" speaking, to "see the world," in an even more clearly theological perspective than mentioned immediately above!--Or, at least the many areas currently not so characteristically or commonly open to them, even as the most prestigiously if not exclusively presumptuous "tourists" in the world! It will be reminiscent of the manner in which human sardines had once been packaged and shipped, while also overseen by taskmasters who make even Charles Laughton's Captain Bligh, from Mutiny on the Bounty, appear merely about as "Christianly" overcomable, and even as "Christianly" left to fight another day, as even he was, himself, much too "sentimentally kind" for the job most imminently at hand; but, this time, minus also even the most cheaply, "Christianly" rhetorical pretenses of "freedom" and "dignity" on behalf of the governed, let-alone virtually any opportunity to escape!--I Thessalonians 5:1-8!--Lest the prospective escapee be someone even more vainly akin to, say, the absurdly mythical Indiana Jones, in contrast with his still very formidably real adversaries in the series!
The Time Machine, with Rod Taylor and Yvette Mimieux, was another good original, too, even if it did so very charmingly and seductively serve to conceal at least as much as anything else! While its remake had certain modernly-streamlined innovations to offer, there's still nothing to equal this classically cinematic work of art; even though Mr. Pem (along with, for that matter, Malcolm McDowell) did improve immensely upon the H.G. Wells invention, if not exactly his intention, with an ability to travel simultaneously through both time and space, while avoiding so many of young George's potentially fatal hazards along the way. I again touch upon Mr. Pem, very briefly below, and yet quite a bit more informatively in the process, with relation to his much more accurately-representational improvement, in spirit, and even in letter, upon the original "fictional" character; including an intense "loathing of red tape," and of "laughter at his expense," coupled with a bitterly vindictive scorn which desires no less to destroy than to dominate. The real character here, whom only Malcolm McDowell's version clearly identifies, most ironically because misrepresentationally, with a non-alias, had even once expressed the fiercest urge, along the lines of the creatively, ingeniously, though dogmatically, Cartesianly, one-dimensionally rigid, as well as empirically, blockheadedly, "atomically factual" Hobbesian, and even, according to Mr. LaRouche, the M.A.D.ly, genocidally sinister, but, yet, for, all that, the so "innocently," of evil, that is, effeminately, "humanistically" Christ-mocking (Jesus, if He existed at all, was "supposedly" a "hypocrite," you see, while preaching "love" and "forgiveness," and yet "vindictively," "hatefully," and, of course, "self-contradictorily" threatening snakes and vipers such as the Pharisees with Everlasting Hell, for insisting they had no sin, in which case "their sin remained," John 9:39-41!) "Lord" Bertrand Russell (to whom Nietzsche, quite symbolically, and thus no less revealingly, still owes a "good one," for that vulgarly falsifying crack about his whip; just as Nietzsche had really been making a corresponding reference, but contrary to the spirit and attitude of Russell, to the very predominance of fundamentally, subliminally, scapegoatingly, thus all-the-more-justifiably self-loathing snakes and vipers, of how they "morally" judge, and why; until he could no longer bear to discern the difference, even while gagging on his own much more acutely receptive sense of smell, its detection of a venomously blood-curdling Resentment, which really only desires, "if" anything, to get just as--uneven--again!), to "Spit right in God's Face," but in a manner only the fictional Mr. Pem could possibly appreciate!--Just as I only wish it were possible for me to say I don't empathize with exactly such a sentiment!--Although, in all honesty, I can't! Indeed, even Dana Andrews, as, Paul Driscoll, in Serling's hour-long "No Time Like the Past," couldn't quite measure up to Mr. Pem's amazing versatility; rather than having received a few poignant lessons of his own, with even the most deeply theological implications, and with which even the many different science fiction accounts continue to more "secularly" as well as speculatively and inconsistently struggle; for one thing, as to the actual limits of science itself, even if time, per se, is not necessarily the final barrier to be encountered here, or scripts as slapstically ludicrous as those of James, Darren and Robert Colbert, in The Time Tunnel! Russell Johnson, "The, Professor," but, this time, as Peter Corrigan, in Serling's episode entitled "Back There," had also been subjected to much the same experience as Dana Andrews, albeit much more unexpectedly and inexplicably; just as he'd received an entirely different lesson, via the medium of time travel, in Serling's "Execution."
Again, however, as for the exquisitely classical works of art which Chaney and Karloff so movingly succeeded at animating; all subsequent attempts to duplicate them, as sensationalistically, even technologically enhanced as they may otherwise quite impressively be, are nevertheless nothing better than the most cheaply superficial, almost pointlessly superfluous imitations, in contrast with the deeply symbolic quality of form as well as substance reflected in these originally cinematic masterpieces! In fact, nobody could have more cogently expressed the essence of what I mean here, in just a few short lines, than did Claude Rains, in part one of the original Wolf Man series; despite even the kind of lengthy elaboration upon his words which could be no less vividly included, but which any truly perceptive viewing of the film itself should render equally unnecessary. We're looking at pure symbolism here, including an explicit introduction of the element of individual immortality per se, in the first sequel, Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, and the most refined form of Cinematic Impressionism overall; rather than anything so modernly and "plausibly realistic" in form as to warrant an "explanation" as to how, even though Chaney had not been quite as "rationally reflective" as Henry Hull, subsequent to his initial or any subsequent transformation, he'd nevertheless managed, as my brother, James, pointed out, to put his shirt back on, button it, and neatly tuck it in, before going out on the prowl! Of course, this particular series had begun markedly deteriorating, uncoincidentally and symbolically enough, as World War II was correspondingly beginning to turn; although, for one of the more modernly, admirably "realistic" updates, including a more dynamically imaginative blurring of the distinction between waking and sleeping, as well as between man and wolf in the process, An American Werewolf in London will suffice; just as its sequel, An American Werewolf in Paris, enhances the same "realistically" vivid special effects even more, in conjunction with a clique of werewolves out to "cleanse" the world, while finding Americans in particular to be of such exceptionally "good taste" in this respect! Indeed, no more unrelatedly, get ready soon, for one can only "suppose" Rome is next on the agenda! But the Frankenstein series, nevertheless, had been capable of holding its own, with the greatest amount of durability, untill Karloff himself finally drew the line. And, after the war's end, about the only remaining residue to be found was in Abbott and Costello Meet Glenn Strange; albeit, still, in conjunction with some powerfully impressive performances, and even the most creatively well-crafted scripts; such as still another, featuring Whit Bissell, alongside Michael Landon, in I Was a Teenage Werewolf. This one, in particular, was packed with the most deeply-penetrating, powerfully-explosive symbolism, even to the extent of having been far-too-wastefully beyond the capacity of any general audience to greatly-enough appreciate. How to Make a Monster, starring the Lionel Atwill clone, Robert H. Harris, wasn't too bad, either; although not nearly as chilling as Sandra Harrison and Louise Lewis, in Blood of Dracula, which, along with I Was a Teenage Werewolf, plays upon the same general theme at least as effectively unfolded, a year earlier than these two, in The Werewolf, with Steven Ritch; or, for that matter, with nearly the refinement of Eric Fleming and Michael Pate, in Curse of the Undead! But there are others as well, which prove at least as impressive, in addition to uniquely original concepts such as The 4-D Man and The Blob.
For instance, to cite but a very few more, from among the movies upon which I have not hitherto touched, even in the form of the most relevantly well-positioned cameos; let's try, say, Roger Corman's more Poe-tically moving works of art (although, where the greatest, most classically cinematic renditions of Poe are concerned, one of my very favorites has always been Tales of Terror; and, even more specifically, the second segment in this trilogy, entitled, like unto still another great classic before it, The Black Cat, with Vincent Price, Peter Lorre, and Joyce Jamison. As for that other great classic, I'm referring to the one with Karloff and Bela Lugosi; not the one with Broderick Crawford, who should perhaps also have Died Yesterday!--Although, of course, there was Gregorio and His Angel, which proved valuably moving enough to warrant a most meaningfully tolerable rebirth!); or Circus of Horrors, with Anton Diffring; as well as Horrors of the Black Museum, with Michael Gough (and, for that matter, Konga would have been absolutely nothing without him, either! Of course, he was no Robert Armstrong, as there was only one of him, too!--But, still, even more impressive, in his own ever-movingly, aristocratically well-polished intensity! Moreover, he was even there to give Christopher Lee such a post-humorously helping hand, in Dr. Terror's House of Horrors! About the most perfectly comparable kind of temperament and breeding to be found in the "weaker" gender can be seen with Miss Tallulah Bankhead, in Die, Die, My, Darling; a similarity roughly comparable to, say, Anthony Quinn, as Zorba the Greek, VERSUS Melina Mercouri, as Ilya, in Never on Sunday!); just as I'd almost forgotten, along with so many others which I shall continue to "forget," The Brain From Planet Arous, with John Agar. And I'd almost forgotten to mention still another, which can hardly be avoided, in any much more commonly, vulgarly arbitrary way, given its own uniquely, dynamically impressive charm; namely, I Was a Teenage Frankenstein, starring Whit Bissell; who perhaps, after-all, served to embody the only kind of strength even Lois Lane was actually capable of respecting! From among all such films of its type, particularly with respect to the time when they were so abundantly as well as simultaneously "on a roll," I'll have to rank this one as being the most uniquely resonant, and, correspondingly, the most wastefully underrated and neglected, in every sense, including an extremely well-crafted script which deserves so much more critically evaluative scrutiny than it shall be receiving here. And, if that's not enough, then, to help seal even my fate here, given even Superman's need of a replacement, but particularly with relation to still another Lois Lane who was likewise quite symbolically the very one in need Clark Kent's pair of glasses (this constituting, most intentionally, a "hard saying," especially for the sake of anybody who believes he's already got it pegged!--Or, rather, skewered!); then let's take it just a single step further, in the form of Oliver Frank, as portrayed by Donald Murphy, and his determination to transform her so much more completely into his own image!
Even more, Vice Squad, with Wings Hauser, is something no "sugar pimp," in, particular, let-alone the supposed "head," of any typically modern household, can really afford to miss; for essentially the same reason Ramrod had been just as appropriately cast, as the most tragically necessary gift, to just about every insufferably "liberated" primadonna today; including the most "Christianly Conservative" performances of all, minus even anybody at home to assist at interpreting I Timothy 2:11-15! Of course, Ramrod had been incalculably more off the mark, with Princess (Season Hubley; the rarest kind of royalty indeed, and not merely for a member of the world's oldest profession!), than Frankie Fane (Stephen Boyd) had been, with Kay Bergdahl (Elke Sommer; and, again, here's real class, but with so much more to match!), in The Oscar; when he answered Kay's scathing comment, about everything she hated, with the at least equally true rebuke, "You mean, everything you love!" In this sense, even Ricky Ricardo comes through more refreshingly than most; just as Ward Cleaver, and James Anderson, to cite but two of the more meaningfully symbolic examples, were even more anachronistically inspiring, along, for that matter, with their wives; even if, as one "nerd" so "cleverly" as well as "revengefully" expressed it, Ward, in particular, had, at times, been "a bit hard on the Beaver!" Indeed, even Donna Reed might also have come through, just like that "wild cat," Lauren Bacall, in Key Largo; given only the "right" kinds of circumstances, those so much less "wholesomely provincial," to help bring out still more of the very best in their kind! At any rate, they were certainly to be included, right alongside all the rest of The Real McCoys!--At least until they had been offered even the most irresistibly true-to-life scripts, such as Walter Brennan's, in The Oscar, or Richard Crenna's, with his even more craftily well-disciplined "heart-to-hearts," particularly concerning the kind of attitude which fails to sit very well with a badge! Indeed, even that last line, with Rambo whining away, like one his kind otherwise sadistically get off at castigating as nothing but "wimps," about how nobody would "let us win," provided more than enough "damage control" to "vindicate" the entire film, minus the need of even a single sequel! Perhaps even most would actually have to ask what I mean by "damage control" here. Well, for one thing, Rambo's complaint about not even being able to get a job parking cars, let-alone just walk into a restaurant with a little dignity, and receive at least a bit of peace and quiet, from the "Law," particularly while trying to legally mind his own business, is much more profoundly, realistically worthy of honest consideration! Perhaps he'd managed to "move on," unlike literally millions whom I read are still quite homelessly, aimlessly, and woundedly wandering the streets; but, as far as I'm concerned, the only real war is right here, at "home," and always was, even for so many tragically-misguided vets who nevertheless deserve a much better deal!
However, it must be said that even Ramrod's approach is far superior to that of either, for instance, Walter Huston, to Joan Crawford, or Jose Ferrer, to Rita Hayworth, in Somerset Maughan's Rain! And this is not even to address my most tenderly sympathetic regards concerning the kind of psychological shipwreck Mr. Davidson was, or the painful difficulty he had enduring his own "moral" breakdown, which led to such a supremely terminal expression of the same cowardly self-indulgence by which he'd "lived." But even the kind of characteristically, religiously "stable" upbringing which had eventually led so much of the West to Protestantism, then "Secularism," and even "Neo" Paganism, and the deeply, violently unnatural conflicts internally engendered, would be much less decisively-hopeless and blindingly-crippling-a-match for the kind of nevertheless far-too-genuinely moral albeit virtually congenital victim of the same not even to recognize, on time, in a more honestly, even cathartically self-examining way, let-alone freely permit to result in the callously destructive victimization of others, while damaging the very image of Christ even more devastatingly in the process, as a mere means of sustaining his own "selflessly, sensitively moral" self-image! Most relevantly here, consider the destruction of Dooley (Mickey Rooney), at the hands of "Preacher" (Don Taylor), at the end of The Bold and the Brave! One would have to scrape the very bottom of the barrel to find, if possible, any worse, such as Bud Corliss (Robert Wagner), in A Kiss Before Dying! There was an equally gruesome remake of this one, too, by the same title, with Matt Dillon; although the plots are considerably varied, but not in any of the more urgently consequential of ways, contrary to the various contours with which I am nevertheless just as painfully compelled to identify! This story, along with the crime of Montgomery Clift, so similar in motivation as well that even Perry Mason was salivating after his head, in A Place In the Sun, also serves as a scathing testimonial to the terrible hardship and shame of being hopelessly poor, and the kind of terror so ruthlessly engendered, even of becoming let-alone remaining that way; in a System where the lack of any "Social Safety Net" is regarded as, among other, less "unfortunately necessary" things, the only adequately-motivating impetus, and money is the only thing universally, selfishly, victimizingly, idolatrously venerated; along with particularly a more commonly "successful" determination to avoid such a selfishly, negatively personal outcome at virtually any cost to others, but in ways so much more "honestly respectful," and even quite "legally" as well as "morally" so, than in A Kiss Before Dying! Indeed, judging from the way all so very "wholesomely" and "honorably" compete, even for money they don't need, and "hopefully" didn't even have to earn; it shouldn't take a rocket scientist to perceive what they'll all be doing to one-another, when there's nothing over which to fight but that last, stale crust of bread (Galatians 5:14-16) (James 4:1-3)! Yet, perhaps even Mr. Corliss is not totally the lowest, either, after-all; despite even his own sinisterly artistic skill, at acting at not acting at acting, but out of nothing save a strictly external form of necessity in his thus relatively exceptional kind of case; coupled with, if anything, an even more "genuinely tender regret," for that matter, about what "must" be, than with most who "must" also disguise the sheer horror of their real motivations as well as actions especially from themselves! In fact, Robert Wagner also portrayed an even more tragically moving victim of the same kind of problem, in The Mountain. His elder brother, played by Spencer Tracy, might have prevented him from perpetrating the ultimate crime in the process; yet, it's totally disheartening, particularly after having lived in the midst of his kind of "moralist," to witness how little empathy, or even sympathy, rather than the kind of suspiciously inordinate contempt, he'd had to spare for his little brother's inner conflict, in contrast with the "overflowing humanity" he'd seen fit to pour out on behalf of the latter's prospective victim. Marlon Brando, too, can be seen, in The Young Lions, expressing the same sense of dismay displayed by Wagner; as he recounts the humiliation of being forced to beg, for hand-outs, from tourists, in his own country, following the total devastation of the First World War. Moreover, thanks to the perennially insufferable predominance of Job's kind of "friends," I can almost appreciate even Bud Corliss's, let-alone Ramrod's, strongest instinctual inclinations to avoid getting closer to being any kind of "Christian" than to the Notorious Infamy of the Black Plague itself; which had arrived, in the form of the Second Typal Opening of the Fourth Seal (Revelation 6:7-8), to help in cleansingly away an even more terrible disease! Also, for all I at least quite rarely realize anybody is actually capable of knowing, contrary even to the many who otherwise quite captivatedly couldn't get enough of him; that alone might even turn out to merit Ramrod's ultimate redemption, perhaps far ahead of most of theirs, too!
However, even despite the extent to which I've likewise been unable to avoid sharing in their sentiment, another of my own incalculably more worthy preferences is that of Clark Gable, in Band of Angels, which I preferred so much more to Gone With the Wind! Yvonne De Carlo also very far outshined the likes of Vivien Leigh, as someone much more worthy of his efforts, particularly at the very end; along with Sidney Poitier, of course, even as he likewise appeared in certain other, equally ever-moving accomplishments, such as To Sir, With Love, A Patch of Blue, and The Defiant Ones! Indeed, even for a Baptist, he managed to hold his own extremely well, with nothing short of the most frightfully Oscar-deserving nun of the bunch, in Lilies of the Field; although, in her place, I would have had to recommend that certain other, much more popularly "viable" possibilities, such as Jane Fonda or Liz Taylor (who rather needed a first-rate pro to direct, such as George Peppard, as Jonas Cord, Jr., from The Carpetbaggers, although I won't go quite as far as to say instead of a Martin Balsam to produce!), at least follow the lead, of George C. Scott and Marlon Brando, but for entirely different reasons, perhaps even much better as well as entirely antithetical ones as well, in much more graciously declining the offer! But even Mr. Poitier outdid his own initial Oscar-winning performance, as good as that was, when he made A Raisin In the Sun, along with mama, of course, and the way she'd finally put that sister of his in place, at the very end! And, while it's getting harder and harder, perhaps he'd done even better than that, now that Edge of the City comes to mind! Even Michael Sarrazin didn't do quite as well, despite the deeply-moving friendship he'd struck up with The Flim-Flam Man!--Although his girl was one very fortunate lady, too!--But, still, not quite as fortunate as Sidney had been, and vice-versa, where that's concerned, in Edge of the City! I only wish it were possible to rejoice quite as much for the sake of his dear, sweet wife, in that one; but, then, the grief with which she'd finally been left is too overwhelming, even for me! Take it from Axel Nordmann (John Cassavetes), for I feel about as totally at the end of my rope, minus only the kind of shove he'd "needed" to push him over the very edge! If there are any others I've neglected, they certainly couldn't be any better than this, unless I'm really slipping, instead, even if not quite as severely as Max Von Sydow, under the unbearably heavy weight of His Cross! Either way, I cannot afford to be careless, for even an instant; since, if nothing else (and what could possibly by nature be worse?), Charlie isn't at all hard to find! To the contrary, I've never been able to get away from him, either! Again, though, as for Liz Taylor, she did quite thoroughly make up for everything, totally redeeming herself, thanks to perhaps the only appearance in her career which had been so exquisitely well-executed as to have failed to reveal any trace of a mere "performance," thus compelling me, particularly in her case, to strongly suspect she had not been "merely acting" at all. And that's quite a compliment, considering the impressively high quality of the character she'd no less superlatively brought to life in The Sandpiper, augmented by a superbly-reinforcing theme song, in "The Shadow of Your Smile." I liked it even better than Children of a Lesser God, and that's going some, indeed, virtually the very Distance! About the only remotely comparable instance I can honestly cite, in the case of Jane Fonda, is one of which she's no longer particularly proud, also since she undoubtedly recalls, vividly enough, one of the lessons left to her by her father, rather than from Hanoi (perhaps the most ruthlessly, savagely carpet-bombed city on earth, since "men" and "governments" had begun imperialistically taking to the skies!), or even from her brother's starring role in Fighting Mad, about what can finally happen to those who Never Give an Inch; just as, for that matter, one sees an abundance of disturbing evidence to support the charge of a most disingenuously opportunistic "publicity stunt" as the actual motive here; as she had begun wavering in her "convictions," under public pressure, in exactly the same way Jerry Falwell did, after having told the truth, subsequent to 9/11, that America's rabidly militant homosexual agenda is likewise hardly doing anything to endear the country to its Creator--or, for, that matter, to Osama bin Laden, either! But, then, there's no doubt whatsoever whom these "tenderly humanistic" militants would prefer to see win, even as they continue to bad-mouth the very Bush by whom they nevertheless feel so arrogantly and smugly well-protected, despite the fact that he's also the very one "bringin' 'em on" in the process! Moreover, it was probably the "anti-homosexual advocate," Bush himself, who'd told Falwell, and Pat Robertson, too, to "cool it," as such was threatening to detract from the goal of inciting the maximum hatred against Osama bin Laden, and the demand for revenge; which, after-all, would tend very strongly to militate against any religious invitation that America rather examine itself more honestly, as well as the many reasons it is so understandably despised in the world! But "don't ask, don't tell" is really the only viable solution, as even the deviants ought to know, save for the extent to which they are militantly, presumptuously among the small minority over the centuries who've not had to worry about being witch-hunded down, regardless of where they might have "discreetly" attempted to "mind their own business!" At least even an "altruistic" hedonist such as President Clinton was able to get that right, but only since it just happened to be the most personally, opportunistically convenient, if not the only such option open to him in the process! And, of course, there's no doubt as to which position he would have greatly preferred, just as perhaps all that's needed to "validate" even the most ruthlessly homicidal tendencies, in his kind of eyes, is to prove even they are "strictly genetic" in origin! Yet, even he appears to have no regard for pot smokers today who really are just trying to "otherwise" legally (and not unscripturally, either) MIND THEIR OWN BUSINESS, anywhere but in a typical penthouse suite, but especially in a poor black neighborhood of citizens as supposedly "free and equal" as any poor white youth who rather predominantly prefer a powder of the same color to crack.
And, while I'm not so certain, either, about Jane's brother, Peter, particularly given the many other, more questionable kinds of roles which he plays at least as convincingly; I can at least say, of myself, along with Captain America, that I never wanted to be anybody else, either; even despite the fact that so very few, particularly rather than exceptionally of the most "successfully" unsatisfiable sort, actually share the same sentiment, while not a single one from among all the rest would even remotely consider swapping places with me, either! Greg and I went together, to see Easy Rider, in celebration of a trek we were both about to make, and started upon, the very next day, on foot, to Miami. No drug deals, no bikes, no conspicuously fancy attire, just thumbs up, coupled with an idealistically blind faith in the God of Freedom. It was at exactly the same time of year, too, back in 1970, and we made it with hardly a snag; but there were a few dangerously close calls, including a perhaps wisely aborted temptation to become distracted by the Mardi Gras, and "Mississippi Roy!" Moreover, the longest ride we had, from Flagstaff, all the way to East St. Louis, along Route 66, with a musician in an old, beaten-down station wagon, by the name of Al, had been briefly interrupted, for what nevertheless seemed an eternity, somewhere in Arizona, due to a broken tail light. The smell of grass was still freshly and heavily in the air, and the paraphernalia was still sitting in plain sight on the dash; just as Al had remained equally, inconspicuously calm about the heroin he had stashed in his suitcase, even despite his awareness, while they were actually searching the interior, of having been detained in a state which stood one of the greatest chances of making him a lifer! And, of course, I seriously doubt, as virtually anybody would, that those cops were just trying to be "nice guys," or that they were totally blind, any more than there'd even been an attempt to bribe them. I'll leave you to narrow down the enormous possibilities still remaining from here! But it wasn't until much later, in fact, way past Key Largo, that we'd had to concern ourselves in any serious way about "reaching the Paris Line." Greg had left us by then, however, so that only Ratso Rizzo and The Walrus remained, subsequent to our rendezvous with them in Miami. We were some "Smooth Operators," intent upon "Goin' Up, the Country," but it only turned out feeling more like Otis Redding, "Sittin' On the Dock of the Bay, Wastin' Time," right back here in L.A.! To speak a bit more penetratingly, however, as the "odd one out," who was, "somewhat" sarcastically, re-named The Professor, it had always been, in spirit, and continues to be, a perpetually "Rainy Night In Georgia" to me, from beneath the superficial veener of so much "joy, fun, and seasons in the, sun!"
Such "charming" creatures, who currently comprise the norm, even of the "male" gender, are becoming, if possible, by now, even more insufferably and dangerously insipid by the day; particularly as politicians, or judges, as well as no less erroneously supposed teachers, let-alone "ministers!" I can't even count the far-too-many I've characteristically encountered, of the "gentler" gender, again, on both "opposing" sides of the spectrum, who instinctively, bloodcurdlingly, or at least "subliminally," that is, "morally," desire my kind of proverbial head on a platter; just because they can sense, immediately upon contact, that I am among the kind who genuinely have no real inclination, even from beneath the most "wholesomely," shallowly self-deceptive of merely "well-civilized" appearances, at least not initially, or for the kind of sake they would quite degenerately prefer, to rape and beat any of them half to death; in a way which brings to mind, say, Telly Savalas, as Archer Maggott, from The Dirty Dozen, or Robert Mitchum, as the "Reverend" Harry Powell, from The Night of the Hunter (forget it, Dr. Kildare!), or even, again, Robert Mitchum, as Max Cady, from Cape Fear (again, forget it, De Niro! You were also good, as usual, but not quite as much here!). Even the relatively diminishing quantity as well as quality of house-flies who yet remain, insist upon exclusively enjoying most of the options, but minus any of the more traditionally equalizing handicaps; despite the extent to which, for instance, even they fail to appear nearly as appropriate, in pants, as many of their counterparts would, in skirts!--Although I don't mean, I'm almost sorry I can't mean, the most anciently, Paganly Roman ones, either! But don't worry, for, if you think "Happy Daze" are here again, to stay, you haven't seen anything--yet!
Only a man can still be burdened with the shame of being poor, regardless of whose fault it actually is; atop all the hardships, per se, which particularly the finest of women are likewise being compelled to bear; if only there were any left to speak of, even of them as well!--In which case, Something Wicked This Way--Might Not Have Ever Come, not even in one's wildest Dreamscapes!--Including, for that matter, the kind of Firestarter even Mordecai Jones, particularly from behind the wheel, let-alone General George S. Patton, the closest thing, since, to a real "Rough Rider" who needed to be stopped, dead in his tracks, could really benefit from by now! Samantha Stevens might appear as nothing less than a dream-come-true, but I wouldn't want to bet upon any such prospect for real; especially with the kind of mother, among so many others, who had also been included into the picture; not to mention, most technically and "incidentally" of all, that the concept of a "good" witch is anything but the most "harmlessly amusing" contradiction in terms (I Corinthians 10:19-22)! About the only thing which helped "redeem" even Endora a bit more, on the big screen, despite the fact that it was one of the most pointlessly ill-crafted of movies I've ever encountered, was the fact that Will Farrell himself therefore blended in most appropriately with it! On the other hand, Barbara Eden constituted a vast improvement, as Larry Hagman's "slave," over the kind of strictly "respectable" stiff whom Tony Randall, above, should rather have compelled his "slave" to permanently transform, right alongside her father, as well as an entire courtroom of no less typically pompous "assets!"
Favorite TV Programs: The Twilight Zone (even the new ones), Night Gallery, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, The Fugitive (although Roy Huggins, the producer, turned out to have been the most scathingly "unaccountable" kind of disappointment; along with, for that matter, David Janssen himself! Mr. Huggins, in at least one interview, had left my ears about as unbelievably stretched as those of Kimble himself; save for the extent to which I'd nevertheless succeeded at hearing, rather than taking at all seriously, nothing but the mouth of a jack-ass, although anything but Balaam's, so very, at "best," deliberately, disingenuously braying!--Although I, on the other hand, AM Balaam's--Amerika!); and, of course, Star Trek, but the original episodes; just as about the most inspiring movement, of The Next Generation, is to be heard in the opening Theme Song itself; which almost compares, in Sheer Magnitude, to the International Anthem; although, if possible, the former is almost as absurdly wasted as the latter; that is, even despite the fact that Captain Picard, who specifically has plenty of class, along with Ryker and the others, isn't quite that disappointing, personally, at filling in for his predecessor; while even the magnificent versatility of Harrison Ford would have to be stretched, out of all reasonably viable proportion, before he could ever pass himself off as a clone of President Bill Clinton, in Air Force One!
