My 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.

Philosophical Letters: The Last Revival, for a Nation in Abject Self-Denial, but Hardly the Kind Which Redeems!
Richard O’Donnell
Format ISBN Price
Electronic Book (E-book Instructions) 9781403366146 $ 6.95
Paperback (6×9) 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.  Just as the same kind who typically, perennially call themselves “Christians” are the ones who murdered Christ, in the name of the authority of a Moses whom they would have also wanted to murder, had he been a contemporary, and thereafter no less lyingly and thievingly proceeded to appropriate His Name, the way they had done with Moses, due to the exploitably inescapable prominence bestowed upon it in the eyes of the world by the Holy Spirit (John 16:7-11), while also of necessity correspondingly slandering the real people of God in the process (Isaiah 66:5); so, also, have these typically “tenured professors” of philosophy and religious studies, to my own equally and exclusively sordid experience, done the same thing with Socrates!  While claiming, even and especially to themselves, to “represent” him, they therefore correspondingly treat my kind as though we’d been the very ones who’d originally ordered him to drink the Hemlock!
     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, for “reasons” despicably reminiscent of Star Trek’s Captain Kirk, during his final diagnosis of the abject depravity in “Plato’s Stepchildren,”
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!  The Powers-That-Be have striven to make a science out of controlling and isolating the opposition, determining how much of what they would “ideally” prefer to conceal completely nevertheless cannot afford to fail to appear, at least in “opposition” print, in a “democracy” which raves about “toleration” and “hearing all sides.”  The only real question left is whether even the standard “Icons” of the “Left” are “consciously” as well as “collusively” participating in this elaborately, cynically Orwellean scam.  Either way, it is quite “redeemably” if only “inadvertently” to their “credit” that my perspective remain, AT BEST, a “blind spot,” particularly to superbly well-disciplined “Pig Philosophers” such as Tom Hartmann and Michael Parenti, who at least aspire to nothing higher than becoming so much less “Philosophically Unsatisfied” than they currently are, but even to “Christian Evangelicals” such as Jim Wallis and Chris Hedges.  Indeed, the Reverend Jeremiah Wright is much more uncharacteristically palatable than most, about America’s actual attitude toward the Lord, just as most hate him, and a political opportunist such as Obama needs to “disown” him, not nearly or decisively as much for his faults, as for the very virtues they are too disingenuously, unrepentantly stiffnecked even to as much as distinguish at all from his vices, at least not in any kind of “Christianly conscious” way!  For that matter, even Gregory Peck gave a much more meaningfully-inspiring sermon, in the midst of the “HUMAN” GARBAGE which has always so PREDOMINANTLY engulfed me, as Josef Mengele, at the very end of The Boys From Brazil, regardless of how miserably wasted it turned out to have been, upon even the noblest of all merely American ears; in a way which helps provide an extremely vivid illustration of even the kind of False Centre which is also quite soon to be shoving even its slickest imitators from within your unhealably “bi-partisan” divide to only one side, now that it’s got you so thoroughly off-balance, with a real Left Leg torn out at the hip, and thus only an even more vainly, self-righteously stiffnecked determination to trip, as swiftly and “inadvertently” as possible, over what pathetically as well as otherwise just about as dangerously little yet remains of your own momentum. America’s breach is of the kind it would require nothing short of the arbitrating “Sword of Solomon” to resolve, but only in the very way it had originally and successfully been intended to prevent, as neither side here is any more fit to be yielded to, and each side quite “conveniently,” thus with “extreme conviction,” realizes as much, at least about the other, than either side would ever be inclined to do the yielding–in either case! In the meantime, if nothing else, perhaps, like unto Captain Kirk, in “The Gamesters of Triskelion,” still another of my own most redeemingly self-preservative qualities is the extent to which I at least succeed at “Amusing the Providers!”  Any bets?