About the most "positive" thing I can accurately as well as honestly say concerning Bill and Hillary is that even Tammy Wynette would have been too good for him, while even the most brutally-abusive "macho" would have been too good for her! Moreover, Deputy Fuhrer Melakon (Skip "Tomorrow, the World!" Homeier), in Star Trek's "Patterns of Force," should have been nearly as "fortunate" as Gore (and his running mate, Lieberman, if even this tells most anything, even yet, speaking of a prospective "Deputy Fuhrer!"), particularly with a "boss" who never even had to "inhale," let-alone mainline! As president, though, the other side of Dr. Roy Clinton, in Gore, from an episode of The Outer Limits entitled "Expanding Human," would really have had a chance to emerge, in furthering the "Non-Dogmatic," and even quite "Non-Infallible," let-alone "Non-God-Playing" or "Naturally Self-Balancing" Mechanisms of "Globalization," or "Free Trade," engineered by a "Post-Industrial" America, but with a "Transcendentally, Objectively Neutral" State, and Military, merely to "insure" that Brute Physical Force and Thuggery were never employed against the will of anybody not already unscrupulously engaged in the same! One could only wish Gore would seek an even more perfect environment, by really hitching a ride, like Sevrin, with Captain Kirk, on "The Way to Eden," where the fruit is particularly appropriate! More plausibly, though, while Slick Willie still undoubtedly believes it was his tail "Wagging the Dog," it was quite probably the other way around, right down to a facilitation of the misinterpretation just mentioned! Such "cooperation" on Clinton's part was perhaps the only reason he hadn't been convicted in the Senate! And, characteristically enough, it is scarcely if ever on the basis of the officially-stated charges that such kinds of political prosecutions are ever actually sought, as virtually everybody in Congress would thereby also undoubtedly be in the dock as well, particularly in a case such as Clinton's impeachment! Rather, the actual reasons are just as characteristically so criminally and collusively bogus themselves as to require whatever conveniently camouflaging excuses are utilized in the process! While Gore is gloating, now, like the brutally cynical war-hawk he's always been, too, at the humiliation of his rival, as though he were no less "morally" than "pragmatically" immune to all the terrible repercussions which swallow up millions of more innocently ordinary victims every day; those such as Hillary, who voted for a clearly illegal as well as immorally-motivated war, while claiming they "didn't know" what they undoubtedly did know, and would have had no excuse for not having known, with relation to Bush's real intentions (of, again, among other things, contemptuously spurning all formally legal barriers as well), lack even the sense, let-alone decency, to at least appear to be hiding their heads in embarrassment, if not outright shame, while daring to solicit even a single vote--from either side!--Since, after-all, one of their favorite terms, "Triangulation," is just a euphemism for Waffling! Indeed, Hillary and her kind had been quite suspiciously gung-ho, in favor of a war they themselves tend to regard as "optional," when, to be more accurate, Vietnam was optional, while this one was much more vitally imperative to the continued and parasitically undeserved economic viability of America as a nation, even before it had begun, "at least" short of the kinds of radically fundamental changes in the way America "does business" from which Americans shall be very sorry they'd refused to learn, on time, at the feet of Lyndon H. LaRouche! Just your presumptuously snot-nosed, childishly spoiled-rotten contempt, as a "culture," of bacteria, that is, for his German Middelstand Doctrine (which Watts also regularly touches upon, in the form of his reminders, as well, that money is not wealth, and fails even to represent anything but the disgusting impoverishment, from within as well, of those who work, but only when they have to, and then only for the money, while producing characteristically mediocre products in the process; instead of the money taking care of itself, as a result of one's intrinsic love of his craft, and the top-quality products which characteristically stem from that!), is symbolically more than enough to explain what is by now totally taking you all so pseudo-collectively and thus no less pseudo-individualistically down, on a scale even Dick "Deficits Don't Matter, Reagan Proved It" Cheney isn't going to be able to fix! Yet, even Bush and Cheney are as hypocritically albeit "conveniently" right as anything else about her kind, who cynically, opportunistically, victimizingly play politics, like the selfishly cold-blooded chameleons they are, over the bodies of as many dead soldiers, as well as their even more helplessly innocent casualties, as it takes; just as, to be sure, most Americans had systematically though "unwittingly," and quite "conveniently" or "innocently" so, bought, long, long ago, into the very politics which generate such wars, with no complaints, as long as nothing but the gravy train lasted! Although they want to blame Bush and Cheney alone now, as those who had "dragged them in," even they can soundly argue that nobody is to blame for each and every individual having complied, save each and every individual having complied, with scarcely anyone qualifying to "cast the first stone!" And now that the Iraq War hasn't been nearly the kind of "success story" even Hillary had politically gambled upon, she's just as ready as Bush and Cheney to bet so much more, at the risk of what she "thinks" to be only somebody else's expense, either way, that monstrously attacking Iran will prove capable of retrieving all the current losses, and preventing the otherwise virtually inevitable forfeiture of Iraq to Iran, while adding the nice, hefty profit originally intended to this particular tally! Extending this unscrupulously imperialistic "War on Terror" to Iran, and beyond, had always been their intention, in either case; but particularly now that more "good money" is required, in a determination to "recoup" the losses as well! The "Stoical" Bushes, "verses" the "Epicurean" or "Altruistically" Hedonistic Clintons, both symbolically nothing but unscrupulous Spartans and Cretians, or rather typical Americans at "heart," are given to only the quite marginally, "morally" indecisive "difference" that, while the former believe in "negotiating when necessary, and attacking when possible," the latter are more "Liberally, Progressively, Humanitarianly" inclined toward "negotiating when possible, and attacking when necessary." Corollarily, if the former are, in a sense, merely a bit more transparently "honest" than the latter, in this particular respect, at least even the latter must be given the "credit" of being correspondingly a bit more transparently "honest" than those who rave to themselves about being so much more "virtuously" or "patriotically" and thus alone "marginally" to the "Left," even of them; despite the very symbolically, dismally, decisively revealing fact that, to even this "Democratically Anti-Corporate" bunch, selfishly, even victimizingly "winning," rather than how "scrupulously" the "game" is "played," is still the only thing that "idealistically" counts. While they currently rave about the Constitutional "Separation of Powers" being violated by the Chief Executive, as if that were at all the issue to them, rather than manipulating, just as do the Republicans, a rhetorically malleable document with "objectively unambiguous" interpretations that suit their own ends; they would be singing exactly the opposite tune, along with their Republican "opponents," were it the Chief Executive attempting to execute their overall agenda instead. Right or wrong, the only actual name of the game, on either side, is to win, but minus either the courage or moral decency to admit, even and especially to themselves, that even many of the ends, on both sides, are at least as abominably disingenuous as the means of attaining them, just as even the more laudable objectives are not necessarily motivated for any reasons nearly as praiseworthy. Where the sole imperative of victory in Iraq is concerned, Hillary just had some catching up to do, with these "Altruistic" or "Quid-Pro-Quo" Hedonists, these "Liberally Progressive Humanitarians," what Nietzsche called, in answer to Mill's actually very Sacred (at least if not exclusively to many who are, by Mill's kind of definition, characteristically even if not especially therefore nothing but "children" and "savages!") formula, these Pig "Philosophers," or "Philosophers" Satisfied, with their "Enlightened" Self-Interest (And, as they've made "perfectly" clear to me, for the past thirty-plus years, God help anybody they "think" they don't need, beginning with the Lord Himself, not to mention all those war casualties and starving children they claim to themselves to "care about" so much, but only as Grist for their Mills, for their own neurological contradiction in terms!); who merely realized, even before March, 2003, that the Iraq War had been hopelessly unwinnable.
And, yet, of course, in precisely the opposite sense of that mentioned immediately above, even the Clintons, let-alone those to their "Left," are also so much more transparently "honest" than the Bushes; but only in that, while the Bushes likewise say they subscribe to the latter of the two formulas, as they must, only the Clintons mean it, so much more, when they say the same thing; but, for what essentially amounts to the same reason, or to achieve the most selfishly, victimizingly, cynically perverted objective, that the Bushes alone are also quite denotatively lying here. One cannot but be "impressively overwhelmed," for just one recently great big instance, by the "good-will diplomacy," or "warfare dictatorially concealed," which had been specifically designed in an "attempt" to "prevent," rather than render desirably and "covertly" inevitable, that savagely imperialistic bombardment of Yugoslavia, the last Communist Stronghold, back in 1999, on behalf of Germany and the Vatican, or, that is, the "Holy" or "Christian" Roman Empire! These characters can be "tricky," though, from beneath all their "Democratically Civilized" Rhetoric; as illustrated, by Walker, the Texas Ranger, when he'd taken over, in the interrogation of a "suspect," from another cop; at which point, the "suspect" looked at Walker, and cynically sneered, "I suppose you're the 'good cop.'" Walker's answer was, "Wrong!--I'm the bad one!" At least the Clintons should have no real difficulty going a bit easy on me here, particularly considering that they've apparently forgiven even the Senior Bush for hypocritically calling the president and his vice a couple of Bozos!--Or, is it only during presidential campaigning that opponents are permitted, even expected, if not perhaps even quite "regretfully compelled," especially by the greater bulk of those they're deceiving, to say just about nothing but what they don't actually mean, after-all? Even the Bushes, for that matter, should have no trouble, particularly with Christ Himself as their "favorite philosopher," when it comes to granting me the most passionately ever-abundant measures of forgiveness; not only despite as well as because of the extent to which, as with the Clintons, there is nothing, really, for them to legitimately need to forgive, at least not in my case; but, also, because of the magnitude of their forgiveness even of Clinton and Gore, for actually being the kinds of Bozos next to whom nobody should be any harder for even another Bozo to forgive! But Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is quite another issue entirely! The dirty trick is to deliberately and cynically utilize America's overwhelmingly decisive leverage, either for war or peace, to create conditions in the overwhelmingly intimidating context of which Iran would be nuts if it were not doing everything covertly possible to arm itself to the teeth, and perhaps even prepare some defensively pre-emptive surprises, subsequent to which these "negotiators" can quite conveniently reverse everyone's "understanding" as to the actual sequence of cause and effect here. As for Castro?--And Kim? For one crucial thing, America, the Great Goliath, is already "on its way" to "becoming" the kind of Absolute Dictatorship it hypocritically presumes to deride in them, just for the sake of continuing to be as unscrupulously and dangerously intimidating to them as it would even more Dictatorially and Repressively feel while bracing itself just as Defensively in their places! Castro, for that matter, said it quite succinctly: It's not your Christianity to which we object, but rather that you're NOT Christians! Indeed, even "if" none of these "capitalistically free and equal" scoundrels, or any from among the shamefully decadent predominance of their insipidly, rancidly, herd-animalistically revolting subjects (or, pardon me, good, decent, respectable 'citizens'") agree to "forgive" me here, "at least" I should have glaringly succeeded, by now, at convincing even the most characteristically, characterlessly dull-witted from among you that, unlike, say, Dale Carnegie, or even Dr. Norman Vincent Peale (Don Murray), I could not give one hell of a damn about the "fine art" of "winning friends and influencing people," although it does disturb me, beyond anything most could ever even begin to grasp, to contemplate that I might not turn out to be ready, quite on time (Luke 21:36) (II Peter 1:1-15) (II Timothy 4:6-8), after-all, for the First Resurrection to Immortality (Revelation 11:15-19) (I Thessalonians 4:15-18) (I Corinthians 15:34-58); if only in that I'm not exactly any Saint Stephen (Acts 7:54-60), either, but would greatly prefer to have one last crack, like Samson (Victor Mature), at taking down the entire "'Christian' temple" of Baal, or rather Dagon (Day Gone!), and every Philistinistically, swinishly mocking degenerate in it, right down with me! But, then, on the other hand, if Saint Stephen had been filled with the Spirit, at that final instant, then so, also, had Samson been! Moreover, don't be "too encouraged" by Stephen's level of compassion, either, as he'd probably only been extended a more clearly-penetrating glimpse of the kind of end I wouldn't wish even upon the most evil kind of dog, either (Psalm 73). Moreover, please don't misunderstand me as just another who fails to regard the uniquely symbolic greatness of America's legacy, for I am in awe of its incalculably marvelous achievements, as well as grateful for the extent to which they have also blessed so many, myself included. Yet, pride does come before a fall (Proverbs 16:18) (Deuteronomy, Chapter Eight), particularly when the very Judicial Backbone of such an impressively massive edifice is failing to perform its most Uniquely Sacred Function, to the point where it finally crumbles from its own increasingly rotten and destructively, dysfunctionally dead weight! It cannot be too often repeated that America's greatest "strength," GREED, the very "Christian" momentum behind the Cold War, which it therefore "won," is also its greatest WEAKNESS! In the end, which is alarmingly imminent by now, your many virtues are not going to be nearly enough to save you, as a nation, from the folly of your numerous vices!--Daniel 5:27! Can ANY of you YET discern the proverbial Handwriting on the Wall?
Indeed, the fictionally "inconsequential" Harrison Ford is even more mystifyingly, dangerously insidious than either the Clintons, or their unnamed "senior partner" in the Chronicles, Bush; in that he still perpetuates so many of the same systematically-interrelated myths, but while putting a more "manly" endorsement upon them; one from which even a "real" president is also well-calculated to benefit, "at least" by way of the most "subliminally subtle" kind of "free association." In actuality, only Gary Oldman had anything substantially thought-provoking to offer, contrary particularly to all the president's disingenuously hypocritical hype about "Peace without Justice," and the theatrically accompanying "tears" in his eyes; just as, for that matter, it's a most notoriously clever trick of Satan, to "neutralize" many of the most "inconveniently" essential kinds of truths, which definitely abound from out of the mouth of Oldman; that is, to "discredit" such truths, at least in the popular "mind," by placing them so very squarely in the mouth of "Satan" himself; so that, with the help of Schwarzenegger as well, they become nothing but "True Lies!" On the other hand, however, we can "know" what a "truly great man" Harrison Ford is! Just ask one of the most "objectively, movingly credible" of all sources, namely, that "maturely" air-headed bimbo who played his daughter in the film, as well as his wife and his Vice! Yet, perhaps the most Tragically Comical Irony of all is that Satan is going to be at his unprecedented best, by the time, shortly to arrive, when he's thoroughly used up America, and is ready to spit it out; in his need to have someone to blame for his dirty work, as well as in his need to be able to blame America in particular; while no less conveniently being able and even needing to tell almost nothing but the truth, as the "Savior" from it all, but certainly not by nature because it is the truth!
Indeed, about the only fictionally theatrical image of a "president," which succeeds at "virtuously outshining" even his, is that of an E.G. Marshall, in Superman II, along with the "touchingly selfless" motives which alone could have ever moved him to kneel! Whenever such creatures really do suddenly find themselves with nothing more "substantial" upon which to fall back, they instinctively assume such a defensively, hypocritically, sickeningly, "solemnly pious" posture, more rather than less than they characteristically do, and while even more "seriously," hysterically, theatrically falling for it themselves! Moreover, General Zod was about the only figure who did very smoothly blend into this particular film, but in a manner I'd thereby have to characterize as being complimentary as well; precisely due to his own, almost equally understandable irritation with the entire scenario involved! And, again, as for "presidents," even Jack Nicholson, in Mars Attacks!, as I briefly touch upon, once again, further down below, succeeds at being the more burlesquely "believable" in stature; even to the extent that about all I can personally identify with is the more "wholesomely," vigorously mocking sense of humor displayed by My Favorite Martians themselves, who so perceptively had him pegged, right alongside the all-too-dismally-familiar as well as refreshingly diminishing image of Rod Steiger! You've really got to hand it to Steiger, however; for, if nothing else, he was totally right, all-along; as anyone of his type should be among the first to know, as well as thank! But, then, again, his boss, short of having mastered the skills of a President Thomas J. Whitmore (Bill Pullman), from Independence Day, rather had, again, nothing left, upon which to fall back, particularly in the mirror, but what Frankie Fane (Stephen Boyd), from The Oscar, cynically, "almost" understandably, and even quite refreshingly referred to, particularly in his rebuke of Kappy's (Milton Berle) lying disingenuousness, even as to the extent of what he'd claimed to have been totally "unable" to do, in a Bad Faith attempt to hide, even and especially from himself, the fact of what he'd so "morally," and, as he'd also piously loved to sermonize (but in Frankie's defense, or, rather, in his own bread-and-butter's defense, no doubt), so freely chosen not to want to do, as the "Sincere Bit," that "heartrendingly selfless concern" with "pure, absolute idealism!" Or, could it actually be that, rather than having lied to himself in this sense, he'd been consciously lying, but only to Frankie, after-all?--Instead of having still more courageously as well as responsibly admitted, even to Frankie, but in the most "inconveniently" because still very financially risky as well as morally mandatory way to himself, "the truth" that he would "never stoop," at any price, to doing his boss any such "grossly unscrupulous" favors as the one he'd demanded?--And, yet, the very one he'd ended up doing, quite easily and successfully, that is, to just about everything but his pride. This particular "moral idealist" could have used at least some kind of "refresher course" on Kantian as well as Sartrean moral philosophy, in about the same way Captain Veer (Peter Ustinov), from Billy Budd, could have learned to better, even perhaps more sincerely as well as intelligently distinguish the difference, which he systematically, regularly, and conveniently inverted, on both counts, between an Intrinsically, Non-Negotiably, Sacredly Categorical Imperative, and a merely hypothetical one! Moreover, unfortunately enough, for Billy, Captain Veer had only much more commonly, "well-educatedly" succeeded at mastering the kind of strictly sophistical rhetoric, which itself didn't even have to be nearly as good as he'd merely "thought" it was, to which an even more stubbornly as well as sincerely half-educated hold-out, such as Gunnery Officer Steven Wyatt (David McCallum), had finally been so fiendishly seduced into succumbing! I only wish I could have been in his place, to deliver the most superfluously and thus also quite "confusingly" as well as meaningfully exhaustive sermon imaginable, in response to Captain Veer's final, most "desperate" request for a manner of rationally and consistently extricating himself! Ironically enough, however, Kant himself would probably have proven one of the worst candidates for this particular task, with his tendency to take the side of Veer in such matters; which speaks, not against the soundness of his "Purely Practical" theory, but rather of the way he tends to interpretatively apply it, in conjunction with the lion's share of the responsibility he must therefore also assume for having helped give the most understandably cynical opposition such "persuasively plausible" reason to cast aspersions upon it. Just as his kind are in no wise inclined to compromise against the side of worldly authority, in their conception of "Duty," I at least have the greater balance to appreciate both sides of what I'll nevertheless not be so generous here as to call a bonified "antinomy," for the same reason I incline so strongly in favor of the Higher emphasis (Acts 5:29) his applied "Reason" totally, "unequivocally" neglects.
Moreover, speaking of young, impressionable children, I also marvel, but in no flattering way whatsoever, at the emphasis upon blocking various programs from being viewed!--To protect children?--But from what? From things no "responsible adult," or generally hypocritical society, would have any desire to view, either? This is certainly not to discount a most profoundly legitimate imperative of protecting children, even by screening out certain kinds of things real adults alone are capable of synthesizing. Yet, concealing "adult" corruption from them, in the form of a most otherwise "embarrassingly" shameful double-standard, is definitely not to be included here! Such rightfully pertains, again, only to the most legitimate forms of content, which can nevertheless potentially influence children in detrimental ways; not because there is anything wrong with the content itself, but rather with the very capacities of children who are not yet mature enough to interpret and comprehend it in the constructively edifying way ideally intended. While there certainly is much content which falls within the proper category here, the problem, most symbolically, revealingly, is that no formal provision is established, rather than at least "implicitly" and no less vehemently denied, for acknowledging the soundness of the very distinction itself. Alfred Hitchcock, however, is such a uniquely gifted artist, as well as an ingenious master of suspense, as to likewise qualify for a virtual "G" rating every time, without having to suffer the loss of a single, otherwise essentially censorable thing, save perhaps the climactic one in Psycho. Yet, the same can hardly be said for even the "strictly adult value" of mindlessly pointless spectacles such as Halloween or Friday the 13th; along with the endless television commercials Hitchcock so "tactfully" derided, while they continue to impose themselves upon everybody, "as though" the sponsors were doing the average wage slave a great big favor, instead of fulfilling a legitimate public responsibility, with the means--of production--which they own! Indeed, the greatly pivotal policy debate, just after the advent of television (one as monumental, in its questioning as to who really should own the air waves, as certain others had been, going all the way back to the beginning of the American Republic, such as whether to have a Standing Militia, and how to deal with corporate power), as to whether it should primarily and decisively serve cultural ends, or commercialistic ones, had obviously been won by the very elements which not only help "subliminally" instill in young and impressionable children the swinishly-perverted and dismally-prevailing view that culture is rightfully and even quite naturally nothing but a mere means to the end of business, and even "entertainment" of the most correspondingly, increasingly, mindlessly, cynically mediocre varieties, but also just as cynically, tastelessly, insipidly, and swinishly butcher every originally, educationally creative work of art, just to make room for extra commercial time!--Which ought rather to have a special channel devoted to nothing else!--Or, is somebody afraid nobody will tune in? Again, though, as for the content in-between, Elvis, too, is a prime example of someone who simply helped open the door, likewise to so many others who more characteristically and grossly overstepped his most tastefully well-balanced forms of artistry, but for whom it would be much-too-decisively oversimplifying to lay the blame on him, even if those who wanted his head are about to be, again, but retrospectively, thus more "understandably," in vogue; just as when, for that matter, sexual concerns were dominated by such "religiously" psychological insecurities, self- and mass-hysterically masquerading as "genuinely moral" obsessions, as to have rendered Elvis symbolically so much more than merely or just plain "undesirably" inevitable; and, to be sure, just as the "beautiful" generation is indeed quite "admirably" serving to "conveniently" as well as over-reactively demonstrate, on the whole, not only that real standards of any kind are, to them, inherently synonymous with "hang-ups," but also that the very insecurities being so impotently, exhibitionistically "transcended" are still as murderously strong as ever! Moreover, one would no less unusually than coherently and even very decently think that, at the very least, their "Free-Market Mechanisms," and that "Invisibly-Self-Regulating Hand," of which they continually, self-glorifyingly rave, should have long-ago succeed, with such "morally civilized people," at decisively kicking in, and "spontaneously" filtering out most, if not virtually all, of the wrong category, here, before any of it even had a chance to get started! Some actually dare to believe, by now, even among the good guys, that "democracy," as if any typically potential little tin-pot dictator among men truly believed in it at all, anyway, whenever it can be "conveniently" avoided, but only on his own terms, just doesn't "work," after-all! At least even Bush, and his "Favorite Philosopher," in particular, both fundamentally and ultimately agree on that much!
Star Trek was very fine viewing for children in this sense, save for the absence of a few counterbalancing reminders of what, again, as already emphasized above, Plato had to say concerning the dangers of "analogizing" in the form of Myth, as well as save for the kind of Cleverly Mystifying Propaganda incorporated into it; even if Gary Oldman himself had not been present among the Klingons, let-alone Donald Pleasance, from Fantastic Voyage, in "contrast," even quite symbolically, with an "Under God," added to the Pledge of Allegiance, at the beginning of the Cold War, for cheaply, disingenuously, prostitutionally, propagandistically "Non-Secular" or "Non-Separation" purposes alone, not to mention the stamp of "In God We Trust" to be found in the most "appropriate" place of all--namely, on the very face of--your Only True Idol! In fact, if only the Star Trek motion pictures had been just a bit more faithful, in their extentions of the series, as Batman: The Movie had been. Not too very bad, on the whole, including the first movie, and its expansion on the idea originally unfolded in "The Changeling" episode; except that the "glittering sensationalism" much too tediously and draggingly overshadowed, in conjunction with, for instance, a symbolically, revealingly "prettier" head of hair, on Admiral Kirk, accompanied by a more worn-down spirit, which really served the most to make even a relatively less pretentious image of Captain Picard so much more worthy of the opening theme mentioned above; just as Mr. Spock is about the only one who never seems to change the most, like unto even an evil counterpart, in "Mirror, Mirror," whom Kirk had correctly characterized as a man of integrity, in both universes; although even he failed to hold a candle, next to the inhabitants of the relevantly intimidated planet themselves; just in case anybody, perhaps virtually everybody, had failed to notice that particular bit of extremely, symbolically powerful--carelessness? Incidentally, as for that "prettier" head of hair, mentioned immediately above? Kirk was much more unbelievably as well as refreshingly and no less characteristically feisty, even for his age, and, of course, except for the hair, in that original episode entitled "The Deadly Years!" It's perhaps unfortunate Admiral Kirk couldn't have gone back, however, even with his "older" head of hair, just to re-do only a single line, from "This Side of Paradise," where he finally says, "I understand now," which just might more convincingly have worked, even minus any real understanding to reinforce it!--Although, after that, he would have done well to get back--or rather forward again--quickly!--Just as I would have hoped he'd arrived not an instant sooner, either! Or, at the very latest, he would have done well to exit as the spores in him were being neutralized; just as he could have said the hair itself had been a fringe benefit of the spores, although preferably a temporary one! On second thought, however, it seems Admiral Kirk might have gotten a rather early start, at the very end of the original series; although what he'd apparently forgotten, during the shooting of "Turnabourt Intruder," was, of all things, again, the hair, to go with the fingernails! And, again, as for Spock's kind of durability? It is most symbolically, revealingly, and unflatteringly true, after-all, that he couldn't quite decide whether or not he was actually Spock. What I dread the most, however, is the extremely unfortunate possibility, to put it no less mildly, and maybe even a bit less painfully, that he'd been correct the first time! Even when he'd decided to change his mind, I fear it wasn't even in the service of the many, at least not for their sakes; let-alone of the very few, and to the devil, if necessary, with how the many-too-many might have turned out to feel! It's undoubtedly the case that he did feel, himself, like nothing but "an overgrown jackrabbit, an elf with a hyperactive thyroid!" I wouldn't relish arousing that great strength of his against me, but I'll risk even the hope-against-hope that the spores are to blame, after-all; rather than something entirely more serious, which cannot be so easily neutralized, against his own actual will--and nothing else! Even Bill Bixby had the "decency," in an interview, many years back, to disavow, minus any subsequently opportunistic retractions, or attempts to "cover his tracks," even the slightest element of personal identification with David Banner; saying, in no uncertain terms, "That's not me, that's not me at all!," as though it were David Banner who had everything to be ashamed of here! I even read about how George Reeves loathed having had to donn those tights which comprised his Superman costume, just as the shape of that design on the front of his t-shirt almost looks like it had been inspired from out of the inside of a toilet bowl!
Let's not overlook The Outer Limits, either (even the new ones), The Rifleman, The Big Valley, Bonanza, Gunsmoke, Walker, Texas Ranger, The A-Team, Columbo, Matlock, and even Mr. Monk, just as McBride is pretty good, too. Cheyenne Bodie was an older favorite, too, although his most magnificent work of art was on the big screen, as Yellowstone Kelly. It was almost a real downer to see the level to which he had been reduced, in The Dirty Dozen. Yet, it helped immensely to redeem his image that he'd been just as impressively upstaged in the process, by the magnificently manly performance of Lee Marvin, whose overall finesse was particularly at its finest as he was "apologetically" confronting Robert Ryan about the latter's "emotionalism." The biggest problem with the film is that it at least should render America so much more unable to accuse anybody else of War Crimes! As for Superman, Mr. "Truth, Justice, and the American Way" himself, neither of the new ones are nearly as good; but I did enjoy Lois and Clark, nevertheless; and particularly their encounter, from right out of Time After Time, with H.G. Wells. Even that episode about "Mighty Mouse" was particularly charming, along with a leading romantic duo who were far superior to those two leading cartoon caricatures in the movies; just as, for that matter, Smallville's lead character really appears to have been very well-cast, even if it is otherwise far-too-soap-operatically milked-to-the-bone! I even liked his parents, who would correspondingly also have been much too impressively ill-suited for the movie; alongside only the young Clark Kent himself, the one who did very briefly appear there; with those deeply, sadly existential eyes, which leap in single bound across the infinite chasm between what Soren Kierkegaard described as the ethical (the dead letter of the Law, if even that accurately, denotatively, untwistedly much!), and the religious (the actual Substance, or Spirit Itself!), and which therefore failed to blend in any more inconspicuously than the images of Glenn Ford or Phyllis Thaxter; contrary also to a ridiculously overbearing image of Gene Hackman, or a fellow buffoon such as Ned Beatty; with relation to whom Superman Returns had yielded a much more endurably palatable cast on the whole, beginning with Superman himself, as dry as even he was. I understand Robert Redford had originally refused the offer, which informs me no less about the quality of his own particular taste than did the numerous roles he was no less hesitant to accept! For that matter, Steve Reeves would have had a better chance at avoiding the image of an albatross, even in a slapstickally comical version of James Bond!
For all the nobly subsequent attempts, there was only one Superman, even if he had likewise actually failed to be the first!--Or, rather, two real ones, if you count, as I certainly always have, the one in overalls, accompanied by his mule, namely, Sylvester J. Superman, the very Salt of the earth, as portrayed by Chuck Connors!--Or, perhaps, even a third "real" superman; but one who couldn't quite get his act together, while thus sounding off, with such rebelliously disgruntled scorn, "I look like superman, why don't I--sound like superman!" Indeed, given even his most acutely perceptive anxiety, about catching a slug in the head, just above his bullet-proof vest, perhaps even half-a-superman would have been enough to see him through; although probably not, as even these two halves were themselves more uselessly vulnerable than anything else, especially in the absence of one-another. After-all, even ducks can fly, right into the sights of a V.I.P. as persistently mean-spirited as Elmer Fudd, in a way even their combined strength is incapable of separately withstanding! Gunner Flinch (Myron Healey), The Bully of Dry Gulch, should have been so lucky, even at cards!--Although it might not be so wise to gamble everything that the Sunnis and the Shiites are not actually bluffing, after-all, in an application of the Stalinist maxim that one should appear strong when he's weak, but weak when he's strong, and yet still otherwise lacking in the potential to more transparently deter, in the latter case, even if he much more rationally wanted as much as needed to do so! Perhaps the two sects really do hate one-another very religiously to the death, but both these enemies are just as aware they're common enemies of the most formidably irrational or at least desperately if not also very over-confidently determined one of all, which provides a basis for even the most instrumentally dubious kind of friendship their common enemy shall not be capable of withstanding, particularly while the latter is being duped into the "viability" of his current "divide-and-conquer" strategy. In fact, were it not too late already, and perhaps always by nature had been, if only due to the freely-chosen as well as popularly-tolerated if not enthusiastically-supported incorrigibility of those with all the real, pseudo-individually, thus no less pseudo-collectively decision-making power, but who will undoubtedly never listen, at least not on time; then the best of all possible advice, at this point, at least while, as Gore puts it, "gliding through a skid," might have been provided, not by the real Superman, but rather from Lois and Clark; for, in that version, Superman simply turns off the engine. If, on the other hand, some "horseless carriage" happens to be coming at you, then perhaps do what Walker, the Texas Ranger, did, by shooting, not at the windshield or the tires, but rather at the engine; which, among other potentially decisive advantages, is so much harder to miss. Al Qaeda might as well have written that one! Worse yet, even the only real Perry White of all had one encounter, in particular, or so he'd thought, with Great Caesar's Ghost, which was only a dimly-foreshadowing reflection--of the final one, yet very shortly and briefly as well as harrowingly to come!--Even with an unstable mixture of iron and clay which shall prove more than hard enough, in its Truth and Justice, to grind the "American Way" entirely to powder!--That is, also, as the Right Wrong triumphs, again, though very briefly, over the Wrong Right; and all are, once again, being forced to open their eggs from the stupid, idiotic Big End; in the greatest victory yet, of Law over Justice, until the Real Gulliver finally and permanently arrives!