     Again, as for Obama, what follows in this paragraph is a much less prematurely truncated version of what I’ve just sent to Stephen Flurry, in response to his own reaction to the latest Obama crisis.  They’re both two sides of the same proverbial coin, as Flurry sounds just about as bigotedly disingenuous as he claims the Reverend Jeremiah Wright to be.  It’s just that Flurry represents the head, while his opponents are the tail; although I hope my own utilization of these two terms is not confused with the kind of excessively self-flattering reference associated by Flurry with Deuteronomy 28, rather than, particularly by now, much more prophetically as well as overshadowingly, when adequately weighed in the balances, with the very reason those particular tables are soon about to be turned!  I feel led to clarify, even further, that Flurry’s arguments are indeed totally sound in themselves, at least as far as they nevertheless quite inadequately go; although it must also be emphasized that the same thing is true of Obama, at the other end, and he is thus deserving of at least the same benefit of even perhaps the sincerest kind of doubt as Flurry would correspondingly appreciate being extended in return; but without having to go so far as to “disavow” even the Founding American Fathers in the process, as simply and unequivocally as Obama is being challenged to do in the case of the Reverend Wright, as they both strive to more meaningfully balance the rights against the wrongs of their own respective sides; including, again, wrongs, on Flurry’s side, well beyond those he’d taken the time to explicate, and stretching just as needlessly as well as wastefully into the present, as surely as there are rights on the other side which remain no less coarsely and divisively disacknowledged!  Even more candidly, though, regardless of how “opportunistically disingenuous” Obama’s “apology” MAY be, depending upon more than one criterion which would have to be satisfied, the attitude of the Flurrys, along with just about everybody else on the Right, with regard to their own correspondingly, FOUNDINGLY RELIGIOUS (or, pardon me, “SECULARLY HUMANISTIC”) ICONS, is–NEVER “COP” TO ANYTHING (John 9:39-41), or “at least” never “explicitly” or “consciously” make the connection, regardless of how many of the “GOODS” which EVEN Flurry has on them, about as UNIQUELY albeit DIVERGENTLY as does the Left!  Were I still a voter, my only choice would definitely be Obama, just as there’s no doubt whatsoever that Flurry’s is quite emphatically McCain.  Yet, I have much greater misgivings, even at my end, than a still voting Flurry has at his; since I fear, much more than he does about my problems concerning his side, that he may be much-too-correct, after-all, at least about Obama!–That is to say, however, not so right about any inwardly, hiddenly illicit identification, on Obama’s part, with the kind of thing in Wright he’s striving to bring at least more rhetorically and smoothly into balance, but rather about any merely, conveniently, self-servingly political motives behind the excessively “diplomatic” tone of his “apology” to those who, again, really hate Wright so much more for the extent to which he is right, just as the Founding American Fathers were at least as right as they were wrong.  After-all, there’s really no “politely unoffensive” way of saying so many things which vitally need to be aired, for essentially the same reason there actually shouldn’t be, either!  Moreover, in the process, Obama makes the most unrealistically excessive kinds of promises, which are about as correspondingly impossible to absorb as even McCain must just as lyingly realize neither of them can keep, even if the intention were genuinely there.  And, in McCain’s case, I’ll even go so far as to THANK GOD he can’t; just as, for that matter, I’m not exactly overflowing with enthusiasm for every single one, even from among the stated positions of the “lesser of two evils,” here, either; unfortunately, the only such positions which stand the greatest if not the only chance of being successful, or remaining that way!
     But Jesse Ventura is one of the slickest strictly American acts of all, for essentially the same reason I must wonder whether it is merely an act at all!  He’s about as crudely refreshing as Obama is perhaps somewhat too suspiciously, contrivedly suave; just as he would undoubtedly have had no chance of winning, even with my vote, which I would have considered contributing once again, for Governor Ventura, likewise over an equally hypothetical “None of the Above.”  His assessment of what his chances would have been is one of the very few from among the very many statements I’d recently heard him make on Larry King Live which could bear some closer re-self-examination.  But, then, on the other hand as well, even Minnesota is still enough of a surprise to make the most realistically hardened skeptic pause a bit here; although, in running, as a Third Party Candidate, in about the only kind of Political Party he appears so very understandably able even to personally let-alone pragmatically stomach at all, he thereby risks the extreme probability, to say the least, of doing the same kind of damage so many are currently blaming upon Ralph Nader as well, instead of upon the kind of deliberately corrupt yet easily correctable election rules designed to produce precisely such an effect!  And, again, as for McCain, make no mistake about the extent to which he is likewise one of the slickest acts of all, a truly Academy Award level quality of performance, one by which even I’d be tempted to succumb, if I didn’t know better!  The Powers-That-Be, realizing they must fight an uphill battle against the Bush Legacy, have decided their best bet is to gamble upon the many things embodied in McCain’s image which serve to “distance” him from it, just as his most circumstantially persuasive stance against torture is well-calculated to yield even more “damage control” subsequent to his possible swearing-in ceremony.  And that speech articulating the horrors of war, which hard experience had self-descriptively burned into him, thus deepening his view, and correcting certain more typically and childishly naive as well as callously though “innocently” self-centered emotions about the “Glory” of even the “Noblest” war, must be more than sufficient to move all the judges to tears!  Even more, his speech is so superlatively, articulately flawless, and sincerely, unifyingly appealing in tone, minus even a single stutter, as to prove at least as challenging-a-match even for what “might” have been an already unbloodied Obama, let-alone what would yet remain of a possibly victorious Clinton; although, on real consideration, Clinton would be more McCain’s speed, after-all, given the way they both very cheaply, transparently, opportunistically, and just as inaccurately jumped on the bandwagon of Obama being allegedly “elitist” and “detached.”  Not only did they rather come off as the “condescending” and “patronizing” specimens themselves, or, in Obama’s reactively appropriate words, as “politicians who fan fake controversies,” of “he said, she said,” and so-forth, for “their own advantage” as such; but, in the process, their disingenuous lack of character, and actual contempt for the voters, far-too-many of whom they’re probably quite accurately taking as fools, nevertheless, should, therefore alone, be unmistakably clear, even to the average American voter!  Moreover, there’s no doubt as to which candidate is delighted to have Obama in the race, much like, as Alan Watts says, using one splinter to extract another, and then discarding both; particularly given the number of apparently certain defections, which are prepared to move, from either Democratic side, to the Republicans.  Yet, a much more immediately urgent and neglected question is, as Columbo would ask, that of who stands to benefit from Wright’s appearance upon the scene!  It’s certainly not Obama, just as such a form of “overkill” is undoubtedly less than McCain’s most immediately compelling kind of preoccupation, contrary to the suspiciously pungent stench surrounding the only other candidate left whose presence “almost” inspires one to wonder whether Wright is the least bit motivated to be as “religiously” above the political fray as he’s currently posing!