In the meantime, the most uniquely compelling feature about Superman, next to the fact that he's the only big screen macho hero who could have "realistically" survived most of what any of them have had to endure, is that, in him, anything short of a total Kantian, morally speaking, would have to be eliminated in very short order, almost as swiftly as would be the case were he such a genuinely uncorruptible Kantian! In the "matter" of the angels, the Lord had foreknowingly elected to demonstrate the futility of creating them imperishably, and then letting them individually, morally choose; but, therefore, where humans are concerned, there shall be no imperishably everlasting bodies granted to any individuals, until they've been prepared and certified first, even as an added act of mercy to those who choose the wrong way. Short of that, I'd prefer to take even my very worst chances alongside Captain Nemo, and it doesn't matter which one, be it James Mason, or Herbert Lom, save for the extent to which the former is so much richer in fruitfully thought-provoking dialogue; although it was the latter who 'd apparently had at least enough foresight to throw Kirk Douglas overboard on time, yet not a moment too soon, either; just as he undoubtedly would have done precisely the same to me, but for entirely more expanded reasons; which also just as Tragically include, for that matter, the vast extent to which I liked Patrick Stewart's version of Nemo as well, which he somewhat belatedly undertakes with just as much of the same gracefully smoothe refinement and quiet intensity as in all his other performances. I'd also consider a trip, From the Earth to the Moon; even though the inevitably impossible necessity of jumping ship, with both Joseph Cotten and George Sanders on board, makes that about as out of the question as trying to hitch a ride with Alice Kramden! Vincent Price, as Master of the World, would be tempting as well; although I'd probably end up assisting Charles Bronson, after-all, as much to my great regret as anything else he would thus alone have been more typically capable of appreciating! Even Khan would be a no-brainer, but for hardly any reason most would even want to understand, let-alone prove at all capable; any more than they're able to grasp exactly why it is I like him so profoundly, contrary to the very "explanations" of which they're undoubtedly so "certain," even while taking the "diplomatic" offensive in a manner he'd correctly characterized as warfare concealed! If only there really were at least a Scotty to beam me up, since Gary Seven isn't the only one who would love to complete his mission--and leave--just as quickly as possible! It really is incredible that people can live like this, in a situation as hopelessly absurd, for any rarely authentic human being, as Lot trying to "get a life" in Sodom!! Short of that, why, hell, give me even Johnny Rocco (Edward G. Robinson), anytime! If nothing else, at least he's unabashedly unethical enough even for me to be able to do business with, contrary to the kind you could never "corruptingly" bribe, even for a bit of otherwise totally unavailable Justice Itself; just as, at the very least, even the only other demand involved, of doing exactly what you're told, couldn't possibly get any more "respectably" worse than it's been, ever since; rather than so much more "unrespectably" better, again, for at least a more refreshingly honest call! No wonder Mr. Rocco is so disgruntled, and even confused, that even a bunch of "Christianly" as well as otherwise very "Anti-Communistically" Atomized, Selfishly Money-Grubbing, Heart-Throbbingly "Patriotic" Psychopaths such as yourselves are by now treating him like nothing but a Dirty Red or something! However, even Johnny Rocco fails to light a candle, next to the one whom I must regretfully declare to constitute my very first preference here, namely, again, Edward G. Robinson, as Sol Roth, at his end, in Soylent Green!
As for Batman, there's been nothing, since, like unto the originally colorful villains, either, all blended into an extremely well-crafted work of art; although Jim Carrey was born to take over for Frank Gorshin, just as Danny DeVito is no Burgess Meredith, either, and Jack Nicholson could have taken a tip from Cordell Walker, by quitting, while he was truly ahead, with his first Oscar! This observation holds true, for me, even though Nicholson had been devoid of a rival as correspondingly colorful as the original to assume the leading role as well. Kung-Fu (the new ones, too, particularly with that "extra twinkle" grandson Caine had in his eye!--Although that "fourth stooge," and certain other subsequently similar stunts, may have taken things just a bit too commercialistically, tastelessly far, even on the very flimsiest of otherwise convincingly impressive surfaces; which almost made the way Walker had taken him down, at the end of Lone Wolf McQuade, appear even quite pleasantly endurable; although looking at him, per se, was not thereby made any easier at all, for the same reason I'd almost preferred even the "fourth stooge" to that most image-shattering disappointment!) was equally inspiring, along with Highlander (Adrian Paul had better scripts than Christopher Lambert, too; although what he didn't have was Sean Connery, or Michael Ironside! What he did have, too, however, unlike the others, was--Adrian Paul!--Thanks to whom there can really be "Only One" here!), Forever Knight (the last serious attempt at this type of thing with any real substance), The Practice, Law & Order (although Christopher Meloni and Mariska Hargitay, from SVU, go down much more smoothly, like unto, say, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, from, The 'X' Files, or even David Caruso, from CSI: Miami, than do any of either the Law & Order originals, or Gomer Pyle and his partner, from Criminal Intent), Mission: Impossible (the new ones, too), and even Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.
Of course, in this last case, it was the movie which had come first, and most impressively on the whole. As for the series, alongside all, including the movies, but the original Star Trek episodes? Even a typically mediocre, vulgarly presumptuous specimen of humanity such as Joseph Cotten, from The Oscar, would have been able to see, objectively enough, if only he'd just as subjectively, whimsically, and even, to use one of Milton Berle's more scathingly disingenuous terms, no less "reluctantly" desired; that, while the show was anything but a total bore, especially thanks to Henry Jones, as Mr. Pem, as well as, again, the amazing versatility with which he so much more maneuverably enhanced the original model of The Time Machine, and even an ironically "betrayed" Benedict Arnold (Barry Atwater), next also to whom even Roger C. Carmel, as Mr. Mudd, is still only a close second fiddle, there was still something very "disturbingly" though "unidentifiably" lacking in the performances on the whole; although Richard Basehart had to work very hard, still not to quite have succeeded at being so terribly upstaged by Walter Pidgeon, even despite the transparency of his need to drag himself along with a convincingly straight face! He seemed much more sadistically, charmingly at home even in LaStrada, let-alone Hitler! He was even quite an atheistically smashing success, and a man to whom it comes much too easily to me to relate, in The Brothers Karamazov; which is why I thank, at least as passionately, The Very One who continues to keep me a prisoner, but by no means against my will, contrary to my most internally, violently uncontrollable resistance!--Romans 7!
I also enjoy the History Channel, along with Animal Planet; although Babylon Five, along with even Mrs. Columbo, commanding her own star ship, are both, just for openers, much too superfluously out of the question! For a much better, more "serious" attempt at comedy, there is also what my brother, James, refers to as the most educational program of all, The Beverly Hilbillies (since replaced, however, by the even more cleverly "thought-provoking" South Park; and, yet, for all that, it's the Star Wars series which shall always represent his most enduring Morality Play); although, like Mel Gibson, if I happen to run into The Three Stooges, while I'm switching the channels, I just throw the remote behind me, and kick back! Topper, too, had been even quite enhanced, in every sense, on T.V. (even with Robert Sterling holding his own very well, as compared to Cary Grant, perhaps the most challengingly debonair act to follow!). And, to be sure, I could continue listing many more fine shows than I'll bother attempting to exhaustively catalogue here; save, that is, for Maxwell Smart, one of the cleverest of them all, with just the right cast, and very good scripts--all great for just a few simple laughs. In fact, not only is it vastly superior in quality to anything Mel Brooks presents on the Big Screen, but it even outshines the great Austin Powers, arriving at the very Distance of this type of entertainment by no incredibly or comparably close call at all.
About the only reason I'm able to say that, on the whole, America's "Sense of Humor" is virtually the worst thing about it; is that I'm about as able even to much more convincingly pretend, than the average, modern-day, merely very Theatrically-Sodomizing Pseudo-Thespian, whose specialty, in this sense, is rather with the "Comedy," that the kinds of Solemnly, Classically Greek Pathos so convincingly appearing to shine through, in-between so many rudely, abrasively, and revealingly discordant commercials, are anything better than the Cheaply Commercialized Melodramatics which merit Academy Awards for, if nothing else, not "Breaking Character" per se, regardless of the numbers of necessary retakes! Indeed, how needless it should be to have to reiterate that at least the "good guys" are so much more "likable enough," when they're acting--at not acting, than when they're not acting--even at not acting! About the only reason these characters don't blush with embarrassment is because they realize everybody else knows they're not performing for its own sake, as though it had any Value-In-Itself to them! It's tragically and revealingly ironic that one so symbolically representative, as a "Founding Father" of the American cinema, as Lon Chaney, Sr. (and a truly masterful performance, by James Cagney, in Man of a Thousand Faces!), in his apparent tendency to identify as passionately as he did with his roles, would have answered a question, on precisely this subject, with the reply that it's not what the actor is feeling that counts, but rather the impression he makes upon his audience. By the time we get to, say, Kirk Douglas, as Vincent Van Gogh, we've arrived at the more Modernly, "Greekly" Sodomizing Epitome of everything so masterfully well-imitative in form or "method," yet no less typically, and, in this case, about as miraculously devoid of even a single trace of the Inward Substance Itself! Judging by the glee with which he'd recounted the story, there's no doubt Kirk Douglas had felt so much more mockingly (of Van Gogh) "at home" with John Wayne, at the cast party afterward, that what's really needed, by now, is an equally real Jesse James (Arch Johnson), from out of still another Serling episode, to engineer an equally real "Showdown With Rance McGrew" (Larry Blyden)! Mr. Ed was wholesomely amusing enough, though, along with Soupy Sales, just as even Cannon and Barnaby Jones were good for a few laughs. More seriously, I disagree with William Conrad, for I actually regarded Cannon as a very good show, particularly due to him. Yet, if even George Reeves could only see some of what is happening today, perhaps he would finally push hard enough to break the time barrier, going back, as successfully as Christopher did; contrary to the kind of trouble he'd originally encountered, attempting to go forward, perhaps for essentially the same reason I find myself in a much more "optimal" position to realize how much more even he would undoubtedly have preferred the Turks; or, for that matter, even the jawbone of an ass, in Samson and Delilah, while trembling at the feet of an indignantly disgruntled George Sanders!
Of course, even the most "cleverly," mindlessly "a-political" sitcoms, beginning with that of the great Cuban-American bandleader himself, at least once had to be a bit more palatably artistic as well, in every organically, intricately-interrelated respect (which they characteristically were); in order to be "plausibly" presented at all, even to general audiences which somewhat more accurately boasted about being not quite so insipidly, banally, tastelessly, "democratically" classless as those of today, who have only Married With Children to represent as being merely the most "cleverly" top-of-the-line!--I'll have to give it at least that much! About the only other, equally unaccidental category of topics to be so abundantly and about as equally, monopolizingly "inconspicuous," today, has taken the form of the police drama; the kind which is intended to much more "seriously" as well as just plain "entertainingly" continue to "inform." And, as for "edification" per se, that particular such show, much less euphemistically, "respectably" characterizable as P.I.G.S., nevertheless much more "honestly" or at least quite candidly succeeds at filling the bill, even no less unabashedly with the cameras so glaringly rolling! Indeed, it was the most "cleverly," massively hysterical, collusively propagandistic psychological reaction-deformation Americanly cultivatable, Jack-Ass Webb, "almost" directly from Sunset Boulevard, who helped, most overshadowingly, to just as behavioristically cushion the way for that! In fact, never-mind even Frank Sutton!--For, let's face it (or at least I shall, or rather already long have!): If even Jack Webb, the D.I., wasn't enough to wake up most of these Jokers, let-alone the Gomer Pyles, nearly as effectively as he had completed his frontal lobotomy on Don Dubbins (whose mother had been no Cindy Sheehan, either; at least not before his own possible demise, as the very last one she'd had left to offer!); then how much more dismally correct was that later version of the same, Gny. Sgt. Hartman, from Full Metal Jacket, already proven to have been, long before the fact; particularly given his own brutally stated and totally substantial basis for having been anything but a bigot, at least until he'd made the mistake of pushing the wrong Don's Buttons a bit too hard!--Or, would it perhaps be more accurate to say, rather, the wrong Red's Dubbins? I may not be nearly as clever as you're all undoubtedly sneering I think I'm trying and succeeding at sounding, but I just call them as I see them, and indeed quite a bit as they are!--Just as that previous bit alone, about the Virgin Mary, would perhaps have already been more than enough for me to endure! Jack Webb has dragged so many others through the muck, too--Tolstoy, Baudelaire, Huxley, Captain Lightning, even Ginger! Soon, America shall be learning, the hard way, as Edward G. Robinson finally did, that they are--All My Sons! However, I only wish it were possible to deservingly extend any real sympathy, by now, to nearly enough of them, as they inexorably and imminently approach the terrible realization that what they are fighting for resembles more of a Vulture than an Eagle! But, then, as Nietzsche said, "What was formerly merely morbid has by now become indecent! It is indecent to be a 'Christian' Today!"
Moreover, why did Private Eddie Slovik (Martin Sheen) really "have" to face a firing squad, even though he was no simple deserter, or the kind of equally simple coward who would have thought, at least twice, and much more commonly, about confronting a virtually certain as well as "dishonorable" death, rather than the mere "chance" of a much more "honorable" one in the field of battle? Was it to protect the same kind of symbolically, disingenuously Bad Faith, Sartrean Style, which impels the henchmen themselves to load only one of the rifles, as though that served to demonstrate much of anything other than the most "honest" self-doubts of the executioners themselves? Was Eddie Slovak such a potential threat to "morale," and even the very direction of the war, that nothing short of his murder, as a sacrificial victim, would have even as much as pragmatically let-alone "idealistically" or rather rancorously and vindictively sufficed? Perhaps only Montgomery Clift could have died even more senselessly, wastefully, in From Here to Eternity! It's more than enough to make any sentiently thinking person question the very Essence of everything for which America had supposedly been fighting!--Or, was that the kind of expectation, and even imperative, which Americans so easily and hypocritically tend to impose upon the Germans alone?--Simply for what amounts, at bottom, from beneath every "piously," sentimentally mystifying rationalization, to the fact that Germany was not America! Had I been in Slovik's place, with the knowledge I've by now so painstakingly acquired, after a virtual lifetime, of what Americans are really all about, I would have been at least as tempted to follow in his footsteps, for what I discern to have amounted to the exact same suspicions on his part! Moreover, every prospective soldier ought first to carefully study, say, All Quiet on the Western Front, starring Lew Ayres; although, just as this classic has apparently failed decisively, in achieving its own laudably-intended purpose, there's no viable reason to assume, therefore, that even a film such as Saving Private Ryan will prove any more effective! And, of course, Michael J. Fox, from Casualties of war, has plenty to teach perhaps far-too-many platoons about the kind of thing which should actually be factored in so much more rather than less acutely, precisely when it seems to matter the very least; although I had to endure more than enough years, in your "schools," with more than enough of their characteristically predominant kind, to know they had a good head-start, at being a total waste of time, even under the most unworthily "wholesome" of conditions! Perhaps even most if not "virtually" every one of them are, at bottom, and not very far down, after-all, much more "unrealistically" like John Travolta, in Broken Arrow, but minus "quite" the "guts," rather than anything remotely resembling the more "realistic" Christian Slater, even with the "guts!" But, then, even Caleb Hooks (Michael Parks), from Walker, Texas Ranger, had more than enough "courage" and "honor" to realize nothing short of his particular nemesis had been worthy of taking him down, only much more "chivalrously" than even Walker might not have been the least bit freely inclined to extend quite as abundantly in return, just as he would have been one of the few truly worthy of the right and even the duty not to have so reciprocated in any freely "chivalrous" manner, as though the man behind the badge, at least, again, in this case, had anything to "prove," either! As for the strictly amoral character of the sense of "courage" and "honor" displayed by Hooks, at least he knew, unlike most "good guys," that, if possible, they therefore lack incalculably more, even of it, even than he, and in a manner which perhaps, in a sense, wouldn't be quite so utterly "laughable," if more or rather virtually any of them only realized what they were doing, thus just plain cynically, rather than "piously" and "uncorruptibly" (save for merely outward show, if even that much, where anything but the "duty" never to "give even an inch," at least not "per se," is so very "conveniently" concerned!), going "with" rather than against any and all real concept of law!
Virtually the only fictional cop, next to Columbo and Monk, or even Sheriff Andy Taylor, whom I can more than at least begin to endure, for the same reason I superlatively admire his image, as one of the greatest men after my own heart, is Walker, Texas Ranger! Indeed, only Chuck Norris himself would be capable of disappointing me, as much, for real, as did David Janssen! And, as Walker should be the first to know, the bigger and higher they are, the harder, if at all, they would unavoidably have to fall! And, unfortunately, to use another of his own favorite expressions, my bet is that he's all talk, just like everybody else, when the chips are down; that is, other than those his kind are so abundantly good at collecting, while proverbially laughing all the way to the bank!--Although, if it would mean anything to him, which, again, I seriously doubt, that's one bet I'd genuinely love to lose! So much for the difference between the "pessimism" of which they'd conveniently love to accuse me, at this point, just because they know, but would scarcely ever admit to themselves, that I have the very best of reasons; and the kind of hard-earned realism which has long been brutally beaten into me, almost as though for the very purpose of their being no less conveniently able to complete the process of even more maliciously, slanderingly reversing the correct interpretation of cause and effect, here! And, while I had previously thought not to try everybody's patience, by invoking Frankie Fane too very much (for virtually all can just about equally gloat, about the extent to which they were cheering him in the end, including a best friend so forgetfully as well as ungratefully weak-minded as to have presumed he'd needed to remind Frankie about the "good old days!" Yet, to be more completely fair, he and Kay weren't really laughing all-that-much, just as Kappy was actually a few Prime Cuts of Fillet above certain of the others!); I still cannot resist, any longer, whatever's tugging at me to once again rub him in here, but only as gracefully as possible!--That's right--as possible, even as much as I cringe at the necessity of having to leave any of you to be the judges! What he said to Kappy was, "I'm no different from anybody else in this damn town!" While I elaborate very briefly and parenthetically, later-on, about how right as well as wrong he was; I'll only add, here, that there's undoubtedly never been even as much as merely a greater performance than Breakthrough!--Unless, of course, it's a "real" cop, such as Walker, reminding his good friends, Alex, and Jimmy, that, "If it was about nothing but money, then we'd all be doing something else!" While the "Righteous" continue to rant in unison about what an insufferable ego-problem Frankie has, they even displayed the supremely presumptuous megalomania to push for the single greatest movie of all time, not "merely" one of them, in a decision which supposedly applied, quite "officially," at least by clear "implication," to everyone! I could only wish, undoubtedly in vain, that it were possible to extend any of them at least a bit more credit for having selected one of the very best in the process, but then Orson Welles was more than enough, all by himself, as Citizen Kane, to have rendered it far-too-easy for even them not to have missed--the proverbial broad side of a barn!
On subsequent reflection, though, perhaps it is an error not to try including every "good cop" to be found on the tube, since the many-too-many there would otherwise have to be covered are all quite as antithetically as "adequately" Non-Fictional as well. I'm not nearly enough of an connoisseur, even of the few "good ones" I can only feel criminally and mockingly swindled by the most impressively, to be able to swear to a brief though thorough listing here. Yet, I will add Steve McGarrett to the lot. Although Stoney Burke had been much more of a favorite, it's refreshing to see that his having become even a cop has done so little, despite all its efforts, to wear away at the hard, shiny, and protective varnish of his humanity. Danny hasn't changed much, either, with that charmingly, innocently awkward swagger; even though, going all the way back to The Young Stranger, it was apparently quite a struggle for him to have finally become, not exactly what he would be, but basically what he already was. In Spencer's Mountain, he would have had to try like the Devil to hide it at all, having been still perhaps so much more innocently, vulnerably wet-behind-the-ears than before. He makes just as convincing a cop as he did a medical intern as well; if only, to state as much again, and again, he could ever really be found anywhere, as either. About the only "nicer" thing I can honestly as well as accurately say about a show such as The Mod Squad is that it is so much more "cleverly," even fiendishly unbelievable, in its attempt to bring such displays more "humanly" and "palatably" up-to-date. CHiPs was another such attempt, but on a less "impressive" scale, although it still succeeded in helping make even Broderick Crawford the more "anachronistically" preferable! Jack Webb even gave the same thing a try, but his notoriously unmistakable skills as a director nevertheless shined through, particularly with a cynically, mockingly vicious goon, or rather "paragon" of the most "Sacredly, Idealistically Kantian Duty and Character," such as Pete Malloy, not to be confused with Trent Malloy, who goes down much better, and, thus, correspondingly, so much more "implausibly." His friends, Francis and Sydney, are also a real pair, and about as "intriguing" though "perhaps" blessedly improbable an "item" as, say, Russell Crowe and Sharon Stone, in The Quick and the Dead; as she makes it repeatedly and mockingly clear, in answer to his "Mr. Nice Guy," that he's going to have to demonstrate his ability to successfully take her on, virtually every time, again, and again, and again, if he ever hopes to "get anywhere!" She's a tough cookie all right, and he ought to be the first to want that settled--first--at least as devoutly as she insists!--Since, after-all, most others aren't so fortunate, until they get the wrong answer--too late--and despite even the finest appearances to the contrary--beginning with Walker himself!--Who still doesn't quite pack the necessary gear, say, of still another favorite of mine, such as Robo Cop!--And yet he still thinks he quit while he was ahead, roped and hogtied to virtually everything it's really "all about," after-all!
But Lucy Ricardo is first on the list, at being symbolically reflective of a very serious problem; in fact, of nothing less than the disease of an entire "culture," the kind in which deadly bacteria can so abundantly proliferate. It's no accident, and just as symbolically instructive, that she's so accurately regarded as the virtual Queen of Comedy, alongside other "cultural" icons such as All In the Family, and that "charming" group of perverts in Married With Children! Unfortunately, I Love Lucy, along with both of these others, is much too dangerously, stultifyingly, because seductively clever. Take it straight from the horse's mouth, for I know her intimately and painfully well! I'm referring to the real Lucy, the one who can never quite transcend the self-image of a Bag Lady, the same one very brutally beaten into her from the youngest and tenderest age, regardless of the amount of money available to help give it a boost! At any rate, she's certainly given me a run for my money; although, contrary to the real Desi, Jr., while I've never been spoiled, I have been, as the bumper sticker goes, taken well care of! That, to be sure, both can and does mean many different kinds of things! Mommie Dearest, as so harrowingly performed, by one of the greatest of all Leading Ladies, serves as a most glaring illustration, as to the Other Side of what I mean; given the kind of bitterly relentless self-determination to survive, one so thoroughly successful as to therefore remain just as hopelessly incapable of seeing how very long ago something much more vitally imperative had to be no less internally than externally murdered in the process!, And, while the story is not yet ended, even a force as "wholesomely restraining" as Fred has made an early-enough exit to where about the only kind of metamorphosis thus far appearing, if possible, even more disturbingly, to take on any sort of shape, is that to be found between Baby Jane and Blanche! Not only is she likewise one-hundred percent Italian, but she's also something as ultimately incompatible as a mixture of Water and Oil, in a manner even the most miraculously Satanic kind of talent is only capable of maintaining in the most blisteringly, violently well-counterfeited form of suspension at best; for, you see, the real Lucy, unlike her counterpart, who, much more simplistically, after-all, casts no kind of reflection at all in the mirror, is every bit the Real Christian, nevertheless, as she is a Real Roman Catholic!--And either the one, or the other, inevitably has to yield!--Or, as Richard Basehart expressed it, in the greatest dramatization of Hitler ever made, "One is either a German or a Christian! You can't be both!" Of course, "Germans," here, do make incalculably better Roman Catholics, but particularly as of late; at least until they start losing world wars, and the chameleon of a "Damsel" over whom the sides are contending, is reluctantly compelled to choose the one She'd hoped would lose! On the whole, here's the most uniquely if not exclusively "Christian" prototype of an entire gender, including, at least by now, most "males," which is so very accurately, dismally characterized, by Nomad, in Star Trek's "The Changeling," as "a mass of conflicting and unsettling impulses!" Yet, for all that, I Really Do Love Lucy; but not merely because I'm being formally commanded in the Decalogue to do so, even though "that" doesn't hurt, either, at least not "that" much; nearly the way it no less adequately would have to, all by itself! Bob Hope just as symbolically stands out here, too; particularly in that the real Lucy had never been so perfectly matched, even with somebody who could have rather controlled her nearly as well as Ricky, Sr.! Jack Benny, however, is quite another matter entirely, with that charmingly irresistable swagger which made it so much more easy for even Mary Herself to swoon, particularly as just another one of them, nevertheless.
Yet, nothing more glaringly, shamefully serves to illustrate my meaning, here, about the nature of bacteria as such, not even a ding-bat such as Lucy, with her vicariously, "modestly" on-screen idolizing of herself, than did Rich Little, the other night, right next to President Bush, while he was imiting President Reagan, along with certain others in his place who'd been no less "conveniently" able, in their "solemn responsibility" to so many millions, to mass-hysterically as well as self-righteously rationalize the most otherwise unthinkable forms of systematically, savagely self-indulgent victimization into the "highest," most "selflessly-painstaking" versions of "Duty!" Oh, Mr. Little was very good, and the "jokes" were extremely clever as well, unless you're really on the dirty end of that stick he was so "innocently" mocking, in a war between the rich and the poor, which he delighted at emphasizing that the latter were so miserably losing! Yes, Mr. Reagan did have his own favorite "jokes," too!--For instance, there was that one about those who know how to "hear opportunity knocking," contrary to those who only know how to "knock opportunity" instead; and who thus "rightfully deserve" to be told "let 'em eat cheese," about as "gracefully" as Marie Antoinette had been willing to toss them a few extra crumbs of "cake!" Perhaps his best "joke" of all, however, was that one about the lottery they were having, in the Soviet Union, where the winner received a million dollars, in the form of one dollar per year, for a million years! What I really despise about both these clowns, though, is that neither had been thoughtfully considerate enough to take it all the way; by coming up with at least a few really good ones for Henry Fonda and John Carradine, in The Grapes of Wrath; or something, anything, to help ease the pain which grips my soul like a vice, as I watch Burgess Meredith and Lon Chaney, in the closing scenes Of Mice and Men! Nobody even thought to pass around a tin cup, on behalf of the numerous images of children, in the Third and Fourth Worlds, who are shown on television, late at night, with nothing but skin and bones barely holding their frail little bodies together! Even Mrs. Kroc's outfit, which once fired me for having refused to throw leftover food in the garbage out back, every night for about two months, knows how to pick her charities!--In this case, one which has only to reply, to anyone who genuinely need ask, by saying, in effect, that, as a "charity," and a "Christianly" wealthy one at that, an important reason for which we are now about to reveal, it is NOT in existence to GIVE donations, but rather to RECEIVE them! But, then, after-all, as Rich said, it's important, most of all, in the midst of so much Tragedy, that we find a way to simply keep on laughing! And yet Reagan had the hypocritically cynical temerity to call poor little Grenada a virus, just to, among other things, scapegoatingly distract attention from the way his own tail-end had been kicked, in, as well as out of, Lebanon! One can only imagine the kind of courage he never would have had, even to more honestly as well as chivalrously confront an "Evil Empire" closer to his own size! And, of course, while the trick, of retaining Republican support, even from those who are neither "haves" nor "have-mores," has undoubtedly had some "positive" results; it was Jerry Falwell who helped provide the key to the answer, of exactly how marginally negligible such "positive" results, in themselves, really are; when he "inspired" the Democrats, which even the most radical among them ought to know, at least as hypocritically enough, with their own even more craftily well-phrased slogan that "The 'Moral Majority' is--neither!" Thus, the Republicans countered, by needing to provide even more evidence of this; in the form of the most savagely, mercenarily raw and tender appeals to even the most economically bankrupt "patriotism," too! I was going to leave out one of the best "jokes" of all here, since it's already long been covered, later in the series. But no, it just may be worth repeating at least twice, after-all. It's where Chief Engineer Scotty and the boys are verbally sparring with some Klingons, in an episode of Star Trek entitled "The Trouble With Tribbles." After a particularly scathing crack about the Enterprise, from one of the Klingons, Scotty says, more or less, "Don't you think you ought to rephrase that remark?," at which point, the Klingon answers, "You're right! I didn't mean to say the Enterprise should be hauling garbage! What I meant was that it ought to be hauled away--as garbage!"
But Don Michael Corleone, The Godfather Himself, had a really "good" one, too, from right out of the expanded T.V. footage; where he tells his future "sonny-in-law," who was shamefully blushing, for having inherited the family fortune, rather than honestly or at least much more "democratically" worked for it, "Don't apologize for your wealth! This contempt for money is just a trick of the rich, to keep the poor without it!" And what a sly little smirk, about the size of Steve Martin's "Grand Canyon," very conspicuously, cynically contorted his face as he was telling that one, like so many professional comedians with so much wit they cannot resist the modesty of laughing at their own jokes! Of course, his remark, shortly thereafter, about even his participation in the "same hypocrisy," also in answer to Senator Geary's "kind reflections" concerning his "Family," almost qualifies as perhaps even the most personally ever-redeeming form of "Confession!" But, then, perhaps Gordon Gekko (Michael Douglas), from Wall Street, had been "somewhat" more "apologetically honest," after-all, in his glorification of GREED, and the correspondingly Capitalist-American "mentality" that "The one who dies with the most toys wins!" What Don Corleone rather needed was Luana Anders, from Coppola's earlier Dementia 13, as a wife; one who could have been much more persuasively reasoned with (although I can easily understand why his first choice had been Apollonia, who needed not to be "REASONED WITH" at all!), as well as offered a deal she would never even have considered refusing; but minus her eldest brother-in-law, Richard, with a nose keen enough to smell the Devil at least a mile away, and about as acutely as Hyder Simpson's hound (unlike Sonny, with his "impeccably perceptive discernment," in having brought Carlo Rizzi home to join the Family; just as even Barzini "inadvertently" did the Family a favor, with his involvement in helping rid It of both; since, for one thing, Sonny, unlike Fredo, would otherwise not have been very likely to "Step Aside so 'Gently' into that Good Night!"); rather than any Protestant Fundamentalist, about the only breed too "civilized" to believe at least their senators and presidents actually kill people!--Or, pardon me, "have" people killed; for that does make a great deal of difference, to those who have such difficulty doing even other things "on their own," such as looking even a beef steak "in the eye," unless it's already at least medium-rare! More accurately, though, Kay didn't turn out exactly protestant, after-all, particularly not with the kind of even more modernly presumptuous exit she'd planned! Indeed, she still had plenty of good, old-fashioned fight in her, for one so "Christianly Naive!" Just imagine, then, if Cardinal Richelieu had properly "converted" and "instructed" her in the much more "timely" fashion he so emphatically preferred--and even guaranteed! Nevertheless, the last "laugh" will certainly be hers; for, just as her abortion likewise served to portend, she couldn't have said it more prophetically as well as passionately: ALL THIS MUST END!
The tragically and humanly insoluble irony in all this is the extent to which such irreconcilably conflicting sides, all the way to Castro, could all be about as right as they are wrong. Even Fredo, in particular, should have tried my "Family," if he thought he had it bad! Not only did Michael love and take good care of him, but also could scarcely have been blamed for Fredo's unwillingness to face the extent of how incompetently weak and stupid he actually was, so that Michael had finally been unable to give even Moe Green any kind of plausible rebuttal in the end. In my "Family," there's a "Godfather" by the name of Michael, too, just as he's also the youngest of the three, and the only one who's liked. One essential difference is that this Michael wants it all, entirely for himself alone, minus any trace of Honor, Integrity, or Equity, just as he's well on his way to getting it. In my case, there are far-too-many similarities to the Birdman of Alcatraz to provide much comfort; although I'm also tempted to say there are too few similarities, considering the extent to which I've been so much more self-grindingly tolerant to the kind of Dog Puke which so insolently and provokingly dared confront him to his face. Not unrelatedly, while I'm merely a "trustee," my own "Thelma Ritter" has joined all the others in wanting to keep me so "locked into place" that I'm just about equally tempted, by now, to conclude, as he did, that, "When it's cut, it's cut!" Moreover, as far as looking elsewhere for a "better deal" is concerned, forget even about selling out to Barzini, as I feel much more like Richard Conte, when he appeared as Max Monetti, in House of Strangers, or Cliff Robertson, as Josef, in The Big Show; although Lulu would have preferred Nick Rocco, in Full of Life, about as superlatively as she did young Vito Corleone (Robert De Niro), and would have Vincent Mancini (Andy Garcia), probably TOO MUCH, particularly as the true-to-life version of Mary she also was, had she lived long enough to meet him! In our own perpetually "civil" war, within the "family," my father had proven to be much more "feisty" in his resistance than Jim Backus, in Rebel Without a Cause; but that only served to have detracted, even more, from the kind of "harmony" there otherwise would have been, particularly given my mother's uncannily Roman Catholic tendency to be as characteristically, bloodlessly right as she was wrong! Indeed, on second thought, with relation to an abovestated reflection, perhaps I can't be so reasonably confident, after-all, that she's the kind of real Christian, as well, which, if so, would thus inevitably serve to overshadow and neutralize the Roman Catholic in her, given the extent to which precisely the opposite appears to be the case, and that despite the fact of how fervently she, of all people, is helping along the "cheerleading," with relation to me, in Ezekiel 33:30-33! Of course, by now she can much more easily afford to be so ever-increasingly, overshadowingly, wastefully wrong, even while still having enough of what it takes to hold at least what's left of the love about as blindingly yet endurably intact as she shall hopefully continue to remain, at least in the latter sense alone, despite also the "lack" of any "conflict" as to who is really "taking sides against the family!" About the only family conflict which proved almost as hopelessly virulent, was that of the "generation gap," between me and my father; from the time I'd dared begun independently thinking, and questioning anything at all, until the age of twenty-two, when the Holy Spirit miraculously, unexpectedly stepped in, to help heal this breach, at both ends; accompanied by a more mutually well-balanced compromise, which retained the best of both extremes, while discarding the worst of both. About the most my mother managed to "learn," however, as a result of her experience raising me, was how to go, much "less" detrimentally, to the very opposite extreme, of neglecting the brutal raping of any "religious values" at all, even the very best, along with the very worst, into any of my younger siblings. Don't get me wrong, though, for I love Mikey as much, now, as when he was actually a very good kid, and we really had, like so many others, back then, something more worthily describable as a family. The only real friend I have is my other brother, James, whom I would more accurately nickname Theo, rather than Fredo; which certainly fails to exclude periodic intervals of contention just as reminiscent of those between Van Gogh and Gauguin as well, to the point where both James (no less accurately, contentiously describable as "Dr. McCoy," versus my "Mr. spock") and Rita could use a friendly little lesson similar to the one outlined in Numbers, Chapter Twelve! As for what happened to Mikey, it's about the same thing as what's happened to most people, in a society where, again, as The Pawnbroker, Sol Nazerman (Rod Steiger), said to his apprentice, Jesus Ortiz (Jaime Sanchez), "Money is the whole thing!" And, believe it or not, which, of course, you don't (unless you really are capable of at least regarding me as being so "'nobly' weak and stupid," after-all, if only in my own "delusionally self-transfiguring" eyes!), I couldn't care less about the money, at least not for its own sake; just as, for that matter, there's nobody I'd more prefer to obtain it, particularly by crook, likewise for the very reason that he's not exactly so weak and stupid himself, after-all, and I'd really loathe to see it go any more unappreciatively to waste than I trust he's more than industriously self-serving enough to avoid; that is, at least until his kind have again reached, and soon, the very threshold of all "civilized" endurance, while greedily, parasitically continuing to overplay their hands, and the entire "House of Cards" finally collapses, from beneath the weight of their own increasingly top-heavy feet. What most of you ridiculous creatures ambitiously, idolatrously, and cynically venerate, as the very "pinnacle" of everything "civilized, " has never existed, any more or less than it currently does, from beneath the abstractly mystifying rhetoric of its "democratically humanitarian" and "morally self-sanctifying" smoke-screen, as anything but an unavoidably necessary means of harnessing human energy; for the systematically well-ordered purpose, not of establishing a more constructively fair and equitable playing field, where all are afforded a real opportunity to maximize the actualization of their potential, but rather to precisely the opposite end, of amassing greater and greater wealth and power in the relatively and increasingly fewer hands which exist above the law, while most of the rest are beneath it, with nobody in-between! That which commonly passes, most particularly, uniquely, sacredly, or, therefore, rather quite blasphemously, in the name of everything legitimately "Judicial," is virtually nothing but the cheapest kind of politics in disguise!
Here's a real "Hart-To-Hart" that's "sure" to "endear" me to most of you Americans, in the capitalistically, alienatedly, conceitedly, and, of course, no less brutally, cynically, victimizingly atomized presumptuousness of your assumption that you, and only you, have nothing but "Rights": If we have to continue these expensively, wastefully silly games at all, anywhere Between Heaven and Hell, then let's go beyond even a brazenly two-bit plebeian such as The War Lover as well! Give me nothing less than The Mighty Crassus, anytime!--And I don't necessarily mean the real one, unless he had truly been nearly as Magnificent as the great Sir Laurence Olivier, even in his no less genuinely revealing than adequately concealing refinement of taste in women! After-all, she did quite profoundly catch his eye, even prior to another having finally become so much more of a strictly internal problem than anything else; although what he did discover, after the fact, was his inability to solicit sufficient cooperation at demonstrating to himself that the only real obstacle hadn't been anything as unproblematically simple in its essence as her failure to have seen him first; and, as Gracchus even more perceptively, as well as no less vengefully, symbolically discerned, that served to constitute the weakest, most decisively, unbearably irritating link in the chains which forged his Weltanschauung. Yet, while I'd rather be facing even a long march, and a hard fight, than to be the richest citizen of Rome, fat, with food he didn't work for, and surrounded by slaves; perhaps only the folly, after-all, of even the most nobly effeminate instincts, could ever contemplate resisting the most hopelessly overshadowing response of the one who said, "I promise you a new Rome, a new Italy, and a new Empire! I promise the destruction of the slave army, and the restoration of Order, throughout all our territories!"
Sorry, Spartacus; but, even though you'll finally be the winner, in the only way it ever could have ended, and as surely as I could never be anything but your Antoninus, if only in my most fancifully poetic dreams; even you are almost too outclassed, nevertheless, here, to make it quite as easy as it could never by nature be, in either case; particularly when one has had to struggle, as long and hard as I, against nothing but the kinds of viciously hungry animals who enjoy a fine kill, without even having to be bribed, let-alone intimidated; to decide which one is actually the more Immutably For Real, after-all, even with something as Tragically Unacceptable as the Myth of Slave Brotherhood hanging pivotally in the balance; but particularly when it comes down to the only viable manner of commanding any equally authentic form of even the most genuinely meaningful submission, even from one no less plausibly interpretable as having merely very selfishly desired, at bottom, that bit of extra time it requires to die upon a cross; so that, by now, about all I can personally relate to, is the very instinct which impelled him onward, over-against anyone who tried to get in his way, when he could no longer endure any more; or even bear to discern the actual difference involved, in any form that truly mattered! Even the noblest of all plebeians, the First Senator of the the Rabble, finally had The Law laid down to him, in the most Majestically Irresistible terms: "Did you truly believe five-hundred years of Rome could be so easily delivered into the clutches of a mob!"
Or, if that's not powerful enough, either, to make the necessary impact, then let's try this: "There, boy, is Rome; the might, the majesty, the terror of Rome! There is the power that bestrides the known world like a Colossus. No man can withstand Rome. No nation can withstand her. How much less--a boy! There is only one way to deal with Rome, Antoninus. You must serve Her. You must abase yourself before Her. You must grovel at Her feet. You must--love Her." Unlike most subsequent tyrants, Marcus Licinius Crassus even had enough Traditionally Enduring Backbone to avoid sacrilegiously crossing the Rubicon, for its own sake!--As well as, if I may but permit him to speak so powerfully, again, in a manner it would be far-too-compromisingly inadequate even to very "liberally" or "euphemistically" paraphrase, even to what he screamed was the infamy of Sulla himself! But it was only when nobody short of the great Julius Caesar himself likewise needed a most scathingly unmistakable reminder, from about the only teacher who surpassed even the gluttonously hedonistic magnitude of Gracchus, and a correspondingly overwhelming reflection that "Rome is the mob," that Crassus really began to speak like a fellow Patrician, with the clearest, most unmistakable rebuke of all: "No! Rome is an Eternal Thought in the Mind of God!" Steven Seagal, as Nico Toscani, in Above the Law, was even more right than he was wrong, but while having "apparently" grasped the real reasons for neither, when he sarcastically shot back against the suggestion that America is the Roman Empire!
Unlike Varinia, even one as tenderly albeit capriciously noble as Esmeralda herself (Maureen O'Hara), from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, had fallen for his kind of charm; the kind which hadn't yet "Christianly" morphed, into even a masterpiece, of equally good taste in women, too, such as the "Grand Inquisitor" Frollo (Sir Cedric Hardwicke). Of course, that's quite a far cry from the one into whose embrace she had once again been so much less reluctantly driven, thanks to Frollo's so fatefully-intervening yet historically, transitionally, and symbolically instrumental hand. And this eloquently prolific poet, Gringoire (Edmond O'Brien), despite even the most unmistakably noble mind and spirit; had, therefore, as well as nevertheless, only much later, although still not quite yet, even for most, who only "think" they have any real capacity to appreciate him, to be demonstrated the greatest, most fatally insidious con artist of the lot! Even I still swoon at his charm, and so I can, therefore, so much more than merely imagine, with the little pseudo-collectively dead time yet remaining; how much just about everybody else is capable, even of believing, let-alone wishing, in the most profoundly, symbolically erroneous way indeed, that this world has already long since "overcome" the image of Frollo; or, to speak synonymously, harrowingly enough, of nothing less than "Mankind" Himself, as he appeared in Invaders From Mars!--Or, even more seductively yet, of his own clerically most inspiring brother; assuming, of course, that anybody yet remains, particularly by now, even to merely quite theatrically imitate his kind of spiritually exalted stature! Either way, though, at least a few of us have the very best "excuse" there could possibly ever be, for long-recognizing, along with Brando, the other, more transparently candid side of the face of such a One-Eyed Jack! Quasimodo (Charles Laughton) had to save Esmeralda once, but he's going to have to do the same again--this time, for keeps!--As the Sorcerer's Apprentice has, only yet, to really come, face-to-face, with his Greatest Master; just prior to the latter's final defeat, as well, by an infinitely more formidable kind of Lion!
Meanwhile, though, insofar as the most vividly futuristic analogies go; perhaps another equally literal one, in its own frightfully complementary way, would be--Mars Attacks!--If that's what it shall finally take, for a Jack Nicholson who'll correspondingly begin asking, for a change, "Why can't we all just--get along?" As I've already pointed out, however, Jack managed to come to the rescue somewhat too late, along with a few other good men as well; but one, in particular, who was the very first to meet his fate, while trying to straddle a fence with the most dangerously razor-sharp edge (Matthew 6:24) (Revelation 3:15-17); in a vainly opportunistic, callously victimizing ambition to rather get-a-head! Please, just take it from Richie, now, for that's exactly where it's all quite currently headed, anyway; particularly given the fact that far-too-many, who should have known better, and probably even did, are not quite as astute as Harry Belafonte, at appreciating their own particular history! Odds Against Tomorrow, along with Island In the Sun, are among his most passionately ever-moving reminders; even if he perhaps is as complacently, presumptuously, and ungratefully (to his Masters) rich, and much more so, in fact, with relation to the kinds of "House Slaves," to phrase even this a bit more "politely," whom he loves to deride!--as if the "Eternal Justice" of every currently capitalistic "bank balance" were no less "self-evidently" than, in his kind of case, "conveniently given!" At least Colin Powell doesn't claim to "care," that is, "quite as much," or even nearly as "believably," as all the "Danny Glovers" out there, too, for those so helplessly, less fortunately, and just as systematically brutalized! But, then, they're "just jealous," anyway, as surely as the fear of being conveniently tagged with such a charge, and every bit as disingenuously, even if it "just happens" to be quite probably true, nevertheless, in most particular cases, is alone more than enough to keep anybody from uttering a single peep of "strictly personal" protest, or thoroughly understandable cynicism, in this particular respect! It's "somewhat" comparable to so many successfully "liberated" females nowadays, who continue to rancorously whine about their "Civil Rights," as if nothing but "Justice for all" had any meaning on God's earth to them. Yet, it wouldn't surprise me, "that much," anyway, to discover that, say, in "education" alone, where I've had a certain number of them in charge of making official decisions which affect my destiny, they're ALMOST as "equally, democratically" callous, to their own less "fortunate" counterparts, and as hypocritically contemptuous of their supposed "Civil Rights," as they've been--EVEN of MINE! To be sure, they blend in very "nicely" with the numerous white "male" TYRANTS against whom I've had to struggle! It's really what's referred to, in the most formally academic kind of vernacular, as the age-old "desideratum" of finally winning the battle to--OPPRESS AFTER ONE'S OWN FASHION--that is, ONE'S OWN SEPARATELY SENTIENT NERVOUS SYSTEM--for a long-awaited and thus even more VENOMOUSLY VINDICTIVE change! Those such as Belafonte and Glover may be among the very best there currently are up there, but they've thus far only succeeded at personally leaping over the problem, while adorning the way with countless "Liberally Idealistic" Platitudes which do nothing to alter the dismal facts on the ground beneath them, or to ease the many burdens on the shoulders of those who likewise currently continue to sustain them, the very ones Belafonte spoke for, in Odds Against Tomorrow, when he said, "It's THEIR world, and we're just living in it!" These "Superstars" can continue feeling some special right to identify with the many of their kind who are not so fortunate, but the fact still remains that, unless they can really begin doing something to FIX it, for the many who need incalculably more help, they haven't much basis for claiming to OWN it, nearly to the extent that they're treated as if they did, in a manner which "perhaps" even quite decisively helps to account for a right to speak as if they did, too, the actual cause of which they "perhaps" quite "conveniently" manage to assume as "given!"
Favorite Foods: All kinds have much that is uniquely stimulating to offer, but the Italians, if I had to choose, are the real masters. Yet, in contrast with the gluttonous epidemic of equally fat-headed obesity which Americanly surrounds me, I therefore have little if any difficulty by now controlling the mere quantity of calories daily ingested; just as, for that matter, I also strive to keep the intake qualitatively "Kosher." As for God's dietary restrictions, under the Old Covenant, there may be a very strong basis for the currently prevailing argument that they had been suspended, under the New Covenant (Acts, Chapter Ten); although, for all that, it doesn't appear anybody is thus prepared to add, say, roast vulture, or fillet-of-rat, to the menu. I was even going to say they're anything but cannibals, but the P-I-G is, quite symbolically and revealingly indeed, their most outstandingly noteworthy exception here; even to the extent that they flagrantly and vulgarly spurn the very Spirit of even what most "Christians" insist God DID mean, when He instructed the Apostle Peter to no longer regard any man as being "unclean," just because he's not physically a Jew per se, or, of course, more "spiritually," a typically perennial "Christian!" There is no Biblical Injunction, rather than quite EMPHATICALLY the very OPPOSITE (I Corinthians, Chapter Nine), about "proselytizing" by ridiculing the traditions of others, forcefully shaving off beards, and flushing Korans down the toilet bowl, let-alone cynically, sadistically, self-righteously torturing and sodomizing them!
Moreover, as for these "Liberally Progressive Humanitarians," and their fanatically self-righteous injunctions against meat, the only real argument they have to back them up, at least hygenically if not ecologically speaking, or in the sense that virtually every vegetarian, for that matter, as well as meat-eater, could "at least" benefit from a more "Wattsian" attitude toward the Spirit if not his "expanded letter" of Holy Communion, is the extent to which the meat is all raised with such carelessly, insensitively, irreverently ungrateful cruelty, and correspondingly polluted, along with just about every strictly vegetarian dish of processed chemicals, shortening, refined sugar and salt, and so-forth, which they would more easily insist upon cramming down even their own "Deep Throats!" In fact, speaking of chemically as well as biologically contaminated meats, that just may be the real reason Serling's Kanamits haven't yet landed, and never will!--Although, had Hitler won the war, as someone ten times the man of anyone currently to be found, even from among the most compunctionlessly evil, per se, of every would-be imitator, as well as by even the highest possible standards of measurement, as coming from his "loftiest" of "moral critics," for that matter; then, who knows, but that we might have indeed had just such a visit, long before now, but from right out of the remake of that episode, instead, in The New Twilight Zone! But fret "not," for Hitler had been merely Europe's NEXT-TO-LAST "hope," after-all! Moreover, judging by the rudely vulgar contempt and mockery I've experienced from all of the many "Liberally Progressive Humanitarians" with whom I've attempted to communicate over the years, just because I'm a "religious fundamentalist" of ANY kind, even regardless of the many misgivings I share with the "Left" about such people; they've done a virtually impossible job of convincing me they have any more "respect" for Islam than their "Christianly" Fundamentalist opponents have shown, or than either side does any real understanding--of terms such as RESPECT! It's almost comical to listen to these "Leftists" whining about the "bigotry" of the "Right," but particularly of their Mainstream, Corporate-Controlled Media, who've actually only given them as good as either have ever given me!
Where "The Truth,The Whole Truth, And Nothing But The Truth, So Help Me, God," is concerned, I'd have hope of greater success, than with any "Liberally Democratic Humanitarian" I've ever had to endure, which would still be virtually none at all, trying, let us say, to communicate with Jack Webb (Dan Aykroyd), in the place of Tom Hanks, about even the ingredients in his hot dog, let-alone the kind of con game Christopher Plummer and Elizabeth Ashley ACTUALLY have going. But, then, even though a professing "Christian" such as Jack Webb is still as hypocritically true as ever, on the whole, to the very fabric of Roman Catholicism his kind claim to themselves to have "modernly overcome," as the "Protestant Fundamentalists" they are; what shall end up, and soon, going down as bitterly hard, even as Divine Blowback in the very direction of the Muslim enemies God shall be permitting to pay them back first (I Peter 4:17-19), is the extent to which Islam as well, involving all its sects, too, is simply part-and-parcel of the same prototypically Roman Catholic disease! Moreover, if anybody ends up physically martyring anybody else here, as thoroughly as they've already raped and assaulted the very conscience, it shall be the Roman Catholic Church putting my kind to death, contrary to all the "hatred" and "bigotry" of which I've been viciously accused, just because I disagree with my accusers as much as they quite self-contradictorily do with me; that is, if Islam doesn't get around to doing the job first, even despite the fact that I've never "blasphemed" that religion, in exactly the way I'd done with Roman Catholicism, by "daring" to convert away from it, in defiance of its equally falsifying claim of "Divine Ownership" even over those who had simply been unwittingly and unknowingly born into it, as if that weren't inherently one of if not the singlemost mindlessly, behavioristically unexamined of "reasons" for remaining a member of any "religion," or believing anything whatsoever, as disgracefully and pathetically opposed to being the most universally popular!
Yet, one does have to give Islam the greater credit that, contrary to Roman Catholicism, which commits the cheapest shot of all, by hiding, even and especially from itself, behind the very Cross of Christ, Islam doesn't even have to hide at all, from behind the teachings of its Supreme Prophet, Mohammed, just as it's much-too-tragically understandable as to why Osama bin Laden would consider it a sinful negligence of his religious duty to Mohammed, rather than Christ, not to kill as many of particularly the same typically, professingly "Christian" infidels as possible! The real test of his level of discernment, in spirit, however, and one in which I would not be very hopefully enthusiastic about participating voluntarily, would entail my looking him squarely in the eyes, to see whether he can detect even the slightest of all eternally decisive differences between me and most of them! But the battle between Israel and the Palestinians, between the West and Radical Islam, is as fundamentally, inextricably about Christ versus Mohammed, and, indeed, about Christ versus the Jews, as well as about the Jews versus Mohammed, as it is about anything more naturally, pragmatically quantifiable, or about the not so practical antagonisms of a psychologically prejudicial nature as such. Of course, by identifying one side with "Christ," I am not thereby "Sanctifying" that side in any unwarrantedly flattering sense, as though it alone were above the strictly or decisively carnal instincts and incentives serving to impel those who fail to acknowledge the correct Ultimate Authority even by Name alone. Either way, though, the real, risen Christ, and He alone (John 3:13) (Acts 4:12), is an equally and uniquely real issue here, in Himself, as well as in terms of the manner in which He's so traditionally and disgracefully misrepresented (Matthew 15:3); just as the side which represents Him in Name, but "ironically" excluding only the "Holy" Roman Empire Itself, as distinct from the Birthright Nations (or at least a small-to-be-remaining and equally symbolic remnant, through whom Christ shall be upholding His Name, and His Honor, rather than theirs), shall be correspondingly victorious, but only subsequent to the severest Divine Chastisement the entire world has ever yet experienced, or shall ever again have to endure (Matthew 24:21-22).
Again, these major, intensifying, and "humanly" insoluble tensions are as basically and inextricably about Who Christ Is, and about who He actually selected to symbolically represent Him to the world, as about anything more "independently soluble," just as the concept of a Fundamentalist Christian Gospel is actually, upon careful examination, the Main Fulcrum of all division between the Right and Left, domestically, in America; between most, who, of all denominations, falsify, doctrinally as well as morally, the very same Gospel in which they claim to believe, and those who, therefore, if not for only this reason, or even decisively, in some, or perhaps even most such cases, vehemently reject the very idea of any such "Gospel!" Moreover, both sides, of this domestically American cleavage, shall be dealt a fatal blow (Matthew 7), by the supposed "Apostolic Line of Peter," while the Islamic Shiite counterpart of the latter "Christian" prototype shall finally be battling it out with the latter, to the near destruction of both, over the issue of Christ verses Mohammed, even to the disillusionment of those who currently expect Christ to be EXACTLY the KIND of MERE Mediator between the West and the "Twelfth Imam" they have in mind when He arrives.