     Moreover, it speaks volumes, all by itself, that particularly a man of LaRouche’s stature would express even the most “distantly grudging” kind of preference for Clinton; thus revealing, here, that, shall we say, “issues” apparently trump character for him, assuming it’s not actually the other way around, for him, in an even more frightfully-indictable way; regardless of where Bloomberg may happen to fit into the picture, particularly as a possible running mate for Obama (and a back which would therefore need to be much more carefully well-guarded, in case Obama threatens to “backfire,” on the “City of London,” in an ironic twist not seen since Hitler!), or whether Gore is perhaps being as collusively well-poised as LaRouche suspects to replace both the current contenders, as McCain’s final opponent.  Also, I cannot but shutter, or rather shudder, or both, at the thought of how painfully-disgruntling-a-surprise it may end up being, even for Mr. LaRouche, when his own capacity for even the most “unpredictably” superlative forms of “waffling” perhaps becomes no less “circumstantially clear” to him, although “perhaps” the analogy to a chameleon would be “somewhat” better!  In fact, relative to perhaps a much-too-similar kind of unmasking, even beneath all the usual lip-service being demandedly extended to Dr. King, who ever said Senator McCain has a reputation, going way, way back, for the kinds of temper tantrums, and red-faced rages, and, thus, dangerously impulsive tendencies, upon even the most apparently trivial forms of provocation, which could potentially even prevent otherwise the most if not the only well-qualified candidate from being elected Mad Dog Catcher, instead of his being even more popularly ascertained to need one!  Even though he’s still at least as much of a War-Hawk as ever, assuming they can by nature get any better in his case; he at least strives to restrict his enthusiasm to only the most “Christianly Noble” as well as “deeply, regrettably, unavoidably necessary” of causes!  I’ll only add, for now, that it would be “nice” if he’d consider devoting at least another marginally token cameo of syllables along the way, more in harmony with Mr. LaRouche, to help somewhat dilute the prevailingly insidious fallacy that there’s anything “inherently unpatriotic” about having questioned, just for openers, the very legality, or even the supposed possibility for victory, let-alone the most unmentionably underlying purposes, of, again, just for openers, the Vietnam War.  Moreover, even had the Gulf of Tonkin Incident not been the kind of lie it was, the destruction, say, of just about only the entirety of the Japanese attack forces, instead, at Pearl Harbor, would have been scarcely more justified!  Dr. King was actually murdered, not nearly as decisively to neutralize George Jefferson, or to deny him his “piece of the pie,” as because of his most honestly and passionately as well as influentially informative stance against the Vietnam War!  And, if McCain is going to concur with virtually everybody else, in calling Dr. King a national hero, he can’t very consistently be expected to take the blame for the absence of even an otherwise hopelessly and immorally futile prospect of victory, either!  Iran is currently a most conveniently tailor-made patsy for the setbacks in Iraq, too!
     But Pastor John Hagee, from behind all that self-righteously, apocalyptically bellicose wind in his bag, puts on vivid display what a theatrically opportunistic showman and charlatan most in his kind of position characteristically fail to resist being, for essentially the same reason “virtually” nobody is ever permitted in front of the cameras for any other purpose.  This is not because of what he said against the Roman Catholic Church (assuming he can speak even the truth without thereby turning it into a lie!), but rather for having “apologized,” under pressures which were anything but genuinely religious in nature, or even concerned about the abundance of real rather than antithetically, “cleverly” cosmetic evidence that the Roman Catholic Church is only sorry it got caught in the clergy sexual abuse scandal.  Moreover, what will he do about that even more recently resurrected remark concerning Hitler, which is being taken out of context, and just as ignorantly as disingenuously “disowned” by McCain?  The fact is that Hitler was used by God, just as all expressions of evil He compossibly permits and thus ordains only exist because they’re being instrumentally employed for His Purposes, regardless of whatever their own contrarily futile plans by necessary definition are.  Hagee made a structurally accurate and legitimate comment here, a most crucially and pivotally monumental one, about the historically teleological unfolding of God’s permissive (not perfect) will; only to arouse every typically hysterical old woman out there, even those in no less typically “male” form, who are just too wilfully, chronically, prejudicially, even lazily ignorant to more carefully examine the flaws in their “reasoning.”  Basically and decisively, I have no more use for Hagee, or, for that matter, Parsley (with his “apparently” sudden respect for “moderately peaceful Islam,” a sentiment at least as “apparently” much too “modestly peaceful” for McCain!), than either correspondingly do for me; but, still, the truth is the truth, and Hagee’s getting a most cheaply raw deal here, even despite himself.  Indeed, even Clinton’s remark about the assassination of Robert Kennedy is being just as cheaply, disingenuously distorted, thanks to most who thereby only demonstrate that particularly their legal right to vote only serves to render them even more dangerously as well as presumptuously incompetent than ever.  Again, I have barely if any more use for her than I do for McCain, just as she has at least as much lack of use for anything I fundamentally represent as does McCain!  Yet, this fails to alter the truth that, not only did she not murder Kennedy, or will, or rejoice, in that murder, but was neither necessarily nor even probably trying to inspire a June assassination of Obama, despite the extent to which she would undoubtedly shed no tears of regret were a bolt of lightning to “just happen” to strike him dead!  The only thing she can soberly, rationally, honestly be taken to have meant was simply that anything can quite “capriciously” happen, even at the last minute, thus precluding any premature decision to drop out of the race.  Yes, it was a painfully awkward example to employ so capriciously, and one she should have considered at least more intelligently if not sensitively, in anticipation of the overwhelmingly negative consequences.  Also, her argument about being more electable than Obama may nevertheless be as independently and disgracefully true-in-itself as it had undoubtedly been uttered for anything but that reason alone, save perhaps to even more reinforcingly add fuel to the truth of it.  Likewise, her argument about obliterating Iran has a structurally built-in “top-side,” which is just as indispensable, even despite her own undoubtedly much more unsavory meaning.  Even despite herself, she was making the extremely crucial point that, in essence, America, because it can incinerate Iran in an instant, can as well afford to negotiate, even with a perhaps totally insincere Iran, as it can scarcely afford not to do so.  As for any possible “necessity” of, not only threatening, but actually employing the most terrible option here?  America should offer the most hitherto unprecedentedly fair terms for a change, thus alone providing itself with any justification for responding, in the extreme, to the most disingenuously, even collusively stiffnecked non-compliance.  It appears Obama is the most prepared to give Iran a chance to show its true colors in this respect, whereas the other candidates concur more with Bush about what would be the “need” to convince Iran of how “absolutely wrong” it “alone” is!  And, “incidentally,” whether or not any of you typically beastial Americans like it or not, the real issue is not even bin Laden’s evil, any more than God accepted Adam’s excuse that Eve had given him the forbidden Fruit; or, better yet, any more than Nebuchadnezzar’s wickedness had prevented God from using him to punish ancient Judah!            

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, considering how much like a visitor from the stars, in Rod Serling’s “The Gift,” I’m still being made to feel, after an entire lifetime of the same, save for what would be, for me, the relative, and, of course, just as totally, “inadvertently” motivated, act of mercy he’d received, at the very end!  Before making any carelessly hasty moves, however, take a hint, “analogically” speaking, from the lesson received, by the Star Ship Enterprise, when, at the beginning of “The Corbomite Maneuver,” a warning buoy had been most ineffectually ordered destroyed; only, this time, the face on the viewing screen, subsequent to that, will be no mere mask, coupled with a friendly game of poker, or an adversary who is bluffing, any more than you’ll be able to do in return!  This time, it will simply be checkmate, just as Mr. Spock said!  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 beginning, 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!  And, again, it’s not that I have even the slightest subjective need for the kind of genuine respect “virtually” none of you can begin to comprehend, rather than the extent to which you prevent me from being able to offer any in return!  Francis of Assisi prayerfully said, “Let me not seek to be understood, but to understand.”  Well, I’ve sought, but to no meaningful avail from “virtually” any of your miserably posterior ends, not to be respected, but to respect!
     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.  In a similar vein, Lulu used to become irritated whenever I signalled to merge into an adjacent lane, rather than abruptly and thus even more safely cutting in unannounced, as she rightfully observed that the cars invariably go faster! The same challenge 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, along with the corresponding danger of having one driver stop, leading to the generally false impression that the driver in the next lane is going to do the same!  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,” next to Dean Martin’s “golden” opportunity to “confirm” his “guts” in the process, 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!  And she wasn’t even drunk, so about all she had to do was ram into somebody who was otherwise obeying the law, and nobody would know or even give one hell of a damn about the difference!  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!”  But, then, he turned out to be “just nuts,” after-all, until he totally lost his head!  
     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!”  Yet, I can certainly applaud the INTEGRITY, and even the GOALS, of the PREDOMINANTLY FICTIONAL Buford Pusser, as well as Chris Vaughn, in Walking Tall; at least to a point, or rather only after a point, which has been at least as long and hopelessly surpassed as ANYTHING ELSE!   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!  It’s not that there’s never any reasonably plausible way of anticipating such potential dangers, and preventively intervening; but, rather, that, when the line becomes too “blurry,” and increasingly dependent upon things such as “intuition,” the VIRTUAL CERTAINTY of DELIBERATE ABUSE becomes, among other things, “SOMEWHAT” less “DETECTABLE!”  Let’s not strive to suspend intuition, thus committing the most IMPOSSIBLY FATAL ERROR of all, but only to avoid having to systematically rely upon it whenever structurally feasible. 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, or even The Terminator itself, in attempting to successfully weed out every human imperfection!  Even more, Star Trek just might have had a better idea, one more “humanistically” efficient even than the neutron bomb (and less recklessly desperate than Mr. Bush having essentially followed Spock’s example, by “logically concluding” it was time to have an “emotional reaction,” in turning the shuttle craft into a shooting star!); when it comes to waging war with computers, which very “antiseptically” compile lists of the casualties, minus any “collateral damage,” to be methodically and passionlessly “neutralized!”  However, my real favorite, one even more creatively imaginative than The Matrix, or The Stepford Wives, if only it could likewise be just as unmistakably real, is Grandma (Josephine Hutchinson), from Serling’s episode entitled “I Sing the Body Electric!”