My Heroes: Nietzsche (as Zarathustra, holding up a lantern, in the middle of the day, to the Last Man, the one who One-Dimensionally boasts that he's finally discovered "Happiness," announcing that God Is Dead! And here's a hint as to who murdered Him--you!--If you can even begin to grasp the Supreme Magnitude of what you've done, and so "Christianly Confess," as well as just as blasphemously deny, to no endurable end! By the way, a One-Dimensional Sort is precisely the kind who no less typically has to ask, or just as erroneously fancy he doesn't!), Schopenhauer (whom Nietzsche had made the most Tragically Noble career out of trying to prove wrong, while having failed no less profoundly, meaningfully, than anything else!), Sartre (who said it all so very dryly, but with a phenomenological conciseness nobody could ever have made more nauseatingly, penetratingly clear!), Van Gogh (a more perfect example, on this list, that the first aren't necessarily as last as the last shall be first; at least to the extent that the very last, here, is the only one of whom I can be apodictically certain, coupled with the likelihood that this particular first is undoubtedly among the very last, already! Thus, I'll try to balance it out a little better, just in case of an oversight; by permitting General Tanz, from The Night of the Generals, to tag along, at least as a real first-class connoisseur of this particular artist's soul! Besides, my Lulu loved him no less rarely, and he thus alone couldn't have been all bad; although it's unfortunate that the extent to which he'd still like to take you all down, even from his grave, doesn't quite serve to render him all good, either!),
Lieutenant Christian Diestl (Brando, in The Young Lions; which is easily perhaps the singlemost superlatively masterful performance of all, even for him; thanks, also, to one of the best scripts he's ever had, coupled with an equally superlative, if not in every case exactly laudable, supporting cast. In the end, he was right on the borderline, to say the least, of having been no less avoidably and criminally than, in either case, callously and unconscionably murdered; by a gutlessly, shallowly impulsive playboy, who was not nearly any more worthy of Barbara Rush, either, than even Montgomery Clift, standing right next to him, therefore turned out to have been, after having almost so impressively made it the entire distance, of Hope Lange. In fact, right up to that point, it was myself I'd been encountering in him, particularly during his most sensitively painful endeavors at both love and war! Brando likewise had a much more admirably substantial friend, in Parley Baer, and even a superior officer, in Maximilian Schell, whose boots no typically, insipidly American counterpart is even the least bit fit to lick!), Col. von Luger (Hannes Messemer, from The Great Escape, a real gentleman, and perhaps far-too-much of one, next to typically, impudently, presumptuously, self-righteously vulgar plebeians such as Steve McQueen, and, to a "lesser" extent, Richard Attenborough, and even James Donald! Also, Robert Graf, as Werner, "The Ferret," wasn't nearly as "naively" far off, in his comment to James Garner, about the continuing War of 1812, as most "think!"), Stephen Richard Rojack (Stuart Whitman, in William Conrad's grimly symbolic production of Norman Mailer's An American Dream, and a portrayal with which I very deeply, personally identify!), James Dean (and even Bobby Darin), Robert Stroud, the Birdman of Alcatraz, The Swimmer, Jane Eyre, John W. Burns ("Jack, " for short), Howard Roark (played by Gary Cooper, in Miss Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. Of course, the gross imbalances in this script are compensated for by the equally gross imbalances of still another Gary Cooper script, entitled Good Sam! Also, Howard Roark's professional inflexibility is really given a dent, by the examples of, say, Richard Brooks, who did indeed improve upon the original Sinclair Lewis version of Elmer Gantry, even by splicing in Babbitt, and by Robert Rossen, who made an even better job of Jack London's The Sea-Wolf, as well as by Bruno Frank, who improved upon Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, even with an Americanized ending which is uncharacteristically superb, nevertheless, in contrast with, say, Philip Dunne's more commonly, "optimistically" Americanized butchering of The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas. Yet, Mr. Dunne is still an excellent script writer, as evidenced, for instance, with Demetrius and the Gladiators; ironically enough, despite, again, the same fault abovementioned, as well as the albeit just as meaningfully, dynamically, thus redeemably creative liberties he takes with history in general here--big time!), Marshal Will Kane (played, again, by Gary Cooper, in High Noon), Ira Hayes (played by Tony Curtis, in The Outsider; and, also, Private James B. Sorenson, his "belatedly" hard-earned friend, as played by James Franciscus), Mr. Allison (Robert Mitchum, alongside the equally talented Miss Deborah Kerr, as Sister Angela, in Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison! Sir Laurence Olivier is reported to have declared, when asked, that Peter Finch and Mickey Rooney were, in his judgment, the world's greatest artists! I'm certainly no Olivier, but I totally concur; save for the single oversight of his having excluded only Robert Mitchum, just as I wish Olivier were here to concur in return! Robert Mitchum is one of the greatest performing artists of all time, and there is only one question I have, for those who were so maliciously determined to compromise, not only him, but the integrity of the very craft they gather annually to honor: What were they smoking? If nothing, then they should consider trying something--just about anything!--When the only way left for them to go is--Up!), Papillon (played by Steve McQueen; just as one can only hope Papillon had finally learned a very hard-earned lesson, about the kinds of "nuns" who also had domination over my mind and spirit, almost as early as Cardinal Richelieu had so "perceptively" advocated, and even "guaranteed" would produce the most everlastingly inextinguishable results!), the immortal James Cagney as Rocky Sullivan in Angels With Dirty Faces (It required me many years to reconcile myself with the ending, once again, full-circle, nearly as well as Father Jerry Connelly went down as he was exiting that tavern!--Or, to paraphrase Gwyllim Griffiths, played by David McCallum, from an episode of The Outer Limits entitled The Sixth Finger, in a more "naturalistically linear" vein, I'm evolving beyond any desire at all to, as he said, "see this whole town utterly destroyed," so that "an example might be made!" In fact, I might still be as devout-a-Roman Catholic, today, as I had been as a boy, had I known even a single real priest of similar stature, or that of Karl Malden, as Father Devlin, in The Great Impostor, or Spencer Tracy's Father Edward J. Flanagan, in Boys Town! Thank God such was not Fated to have been the case!--Matthew 24:24!--Although it wouldn't surprise me at all "if" there existed many Father Connellys, at least somewhere out there!--Revelation 2:19!--And I'm praying just as fervently for them as he had been for Rocky!--James 5:17-20!),
Gramp Fry (Pat O'Brien, in The Boy With Green Hair! If anybody was ever the real salt of the earth, here he is!), Janos Szabo (Peter Lorre, in The Face Behind the Mask, along with Lieutenant James O'Hara, played by Don Beddoe!), James Allen (Paul Muni, in I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang; a "perfect" example of the so-called "Justice" System, even its "concern" with truly getting at the bottom of a "crime" such as his! If anything, a fair outcome, in any particular proceeding, is perhaps no less of an accident than even the exception, overall! Here's still another film gone senselessly to waste, for the most part!--Matthew 7:6!), Caryl Chessman (Alan Alda, in Kill Me If You Can! Check out the so-called "trials," and attitudes, he'd received!), Barbara Graham (another Circus Maximus Farce, predominated by typically murderous cattle, but particularly a skunk played by Peter Breck, and the way he railroaded Susan Hayward, in I Want to Live), Arthur Kirkland (Al Pacino, in And Justice for All), Robin Hood (There's only one of him, so very unmistakably it would almost be an insult to him even to have to mention him by name!), Zorro (Tyrone Power, of course), Spartacus (Kirk Douglas), Elmer Gantry (Burt Lancaster, along with a young lady for whom he'd "bought" a drink, after she'd uttered just a few of the truest words ever spoken; namely, "That's the trouble with this stinking world, nobody loves nobody!" It was also the way she'd said it, along with the profoundly subtle resonance to be detected in Gantry's initial response!), George Leach (John Garfield), Humphrey Van Weyden (Alexander Knox), and Dr. Louis J. Prescott (Gene Lockhart), in The Sea-Wolf, Tribune Marcellus Gallio (Richard Burton), the Lady Diana (Jean Simmons), and Demetrius (Victor Mature), in The Robe, as well as Glycon (William Marshall), in Demetrius and the Gladiators, and, frankly, even Centurion Paulus (Jeff Morrow, again, from part one, who's worth at least any hundred "Christians" I'm no less sorry I ever had to know!), Judy Graham Bayne (Mary Webster, from Eighteen and Anxious; who, to be sure, brings very glaringly to mind something Alan Watts said, in "Experiencing the Illusion of the Self," namely, that "You must present 'papers,' to 'prove' that you exist, that you were born in such-and-such a place; the physical presence of you does not entitle you to--compassion!"), Willie (Anne Baxter, in Carnival Story), Vic Pardo, and, of course, Hank Fallon (Edmond O'Brien, from White Heat. He played the ROLE of a SKUNK here, or, as Cagney had said, a "coppa," but, in his case, rarely, and, of course, only quite fictionally, as well as, thus, just as propagandistically, but for otherwise the very best of reasons, and by, again, otherwise, the very best of men, and, maybe, though not probably, no merely typical "actor" either. Mr. O'Brien was in top form here, in that particular sense, or "Persona," if nothing better as well; which, by the way, is at least a bit, again, just a bit, more than I can honestly or intelligently say for the kind of man he played, as Dan Taggart, in A Cry In the Night. For that matter, I can "just about" have "at least" no choice, while praying for mercy in the process, as I "paradoxically?" place Arthur "Cody" Jarrett right up there next to him, in White Heat, that is!--Or, more accurately, ALMOST!), Beckett? (Richard Burton, who was wrong, by the way, as should be just as "secularly" as scripturally obvious by now, with the countless cover-ups finally, and more modernly, democratically coming "unglued!" He was wrong, that is, about "clerical" lawbreakers being rightfully immune to anything but the "Justice" of "The Church!" It is particularly the real Church of God which had at least initially acknowledged the Divinely-Ordained "habit" of throwing such grossly, even criminally uncivil offenders to the very wolves, even in the "secularly official" sheep's clothing, they deserve!--I Corinthians 5!--Matthew 18:15-20!--Romans 13!--I Peter 2!--Plenty of whom were and ARE worse than King Henry II, played, of course, by Peter O'Toole!--Although take one guess as to whom She'll be blaming for having so scandalously "corrupted" her priests, just as the fact that only the prototype of all "modernly secular democracies" had been "free enough," finally, to bring it into the open, from out of its perennial closet, will help serve to make the disease appear more "Post-Enlightenmently" caused and therefore isolatable; even to the point of "suggesting" that perhaps the worst excesses of the Inquisition, Papally Ordained to "contain" it, had still been at least quite "understandable," but, in either case, NOT NEARLY EXCESSIVE ENOUGH!), Carmine Bonavia (James Belushi, in The Palermo Connection), Destry (Audie Murphy, whose remake I preferred to Jimmy Stewart's original, in every conceivable sense), The President (Eddie Albert, in Dreamscape. Contrary to "most," or rather ALL, actual candidates, for whatever offices, let-alone the "winners," this man had a true sense of the solemn responsibility of his job, rather than treating it as nothing but the kind of game which carries no personal consequences to himself, regardless of how unconscionably he destroys the lives of millions of others, and even an entire "civilization!" Where even what the Roman Catholic calls "Perfect Contrition" is concerned, he was truly, fictionally out of this world!), Forrest Gump? (In fact, it's not Rambo, or even John Wayne, who compares, in terms of sheer sinister effectiveness, to the innocent Forrest Gump, the mindlessly obedient paragon of genuinely, hawkishly Establishment rectitude, with a total indifference, or rather quite "patriotically satisfactory knowledge," of the wretchedly victimizing cause for which he was fighting, even with "Jesus" to "Sanctify" the very conflict itself!), P.L.O. Orville C. King (Myron McCormick, from No Time for Sergeants. He makes the third of my favorite N.C.O.s, along with Steve McQueen and Jackie Gleason, from Soldier In the Rain. Even Warren Oates, in Stripes, was a bit too "realistic" to come in any better than a distant second at best, even though I almost adore the way Bill Murray finally gave such a somewhat better than the typical scoundrel of his kind a more thoughtfully dignified run for his money, as well as, at least in this case, vice-versa!), Lawrence Jameson (David Niven, in A Bedtime Story),
Romney Wordsworth (Burgess Meredith, from Serling's "The Obsolete Man"), Marilyn Cuberle (Collin Wilcox, from Serling's "Number Twelve Looks Just Like You"), Gart Williams (James Daly, from Serling's "A Stop at Willoughby"), Bartlett Finchley (Richard Haydn, from Serling's "A Thing About Machines"), John Holt (Joseph Schildkraut, from Serling's "The Trade-Ins," along with a poker rival, played by the "improbable" Theodore Marcuse, who so admirably, movingly came through, by letting him walk away even!), Lou Bookman (Ed Wynn, from Serling's "One for the Angels"), Al Denton (Dan Duryea, from Serling's "Mr. Denton on Doomsday"), Martin Sloan (Gig Young, from Serling's "Walking Distance"), James A. Corry (Jack Warden, in Serling's "The Lonely"), Lt. William Terrance Decker, in Serling's "The Last Flight"), Joey Crown (Jack Klugman, in Serling's "A Passage for Trumpet," just as his performance was equally and no less meaningfully superlative, as Max Phillips, in Serling's "In Praise of Pip"), Serling's "Five Characters In Search of an Exit," James B.W. Bevis (Orson Bean, in Serling's "Mr. Bevis." Moreover, this one really does have plenty of Zen, particularly with Henry Jones involved!--But, as Alan Watts would also have added, not altogether too much of it! Henry Jones was truly a living embodiment, here, along with Alan Watts, of what the latter used to characterize as "The Element of Irreducible Rascality," or "Innocently Impish Mischievousness," the very kind the former was somewhat more "boorishly" trying to "cure" in Mr. Bevis!), Leah Maitland (Gail Kobe, to Don Gordon, the title character, in Serling's "The Self-Improvement of Salvadore Ross," when she said to him, as few women in her position would have, particularly but by no means exclusively or even predominantly with so much money at stake, "You don't care about me! You don't care about anybody! The man I marry is going to have to have compassion; otherwise, I won't be able to love him!" Perhaps her father, played by Vaughn Taylor, would have been able to stop Montgomery Clift on time, too, in The Young Lions; had he been more decisively prejudiced in favor of men, rather than merely against Jews! Yet, even as it was, he almost succeeded--even for free! Yet, for all that, I can likewise empathize with the very sentiment which resulted in the self-inflicted broken hand of Mr. Ross himself!), Charles Whitley (Ernest Truex, in Serling's "Kick the Can" And, "incidentally," most Americans only "grow," if possible, correspondingly more insipidly, rancidly, pettily, and viciously self-centered with age, due primarily and decisively to a chronically and systematically encouraged laziness of "mind," leading to, again, if possible, increasing levels of atrophy! Fortunately, however, Ernest Truex provides still another relatively rare exception to this rule, as Mr. Pedott, in Serling's "What You Need."), Booth Templeton (Brian Aherne, in Serling's "The Trouble With Templeton," a particularly handsome performance indeed!), Reverend Jamison (Royal Dano, from a Rifleman episode entitled "Day of Reckoning"), Tip Corey (Sammy Davis, Jr., from a Rifleman episode entitled "Two Ounces of Tin"), Willard Prescott (Gerald Mohr, from a Rifleman episode entitled "Squeeze Play." While he cannot exactly be called a hero, he did prove to have been quite enough of a man to appreciate that there are rules, even in a war he was otherwise determined to unscrupulously exacerbate, but only to a point, merely for the sake of winning!), Ma Boyle (Dee J. Thompson, from a Rifleman episode entitled "Woman From Hog Ridge." Again, not exactly a hero, at least not until the very end, where she finally came through, in a manner which most revealingly served to help decisively redeem even an otherwise abominably unpardonable past.), Jeremiah (Booth Colman, from a Rifleman episode entitled "The High Country." Now, there was a man as well as a judge! In fact, next to the pathetically corrupt, politically opportunistic, cynically and brazenly blaspheming stiffs, in their systematically endemic desecration of the essence of everything so uniquely sacred, who pose as "professional judges" today, from the "Municipal" to the "Supreme," even Judge Roy Bean would be a vastly if "harrowingly" refreshing improvement!), Count Alfredo di Montova (Cesare Danova, from a Rifleman episode entitled "Duel of Honor." American westerns are generally good at depicting the TYPICALLY RACIST-AMERICAN, INSIPIDLY, EVEN "EDUCATEDLY" ILLITERATE CLOD for what he STILL is, but this one's right at the top here! In fact, most of them are nothing but a bunch of VULGARLY DIRTY-MOUTHED PLEBEIANS, even next to Cesare Danova, as Baranca, in still another Rifleman episode by the same name!), Alan Fielding (Laurence Naismith, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled "Last Second of a Big Dream"), John Mallory (Laurence Naismith, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled "The Shattered Silence"), Marshall Matt Peters (R.G. Armstrong, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled "All the Scared Rabbits," just as he'd made an unusually deep impression, even despite as well as precisely because of all the crudely rough edges, in "Corner of Hell!"), Martin Rowland (Leslie Nielsen, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled "Glass Tightrope," just as I know very intimately how he'd felt, in "Tiger Left, Tiger Right," too!), Dr. John Kimble (Richard Kimble's father, played by Robert Keith, in the episode entitled "Home Is the Hunted," just as he moved me no less deeply to tears in Serling's "The Masks!" Yet, there's something I have against even a man as fine and noble as he, which correspondingly applies to an equally fine specimen of humanity, such as Adam Trask, played by Raymond Massey, in East of Eden! It's a problem stretching all the way back to Jacob, and his brother, Easu, as well as his son, Joseph; just as even his own father, and mother, had been rivals, over the same problem; and, for that matter, even the descendants of Isaac and Jacob, verses those of Ishmael, are ready to destroy this entire planet over essentially the same kind of issue! Indeed, the first murderer, Cain, really started the ball rolling, over precisely the same kind of problem!), Fatso (played by Jack Weston, in an episode of The Fugitive by the same name; just as, for that matter, he also had a murderer, like Cain, for a brother!), Max Bodin (played by George Voskovec, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled "Bloodline"), Gus Priamos (played by Gilbert Roland, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled "Somebody to Remember"), Lester and Naomi Kelly (John McIntire and Jeanette Nolan, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled "Ill Wind"), Sheriff Dalton (played by Percy Rodriguez, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled "Passage to Helena"), Annie Johnson (played by Hope Lange, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled "The Last Oasis!" I'll even have to include Deputy Steele, played by Mark Richman, but only thanks to this nobly inspiring figure of a lady, in virtually every part she played, but particularly alongside Elvis, too!), Paul Beaumont (David Janssen, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled "Terror at High Point." Jamie, played by Buck Taylor, here, was quite a hero, too!--In fact, for me, one of the most moving heroes of them all! I'd known him at least a couple of times in school, as well as far-too-many James Bests, against whom we'd both had to incessantly contend! Moreover, a special tribute should also be extended here to Ruth Harmon, played by Elizabeth Allen, for her own tenderly supporting role!), Euliss Dewey (Robert Duvall, in The Apostle), Damien (Yaphet Kotto, in a Big Valley episode entitled "The Buffalo Man"), Keno Nash (Albert Salmi, in a Big Valley episode entitled "Under a Dark Star"), Andro (Martin Landau, in an Outer Limits episode entitled "The Man Who Was Never Born"), Harold J. Finley (Donald Pleasence, in an Outer Limits episode entitled "The Man With the Power," just as I could only dream of having had even a single teacher of his stature, who just as rarely, empathetically relates to him, the way I do, in Serling's "The Changing of the Guard!" Similarly, Sally Kellerman, as Dr. Elizabeth Dehner, in Star Trek's "Where No Man Has Gone Before," is about as "believably" admirable as, say, the "improbability" of transforming even an Alexander, played by Michael Dunn, in Star Trek's "Plato's Stepchildren," into a Dr. Miguelito Loveless!),
Archbishop Oscar Romero (If anybody makes an ungrateful Roman Catholic Church look any better, even than does this great martyr; it's most Protestant Fundamentalists, as the insipidly watered-down Roman Catholics they are; the cheapest counterfeits, of the Master Counterfeiter Herself, and getting even more worthlessly, banally divisive all the time! Raul Julia did an excellent job, too!), Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. (His most intimate admirers may, symbolically enough, after-all, not like George "Kingfish" Stevens, nearly as much as I still do. Yet, therefore, what the devil could they possibly have, on the other hand, to be ashamed of, with relation to Sapphire and Mama, who were no less indignantly disgruntled against him? I wouldn't be surprised, either, if they hate Amos, even more than they do Andy, or that lawyer, A.J. Calhoun, another Mystic Knight of the Sea! It was among the greatest of all such shows ever conceived, and those who are so ashamed of it, particularly for the "reason" they have, ought, rather, to be ashamed of that; at least as much as I would be feeling ashamed of them, and of the entirely wrong way they insist upon denying their Roots, were I in the position of Kunta Kinte; which, in my own way, one for which even most whites, today, have only to be "thanked" as well, I am! After-all, to be "ashamed" of these "worthlessly, lazily freeloading" characters, and the great artists who animated them, is correspondingly, if only "inadvertently," to "honor" the kind of typically, tastelessly, vulgarly insipid "mentality" which had only "type-casted" them into their currently, relentlessly enduring positions of such racistically undeserved scorn! Perhaps Kingfish didn't exactly have The Life of Riley, as with William Bendix, which might serve to provide an argument for racial discrimination. Yet, Riley did help finish the job, even for Sapphire and Mama, when it came to even more "amusingly," even "innocently," thus "innocuously" helping set up both genders, as well as the traditional family structure, for a more devastating fall, instead, to this very day. Indeed, after so many years of having had it deliberately, demeaningly ground into me, at schools, it would be unendurably abrasive to have a wife eternally calling me by my last name, let-alone my first, minus even a title! It's a wonder this bungling caricature was "taken seriously" at all, even by Babs and Junior! Besides, what's really the big deal about George Jefferson, anyway? He might be "movin' on up," but in a way which only obscures even the real letter, let-alone the Spirit, of what Dr. King Meant! Indeed, he even starts to sound like about the same kind of bore who deserves Archie Bunker no less in return, over the grave of a much better show which fought the war for equality in quite a different way, by eliminating any hint of race! Was that a dishonest act of Denial, on a par with the total Cop-Out of those who insist upon ignoring even the Tragically and Disgracefully Neglected value of this? In the case of Amos 'N Andy, I don't subscribe to such a view at all! If George Jefferson wasn't in a state of any kind of Denial, then Amos 'N Andy wasn't a more Purely Artistic effort at the kind of Real Transcendence he Raves of having finally attained!), John Lennon (who was tragically consumed no less by the unusually glaring extent of his own lucidity, than by the total lack of it as well!), Cesar Chavez (albeit as a most inadvertent waste, along with Dr. King, in the service of others who probably aren't nearly as worth the effort, perhaps even on the whole, and not merely in the most tokenly, exceptionally "successful" forms!), President Hugo Chavez (since anybody with the moxie to defy what America really stands for, on the whole, from beneath its camouflage of the most superlatively sacred and thus even more cynically, unconscionably blasphemed rhetoric, can't be "all bad," at least not for now, and then only, at that, as a most expendably useful instrument, like unto virtually all politicians!), Dr. Richard Kimble, The Fugitive (Harrison Ford, too; although I can only wish, and nothing retrospectively more, that the original medic, from Korea, could have finally had to offer the most equally, meaningfully real kind of "Taps for a Dead War," by standing up to John Wayne, even more at the end, than at the very beginning, of The Green Berets, as impressively as he did, against Albert Salmi, in "Angels Travel on Lonely Roads," when, in the words of Kimble himself, to the latter, there were only "you, me, the sister, and the trees," minus any other systematically, twistedly, overwhelmingly intimidating distractions, to witness "the longest walk you just might find you've ever taken!"), Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock, Columbo, Cordell Walker (and Gordon Cahill, played by Rod Taylor), Billy Jack, Lucas McCain, The Barkleys, Superman (especially the originals, but even more especially when he was struggling just to walk again, in the most heroic battle of all!), The A-Team, Marshal Matt Dillon, and Kitty (a real bear of a lady, especially while runnung a poker game!), Herman Munster, Gomez Addams (Raul Julia, too, who very originally as well as successfully holds his own, even in the shadow of such a uniquely and superlatively difficult act to follow, in John Astin), The Doberman Gang, and too many more to explicitly cite; but, first of all, the King of Kings Himself!--Despite the fact that I wrestle with Him most often and fiercely of all!!! Dennis the Menace could also have made this list, too, in the wrong way! Thank God, as well as both our morally free wills (at least I hope it hadn't been primarily and decisively nothing but fear, in his case), that, despite our identical, and not so free, psychological predispositions, neither of us actually succeeded! Indeed, how many critical Signs all continue to miss, regardless of how clearly, "coincidentally" unaccidental they are, as in a perfectly showcased example such as this! It's even quite unthinkable to overlook Willard Stiles (Bruce Davison and Crispin Glover) here, along with, say, Vernon Potts (Pat Cardi), in Twisted Brain (also called Horror High), or even Tim Ochopee (Chris Robinson), in Stanley! Indeed, Eric Binford (Dennis Christopher), in Fade to Black, should save me plenty of otherwise tediously essential explication here, too!--Just as I thank God, to this very day, that I'd Feared Him sufficiently to resist the temptation to take up the Cross, in exactly the manner Farley Granger did, as Martin Lynn, in Edge of Doom; with a Roman Catholic Church whose parishes are conveniently, separately "broke," when need be, and, "maybe," even a bit more irritatedly, vindictively, against America, for real, now that even Her "underlyingly," perennially Scarlett Colors are being exposed, in a way which is forcing Her to pay out millions in legally punitive damages! Even Martin's boss, at the flower shop, for whom he'd made deliveries, might have been a bit more "nice" than usual about it, but I've worked for enough of his kind as well to know much better! Consider, also, the grimly-portrayed character of Warren Stacey (Gene Davis), from Charles Bronson's Ten to Midnight, and the way he was treated on the job in particular; especially by a couple of typically air-headed bimbos, who'd also become his first two victims (number one of whom hadn't even a morally proprietary argument behind which to conveniently hide, while coming off in such a brutally, insultingly self-righteous way!), even though the scathingly dehumanizing treatment he'd received prior to that had been so liberally forthcoming precisely to the extent that they'd falsely assumed he'd NOT been capable of such drastically terminalizing responses! Their kind are usually as lucky in this respect as they are, again, the most characteristically regular offenders.
My Hobbies: I engage in a great deal of Reading and Writing, but as something much more than a "hobby!" In fact, I really should footnote this particular remark, as I'd heard it first, and most unforgettably, long, long ago, from someone at the very opposite end of my spectrum; that is, from Dr. Richard Vollin (Bela Lugosi), a most avid fan of Poe, in The Raven! But, then, as, again, for the most extremely polar opposites, even he's a great favorite of mine, compared to just about anybody more insipidly in-between; for much the same reason even a real balance, as opposed to the usual counterfeits, is itself as extremely rare as anything else so meaningfully dynamic. Actually, it is I who meet this morbidly-obsessed lover of Poe half-way, at about the same spot one finds Edmond Bateman (Boris Karloff) in the very last scene. The only difference is that Karloff had arrived more from Lugosi's end, while I was growing up more artificially, brutally sequestered in the position of the "good" Captain Kirk, after a transporter malfunction had separated him from his other, "evil" half! How can such "evil" be coherently accommodated in any meaningfully-constructive way, then, in the midst of what is nevertheless just as accurately postulated to be an Eternally Irreconcilable Conflict between Absolute Good and Absolute Evil? Look at it, for example, somewhat like this: The cynical side of me is something which ultimately has to go, as surely as it alone would be totally detrimental, even now; just as there shall eventually be no more objective than subjective-a-basis, even such a legitimately-indispensable need, for it. Yet, meanwhile, it is vital in helping to keep me balanced, in a state of psychic equilibrium; particularly or rather exclusively in its most genuinely humanistic form, which I distinguish from the usual breed of cynicism--all by itself.
My own condition had continued for far-too-many years as such, until the violently repressed and thus even more uncontrollably created as well as irritated "Mr. Hyde," to cite a more classically exquisite as well as accurately "undivided" analogy, finally had to emerge! Moreover, the catalyst, which helped trigger this crucially pivotal, permanently transfiguring catharsis, at the age of fourteen, and, then, even more scathingly, at age twenty-two, but which had been slowly building up, for the two years prior to the first, thanks also to so many hypnotically moving encores of "Black Magic" from Buddy Love, could at least have been worthy enough to involve one with even a trace of what Dr. Vollin had encountered in his lost Lenore!--Just as neither of them, I'm equally ashamed to have to admit, had been the least bit fit to lick the feet of Stella Perdie, either! Thankfully, however, "Dr. Jekyll" had never let go, either; just as, in the case of Captain Kirk as well, he was the one who succeeded at making the two live together! As for Spencer Tracy? I apologize to John Barrymore, and also to Fredric March; despite particularly the latter's being such an incredibly superb artist himself, especially in his role as a dead-ringer for William Jennings Bryan! But there's only one Dr. Jekyll, and, for that matter, only one Buddy Love! Moreover, here's still another expression of my good faith, in trying not to even appear I'm attempting to include everybody; for, if the fact that Spencer Tracy and Jerry Lewis are not to be found at the very top of this page, even now, along with Vollin and Bateman, doesn't indicate the kind of "blind spots" no truly informed connoisseur should be able to miss, then nothing by nature possibly ever could!
And, yes, there's also evidence I hadn't actually forgotten at least two of them, either. Just go to Idols of the Theater for confirmation of that. And, in an even further display of the same good faith, I'll also reveal that some of my very favorites are still only to be found there; just as at least a couple of others are only to be found in the twenty letters, thus far, which serve as an amplifying appendix to those thirty movie critiques, even as those critiques serve as an amplifying appendix to the current profile page. And that's still not the end of the story, as there are others yet who are not at all to be found, even there; although I'll try my best to include as many more as possible, even from years of work already long completed, but which I have no army of scribes to assist me in typing onto the computer. But, then, again, if nobody can figure out, even by then, just about who they would necessarily have to be; then there's nothing more I can do for them, than the master of Barabbas (Anthony Quinn) and his Christian friend was able to do for the latter, before Jack Palance had finished the bungled job of still two additional "traitors and fools." Can I only hope anyone is even capable of recognizing exactly Whom I had even most conspicuously left until last, above, among my list of heroes (Matthew 19:30)?--But only prior to the very one I'm so delighted didn't actually make that list, after-all, as much as part of both of us really would have liked!
However, there's something in particular, which I shall probably never include anywhere, at least not in any more detail than I'm currently offering; precisely because none of it is anybody else's business, for the same reason most would therefore be tasteless enough to feel the most maliciously "curious" here! But, then, the shame of what I've already admitted above, is reduced to scarcely more than a most cheaply inconsequential form of embarrassment, next to what I haven't yet revealed, and can scarcely bear to reflect upon, even to this very day; despite its being such a structurally vital piece of the above, particularly with relation to its own equally and also very prophetically symbolic kind of timing. I was eighteen years old, a freshman at Compton J.C., when I first encountered the real Lenore, but at least four years too late to have done either of us any good; regardless of how gently and sensitively she'd tried to persuade me to stay, rather than attempting to commit her memory to the flames; as precisely the same kind of person even Keenan Wynn, as writer Gregory West, had nevertheless succeeded at retrieving, in a much more timely and constructive fashion, at the end of Serling's "A World of His Own." That was also four years before the Lord had healed my desperately wounded soul, in a very special and miraculously unmistakable way, but only so that it might be even more woundingly, benumbingly shattered, once again, by still another; as well as in a manner which helped to destroy my Lulu, nineteen years later, at the tragically untimely age of thirty-five. In this connection, I still sometimes take out my own personal copy of Serling's original episode, entitled "Spur of the Moment, " about young Anne Henderson (Diana Hyland); who, contrary to my Lulu, rather eventually lived on, at least long enough to regret having spurned the advice of her own "Heavenly Father," too! Yes, there was another, to whom she would have been more ideally well-suited, had my Left-Hand man (who is not The Walrus here, rather than his alternate) only been nearly as ready as he'd so enthusiastically believed (even despite the extent to which she'd initially been far-too-ready for him, albeit like trying to mix the "water and oil" of Sartre verses Lenin, which were about as problematically yet decisively separated, however, in this case, when he'd begun taunting a prospectively Roman Catholic mother-in-law whose "Church" at least "might as well" have taught Marx everything he'd known!); just as Rita, who would have been more ideally well-suited to my Right-hand man (who is Ratso Rizzo, as well as his alternate), likewise had the sense to recognize how unbearably alike as well as different they also shouldn't have been! Mary, in-between, could have been more ideally well-suited, but only as a fading shadow, even of the selfsame foibles which likewise served to render the only "Opposite Number" at my own point of "Optimal Resonance" just as unideally well-suited to still another of equally questionable integrity. But, then, I was so much of a psychological corpse, once again, by then, myself, that the only possible answer would have been as hopeless as Godfrey Cambridge had been so rudely informed, in an episode of Night Gallery, when he heard the final reply, "Sorry, one miracle to a customer." Matthew 7:24-29, in conjunction with Proverbs 11:29, applies in a very real sense with equal force to those who had perpetually and successfully chosen me, albeit in the most Tragically Ironic ways which were Symbolically Fated to be; along with the vulgarly ill manners in which my own daring initiative had been spurned at every single turn, and as unnaturally, suspiciously, "as though" I'd awakened all the Devils of Hell!
Moreover, her full name might just as well have been Lulu Baines, from right out of Elmer Gantry; even though the one who so callously, cynically delighted, along with all her other, equally "Christian" friends, at helping hurl both of us over the very Edge, had scarcely been, in quality, anything remotely worthy of the name of even a "bible broad" such as Sister Sharon Falconer, either! However, just as any analogy is invariably imperfect in some respects, and even no less appropriately in its contrasts as well as similarities; it's the most "obvious" and "fascinating" one, here, which never at all applied to Lulu, save to the vulgarly beastial sensibilities of so many whom she'd continually had to spurn! Indeed, even the most "educated" and "sophisticated" of such scum were no more impressive, from beneath all the grease paint, than Slim Pickens, in One-Eyed Jacks! Moreover, for an image of Lulu herself, just turn to Pina Pellicer (actually, a "hybrid," between her, and that first lovely senorita Brando had been "courting," or rather conning, back down in Mexico), from the same film! That's her! More accurately, though, Lulu had been so much more easily as well as fiercely provokable, that, unlike Pina, she would not have given Brando nearly the time to beat her to the punch, in calling Lon the "garbage pail" he was, right to his face, along with plenty of saliva, just for openers. Yet, Lulu made up for it, by having applied the same description to John Wayne, the "Duke," the very "Flower" of American "Aristocrisy!" I can't quite recall from whom I'd first acquired the expression, at least in the more blisteringly unforgettable manner, but I am much more certain Lulu hadn't gotten it from Brando. Legend of the Lost was truly among his finest performances, for basically the same reason she once had even more difficulty seeing it through. She almost made it, until Sophia Loren finally turned, along with Rossano Brazzi. All the painfully tragic dynamics combined, which resulted in her having died a slow, agonizing death, three years to the very day (8-30-'90), while despising me as much as she loved me the entire time; are much too complex to adequately reflect upon here, as instructively edifying to my purposes as they nevertheless very indispensably would be, including another "Sister Sharon Falconer" of hers, who also instinctively despised my image in the same cripplingly-bloodcurdling way as most who've ever laid eyes upon me, even as the most momentarily fleeting strangers, who were just as characteristically, beastially, and presumptuously inconsequential in precisely this sense, too! Moreover, I cringe with disgust, upon contemplating how many-too-many would be gloating, right now, upon encountering what they'd conveniently, viciously misinterpret to constitute a simple confession, here; particularly in light of what I could likewise add, concerning the violently unbearable conflict which continues to beset my own tormentingly guilt-ridden soul, and the challenge I must face to resist the hopelessly unhealable conclusion that these people are so numerously as well as unaccidentally reflective of how the Lord Himself actually feels! Correspondingly, how frightfully incessant is my own most fervently uncontrollable wish that the Lord had left me back in the mud pits of Egypt, since I apparently had to come into existence at all! But, then, there is much work to be done, including many more biographical details, as covered in still other places; along with the manner in which they very symbolically serve to reflect, microcosmically, when seen in relationship, like pieces to a puzzle, the major historical contours of the Beast With Seven Heads and Ten Horns, and Its Image; which is, itself, just the skeleton of the kind of elaborate patterning I mean, as well as a demonic counterfeit of the kind of Divinely Dispensational Patterning which absorbs it. The most detailed documents thus far along these lines have yet to be electronically transcribed onto Gather.
At the very least, minus the Duty I have to continue, I would that the end had come, for me, so much sooner, even, if possible, in her very place; as the kind of favor to both of us which only she would have failed to consider one to her, although not based in the least upon any question as to the genuinely selfless extent of my own particular motives. But, in fact, there was still another, who had encountered me, again, from long ago, virtually at the very foot of Lulu's grave; although she had arrived too late, and much less worthily than still another, at the age of eighteen, contrary to that of her much more vulgarly common equals, when I was twenty-two!--But, for all that, not quite late enough to have rendered her incapable of inflicting a much greater amount of damage than I'd been careless enough to assume had any longer been possible. Since her equally well-timed departure, after nine senselessly wasted years, again, to virtually the very day (9-9-'99, in fact), I've been caring, once again, for Lulu's own equally, symbolically well-timed replacement, in an almost equally painful repeat, for the past seven years now. I'm making reference, in this latter respect, to still another structurally significant, even prophetically pivotal benchmark, in a long and, retrospectively, no less ever-revealingly unbroken succession of the same, as to about the exact amount of time America itself has left to continue no less senselessly, ungratefully, presumptuously, and victimizingly squandering! Even the simple, basic need of human companionship is not sufficient to satisfy the "Eternally-Encased-In-Stone" Requirements of H.U.D., were one literally writhing from the kind of strain only an animal or a god can endure indefinitely; but, then, still other prerequisites, to Rita's having been officially allowed to stay, and which are far more "Crucially Humanitarian" in nature, even for H.U.D., along with a nation whose numerously professing atheists likewise gloat that, as Watts quotes them, "There is no God, and Jesus Christ is His Only Begotten Son," had been cynically, flagrantly, mean-spiritedly, even lyingly and thievingly discarded, by the management, two full years subsequent to their having been formally satisfied and acknowledged, just because the management correctly assumed it could sneeringly, contemptuously, whimsically, arbitrarily do whatever the hell it wanted, against those who have nobody to defend them, and get totally, unaccountably (but not "officially," of course!) away with it! You see, at least one of the more primarily and decisively determinative factors here is that they all simply hate Gypsies! Moreover, that "social worker" who had been sent out, to "get to the bottom of it," would be undeservedly fortunate even to be receiving welfare checks--but rather in name as well! Not only must we both scrape, at the current time, to afford the $1100 per month rent she has to pay, but the same spitefully malicious gossip is again occurring, coupled with every pettily disingenuous excuse to force her onto the street, from where she'll be improbably fortunate even to be able to borrow more credit, which, again, can be so easily, unfairly, whimsically destroyed, thanks to the property owners who control as well as ARE the rich, "legislative" parasites in Sacramento, for still another, similar rat-trap! And this doesn't even cover the numerous other stories, involving both our current places of residence, which I'd love an opportunity to air in a Real Court of Law, as diametrically opposed to the currently and cynically, mystifyingly misnamed ones! In fact, as Rita's lungs continue to fill with water, her extremities swell even larger, and her heart correspondingly weakens, even with the "help" and "concern" of "doctors," or, "legally glorified" drug pushers who care about nothing but cynically bilking the State, in a manner which only very disgracefully and tragically confirms the extent to which it wouldn't even have mattered, had Lulu not been swindled out of every penny of her medical insurance by LAUSD, after almost ten years of consistently dedicated service; I'm thereby reminded of the terrible meaning, at the end of Five Came Back, and Back from eternity, when the drums finally stopped beating!
Fall, 2001: Even here at home, your "Courts of Justice" are NOTHING BUT A DISGRACE! My little friend, Rita, and her sick, seventy-five year-old mother, were just tossed into the street, again, by a landlord who simply doesn't like Gypsies; although, while discriminating in this sense, he concealingly boasts that he doesn't need any legal reason to evict. And, just as he has no sound reason to evict, such as lack of payment of rent, damage to or uncleanliness of the property, or deliberate and excessive disturbance to neighbors; he obviously requires nothing more than a VICIOUSLY AND BIGOTEDLY MEAN-SPIRITED WHIM, as his "justification" to hopelessly demolish their CREDIT in the process! Not only did he perhaps greatly diminish their chances, if not totally ruin their ability, even to find another apartment, due to this blemish he left upon their record; but, in a deliberately sarcastic act of adding further insult to this injury, he went out of his way to insist that they not use him as a reference; not, of course, out of any, if necessary, "piously-stated concern" for a prospective manager to come, but simply in order to be SADISTICALLY AND MEAN-SPIRITEDLY DESTRUCTIVE OF THE LIVES OF OTHERS, while REJOICING IN WHATEVER INIQUITY THEY CAN HELP CREATE! When I attempted to explain certain of these "legal" inconsistencies, just outside the so-called "Court of Justice," in Downey-Flake, Ca., to the "lawyer" representing the landlord; he SNAPPED BACK AT ME, like such a DIRTY, FILTHY ANIMAL, with his SARCASTICALLY BRUTAL SNEER that I "take it up in Sacramento," that I should have GONE RIGHT FOR HIS THROAT; even DESPITE the fact that he RIGHTLY knew I was TOO MUCH of a MAN to be ABLE to SMACK a TYPICALLY, EFFEMINATELY "Male" FAIRY like HIM right across the face, without finding MYSELF immediately in SHACKLES--as ONLY EVEN a MILITANTLY LESBIAN FEMALE probably wouldn't be in my place! The TYPICAL "Judge" in this case, not long thereafter, had even been BRUTALLY CYNICAL enough to REDUCE the additional three weeks, in which to vacate, offered them previously by the "lawyer" for the landlord, to EIGHT MISERABLE DAYS; in total disregard, not only, again, for the very offer of the lawyer, and the lack of any morally viable reason to evict them; but, also, for the SEVERE PHYSICAL INFIRMITIES of both, their LACK OF TRANSPORTATION, and even, again, the very REASON they had no CREDIBLY alternative retreat but the VAGRANCY of the GUTTER! TO HELL WITH YOUR SO-CALLED "LEGAL SYSTEM," AND PARTICULARLY ALL THE "CHRISTIANS," OR RATHER MERE AMERICANS, "IF" NOT THEREBY OUTRIGHT TRAITORS, EVEN BY THE LATTER DEFINITION (SAVE FOR THE MERE FACT THAT SUCH SCUM ACTUALLY ARE IN THE GOD-ALMIGHTY MAJORITY, AS INDISTINGUISHABLE IN THIS SENSE FROM THE AT LEAST MORE "HONESTLY" PROFESSING NON-CHRISTIANS), WHO WORSHIP IT IN THE VERY NAME OF THE LORD JESUS CHRIST HIMSELF!
Spring, 2002: Rita's mother died, just a few months after the abovementioned eviction; from complications, by the way, involving pneumonia; in causative connection with another property owner who'd spent two months SNEERING that she and her mother could just get out, if they didn't like the fact that the central heating failed to work. There could even be something technically illegal, in connection with all this; or, at least, there certainly ought to be; assuming such would matter, de facto, either way! By now, she has managed to purchase a motor home; but the city ordinances, against her having any place to park it, are as senselessly and cruelly arbitrary, "at least" in any genuinely moral let-alone reasonably pragmatic frame of reference, as the average landlord is bloodlessly mechanical--in the ATTITUDE he displays, as well as via the requirements he imposes. Indeed, so many spaces have been sitting empty for more than long enough to warrant the additional observation that these trailer park landlords are as much poor businesspeople, in the most selfishly and exploitatively "pragmatic" sense, as they are idealistically hollow to the marrow, considering the amount of money they've already lost. Likewise, the average motel manager (almost exclusively foreign) ought to be taken out and flogged, again, if only for his ATTITUDE! Instead, the LICE, and THEIR "COURTS," HEARTILY CONGRATULATE the way she's being CURRENTLY HARASSED and THREATENED--out of parking even in her sister's driveway! Bellflower, Ca., in particular, should more appropriately be re-named HELLFLOWER!--Along with "just about" every adjacent city!
Rita was before employed by the state, to provide home care for her mother, who had herself been an SSI recipient. That was SSI's excuse for having refused Rita her fair share of benefits, as one who is, again, sick, with, among other things, a very bad heart condition, which renders her almost totally incapacitated. Again, the CHEAPLY MECHANICAL EXCUSE was that she had been "employed," and, "therefore," quite "necessarily" in good health. Never-mind the number of doctors who had submitted letters testifying as to her condition. And, of course, never-mind the fact that there had been nobody else to care for her mother, save perhaps in the kinds of "nursing homes" which numerous evidence serves to indicate are, among other things, too mortally dangerous, potentially, even to be called "human" KENNELS. Not unrelatedly, my own father and maternal grandmother are by now likewise merely two more no-longer-living testimonies, in support of the kinds of suspicions, based on evidence, which specifically apply in their cases as well! Moreover, it's not only a problem of being able to "prove" anything illegally amiss on the part of these "homes," but also of getting anybody in judicial authority to CARE, at least minus the money as well as time and energy to be able to afford it. Now, Rita, in the absence of her mother, has, just as had eventually been the case with my Lulu (when she became very ill, and could no longer work "part-time," after a ten-year period, for LAUSD), no income at all; and, even still, no medical insurance, either. All she receives is General Relief, in conjunction with whatever spare money her sister might be able to help supply, at least in the form of a temporary place to stay. Rita was even "legally" CHEATED out of her mother's life insurance, based on the CHEAP TECHNICALITY, thanks to a BUREAUCRATIC ERROR, if nothing more viciously collusive of the insurance company itself (a Texas-based operation), that her deceased sister constituted the only officially-designated beneficiary.
Summer, 2003: I thank God, as well as every Civil Rights MARCHER on the STREETS, that Rita has finally begun receiving her Social Security. I also thank Him for the way her mother's life insurance company has finally come through with the money, just as I am grateful for whatever reasons, if only quite undoubtedly other and lesser than the strictest INDIVIDUALLY, FREELY MOTIVATED elements of Idealistically Moral Sincerity as such, it turned out that the company had been guilty of no more, at least in the sense which only pragmatically-intended results matter at all, than the kind of MECHANICALLY, THOUGHTLESSLY INCONSIDERATE NEGLIGENCE which helped cause the therefore not even nevertheless very interimly, mind-relievingly anticipated restitution to arrive almost two years late. It certainly does not require much plausibly digestible speculation to conclude what would have been the result, even after over twenty years of consistently prompt payments, by Rita, of the premiums, had she required even a small fraction of that amount of time to make the very last payment! Now, what makes this morally evil double-standard "Eternally Just," to MOST PEOPLE, is simply the fact that, in "Eternally Just" America, it ALREADY "OFFICIALLY" EXISTS, at least in ways which are CONVENIENTLY, RHETORICALLY RATIONALIZED, in all their "Morally" as well as "Legallly" unfolding "Consistency." At least finally having the money helps provide a most urgently needed element of relief for her, even though the THOUGHTLESS BEASTS who so CALLOUSLY and UNNECESSARUILY succeeded at MALICIOUSLY DESTROYING HER CREDIT, with unwarranted eviction notices the damage of which she cannot even contest in "court," have all the best reason, from their own TYPICALLY MEAN-SPIRITED PERSPECTIVE, to CONTINUE GLOATING that she is STILL UNABLE TO RENT EVEN A CARDBOARD TENT IN WHICH TO RESIDE! Just like the relatives who finally stole her trailer, and the brother-in-law who is STILL LAUGHING about how he GOT AWAY with PHYSICALLY ASSAULTING HER, AND STEALING HER PURSE, WITH A GREAT DEAL OF DESPERATELY-NEEDED MONEY IN IT, ABOUT WHICH THE POLICE "CAN" DO NOTHING, ANY MORE THAN THEY'LL THEREFORE AT LEAST "LOOK THE OTHER WAY," AND LET SOMEBODY WHO CAN, YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF IDOLATROUSLY, MODERNLY, TECHNOCRATICALLY, HEDONISTICALLY ALIENATED AMERICAN APES--TO THE CORE! After having faithfully cared for her mother, all alone, for so many years {and, in the end, having spent more than half-a-month at her bedside, in the hospital, all alone, practically every minute}; it was as though Life Itself had been WAITING, ANXIOUSLY, CRUELLY, VINDICTIVELY, to ASSAULTINGLY THROW EVERYBODY, AT ONCE, PARTICULARLY THOSE SHE FALSELY THOUGHT SHE HAD, AS WELL AS NEEDED THE MOST INTIMATELY, SUPPORTIVELY--THAT IS TO SAY, EVERYBODY SATAN HIMSELF HAD POSSESSED--IN SPIRIT AND ATTITUDE--RIGHT INTO HER FACE! The PLAIN AND SIMPLE MEANNESS OF SPIRIT, IN MOST PEOPLE, IS MORE THAN ENOUGH TO LITERALLY STAGGER AT LEAST THE MOST SENSITIVELY, UNUSUALLY, AND THUS EVEN MORE VULNERABLY, UNHEALABLY WOUNDABLE OF IMAGINATIONS! And, to the extent that Scripture describes this as a GAUGE of THE PROXIMITY of THE VERY END (II Timothy 3:1-5) (Matthew 24:9-14), we are undoubtedly ABOUT AT LEAST TWO MILLENNIA CLOSER THAN WE WERE--EVEN A MERE THIRTY YEARS AGO!
Other Interests: My world has been solitarily meditative for the past twenty-nine years. I've been despised and vilified in churches, particularly my own congregation, from where I'd been slandered and backbitten into exile (Isaiah 66:5), within a two-year period, and for the past thirty-five years now. The same thing happened at my university alma mater, until I'd finally received my Master of Arts, in 1978, from CSULB, which had also issued me my B.A. They were delighted to have me gone, but not nearly as much so as I am, to be rid of them! More precisely, however, there is still much unfinished business, but only from my perspective, and in accordance with my own painfully-cultivated conviction that virtually everybody can be wrong! Even more specifically, I've been longing, for almost the past thirty years, to drag certain of them into a real court of law; that is, if such an animal actually does exist, in the first place, anywhere but out of this world!
However, I must commend Gather, here, unlike even those spitefully malicious censors at Amazon, IMDb, and many other, even more "Liberally, Progressively Humanitarian" web sites, for welcoming even me as respectfully and honorably as they at least hitherto have, despite even the fact that their motives are still fundamentally and predictably profit-oriented enough to compel me to wonder why! This is even more unavoidably true, now that I've already been so rudely though hardly very surprisingly introduced, via the comments, of the average patron, in reaction to a couple of my articles, to the extent of what typically, ungratefully, ignorantly vulgar plebeians they are, with their correspondingly and endlessly petty preoccupations! Were I only capable of sending them pictures, they'd derive an even more rancorously murderous "thrill" out of having to see how "beautiful" the world outside their "rose-colored glasses" actually is! But, then, on the other hand, most and virtually all of them undoubtedly share at least one ex-First Lady's cynically, mockingly, contemptuously-expressed disdain for anything which threatens to disturb her "Beautiful Mind!" The couple of positive responses I've received are, unfortunately, neither nearly as numerous, nor as passionately if at all felt, as those which only continue to delight, minus even a single rebuke of them in my defense, at mindlessly and unconscionably discouraging my every effort!
Political Affiliation: Actually, I'm Off the Wheel of Becoming here (Malachi 4:5-6), just as I can already hear so many of you vicious animals sneering it now, even in your old-age adolescence, and a senility which never seems to show, but only because it could never become any worse than it had always been! You're sneering in the only possible way your kind were ever actually capable of "winning" an argument, particularly with nothing but even the wrong kind of ammunition to augment every falsehood at your disposal! In fact, the very nature of your tendency to utilize even words as nothing but the most venomously murderous weapons, like unto just about any good lawyer, judge, or politician from among you, only serves to demonstrate what kind of henhouse excrement you actually are, particularly by way of your own definition of the phrase, given the need you even more internally than otherwise have for not deciding to bypass them altogether, in favor of real sticks and stones! What you're ready to sneer, by now, is that I'm simply "Off the Wall," even though the actual fact is that not to be Off the Wheel is, by now, itself to be necessarily Off the Wall; and it doesn't much matter which one of them, either, particularly in that squares such as yourselves fail even to roll very smoothly or gracefully at all in the first place! And, of course, let's not forget your next, even "cleverer" corollary to that already most virulently petulant punch-line; namely, as Martin Riggs had it thrown back into his face, in Lethal Weapon II, "Who's the Dickhead, now!" But you're all about to find out, about as painfully and rudely as Arjen "Aryan" Rudd finally did, speaking of the "last laugh" itself, the only one that really counts, that your "Diplomatic Immunity" has just been revoked! Even if you more realistically succeed at taking me out as well, you'll get no further than Job 13:15, while bumping headlong into Matthew 10:28, just to complement 18:6-10! Of course, being, myself, like Aristotle, neither an animal nor a god, I'm anything but so naively, presumptuously, complacently smug as to fail to be quite acutely as well as chronically, incessantly alarmed at the possibilities, even probabilities, if not virtual certainties, as to my own personal fate, in the meantime; even short of what could be expected, but nothing more than hypothetically, beyond the perimeters of I Corinthians 10:13! Indeed, as Will Penny (Charlton Heston) once put it, there's no good way to go! That is, there's no good way to experience something which was never ideally meant to be!--Or, is it actually nothing but a most senselessly fanciful "Fluke," as Watts calls it, that man has such a deeply, universally-rooted aversion to physical death? Either way, even the newly-anticipated "messiah," Obama, for that matter, just could be another trick of the Ruling Establishment, which is perhaps calculating that no cheating, as Stalin would have said, not in terms of who casts the votes, so much as who counts them, may even be needed, to insure that a black candidate loses, if not rather a woman, instead of the most viably Democratic candidate, who is perhaps just as unaccidentally or rather conveniently in only third place. Besides, they may also be reasoning that, even if a bit of electronic and other forms of fraud may be required, the Race Card, or the Gender Card, would serve, at least "implicitly," as a most plausibly believable cover, in helping to spontaneously subvert at least enough genuinely warranted suspicion, if nothing more. Indeed, how many Democrats, who would vote for a woman, would not vote for a black, and vice-versa? And how many of those voters, either way, shall perhaps therefore go to--whom?--McCain? It's a real three-ring circus, for the mob's entertainment and distraction, a glorified personality contest, and a most pathetically misleading, mass-hysterical masquerade, embodying the illusion that any "real change" is possible! Even more fundamentally decisive here than their preference, if possible, for a Republican winner, is the dirty little "secret" that it just doesn't make any real difference, after-all, who wins! Just take, for openers, the word of Ned Beatty, from Paddy Chayefsky's Network, for he certainly appears to be quite thoroughly "In the Loop!" Moreover, speaking of "change," most would do better at least to wish, if not hope, that things could just stay as bad as they even quite currently are!
Religious Affiliation: I am Non-Denominational, and Non-Non-Denominational, just by way of including the most pompously, presumptuously belated category of all! Moreover, if there's anything even more ignorantly, shallowly, viciously insufferable than the Classical Morbidity of a "Christian Church" which had long been turned into nothing but a tomb, it's the contemporarily "Born Again," Disney-Outlandish "Joy" of those who "pity," at "best," or rather contemptuously scorn, who "prayerfully" as well as "sermonizingly" look down their "spiritually elitist" little snouts at anybody who's not merely as "happily," mindlessly, one-dimensionally narcotized as they no less laughably than blood-curdlingly Swear to God they alone are not! While they "piously" pose to themselves as "passionate lovers of Justice" who remain "magnanimously cheerful, " nevertheless, because they have "that much faith" that "God will deliver," they slanderously deride anybody who actually does feel the pain of the current injustice, conveniently, shallowly accusing such an individual of "faithlessness." These worms will psychologically project onto him the image of nothing, as well, but the only kind of childishly spoiled-rotten "temper tantrum," for instance, to which they are alone able to relate, in the form of anything "less" than their, again, usually "cheerful" frame of reference!--Jeremiah 6:10-16; 8:5-13!--Amos 5:18-27; 6:3-8! Not only would they murder Jesus, over and over again, if they could; but they also very much can, and do, particularly with their own proverbial "kindness!" Barabbas (Anthony Quinn) described most of them very accurately, as the "stinking fish" they are, just as George Burns correctly observed that most of them ought to be out selling shoes! Their "Liberally, 'Secularly' Progressive Humanitarian" rivals have thrown out the clean baby with the dirty bathwater, just as these "Christianly Conservative" idolaters of Empire are the dirty bathwater! One can "almost" hear them so "piously" sneering, again, at me, right now, as if they were anybody to talk, let-alone judge anything or anybody: "Who do you think you are, Jesus?" Well, "perhaps" the Lord will INSIST they ask Him that themselves--VERBATIM! Absolute perfection may still be a long way off for me, but I suppose I should be grateful they at least quite conveniently hold those alone whom they instinctively despise most to the very highest of standards! They don't really want to strive, as slowly and painstakingly as it takes; but they are, as Nietzsche mocked, no less determined to make it so "gracefully" all the way, in one gigantic leap, regardless of what it takes even to so "lamentably" enjoy moving anything more "depressingly" because meaningfully "negative" entirely out of the way!
Also, if they're the ones who really turn out, in the end, to have "Known Him," all-along, then I also say, along with them--definitely--count me out! However, for people who love to contemptuously kick someone, particularly while they're the very ones holding him down; just because he dares so glaringly bear his soul, but in a way they're all too "strong" to handle, even after they'd encouraged him in the name of the Lord to trustingly, vulnerably, "laughably" open his heart to them (I know what Rachel Brown meant, from Inherit the Wind!); I've been long-prepared to gamble on even the biggest "long-shot," that they're the ones who'll finally be feeling the boot!--For, frankly, I don't believe they have the stomach to make it past Job 42:7-8; just as I'd be about as hard-pressed to try receiving them any more graciously, perhaps even for the very same reason I'll never have to be faced with any such option! Of course, it's not very easy to know where duty demands that one stop kicking, even against their will; thus avoiding, in the process, any careless presumption upon the very Soverignty of God, or at least of what they call His "Permissive" Will; especially when it's lasted so relentlessly, mercilessly long and hard, in the mouths of the most characteristically problematic kinds of liars, those who "conveniently" deceive even and especially themselves! "Deep" down inside (or, at least even it is much too "deep" for them!), they know they're mediocre, at best, in what they love to call "Character, " as well as petty, vicious, insensitive, self-centered, cowardly in a totally disingenuous way which deserves even their own "subliminal" self-contempt; indeed, the entire array of typically, "Christianly" unsavory qualities they conveniently projected onto me, in a Systematically Ritualistic Murder, a Slanderous Character Assassination, I contend, precisely to the extent that they "at least" instinctively though not, of course, "consciously" knew those qualities were not true of me (Isaiah 5:20-21; 66:5). Yet, they "appeared" very "conveniently" true of me, while the assaults, of those whose Fear one can accurately measure, by how glaringly they wear their "Faith" upon their sleeves, and, of course, the actual Hate, of those so emotionally, "sentimentally" narcotized on what they call to themselves "Love," relentlessly continued against the "gutlessly depressing faithlessness" of my Anguish, and the reflection my own emotionally crippled as well as already long "religiously" raped and wounded conscience had been, in the struggle for life, of the kind of spiritual and moral impoverishment in which they "unwittingly" glory. While they're busy seeking after "Rewards, " all I'm interested in are a few plain and honest answers--regardless of what they stubbornly, self-righteously, complacently decide such a Final Confrontation shall just as extremely require! Yes, I realize It will undoubtedly be necessary to have Jesus Himself right there, in a way even they can finally understand, before I'll ever be able to see anything even remotely resembling an honest answer, just as violently being forced out of as well as into any of them, and minus anything which quite "conveniently" can't be "proven!" Their kind love to quote verses such as John 10:10, as if they understood even what it meant, let-alone how it fails to apply to them, as those who should rather have passages such as Revelation 3:14-22, James 4:9-12, and Hebrews 5:11-14; 6:1-8 rubbed in their faces, about as crudely as attempting to "house-train" the kinds of dogs whose parents apparently never bothered teaching them how to wipe their filthy little snout-noses, either!--Although most of them were already "Bible Scholars" by the age of seventeen or eighteen, as those who'd at least learned even to paraphrasingly parrot the language so very well!
Rock Hudson, as Dr. Anton Drager, in The Spiral Road, very glaringly serves to illustrate the years of self-conflict with which their kind have cynically, unconscionably left me to struggle! And it doesn't get any easier at all! I'd long ago been of the prevailing impression that it takes guts not to run away from a fight, even as I nevertheless obediently did the opposite; but I have come to discover, since then, that the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and must continue to do, is patiently wait for Him to finally settle the matter, rather than taking things entirely into my own hands!--And I still despise my very life for it, but for an entirely different reason now (Jeremiah 15:10-21). Even if it proves to have been based on nothing more than the passionately Sicilian blood in my veins, it's a question of Honor which I find almost impossible to suppress; particularly in that I am also well-aware of how truly "funny" they "think" it is, to this very day, as I long to see just one of them, from among the "men, " of course, who at least has what it takes to meet me alone somewhere, so that, as Glenn Ford said, as Jason Sweet, to Pernell Roberts, as Chocktaw Neal, in The Sheepman, it's "just him and me!"--That's right!--Just him, and a "no-good, stinkin', yellow-bellied sheepherder" such as I! But, then, one has to give even Johnny Bledsoe, alias Col. Stephen Bedford (Leslie Nielsen), from the same film, much greater credit, than any of these "Fundamentalist Christian" Worms, at least for having been "Chivalrously Sporting" enough to openly sneer to Jason that, "I know you'll never shoot me in the back, but I have the advantage that you can't depend upon that from me!" But, of course, before you can even be capable of giving someone such "fair warning," you first require even the brains, let-alone the guts, to inwardly, self-consciously realize you're actually no kind of "Christian" at all, even of the "Liberally Progressive Humanitarian" or "Buddhafied Jesus" if not outright hard-core "Dialectical Materialist" variety! Such normatively, perennially, "Christianly," degenerately self-righteous buffoons embody what Nietzsche astutely diagnosed as a Resentment "mentality, " an instinctively, disingenuously, cowardly, impotently exhausted unwillingness to deal even with Actuality in any adequately theological way, let-alone all the "Sacred Ideality" to which they "alternatively" and glandularly flee; as those who thereby strive, so very "Faithfully, " to "prove wrong" everything Marx as well as Nietzsche ever said about what basically provides the "substance" of their no less Biblically-identified incentive; put one way, of what R.D. Laing called their "violence masquerading as love," and an unbearably self-frustrated obsession, not only with a characteristically demonic kind of instrumental control, but also a more intrinsically sadistic victimization which they conveniently "sanctify" to themselves as something "morally mandatory." Five-Hundred years ago, their kind were the ones burning "heretics" at the stake, after having brutally crushed all their bones; but, of course, "not," as in the case of any explicitly, paganly "self-respecting" Roman, with a self-consciously unapologetic love of witnessing a "fine kill," rather than, again, in the most "lamentably, selflessly unavoidable" sense! Perhaps even the mob, and what Jesus called the most evil generation until that time, had been anciently turned against Him at the very end; but "at least" they loved the one He'd called the very first, and thus last, the greatest of all men, John the Baptist (Matthew 11:11); whereas, today, there is not a single "Christian Church," of any "denomination," which would hesitate to violently eject him, as nothing but the kind of "madman" only modern "men" could possibly be, again, and again, and AGAIN, the very least fit to judge!