     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, even though Kirk Douglas, from The Arrangement, should be compelled to switch to the advertising of more appropriate products, 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!  And make no mistake about this mischief having gone much-too-criminally, dangerously, presumptuously, and self-righteously over the line, now that the prospect of actually charging a smoker, not only with suicide, but with outright murder, is becoming as alarmingly real as the universally albeit unscripturally, even blasphemously slanderous “conviction” among professing “Christians” that pot smoking is necessarily nothing less than an everlastingly damnable offense!  To the contrary, it’s NO ACCIDENT that SUCH NONSENSE is TOTALLY UNMENTIONED under Divinely-Inspired Mosaic Law, a Law with relation to which one is SEVERELY ADMONISHED to NEITHER ADD NOR SUBTRACT!  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, and that most emphatically includes his detractors as well as supporters; 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, like right out of Let’s Scare Jessica to Death, or Race With the Devil!  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 correspondingly 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; or even, again, Mickey Rooney, as Baby Face Nelson.
     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, along with, say, Jocko De Paris, The Strange One (Ben Gazzara), given his enormously self-described “brains, guts, and will power,” 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!  Indeed, even the proverbial Laughter of the Gods would be more than sufficient to sustain my countenance here, save to the extent that it’s long been so unbearably overshadowed by nothing but the equally hearty sneering of demons!  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!  Nick had his foibles, though, which included a dedication to just about every popularly-established superstition in the world, the kind which gradually and inexorably take on a life of their own, for people in a universe instinctively felt to be a much deeper, more “rationally” unfathomable Mystery than anything else; one in which virtually anything is possible, for all anybody can know, coupled with a persistently virulent assumption that, if a particular superstition has endured for so many generations, centuries, perhaps even millennia, then there’s probably something to it, after-all.  But my mother’s fanatically metaphysical devotion to Bizet’s Carmen, as well as Verdi, is of an entirely more unhealable order altogether, more akin to Frollo (Sir Cedric Hardwicke), in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and a spirit so religiously impoverished that particularly the light of the purest kind of love cannot bear to avoid being most hysterically and blindingly misinterpreted as the seductively bewitching influence of an Angel of Light from Hell; but especially if not exclusively while being so excruciatingly out of reach in the process as to have included the curse of a most mortally jealous rage, and a blood-stained conscience for which only such a “sorceress” as Esmeralda (Maureen O’Hara) could possibly deserve all the rightful guilt, even if it must be quite “poetically” or deceptively woven into the most formally legal processing of her indictment.  Disgracefully enough, by the time my mother finally realizes her error, the way Nick did, in “Hide the Children,” it may have already been far-too-late to abort the evil intentions of certain other “in-laws” who’ve managed to unworthily gain so much more of her trust, or to compensate for the further harm just as “inadvertently” inflicted upon those whom she could rather have more meaningfully trusted instead, or at least cared about more fervently yet cautiously, either way.
     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, instead of James Belushi, from The Palermo Connection!
     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, in conjunction with the systematically, comprehensively rational, as well as Divinely-revealed Weltanschauung of biblical scripture.  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.
Curiously enough, not only is science inherently incapable of dealing in absolutes, even to the point of being unable to disprove their existence as well, not to mention their existence as irreducibly scientific laws; but, where its own methodologies are concerned, those lines which had been more crudely, rigidly believed to be scientifically absolute have yielded to much more sophisticatedly, penetratingly, and increasingly relative, even perplexingly paradoxical theories, backed by the most soundly, astoundingly affirmative forms of strictly physical experimentation.  Assuming any apparently universal laws to exist even at the currently most advanced levels, but in a manner inherently requiring their experimentally exceptionless verification, no amount of experiments can conclusively, absolutely prove there isn’t a deeper, more intricately dimensional level of “laws” which “override” these, even if they have only yet to be imagined let-alone discovered.  If modern physics is anything by now, it is theoretically, hopelessly, inconclusively open-ended, just as even the distinction between natural and supernatural may be all-the-more-fluidly and indecipherably blurred.  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) fits 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, in a biblical episode believingly described by Soren Kierkegaard as the “Teleological Suspension of the Ethical.”  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!  Of course, again, the immediately abovestated “superstition” is only presented as a theistically plausible speculation, although my typically harshest critics will surely move to demonstrate only how “thoughtfully” they even know how to read per se, by “conveniently” characterizing it as something I regard as an “indubitably necessary fact!”  Also, before anyone decides to die belly-laughing at the “ludicrousness” of such a thoroughly “implausible” theory, consider that Satan, if, of course, he actually exists, could be behind even the current U.F.O. phenomena as well, tailor-made for this “modernly, secularly scientific” age.  And mistake not the thoroughly plausible assertion that, if there really are flying saucers and the like from “other planets” or “other dimensions,” they ARE demonically-generated phenomena!  Let’s go backward from here as well, by saying that, if flying saucers are as certain as so many claim to have witnessed, then fossils planted by the Devil are probably just as certain; assuming such an explanation is actually necessary to account for their existence in the first place, given that they at least appear to be explainable in no scientifically verifiable way other than as products of a theory which at least appears incompatible with the biblical account, and indeed MAY very well be.  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; although, to be sure, Cates and his views already quite dogmatically, “irrefutably” dominate even the average philosophy and religious studies departments as well by now, thus leaving him no problem there, either!  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.”  Indeed, even a beloved father, who also did what he’d contrarily been “compelled to do,” serves to provide one of the most vivid illustrations of how false religious doctrine inevitably and tragically leads even the noblest astray, and thereby especially the most fervently reverent at that!