Employers: I've never been welcomed anywhere. As for the supposed Civil Rights I've "enjoyed," on more menial jobs than I can count; I have a moderately book-length description of them, which any real lawyer, if any, ought to be extremely interested in, just for openers, reading--very carefully! A careful viewing of You Only Live Once, with Henry Fonda, would be very instructively edifying in this respect, too, as evidence that even being an ex-felon, like John Wisdom as well, is hardly any guarantee of fairer treatment! Check out Frank Whaley, in Swimming With Sharks, too! Yes, I could recount plenty of stories, even as a means of illustrating the average employer's lack of any moral or civic sense of responsibility, in helping a younger generation of "glorified" wage-slaves, whose parents assist in paying the bills (or, rather, "indirectly, " and, of course, "unofficially," "unnoticeably," even with the most "plausible deniability," to pay the salaries), to learn and be able to rely upon there being any real values in the work place, in being sincere and honorable, trying to do the right thing, and being more fairly, rationally reciprocated with a sense of gratitude, rather than the usual contempt for some "lower" species of animal, if, for no other reason (and no other reason is characteristically required, any more than it's often to be found in either case), just because he's "lower." Moreover, I'm not even referring to the money any longer--JUST THE ATTITUDE!
Judging from the ways they've treated, and, yes, I'll say it insistently, especially their most faithfully-trustworthy employees, even with money, just because they know they can be as easily, expendably replaced in an instant as they are even quite sadistically fun to torment even more, all the way out the door; it's nothing less than a circumstantially unrecognized, let-alone undeserved, but over-abundantly and thus even more presumptuously, ungratefully squandered Gift from Heaven alone, minus any of the honestly diligent effort they should be applying to assist it, that they're even able to stay open for business at all! And, again, while there are too many of these stories to write an entire book about here, I'll mention one characteristic example, the month I'd worked as a box boy, at the Food Giant Market in Compton, at the age of seventeen.
One clerk, a student teacher at my high school, but whom I'd never met on campus (although the maliciously murderous gossip had apparently reached his ears as well?), harassed and mocked me, every single day, right up until the day it was finally time for me to join the Retail Clerks Union. "As if" waiting for me to pay my dues, the manager called me over to him, right on cue, to tell me I was fired--minus any explanation!--And Costello (that was the creep's name) had been standing right beside him, grinning speechlessly at me with the same attitude of Claggart (Robert Ryan), while he was lying through his teeth to Captain Veer about Budd, right to Budd's face! That is literally the uninterrupted story of my life in the midst of the TYPICAL Anglo-American SCUM!--And I haven't forgotten the Union still owes me my thirty dollars back, forty years later!
The first job I ever had, next only to doing the gardening at home once a week, was a paper route, with the Herald American, which I'd started when I was twelve, in Norwalk, and continued, when, two years later, we'd moved to Compton. About a year after that, Colonel Smith, the owner of the paper, had told all the boys to come to the main office, also in Compton, to have our photos taken. None of us had been informed as to why, the answer to which had only been forthcoming after I'd been told, by more viciously sadistic mockers on campus than I could count, or even personally knew as "well" as they "knew" me, that my picture had been selected to show, between films, on all the movie theater screens in town. Not only was I uninformed, let-alone never asked for permission, but not a penny of rightful compensation, even in salary, let-alone damages, was ever offered!
The next job I'd ever had was one which did require a work permit, unavailable prior to one's sixteenth birthday. I'd been hired at a cafeteria called the Holland House, also in Compton. My sordid reputation on campus had apparently followed me there as well, since I was tormented and cursed at, every single day, for the roughly three months I'd lasted there, the longest amount of time I'd ever been permitted to remain on any regular job, save for the couple of years I'd driven a truck for my father. Of course, I hadn't even known these particular student-workers, although they'd "known" me, while typically, sadistically, mean-spiritedly relishing all the hell they were capable of administering, minus a single rebuke from the manager. Even that, however, had not been enough to satisfy them, as they simply wanted me gone!
Even one of the few "friends" I'd ever had managed to snag a job there, at my recommendation, only to become at least a more "passive" part of the problem, one who could easily afford to derive the amusement he did from my plight, while also feeding off my resultantly discernible sense of self-degradation and worthlessness! One day, just about a week before I'd finally had to leave, a black kid was hired, the first one on the job there since I had arrived. Somebody told him I'd called him a you-know-what behind his back, which was nothing but a dirty, maliciously-motivated lie! Yet, it resulted in a physical brawl after work one night, when he'd assaulted me in the parking lot, with the many eager spectators who'd helped engineer it ravenously hovering about the central arena! Take one guess, if you need even that many, as to who had alone been forced to bear all the blame! In Lonely Are the Brave, with Kirk Douglas, one sees a similarly and characteristically all-too-real kind of tragic irony, when a one-armed man (Bill Raisch, that same creep from The Fugitive) picks a fight with Douglas, for no justifiable reason at all, with every degenerate Mexican in the place enjoying it, and finally participating, on the side of the one-armed man. When the cops came crashing in, they instinctively made a beeline for Douglas, at the bottom of that great big pile of "human" garbage, and arrested him alone--knowing he hadn't done anything to cause it!
I'd had to deal with the same kinds of typical punks a few years later, at a summer camp job as a counselor with the Roman Catholic Divine Word Seminary, in Riverside, California. That job, after about six weeks, ended in much the same way, but minus only any of the physical violence, when I was finally discharged, on the "basis" of the most viciously slanderous gossip, from out of the same mouths which had been receiving "Holy Communion" every morning. In fact, the very "priest" who'd just as sadistically participated in their infamy was the same one administering those "holy" wafers every day. The particular fellow scoundrels at issue here had been part of a little "football club," presided over by him, and dedicated to making life as difficult as possible for every "nerd" on the job. I'd had a couple of good friends there, who could see what was happening, including a "Brother," by the name of Ray, and also Bob Flynn, a delightfully perfect image, even in spirit, of Bob Cratchit (Gene Lockhart), from A Christmas Carol. They could see how maliciously, spitefully I was being railroaded out of there, on the "charge" that I showed "favoritism" by playing chess with one of the boys in my group, Jeff Gompert, during after-hours. But they had been totally helpless to do anything, and even a bit surprised, if not at the level of viciously backbiting slander per se, then "at least" at the final result. Even the black priest who'd been serving as acting Director that year was able to smell a rat, but he hadn't the integrity to stand up to the regular Director, who was also that same damn "priest" just mentioned above. In his feeling of guilt, he finally offered me another job, as a substitute counselor, which I'd refused.
As already mentioned, I had even been fired from McDonald's, in Artesia, back in 1968, after about a month, along with all the rest of the crew, including Greg, whom I'd first met there, prior to our hitchhiking trek across America. While I could only have guessed as to why, there had been no more than a single identifiable "reason," in my case; namely, that, during a lie detector test, given to all of us, about a week prior to our dismissals, I had lied in my answer to only one question, that of whether or not I'd obediently thrown all the cooked, leftover food in the garbage before closing. I can only additionally assume the manager had thought there was money missing, which wouldn't have surprised me in the least, either, had it actually been true. This was probably what resulted in the lie detector tests, as I don't believe the manager had decided to blame any of us for the only other inadvertent folly involved, which was that we'd mistakenly interpreted our orders to mean that even the private "rent-a-cops" from a construction site across the street were likewise to be given all the food they wanted--for free. This was indeed a "charming" place of business, even for customers. One morning, in this particular role, I'd ordered some coffee, and then dozed off for a few minutes in the driver's seat of my car; after which I'd been abruptly awakened by a couple of cops, who demanded that I exit the car, while they proceeded to tear out all the seats, minus any explanation but to SHUT UP! After about ten minutes, they'd left me alone, and gone into the building, undoubtedly for still more of that free food they'd also been loading up to bring home to their families. After that, I'd also entered the building again, to ask the manager whether he'd called them. At that point, one of the cops started screaming, "almost" to the top of his lungs, that I had better get out of there--or be hauled away to a--PADDED CELL!
About the only truly decent job I'd ever had was in Pompano Beach, Florida, back in the Spring of 1970. What made it decent wasn't the kind of work involved, just as it had nothing to do with the pay. Rather, what served to make it so unusually, even uniquely, and just as surprisingly refreshing, was the fact that I'd actually been treated like a human being there, by Bill, the Stock Supervisor, and also by Bob Crutchfield, the Store Manager. Again, it had been somewhat unsettling to be regarded, for a change, as any kind of human being at all, even before having had to earn the privilege in any way. Unfortunately, however, I'd not been hired alone, but rather along with Ratso Rizzo and The Walrus, who'd ended up being deservedly fired for, among other things, engineering unauthorized midnight raids upon the cafeteria kitchen. Mr. Crutchfield even assumed the pose of something resembling a psychological counselor, during our final day in his office, while attempting to get to the bottom of the issue. The verdict he'd reached, and rather decently at that, as one who genuinely cared about being fair-minded to the hilt, with an attitude of sincerity I'll never forget, was that Ratso Rizzo and The Walrus had to go, but that I would be permitted to stay on if I chose. How sorry I am tempted to feel, to this very day, that I'd decided to stick with my "friends." But, then, Florida had never been my home, either, and my original intention was never to settle there permanently, something only a long-term concept of Fate prevents me from, again, regretting--to this very day!
1999: While I could relate many more such tales about myself, I also have much to tell you about the Civil Rights which are being daily and viciously violated in the workplace alone, against my brother, James, despite all his pleas for PEACEFULLY LEGAL REDRESS OF GRIEVANCES! While the PREDOMINANCE of MEXICANS, along with their "leader," Martin, with whom he's forced to work, at OFRA, are harassing him constantly, JUST BECAUSE he's a "filthy Anglo," I live for nothing but to see the day your kind, who COULDN'T CARE LESS, JUST BECAUSE IT'S NOT HAPPENING TO YOU, as alleged "paragons of The Law," are handed the final bill, for all the WORKPLACE SHOOTINGS which are regularly occurring as well! Again, I'm PLEADING WITH YOU TO CARE, even as the words CHOKE IN MY THROAT, about as much as I'd rather be able to SHOVE THEM NO LESS MERCILESSLY DOWN YOURS! Indeed, what would you REALLY have my brother do, while he's being TAUNTED and even THREATENED daily, with the prospect of having SODOMY inflicted involuntarily upon him; not necessarily by homosexuals as such, but rather as the very means being utilized to HUMILIATE HIM AS A MAN, by making him play the part of the woman! You can SAY anything you want, about the kind of "animal" who decides he's finally had enough, and needs to SMASH THEM ALL TO PIECES, just in the name of HIS DIGNITY ALONE! Yet, if you are truly prepared to blame him instead of them, in the context of such a possible eventuality; PARTICULARLY as you CONTINUE REFUSING to ACT UPON this problem, in the very way you INSIST only you have the RIGHT to do; then YOU ALSO ought to be LEGALLY EXECUTED, BY NOW, right alongside his tormenters, who LIKEWISE DESERVE TO BE KILLED! Considering the additionally relevant damage, to his marriage as well as previous means of livelihood, Robert Duvall, quite RELATEDLY, had the RIGHT idea, in The Apostle, when he wielded that BASEBALL BAT--for which ANY REAL COURT in this land would have CONGRATULATED him!--Rather than sentencing him to a chain gang!
Colleges: I attended Cerritos J.C. and CSUDH/CSULB, if one can honestly as well as accurately call them anything but zoos of viciously, backbitingly, slanderingly petty discrimination! Indeed, if possible, which it's virtually not, the so-called "students" were even worse than the "professors!"--Although being among the latter category is about all that's necessary, to find oneself welcome, to tell his story, at KPFK ("clandestinely" owned and operated by Emmanuel Goldstein himself! The bastards "think" they own Alan Watts, too; along with, no less symbolically, contemptibly, the great Paul Robeson!--Just as the "Conservatively Fundamentalist" Jesus Freaks no less presumptuously fancy they alone own the Risen Christ, with each side totally acknowledging the other's "exclusive rights" here!), rather than just as rancorously scorned, by those who, despite all their fancy rhetoric, have nothing but contempt for the concept of any of my "Civil Rights," let-alone the defense of real education itself! There might have been close to enough good "lecturers," per se, in all three institutions combined; but certainly not nearly as many, even among them, who were morally worth a damn; even to count on one set of toes, let-alone to have saved the original Sodom and Gomorrah! Not-at-all-accidentally, either, the abject "contradiction" never disturbed any of these "tenured professors" in the least, that they were being permitted to "function" at all, in the midst of the very "Fascist-Lite" State against which so many of them characteristically and incessantly rave!--Just as they're all still as hypocritically, venomously delighted as ever, to have done everything they could to help insure that Revelation 13:16-17 applies in a very special way to me! So much for the alleged purpose of their precious "tenure," as diametrically opposed to the actual one! "Mommie Dearest" certainly has no "reasonably plausible" doubt as to where to place virtually all the blame for these strictly professional "failures," either, particularly given the share of the bill which these "honestly hard-working" so-called "professors," of, among other things, "Ethics!," have left her to help bear! The State, too, should be very "intrigued" to know how thoroughly, formally classified I've had to remain, at Its expense, too, as one defined by an array of mental defectives in the form of nothing but a psychiatric shipwreck, despite my many years of effort at self-improvement, and the overcoming of strictly emotional handicaps for which I'd rather been slandered, gossipped about, out of the vile mouths of the greater bulk of so-called "students" and "peers" as well, discouraged, and kicked down, by just about every officially, callously, maliciously "official" decision!
One of the philosophy so-called "instructors," at Cerritos, another pettily mediocre herd animal who "thinks" he's such a top-notch "scholar," as well as "Somebody's Gift" (He wouldn't say God's, despite his close physical as well as "spiritual" or just as arrogantly self-exalting resemblance to someone who did; and God would be grateful, as the Ethical Being He also Is, at least for that much!) to this entire Insult-To-The-World of a "community," as Henry Drummond put it, from Inherit the Wind, had the knowingly lying gall to tell my mother I wasn't fit to teach (after having written such a "nice" letter of recommendation, for my "unconfidential" file, and perhaps even for the other, more blatently Unconstitutional one as well; albeit with the hypocritically "tactful" reminder about how honestly, unpretentiously, thus "problematically" lacking I am, in "tact!"!--As well as contrary to a hard and honestly earned California Community College Instructor Credential for life I'd been issued, albeit one which has never been used in over twenty years, no thanks to his kind of recklessly unconscionable, viciously mean-spirited, yet "legally unprovable," slander; as if anybody gave a damn, anyway, least of all those who are purportedly being officially paid and empowered to do so!), just because of what amounts to the fact that even a, at that time, so very "well-groomed" poodle such as I had not kissed his fat ass sufficiently; and yet the truth is that I deserved so much better than the typically repulsive dislikes of his kind, whose viciously self-serving egos (that is, again, their pompously, viciously fat asses!) have been just as cynically pampered, at public expense, for so very long they really "think" they rightfully own the place, rather than simply owning it per se, in a way they have neither the brains nor the guts to be able to explicitly call it, even and especially to themselves! Still another, at CSULB, a Hungarian immigrant who shared his department's disdain for anything Marx had to say, just because he said it, about as much as the many Jews among them should also be shut down, for their fascistically, mindlessly rancorous contempt of anything "Heideggerian" as well; was one who appeared to have delighted at the problem I had, like Billy Budd, speaking in front of an audience about which I likewise had the same feeling Christ did, every time snakes and vipers such as the Pharisees tried to trip Him in His speech. In addition to the cynical mean-spiritedness which instinctively impelled him more intrinsically, this particular scoundrel wanted to "prove" to himself I wasn't nearly as competent, even gifted, as he'd already seen far-too-much indication that I was. And it wasn't simply in-between even his attempts, along with various others of his "class" and "breeding," to "pick-up" on Lulu (while, according to her, "complimenting" the subject of my Masters Thesis, just to "suck up" to her; but which he ordinarily, ignorantly bad-mouthed, along with just about all the others!), that he'd turned out to be one of the most maliciously, slanderingly vile gossips of the bunch, telling others I should forget philosophy, and go back to driving a truck or something! The "chairman" of that philosophy department was an insultingly dirty-mouthed slob who struck me as having been more likely a covert C.I.A. plant, and who apparently failed to have even a Bachelor's Degree, just as he used to brag that he simply "didn't feel like" conducting any class (I'd been enrolled in two of his courses, Kant and Epistemology, during the same semester, as a senior), which occurred about half the time; and, of course, all one needed do was attend, during the other half, to see why even he had enough brains to recognize what a waste it was! And, yes, there's plenty more I have to say, about him, as well as various others, which really needs to be aired in a genuine Court of Law!
Indeed, as for anyone, and "virtually" everyone, who "seriously" doubts that most, and "virtually" all, of those "students" had been "positively" delighted, rather than "too terrified, " even in their "indignance," to complain, along with their actual "reason" why? Well, in an even more tragically ironic twist upon what Kate (as magnificently portrayed by Miss Jo Van Fleet) had told her son, Cal, at one point, in East of Eden, these typically "good, decent, respectable" taxpayers perhaps, therefore alone, actually do belong in the equally typical "college" or "university!" However, that Hungarian clown, mentioned immediately above, did manage to provoke even a couple of others; who nevertheless candidly though "discreetly" informed me, in response to my own "call-to-arms," that they were not about to jeopardize their own "future careers," by making any "waves!" It was in that particular "seminar" that I'd even begun "flowing" fairly well, one evening, at the podium; due to which the "professor," in his utter disdain against what I was saying, and even defending quite "too" compellingly, rudely interrupted me, repeatedly, with "admonitions" to the effect that I should refrain from attempting to "monopolize" the class with my "prejudices!" We had to listen to his incoherently rambling and mumbling monologues most of the semester, and yet he displayed the brazenly disingenuous gall to accuse me, instead, of his very crime, for having so utilized the very small segment of time he'd compulsorily assigned to me in the first place! As for that other scoundrel, mentioned immediately above, there was one "student," in particular, who'd finally exited his class with an "A," while therefore laughing, cynically, hysterically, and no less truthfully, that he'd known absolutely nothing about Kant! One afternoon, Lulu and I were having lunch, in the university's "executive" Chart Room (since re-named the Vista Grande Room), when I noticed the time, and said I had to hurry to this particular class. Just as we were getting up to leave, guess who came waltzing in, as one who was really "out to lunch" himself! I passed by his table, and said, "Obviously, there's no class today, either." He just smirked cynically, even "light-heartedly" (he was a very "cheerful" fellow!) at me, "as if" to sneer, "And just what do you think you're going to do about it?" I'd gotten a "C-Plus" on my written final exam, minus a single comment, too. But he assured me, shortly thereafter, about the lack of any need for concern, as my final grade had "averaged out" to a "B!" I'd once attempted to get another of their "Tenured Doctors," to take a look at some of the papers I'd written for him, with accompanying "C" grades, and yet no comments. He simply sneered back that he wouldn't want any other "professor" grading his grading, in-between his equally, contemptuously vile sneering about my "presumptuous" attempts to get any answers from philosophy, rather than merely questions. They are "qualified" to "evaluate" students, but their unscrupulously self-serving "Code of Silence" is something totally "Sanctified," in ways I could illustrate with numerous other sordid tales!
Dr. Robert Eisenman does give a rather good lecture on the whole, although I had never been enrolled in any of his courses. However, I did hear him during a radio interview, wherein he was particularly and unwarrantedly brutal to the Apostle Paul, accusing him of having been something "roughly" equivalent to an "Anti-Semitic Hate-Monger!" In the process, of course, Dr. Eisenman conveniently neglects to refer his audience to Romans, Chapter Eleven, which is much more conclusively in rebuttal of his argument than any of the passages he cites in favor of it. But, then, does not even my brother, Nietzsche, accuse Paul of exactly the same thing, "at least" in the sense of his having allegedly been nothing but a fraudulently opportunistic hate-monger? Well, in addition to the fact that I don't agree, even with my closest brothers, about everything, the way only the most typically petty swine would insist upon, even and especially among "brothers," the fact still remains, just to give all concerned a "clue" here, that Eisenman, along with those so typically like him, is--NO FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE! Indeed, he even quite contemptuously, mockingly sneers at the credibility of his own observation that the reference to the "Bondwoman" in Galatians is an analogy in illustrating the transition from the Old Covenant of Law to the New Covenant of Grace. Moreover, even the very story of the "Bondwoman" itself is not something as anti-Arab as he so cynically, disrespectfully rants, while simultaneously dishing out all that "wholesome sentimentality" about "love!" Perhaps he need only look within, but I can personally testify that, if it's actually not there to be found, or even if it is, and he can see it, then he's truly most exceptional from among his colleagues at CSULB, amidst whom particularly the mockingly contemptuous scorn he'd displayed with reference to the miracles of the Bible would be a most characteristicaly, swinishly welcomed attitude! He sarcastically equates these Biblical stories with the ancient Hindu myths, as if the Bible made no mention of the fact that its claims are not the only ones, or "as if" there is no inherently coherent hint of an indication that it's a question, not of the competing claims necessarily cancelling out one-another, but rather of which one, if either, is true; just as, again, Dr. Eisenman sneers about all these things "as if" there were no religious sensibilities to more gracefully avoid offending, even as gleefully as he continues to do, particularly in that their hosts are brutally, cynically denied any of the "Equal Opportunity," within a supposedly "academically neutral sanctuary," which a sound understanding of the doctrine of Separation of Church and State would provide, contrary to the prevailingly incoherent misunderstanding of that selfsame doctrine. I am also of the "mockably contemptible" persuasion that the "Lost Ten Tribes" are not a subject he should be tackling with his usual levels of cockiness, either! Moreover, he had his names backwards, as Rehoboam was the son of Solomon, who became ruler over Jerusalem, while Jeroboam migrated as ruler to Samaria. But, then, even the INGENIOUSLY fallible Alan Watts was known to have said a thing or two as backwards as he didn't really mean them, just to give Dr. Eisenman every sporting "benefit of the doubt" structurally possible here.
Even more, I appreciate his questioning about the prophets having been murdered, an issue which I had also long-considered, in exactly the terms he'd conveyed. Yet, what did Jesus actually say? "Therefore, indeed, I send you prophets, wise men, and scribes: some of them you will kill and crucify, and some of them you will scourge in your synagogues and persecute from city to city, that on you may come all the righteous blood shed on the earth, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah, son of Berechiah, whom you murdered between the temple and the altar" (Matthew 23:34-35). As for the plural? There were many unnamed prophets in the Old Testament, incalculably more than those who are being so outstandingly showcased! Yet, despite even the magnitude of what Dr. Eisenman, along with a few other of his colleagues from whom I've personally had to learn, therefore even more FAT-HEADEDLY than ever have to offer, I'm just about sorry I couldn't have felt, let-alone seen and heard, his face being slapped silly, if not totally punched out, first class, just, if nothing else, for the way he'd sarcastically, insultingly, mockingly, and, thus, again, all-too-typically, like unto virtually all of his parasitically armchair colleagues, responded, to one of the questions of that condescendingly, scornfully unbelieving bimbo who hosts Radio Alchymy, when she'd asked if he'd believed the Ten Commandments had actually been given by God to Moses, by sneering, "of course not!," even as if, to him, every believer on earth lacked his "absolutely, " presumptuously, arrogantly "Omniscient" handle on "The Truth!" That particular instance of swinishly vulgar chicanery on his part is comparable to the contemptibly bloodcurdling manner in which he'd ended with his own highmindedly, unwarrantedly self-sanctifying disclaimer against anyone who would come at him with "hate" of any kind, in response to his supposed gestures of "Infinite Compassion," as I know precisely what that means, coming from his kind, as well as from most professing "Christians," too! In fact, I'd derived my first encounter with such a typically "professional" posture, at CSULB, from Dr. Leonard Fels, at the Philosophy Department, while enrolled in one of his classes, during my first semester there. That vulgarly, bigotedly mean-spirited little Jewish dwarf, despite even deeper, more serious deformities than his merely physical ones, had initially been very courteous on the surface, until I began conducting myself in the classroom as more of an advocate than antagonist of Biblical Christianity; at which point, his hostility, not only against Christ, but, by his own admission, against (the very idea of) God Himself, had come transparently gushing forth, accompanied even by fits of rage as well as mocking. He'd been permitted to take the initial initiative of bad-mouthing the Gospel all he chose, and yet his responses to mine had once taken on the form of the following, delivered at the very peak of his thankfully somewhat feeble lung capacity: I'm not going to discuss religion! Suddenly, it was "religion," per se, which had become taboo, in a course on the same subject, no doubt, and not merely any view toward it other than that of his own. I was fortunate to have exited his course with a "B!" But, believe it or not (and I hardly can at all!), I actually couldn't help but to like him, just as he really couldn't help but to have liked me, too, regardless of how thoroughly he tried to blind even and especially himself to the fact. During a subsequent Sabbatical on my part, thanks to his "inspiration" and "encouragement" as well, I'd gotten the impulse to visit him, only to hear from Dr. Ringer that he had died the day before--another omen from the Lord delivered--not a day too late!
I've really acquired a much richer education over the years via the cinema, than in any of their "schools!" For instance, even Dean Jagger, as Justus, in The Robe, must be mentioned; as I've finally learned, in full, just why he had been so "impractically," and "senselessly," even "wastefully" correct, after-all, in his rigid intolerance against stealing, and his equally fanatical definition of the term itself! One "instructor" of philosophy, in particular, who'd lyingly called himself "my friend," will know what I mean here, based on a confession I'd once much too carelessly as well as unassumingly made to him, concerning the very shirt on my back; although he'd never yield an inch to me, even to this very day, and regardless of how much he'd undoubtedly believe me, even now; since, after-all, he needs it to use against me, most suspiciously beyond any sense of appropriate proportion even he would otherwise recognize and honor, for actual "reasons" which are totally unmentionable, and even quite "unthinkable," to a liar, a thief, and even a murderer of his typically "professional" level of "moral rectitude" and "personal integrity!" But the truth is that I could never even begin to hate thievery, nearly enough, as long as I'm able to take as little as a piece of bubble gum; regardless of how desperately I'd otherwise have to choke upon the dryness in my mouth, minus even a single penny to my name! After having been raised this way, and lived by it from my heart, I eventually began to compromise, in bitterness and disillusionment; by reasoning, along with Marx, that it is essentially impossible to steal, at least from a thief, and particularly if it is done precisely because he is a thief, rather than with absolutely no kind of sincerely, thoughtfully scrupulous concern for the difference. Just as the Biblical Scriptures ordinarily leave one somewhat "hanging" as to exactly WHAT constitutes stealing, it's not my loathing of stealing as such which had diminished, rather than having actually intensified; but, instead, again, my definition as to WHAT constitutes stealing, particularly from among so many forms which are not "officially" or "legally" CALLED stealing! Moreover, Robert Wagner, in It Takes a Thief, was so charmingly debonair, at about the same time of my own "transition," as to have helped me feel even more "inspired." I once even bought into today's popularly "self-evident" tripe, particularly with relation to the attitude, about how "regretfully unavoidable," if nothing else, such as "Glamorously Desirable," such "Systematically Underhanded Intrigue" supposedly is, ever-increasingly thanks to the "Equally Necessary Evil" of its own Destructively Self-Preservative Influence, at least as decisively as anything else; that is, until I really decided, as it were, to "Get Smart," an objective which shall indeed very soon be quite terminally applying to "Lovable Maxwell," too, but, of course, not in the only one of the two semantically possible ways available here which it actually could as well as should have, namely, from the inside out! Nietzsche likewise posed a potential danger, with questions such as, "Is not all life--stealing and killing?" Thank God I knew as well, even then, as did Jimmy Stewart, in Hitchcock's Rope, about how not to handle such nevertheless urgently neglected and "strictly academic" issues!
By now, forty years later, my definition of stealing no longer serves to exclude even the most "nobly understandable" criteria (Matthew 5:38-42). And, ironically enough, the very catalyst I have to thank for this Much Greater Light is much the same one which had originally "inspired" me to compromise at all; namely, the vast extent to which I have been ripped off myself over the years, at actual gunpoint as well, and in my own home, as well as elsewhere. One has to know how it feels from that end, to the point where either the hatred of everything it embodies is incurably burned in, or else, as usual, one is just as painfully driven in the exact opposite direction, of stealing whatever he can, from the entire world if possible, and if only because he can! In my case, the above had been merely so much of, again, a catalyst, that it's not even a mere empathetic concern for creating no further victims, deserving or especially otherwise, which primarily and decisively impels me by now, but rather a sense of personal Honor and Dignity much greater than what I'd believed it necessary to compromise for the purpose of defending. In this particular vein, I'll also offer the confession that I'm still not totally reconciled to the idea of paying back any of what pettily little I've managed to steal BACK over the years, at least not with a satisfactorily clear sense of conscience, or correspondingly any more real purpose than there would be to continuing to steal BACK even more. Moreover, some would accuse me, even now, of having left a couple of minor debts on the books, which collection agencies are continually trying to intimidate me into paying. Yet, I've never had any chance to state my case, even in one of their so-called "Courts of Law," as to why I simply don't calculate that I owe them anything, and why it is that, while I was negotiating in good faith the entire time, they simply were not. If they want to serve me a summons, I'll not hesitate to cross the entire continent, from west to east, again, if necessary, but, this time, strictly on business, in order to appear, and state my case, while even internally abiding by even the most questionably motivated as well as calculated verdict formally rendered. But, until then, I don't acknowledge in any legitimate way being called the kind of thief in their mailings which they have yet to prove, or rather demonstrate that they simply cannot!