     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; although, to be more democratically and accurately as well as enthusiastically fair, to both genders, in particular, here, one truly must not forget to include, for instance, an old, black lady, the Salt of the Earth, in both versions of Imitation of Life, whose deepest death bed concern, next to the love she had for her daughter, was that of finally being accounted among the SHEEP rather than the GOATS!–And, if not EVEN her, along with Ella Fitzgerald, and all the rest of the “gang,” from Let No Man Write My Epitaph, then where would that “just about” have to leave virtually all the rest?–I Peter 4:12-19!–In EITHER case!
     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.  Dr. Eugen Weber, in his magnificent PBS series, “The Western Tradition,” is among the more notable exceptions I’ve encountered; and he’d be even better yet, if he’d only put more of the very KIND of MEAT on it, from Herbert W. Armstrong’s “History of Europe and the Church,” which ALONE can COMPLETE it, before the “Great Dream,” of Oswald Spengler, from “The Decline of the West,” very shortly reaches the Zenith of its Nadir!   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!  Here we still are, in a society where the need for more GENUINE RESPECT of Civil Rights continues CRYING OUT, even to the point where Dr. King probably wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without a few “Watts Riots” to help bolster his cause; and yet, as Nietzsche so vividly puts it, these TYPICALLY, UNGRATEFULLY, WORTHLESSLY PARASITICAL SCUM are “probably” THEREFORE even more CYNICALLY determined than ever to continue SACRIFICING THE FUTURE TO THEMSELVES, INSTEAD OF SACRIFICING THEMSELVES TO THE FUTURE!
     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!–Although, of course, even the most rigidly sterile logician, in Russell, is not correspondingly contradicting himself, by Judging Christ, simply because Christ Judges, per se, even while much less self-contradictorily doing so on the basis of categorically condemning judgments–there go those damned judgments again!–on “Principle!”  Indeed, if there’s anything worse than the way even the “atheistic humanists” claim to themselves “not” to “judge,” it’s the even more sinisterly, “wholesomely” cunning camouflage, along, here as well, with their no less typically “theistic” enemies, of how fervently, “selflessly,” they “love,” at least to the extent that, as Nietzsche says, it’s “Well Paid” in the process!  Russell would have blown a gasket, about the way Karl Jaspers almost so much more coherently did, just trying to absorb all the strictly abstract paradoxes here, although Nietzsche had taken them entirely through the fire!) “Lord” Bertrand Russell (to whom Nietzsche, quite symbolically, and thus no less revealingly, still owes a “good one,” if only for that vulgarly falsifying crack below the belt 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, let-alone, again, of how they “love,” even their “friends,” no doubt; until he could no longer bear to discern the difference, a trait which he more “Buddhistically” albeit just as falsifyingly attributes to Jesus, 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!–Whether in the name of “justice” or “love,” “theism” or “atheism,” lying, even when they tell the truth, or telling the truth, but not as self-flatteringly as Scarface meant, even when they lie!), 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!–For essentially the same reason I still feel as unbearably tempted as ever, just as Lulu did, to wish it were actually possible to trade-in EVEN our One True, Living God for a real Godfather to fight our battles for us, with much more immediately palpable offers of the kind all of them would clearly understand, and none of them could refuse!  This is the same part of me which still, more frighteningly than ever, finds it “at least” phenomenally if not noumenally impossible not to lament, for instance, that Dr. Richard Kimble, in the episode entitled “The Evil Men Do,” had actually, and quite successfully, prevented Arthur Brame (James Daly) from returning a favor, thus “morally” binding his own hands behind his back, in preparation for the noose!  But, then, 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!  Yet, as “realism” steadily encroached, nevertheless, one was finally able to encounter, in the third sequel, at least a way for Chaney to provide all the proof he’d sought, from the very beginning, in his desperate pleas just to be believed; when, at the opening of that particular segment, he’d been confined to a jail cell, for the very purpose of awaiting the advent of the next full moon.  But his “cure,” at the end, appeared to have been quite temporary, ever since he’d thereafter again most symbolically and revealingly reared his ravenously prowling head–in America!  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 only Serling’s “Person or Persons Unknown” would have equally enthralled Rene Descartes, in addition to having dismally vindicated his most serious doubts about a perennial majority who continue moving about in “human” form!), 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.  I certainly know how he felt, at the end of Bride of Frankenstein, which is why I can just as deeply relate to the total “flip-flop,” from his brief encounter with the blind old man in the middle of this same first sequel, all the way through the second sequel, Son of Frankenstein!  Had he only realized, on time, the extent to which he was being betrayed, as fiercely as he’d forced Stalin, in turn, to the selfsame realization, as well as the extent to which his “Blitzkrieg” would fail at inspiring still another counter-reversal of “heart,” from beneath all the theatrically, hypocritically “diplomatic” hype designed for more commonly, squeamishly “moral” consumption; then Dunkirk might have turned out differently, along with the entire course of the war, including a possible postponement of the Russian Front!  But, then, of course, FDR, the proverbial “Fly in the Ointment,” had been too Populistically strong, as a result of the Great Depression. even for Wall Street; although not nearly as “moral” as he was clever, save merely to the extent, in the popular “mind,” that he had won the war abroad, thanks also to the Lion’s Share of credit as well as self-sacrifice the Russian people actually deserved; just as he might not have done nearly as well at home, minus the Tragically Ironic debt about as “inadvertently” denied to Hitler, as well as to the conveniently preventable excuse of Pearl Harbor he allegedly allowed to happen!  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, in an Arctic which is RAPIDLY THAWING!