High Schools: Dominguez, Compton, CA, another worthless zoo!--Although, to be more strenuously accurate, about the memories which hardly predominate or overshadow; there were a couple of good people around, including many more teachers who at least tried their sincerest best, given the severest kinds of handicaps, within as well as, of course, from without! In this connection, I find it more befitting to mention the only other college, not covered above, here, rather than there, so as to help keep it the less soiled, by way of association. More specifically, Compton, J.C., the first one I'd attended, had embodied the only serious attempt, from among the four, on behalf of anyone worth remembering let-alone mentioning, even despite its share of a rather more degeneratively "conservative" instead of "liberal" breed of just as dangerously pseudo-authoritarian representatives, as in the subsequent examples, to run anything closely resembling a real institution of higher learning! It's truly a sick joke to behold today's endlessly tedious spectacle, of holding only the feet of elementary, intermediate, and high school teachers so culpably on the fire--instead!--Rather than giving them the greater credit--instead! Even the one high school teacher of mine who'd finally given up trying to take any of the "students" seriously, in his electric shop class, was the only one who really seemed to make the most sense, therefore as well as nevertheless, or to have been the most genuine, in attitude as well; in addition, of course, to having thereby been a magnet, attracting all the worst elements, who were therefore, tragically, ironically enough, likewise the most transparently, unpretentiously "refreshing!"
The "instructors" of physical "education" were truly the rotten apples in the lot, sadistically as well as tyrannically mean-spirited to the core! There were also plenty of glaring indications to the effect that they'd been "covertly" planted, as part of a conspiracy involving much more than "merely physical concerns!" Indeed, they made scarcely any attempt to conceal their intention of "functioning" as the campus "Thought-Police," as methodically as they operated in conjunction with the worst bullies around, and a form of "incorrigibility" they found incalculably more usefully malleable than rationally and morally threatening; if only by "looking the other way," unless someone they were attempting to "enlighten" or "toughen-up" dared consider offering any kind of "resistance." I was regularly harassed and intimidated for presuming to speak up, and sent to the vice-principal's office on more than one occasion, due to the alleged charge that my virtual butch hair-cuts, which they'd ordered me to get, were still "too long," since the hair could be pulled all the way down to the middle of the forehead! There was, for instance, another kid, whom they called "wolfman," because he could take hold of his straight, black hair, at the very back of his head, and pull it over the top, all the way down to the bottom of his throat. But nobody ever bothered him, for much the same reason he had such a violently nasty disposition someone should perhaps have literally killed him, in case he ever were to have whimsically and spontaneously carried out at least one of his numerous threats to murder somebody else--myself included--and, in one case, even an English teacher, for having given him the "F" he well-deserved! On the whole, about the only thing worse, or perhaps even better, at that, would have been Mickey Rooney, at Platinum High School, or Glenn Ford, right in the very "heart" of The Blackboard Jungle Itself!
Clubs & Organizations: None! In fact, as John Lennon says, I Found Out!--That the so-called "Liberals" are just as decadently, insipidly, rudely (like the way only swine would treat even still other swine!), selfishly, opportunistically disingenuous as the "Conservatives," to the point where they both very desperately need as well as deserve one-another! As Alan Watts says, "Tweedledum and Tweedledee A-G-R-E-E-D to have a battle!" Moreover, it's an evil entity, composed of pure energy, from Star Trek's "Day of the Dove," which is drawing its strength from the intensity of this fiercely mutual antagonism; just as Satan's the one who'll really be doing all the laughing then, too, in his own craftily-disguised mastery of the Principle of "Non-Duality," when the Final Threshold is reached, and the Polar "Flip-Flop" between what is "Explicit" and "Implicit" occurs; yielding the other side of the shortly-upcoming "Black Hole" of a "Perfect Storm," the "Eye of the Hurricane," in a very briefly "hopeful" interval of Suspension, or balancing of the opposing forces of its own unmixable Water and Oil, or Iron and Clay; until the correspondingly and just as superlatively implicit violence and agitation required to sustain it shortly yields the next, and next to last, of this trilogy of historically-unprecedented overturnings, just prior to the only comprehensively, genuinely cycle-breaking Transfiguration to occur. In the meantime, it must be "nice," for the "Left," in particular, to embrace such a "Universal Love," but merely as the kind of option, or "pleasure," rather than duty, on behalf of the "Inherently Undeviatable Tao," in either case, which hesitates not to take all the "liberties" it pleases; just as the "Christian Conservatives," at the other end, are plain liars, too, for the most part, especially to themselves, after the manner of Matthew 7:15-29, systematically "sanctifying" their wickedness under a cloak of "righteousness!" Even that Tantric-flavored bone Watts tossed to most of them, about letting the ego express itself so unhibitedly, self-indulgently, as a means of "neutralizing" it, via the "Law of Reversed Effort," only has any real, honestly as well as therapeutically constructive value, for one much more correspondingly and artificially beset with a systematically raped and wounded, an excessively "Yangian" authenticity of conscience (I John 3:20-21), the like of which these "Bodhisattvas" rather quite instinctively love to help cause, and then to mockingly, belittlingly destroy, particularly in its own eyes. How much more ascetically "honest," though less "convenient," in its austerity, it would be, for them to pursue a nevertheless more selfishly, dualistically "Hinayanan" version of "Enlightenment!" But, then, on the other hand, Gracchus (Charles Laughton), First Senator of the Mob, from Spartacus, did say, to his equally well-fed companion, Lentulus Batiatus (Peter Ustinov), that it was his corpulence which made him so very "reasonable, pleasant, and pragmatic," while "the nastiest of tyrants are invariably thin!" While I do "appreciate" at least this much of their personal "Non-Support," if these characters ever do need me for anything (with minus even the welfare of society hanging in the balance, as while they continue mockingly, contemptuously sneering at me), and even if I don't fail to need anything from them in return (at least not for myself alone); then my answer shall be fairly similar to the one William Holden had for his fellow prisoners, at the end of Stalag 17: If we ever run into one-another again, just join me in looking the other way! Of course, just as both sides actually do despise one such as I, infinitely more than they claim to themselves to hate one-another, even to the point where they would at least delight at "uniting" no less "expediently" than they otherwise, ordinarily do at remaining "divided," in their more intrinsically-rooted agreement against me; one of their characteristically, disingenuously muddle-headed criticisms has to do with what they disdainfully, self-righteously call my "attitude," in a total reversal of the actual cause and effect here! While both sides venomously scorn my "attitude," just because it is genuine (although, of course, they don't call that the reason to themselves), they shall just as enthusiastically embrace my counterfeit (John 5:43), whose only "Technique," deontologically as well as teleologically, is to self-servingly, victimizingly play both ends against the middle; but, during this next, and shortly as well as briefly upcoming interval, as the historically and philosophically unique epitome, or prototype, as well as Anti-Type, of everything just as "synthesizingly" albeit counterfeitingly "Anti-Nazi" to the hilt. Even more, considering the ways he's already bad-mouthing both sides, as well as the explicitly Nazi "flip side" of his own "centrally synthesizing" and "qualitatively transfiguring" coin, many-too-many would do well to remind him, if possible, about the classically paradigmal folly of a "Metron," in Star Trek's "Arena," who hadn't been nearly as old as he'd thought, let-alone correspondingly "above" all those whose conflicting views he so undiscriminatingly, self-righteously, "objectively" condemned!
So much for the "Easternly Metaphysical Monism" of Watts, as merely very "amorally," licentiously relished by every "intellectually sophisticated" Yuppie on the "Left," but which Watts couldn't have meant "literally," anyway, as one who no less "Non-Dogmatically" advocated no "Doctrine," as distinct from having simply utilized a "Technique," or "Method," of "Intellectual Judo," which inherently eludes, or counters, all such "categorization," all coceptual grasping, clinging, and double-mindedness. If it applies "literally" to anything, it's to "The-Many-In-The-One and The-One-In-The-Many," but as an "all-inclusiveness" which can itself be dialectically offset, but with the "Yang" rather than the "Yin" just as exclusively, divisively, irreconcilably overshadowing, by what shall be quite essentially counter-expressed here as the concept that God does not necessarily or inherently embody even the evil as He does the good, but only controls the compossible unfolding of the former, as such is woven into the overall fabric of His universally teleological patterning, in a manner structurally, prophetically programmed to lead to its ultimately inevitable neutralization. Thus, to be genuinely "all-inclusive," the concept of "Non-Duality" as a "Doctrine" or "Dogma" would have to treat this as the "Yangian Pole" of its own most essentially paradoxical embodiment, as "counterbalanced" by the "Yin" of the "Essential Unity" of these "Opposites," even though the "Yangian" element just as Dualistically, just as concretely as abstractly excludes it; indeed, as separatingly, and permanently so, as with the many mortally-resurrected human individuals who shall be judged, and thrown into the Lake of Fire, along with the Devil and his angels, for whom it has been prepared (Matthew 25:41-46); or, at least, such a possibility can be thought, and not just as an analogically transcriptual reference to one's being internally blind to his own fundamentally inherent embodiment of the Godhead, but rather as a real possibility, an Existential Alternative, in the unfolding of Actuality Itself, which must be either true or false, but not both, and not neither. So, there, again, the "Doctrine" or "Dogma" of "Non-Duality" only succeeds, by its inherent nature, at dialectically eluding any attempt to formally classify it. Even more, Watts is intellectually well-disciplined enough to have realized that "Non-Dualism," while it cannot be, by definition, any kind of Divisively-Offsetting "Doctrine" or "Dogma," nevertheless cannot avoid being one, either, in its structurally futile determination to embodyingly "transcend" all Essential Opposites. Watts admits that his "Ecological Awareness" doctrine, as opposed to a "Ceramically Monarchical" construction, is what more plausibly appears to "fit the facts," even though what is being so much more "sophisticatedly outgrown" here cannot be, strictly speaking, proven any more false, in the process, than would thereby be required. His argument for the "contradiction" between a political democracy, combined with a religiously hierarchical theocracy, is not decisively accurate, however; save to the merely accidental albeit no less tragically unavoidable extent to which some typically, even disingenuously imperfect being, with a formal mandate to hand down the most crucially and judicially-binding decisions for all, is the only thing practically though certainly not theoretically standing in the way, short of Revelation 2:27, of a System which formally defines itself as being governed by Laws rather than the "men" who must inevitably interpret even the most otherwise legitimate-in-themselves of them. A "contradiction" which cannot work, when "The wrong 'men' use the right means in the wrong way," is, still, the only thing which has any hope at all of working, as there is by nature no freedom without the Law. Quite relatedly, that one about the Moral Law being real yet relative (and, of course, "purely operational" in origin and nature, as nothing but an alleged means to an end!) is at least as laughably inconsequential, to so many who purport to take it "seriously," as it shall not appear to them exactly so "funny," as in the presence of some Big, Fat, Jolly Buddha, when they inevitably awaken from their "Bliss," and have to confront the real reason they'd felt so "gratifyingly relieved" at the "rationally air-tight assurance" that there would be no Individual Moral Judgment to be endured at the very end, or even an element of "Reincarnation" any more "literally unequivocal" or "personally threatening" than an "analogically," Buddhistically "distilled" concept of "lighting of one candle with another!" Also, that argument of Watts, about thinking of the "chicken and egg" as being "one process," quite cleverly and accurately but disingenuously evades the no less clearly self-evident fact that either the one or the other had to have come first, certainly barring any kind of possibility that no beginning to such a process had been involved. In fact, the Bible declares the chicken to have come first!--Genesis 1:20-25. Indeed, Watts stretches the point even more obtusely, by hypothesizing an Everlasting Hell which is really of necessity very "Blissfully" or "Paradoxically" Tormenting; as if even Hegel had needed or necessitated Marx on the basis of anything save his own broken promises, albeit much more "inalterably" than God shall continue having any further use for Satan! It's rather the One who keeps all His promises (Titus 1:2) (Hebrews 6:18) that both sides should be fearing, lest they inevitably discover, the hard way, what it means that "Every inside has to have an outside," even if both happen to be on the same side, but as the tail end of the coin!--Revelation 20:10-15.
But, then, again, Watts similarly tries to prove that to say human nature is inherently evil is as hopelessly futile as trying to make this very belief the exception, but it only serves to demonstrate (in addition to the numerously erroneous or evil claims of evil) that something good likewise exists in a man to recognize this actual evil as such, just as those who deny its existence are thereby only demonstrating that they remain, however wilfully though subconsciously, so self-blindingly trapped in its clutches. But Watts didn't stop there, for he even had the savvy to take on Immanuel Kant, in the most superlatively skillful way, by "logically demonstrating," a-priori, that the First Postulate of Pure Practical Reason, namely, individually moral freedom of the will, is inherently incoherent; since there is no way any morally rational being could ever responsibly and thus freely choose the totally unthinkable illogic of absolute evil, unless God, who can by necessary definition not be at all responsible for any such thing, has nevertheless quite culpably created it with a deficiency; one which was either in place already, or else which was, for some senselessly impossible reason (like unto deliberately shooting oneself in the foot, even though one is not a masochist), knowingly chosen by the sinner himself. Granted, then, that Paradox cannot be avoided in any direction, any more than can the Law of the Excluded Middle. Yet, to put something as Uniquely and Sacredly Axiomatic as the Moral Law on trial is to tread the very Razor's Edge of all Existentially Legitimate Paradox, rather than self-contradiction; just as to insist, on the other hand, that "Non-Duality" is what actually, objectively succeeds at "swallowing up" such a "hopelessly dualistic self-contradiction," constitutes the kind of primally, self-evidently rooted, even quite blasphemously criminal absurdity which only serves most decisively to reveal a biased inconsistency against the notion of any real, individually judicial obligation to the Moral Law itself; which, by way of its inherently-rooted nature, is not being sufficiently understood in the eyes of anyone who assumes it even can let-alone need be "justified" or "established" on the basis of anything else, least of all even a Critique of Pure Reason which finds ITS very completion only in the Critique of Pure Practical Reason. In fact, the Second Critique not only completes the First Critique, but also stands supreme as its very basis; in the sense of establishing the only apodictically necessary foundation for the universality even of physical law, as the very medium through which the moral will objectively expresses itself. Establishing such a universality via the process of "Pure Reason" alone was really the basic motivation of Kant's artificially-makeshift philosophy of science, as he was sleepwalking out of his formerly self-described "dogmatic slumber." Perhaps at least one explanation for the fact that these "Avatars" have such a problem about the Absolute Moral Law is its Judicially Inherent Demand that the most Crucially Essential Distinctions be emphasized, rather than the kind of "Oneness With Everything" which makes everyone answerable, and yet no one, in terms of its strictly scientific relativity; but especially when God finally Awakens again from His Sleep, along with the Dream He's having that He's all the rest of us, just to escape the "Primally-Rooted Boredom" of His Solitarily Awake Intervals, "between" Kalpas, as the Only Person there inherently is at bottom, this certainly being a "Doctrine" it is inherently impossible in the strictest technical sense either to logically, objectively "prove" or "disprove!" However, these same "Liberally Progressive Humanitarians" actually have no problem at all about "Distinctions," when it comes to expressing their own inherent inability to "deviate from the Tao" in the form of abdications of the most Sacredly Moral Responsibilities, but as mere "options" to them which nevertheless fail to be so "Freely" and "Gracefully" animated by "Love," regardless if not precisely, cynically because of the importance of the need they may perceive someone else to have of them, but not vice-versa, or how incredibly undemanding certain ways of meaningfully fulfilling it would undoubtedly be, if their precious egos could only endure the thought of being "gullibly-enough perceived," and thus cynically, mockingly "used." Never-mind, either, their strictly rhetorical, or, "at least," quite strictly, rhetorically employed, their "purely scientific" and thus "purely religious" concept of a "distinction," or is it rather a "separation?," between a "distinction" and a "separation!" Moreover, what about the Paradox, the very Razor's Edge of all Essentially-Rooted Paradox, that of Free Will versus Determinism? After-all, if God determines all events, then where is there any room for freedom? As a problem, this time, not about the Inherently Insoluble Dilemma of how an immorally free and responsible as well as irresponsible will is possible per se, but rather more secondarily about the problem of how such a morally free will, postulating it to be possible, is reconcilable with the element of absolute teleological but not noumenally as distinct from phenomenally deontological determinism; this is not nearly the kind of hopelessly enigmatic dilemma commonly and superficially assumed, just as the reason why can be stated in one fundamentally and simply quantifiable sense; namely, that God can have His way, of its own free choice, even with the most incorrigibly rebellious will, in that He has so many ways of maneuvering such a will to want to make the choices He wants it to make, although it does not at all make these choices with any idea of pleasing Him in mind, that, whenever He instead does use force, it is because, for whatever always by nature very purposeful if not always so easily-discernible reasons, He chooses to do so. Did God harden Pharaoh's heart (Exodus 9:12) (Romans 9:17)? Check out how, for instance, in The Ten Commandments, God used Nefretiri (Anne Baxter) to harden Pharaoh's heart, maneuvering him to want to do, but for his own rebellious reasons as well as hers, what God wanted him to do. Indeed, Moses (Charlton Heston) even said to her, in answer to her boast that Pharaoh was putty in her hands, that "perhaps you are the lovely dust through which God shall work His purpose." In no way does this interfere at all, particularly not with the freely-chosen and basically moral predisposition of the individual. Pharaoh's basic moral will was not touched at all, just as even the very carnally rebellious choices he'd made were in no way coerced, to a neutralizing of his capacity to freely choose one way or the other. If most people are at least quite "unwittingly" putty in Satan's hands, then just imagine what they are with relation to God's capacity to maneuver them accordingly, even in their most rebelliously free will. To be sure, Satan himself is "unwittingly" the same kind of putty in God's hands, as God has teleologically though not deontologically "hard-wired" even what he will want to do, as well as the very prophetically-unfolding design of things, whereby whatever Satan chooses to do, but for his own reasons, to thwart God's plan, automatically assists God in rather fulfilling His rather than Satan's plans. God allows no compossible expression of evil for which He has no use, which also explains why it is so carelessly presumptuous of anyone else to pass judgment upon the right even of such evil to exist per se (Matthew 5:45), which is quite a different thing from one's duty of legitimately dealing with its existence in all the Biblically confrontational ways structurally, circumstantially available, nevertheless. Benny Hinn once recently and indignantly thundered that God had nothing to do with the Virginia Tech slayings. I disagree. God certainly didn't do or cause the shooter to want to go on his rampage, but He permitted it for some very urgently discernible reasons; which, in this case particularly, all are being thereby challenged to self-examiningly comprehend, but in a way "moral indignation" is so "passionately" utilized with the deliberate purpose of being able to avoid! The point is, not to forsake all truly legitimate indignation, but rather not to indulge it to such a characteristically, self-righteously, myopically disingenuous end.
And, after-all, had Watts been "literally" engaged with the self-contradiction, which he'd therefore taken the time and analytical precision to explicitly refute, that the entirety of reality is fundamentally, divisively, thus Dualistically "Monistic," he would have been able to say, also, that "The East includes the West, while the West excludes the East," but only while understanding, most centrally and symbolically, the death and resurrection of Christ, even assuming its historically-rooted actuality, as essentially nothing more than the analogical transcript of experience it nevertheless also so impeccably and centrally is, of the extent to which one must die to himself in order to be internally born again, thus recognizing the "Eternally Unchanging Truth" that one was always and inherently by nature so very "Timelessly, Unconditionally There," as "The-Which-Than-Which-There-Is-No-Whicher," and correspondingly to the exclusion of any notion that Christ was actually the Only Begotten Son of God, who had to die in order to atone for the actual sins of everybody else, but only to the individually everlasting redemption of those who invite Him in, when they hear Him knocking, and are thus alone His (Romans 8:9). To cite a more "arbitrarily a-posteriori" illustration of how Biblical Truth is only compromised by such a "synthesis," there is the Islamic "inclusion" of Christ, but as just another of the prophets, and not even the highest one at that; just as Watts "transfigures" Christ, by analogy the sun, the very Source of light and heat, but in a more "essentially a-priori" or "Non-Dualistically" one-sided way, into nothing but still another expression of the Buddha, analogizable in terms of the moon, which only reflects the same. Yet, the Law of the Excluded Middle remains, as the principle of "The-Many-In-The-One and The-One-In-The-Many," or "Non-Duality," automatically denotes a bias toward unity, as the more fundamental, in its "all-inclusive transcendence" of the principles of both unity and diversity, and a "Tao" from which nothing can by nature ever deviate in any real and absolutely judicial sense; in contrast with the Western view that the Law not only can be violated, but that all, save Christ Himself, are essential violations of it, doomed to individually everlasting extinction insofar as they remain under the Law, to be broken by it, or by this "Tao" from which nothing can possibly by nature deviate, rather than under Grace (Romans 2:5-16). In the Western religious view, Satan is a Real Existence, who must be actively resisted (James 4:7), head-on. Yet, the more "Westernly" and characteristically it deviates from the Golden Mean (Matthew 7:12-14), the more it forgets, in the process, exactly Who is nevertheless in absolute control, along with the imperative of knowing how to let Him fight the battle, with just the right balancing of the Law of Reversed Effort; as when, for instance, Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock succeeded, in "The Empath," at neutralizing an imprisoning force field which drew its strength from their very attempts to resist it. Or, to cite still another analogy, one must actively guide the pen, but while permitting it to do the writing. What Watts had also been pleased to call the "heuristic" method actually does cut both ways, although Watts was not characteristically one to "let the cat" so "Westernly" slip "out of the bag," rather than rhetorically dodging every attempt to theoretically "pin him down," least of all with the abject contradiction of crystallizing conceptually into place, and even into stone, the "Doctrine" that all "Doctrine" is inherently false, by its very nature; just as Nietzsche's "Will to Power," for that matter, cannot be "Doctrinally" or Dogmatically crystallized without totally negating itself, if only after the manner of Schopenhauer, or via the more "Positively Counterbalancing" form of Nietzsche's own "Eternal Recurrence," but certainly in that one cannot coherently declare the "Will to Power" to be "Metaphysically True-In-Itself," but only as still another means of enhancing the "Will to Power" as such; just as, for that matter, Marx cannot make the absolutely, unconditionally, baldly dogmatic assertion that, for instance, "all 'truth' or 'belief' is economically-conditioned," without such a statement quite self-contradictorily applying to itself as well. Technically stated, while it can be, and, perhaps even for the most part, is true, that beliefs are "economically conditioned," even to the extent that numerous Truths-In-Themselves are adapted in the process, but not at all because they are such; that's still quite a different thing from declaring, but beyond the very perimeters of legitimate science Marx claimed to himself to have insisted upon, that all truth, and thus all belief, is inherently conditioned economically, at least at the most basically foundational level. To the extent that Nietzsche meant the "Will to Power" in a "literally dogmatic" way, it was certainly in that such constitutes perhaps the singlemost self-evidently "working hypothesis" of all, next to that of Marx; although Marx would say Nietzsche's "hypothesis" is just a manifestation of his, and Nietzsche would say the opposite, with an equally Archemedean Profoundness, but in a more "Non-Dogmatic" way than Marx. This also helps serve to account, not just for Nietzsche's disdain of Schopenhauer's "Will to Live," and what he so "nihilistically" thought, on a formally metaphysical level, even and especially of it; but, more specifically, of what Nietzsche derided as Schopenhauer's "Dogmatism" of the "Will to Live." Nietzsche, like Watts, was essentially a "Non-Dogmatic" philosopher by temperament; just as Watts, for that matter, was too well-disciplined not to have realized that even the "trick" of successfully "washing away blood with blood," by "folding up" the "ladder" of the "concept" that concepts inherently fail to apply in any "literal" way to Reality, and "leaving it behind," technically leaves us riddled only in the most Hopelessly Insoluble Paradox, as to whether anything "Dualistically Exclusive" is nevertheless necessarily being descriptively applied to Reality. And, while there is, again, nothing by nature more inherently "unprovable" or "undisprovable" than what would amount, for Watts, to the "Doctrine" that we are all "God" having a "Grandly Primordial Dream," the kind of Paradox upon which its argument Inherently depends cannot be legitimately or logically denied any possibly legitimate applicability to the Duality of a Western theology in which God is not the universe, and yet is All-In-All. Indeed, one of the most candidly "parenthetical" admissions of Watts, completely out of step with his entire "Method," and even a self-tormentingly egotistical temperament which ended up almost as destructively dissolving even his most ingeniously constructive techniques for giving its unbearably festering presence the slip; was that, rather than baldly denying the "Real Existence" of the "Individually Finite Ego," he was simply countering a naturally "explicit" over-emphasis upon its existence with a correspondingly exaggerated emphasis upon its "Non-Existence," in order to achieve, in his words, the very kind of "Balance" nobody will listen to you if you attempt to advocate as much openly and theoretically. Indeed, I've served, for much-too-long by now, as one of the most glaring proofs of that! Watts even says, in another place, that "the ego doesn't exist." Then, in the next sentence, he states that if, however, "you try to get rid of your ego with your ego, it will take you--to the end of time." How, then, in the most "literal" sense, can something which doesn't exist get rid of something which doesn't exist with something which doesn't exist? Equally "boring," to most self-canonizing "Avatars" of a characteristically "Liberally, Democratically Progressive" persuasion, would be my own candidly "implausible" admission as to exactly whose Nightmare this really is, from right out of Serling's "Shadow Play!"
Other Accreditations: II Corinthians 5:20 and Ephesians 6:20 serve as much more adequate credentials than any of the others listed above, at least to anyone who can judge the works, even if they have an otherwise more understandable difficulty taking my word for it. I've striven to render the work as intriguingly captivating as possible, as something to be even quite intrinsically savourable, in the most artistically literary as well as essentially philosophical respects; but, even more importantly, and under the Lord's own much more selflessly ever-guiding Hand, as nothing more than a most potentially expendable means, nevertheless, assuming anything short of Ezekiel 33:28-33 is capable of commanding anybody's even most potentially preventable attention! Of course, it's still a literary portrait in progress, although I'm not certain about whether to employ the analogy of a medley, short of finding a more syntactically, gracefully flowing manner of combining the two. At any rate, when the remainder of the title is finally added, you can consider such to be a sign that this page is just about finished as well, at least with relation to my own more wastefully limited purposes here! Only a few minor touch-ups yet remain, while the amendments are almost non-existently negligible.
I also regret having no more impressive kinds of miracles to offer, but not exactly for your sakes, or at least not in the sense I would more genuinely prefer to be capable of indulging, even then. It's just that I'm well aware of the only kinds of miracles most of you would ever alone respect, if you could simply see, and thus perhaps alone even believe, even in any of them. However, the one you're currently beholding is about the only kind which the Lord truly considers the most valuably and ideally edifying, although letting it pass you by will certainly help to trigger something even more glaringly, undeniably persuasive, but not in exactly any way you're very likely to appreciate very much, either! It's not certain I'll ever come up with a totally satisfactory title here. About the only thing I can just about guarantee, however, is that, when the title is finished into place, or has rather only run out of time for such, you'll have no difficulty conclusively discerning as much, either way. Just pray, perhaps, and even if I just about can't, that there does turn out to be enough more time to complete it, but don't count on it alone proving nearly as necessary as even it may be potentially capable--at evolving--into Infinity! Yet, that might figure to be even your best bet, if it comes down to a question of which way the end itself is actually to arrive; but I just may surprise you with a real long-shot instead, even more than He would be the very One thereby surprising me in the process, albeit more delightedly! He is, after-all, even the Master Semanticist of all time, with even-you-should-know-who being only a very distant second; but always to a most meaningfully-constructive purpose, regardless of how frustratingly capricious He's usually so good at appearing, and maybe not just appearing at that!
Moreover, it appears I may not be the main emissary, as at least one of The Inheritors of such a marvelous gift; for the same reason I could still use some assistance, even at covering the expenses; let-alone linking up with certain others on the same mission, before Adam Ballard (Robert Duvall) finally decides it's time to close in first; which shouldn't be very difficult for him, particularly as I've been doing anything but trying to hide, let-alone anything I should feel needs to be hidden. Nevertheless, the character with whom I most deeply relate is Sergeant James Conover (Ivan Dixon), as he's solitarily praying for guidance in his little chapel, and struggling with his severest misgivings, which he otherwise finds himself totally helpless to indulge! I could only wish the fact that I haven't been hauled away by him yet, even though I have already been approached, is as much of a good sign, in itself, as I'd like to believe. But then, perhaps there's no basically good side to him, after-all, as the actual explanation for this delay; any more than there exists a real Lieutenant Minns (Steve Ihnat) to pivotally link together as many of us as there may be, while contributing to the cause with his own uniquely essential kind of talent. Again, while I do know Ballard is out there somewhere, keeping a close eye on me; the absence of Minns himself is not necessarily a bad sign, given the kind of timing which may yet prove to be involved; for, after-all, he was the very last of the four, in that particular episode of The Outer Limits, to have received his bullet in the head.
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