     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.  Even a real medical need for grass may not be the most ideal thing, speaking in terms of the need itself, that is, rather than the grass; but it certainly constitutes a vast improvement, for just one great big kind of instance, over the massive doses of Thorazine they’d needlessly and callously forced me to take, even with accompanying effects which still another medication is likewise much more capable of helping to psychoactively control!
     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!  Moreover, I’d wager EVERYTHING that MOST of THEM would fail to last any longer than did Archibald Beechcroft (Shelley Berman), in Serling’s “The Mind and the Matter,” contrary to how very well I’d be able to get along with myself (Matthew 7:12-14)!  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, or a sports car, like Buz Murdock and Tod Stiles, 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!”  After I’d returned to Los Angeles, about one year later, I’d received a little Yamaha, as a gift from my father; which, in turn, had not been long before the many reasons, including a “Christian Congregation” especially, I now wish I could rather have been Fated to hit the road again on it instead.  But, then, unlike the one owned by Jim Bronson (Michael Parks), my bike hadn’t been nearly as durable, nor had it come at quite as tragically-expensive-a-price!
     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, contrary to how clearly Ray Charles heard it, from his own chorus:  “Hit the road, Jack, and don’t ya come back no mo, no mo!”–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); just as the very last thing I should ever stoop to honestly confessing, particularly if not exclusively to swine on the level of most of you, is the extent to which I rather fear ending up like Peter, while hearing that cock crowing for the third time!  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; just as, for that matter, the difference depends, far-too-often, upon the quality of the “adult” viewer himself, rather than upon even what would otherwise be at least potentially the very best, objectively, in itself, of content!  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, an issue since “legally solved,” in 1886), 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, perhaps, by now, even to signals so undetectably refined as to make Videodrome much-too-melodramatically crude by comparison? 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!  Like the European Renaissance, of which America’s corresponding “Transition” was a structurally prophetic as well as culturally cheap imitation, this particular point of “Optimal Resonance” was a most daringly hopeful experiment, which cinematically arrived right on the Borderline, with a film such as Where the Boys Are, although hot shot Robert Conrad tried to cross it a bit too abruptly, crudely, and prematurely, with an irrepressibly, even intriguingly virile tenacity, in Palm Springs Weekend; yet, on the whole, and despite its numerous advantages, a hopelessly futile balancing act to maintain, a senselessly wasted gift, and an ungratefully squandered opportunity, leading to all manner of Mischief, both on and off the Big Screen.  The particular film just mentioned, although not quite the quality of, say, Inventing the Abbotts, was at least a most bluntly educational experience, in both respects, as well as a glaring tribute to the dismally ineradicable reality of precisely such predominantly human folly; including the main “hero,” and his Griffin Dunne-like nerd of a friend, about on a qualitative par with almost all the characters in She’s the One; along with, for that matter, an equally, contemporarily, typically air-headed cast of bimbos, in what still quite amazingly because somewhat successfully passes as the Morality Play as well as the Art Form, per se, of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls; in contrast with other, more “pre-transitional” forms of “art-imitating-life,” such as Strangers When We Meet, with Kirk Douglas and Kim Novak, which make me the most grateful of all, morally speaking alone, for Hebrews 13:4, thanks to a job I’d never personally covet, lest I come out, if anything, too leniently in favor of the main characters.  Not long since, it’s as though something, even a most “Transcendentally-Rooted Intangible,” had decisively “pulled the plug” on even the capacity to ape anything more deeply, humanly resonant, in a “post-transitional” era where technological enhancements likewise substitute for the kinds of performances only real personalities coupled with equally meaningful dialogue could carry; although, for all that, I’ll dare confess it’s extremely difficult not to succumb to the extra special charm of even an otherwise typically ultra-modern Barbie Doll such as Dolly Read, despite even the determination of the Kirk Douglas, in Detective Story, so very painfully burned into me, to continue fighting it!  After-all, if nothing else, least of all my own soberly unpresumptuous lack of an equal measure of charm, she’s already taken, and I already know far-too-unforgettably what it feels like to be on that particular end of the stick, as well as the kind of Fatalistically Downhill Path which invariably follows from such a Terrible Shock!  That aside, this film , like Revenge of the Nerds, or Wild In the Streets, constitutes a much-too-lasting expression of an Era, “Culturally” Transitional Whiplash and all, from which I’ve had an entire lifetime to learn I’d never want to experience it again, even on the Smallest Screen!  The first Big Screen encounter I’d ever really had, with something so clearly, glaringly, daringly Over The Line, and which is hardly surpassed even by current standards, despite its relatively early appearance, back in 1967, was The Born Losers, with Tom Laughlin, as Billy Jack, in all its meaningfully, perhaps even quite indispensably though nonetheless wastedly utilized vulgarity, as well as otherwise deeply moving symbolism and social commentary.  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, right down to the more meaningfully, creatively resonant atmosphere of “militaristically undemocratic socialism” which served to render the commercials in-between so much more contrastingly, banally tedious; and 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 Pleasence, 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!  However, thanks (or perhaps no thanks, at that) to Danny Kaye, I still have a lovely glossy, from Mr. Spock himself, hanging on my bedroom wall.  And, for that matter, Captain Kirk himself was even more candid, with Oprah Winfrey the other afternoon, as he admitted, though more in the form of a boast than a confession, in answer to one of her questions concerning his “identity,” to “as much as” the fact that Star Trek had significance to him mainly and decisively if not solely as a mere means to an end, as the part which made all subsequent “success” so abundantly possible at all.  More succinctly, there had been a “faint trace” of “blushing hesitation” as he spoke, but not “so much” out of any concern about possibly disappointing particularly if not exclusively his more appreciatively discerning fans in the process, rather than due to still another “annoying reminder” of exactly how “type-casted” they appear to insist upon keeping him, as though such amounts to anything short of an honor.  Perhaps he’s played no part he regards as being intrinsically, timelessly valuable, although I’m not so certain even such a possibility would fail to prove entirely preferable to whatever such part may actually exist for him, as with, say, B.J. Hooker!  He and Joan Collins once appeared to make the most thoroughly and inspiringly believable “item” conceivable, until Cybill Shepherd and Michelle Phillips finally materialized!
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!  Moreover, had I been Flint (James Daly), from Star Trek’s “Requiem for Methuselah,” the Star Ship Enterprise, as well as the entire crew, would have made an exquisitely PERMANENT ornament upon my mantle!
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; although, for all that, it’s just about anybody’s even most educatedly well-cultivated guess, as to which, if either, from between Johnny Rocco and Josef Stalin, actually required lessons, from the other, about the extent to which it’s not who votes that counts, but rather who counts the votes–until they finally come out “right!”  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!  Next to just about only that, even another Coma wouldn’t be the worst way to have a most fundamental problem solved, as well as perhaps the only seriously philosophical question, to every ounce of the unbearably heavy Camus in me; particularly given Richard Widmark’s most soothing “bedside manner,” along with such “hard decision-making,” not to mention even a level of nausea I may have already long and undetectably surpassed, to help glide me through the final processing!  
     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!  Liz and Dick, in The Comedians, are good for a real “laugh,” too!  Yet, 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 (I ought to know, as my closer brother made the still very dangerously costly mistake of having married THE DEVIL HERSELF!–Or, as even Edward G. Robinson, as Vic Amato, from Hell on Frisco Bay, would have had the right to say, nothing but a DIRTY-MOUTHED BROAD!), 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, even if she’s looking to entirely the WRONG CHURCH for her answer:  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!”  Were I rather to have become something more akin to a Max Frost, she’d be fawning all over me just like that equally, childishly air-headed bimbo, Shelley Winters; although, as it is, I’m regarded as her greatest disappointment, and she correspondingly enjoys openly, vindictively displaying the same kind of typically, vulgarly swinish disrespect which is all she really understands, or cares to value, anyway, and is helping inspire even the most unworthily, youthfully insolent to emulate at least as belittlingly well!  While she curses my late father to this day, for various foibles which are reminiscent of the late Tom Barkley, but to the point of making him look like the saint, just as I’m not trying to excuse them at all; the fact still remains that she’s as brutally-callous-a-beast as ever, next to the level of his much more genuinely existential heart and soul, just as she’s about as far as anyone in her position can be, from a Victoria Barkley, when it comes to having the inner substance herself to know how to treat her sons like men, even while just as gracefully and sensitively combining such a talent with the most firmly matriarchal hand!  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, that is, quite literally, A MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD WORLD, 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 no less “given” than names such as Oprah Win-Free and Rob ‘N Leech continue taking just about as smugly for granted!  Moreover, Michelle Pfeiffer, in Scarface, had a most “progressively egalitarian word-to-the-wise,” about the enormous disadvantages to one who must “make it on his own,” even if she’d turned out no “nicer,” herself, in the process!  In either case, though, have you ever really encountered anyone who can perform the inherently impossible task, for which so many, and yet so few, the very same few, are alone given the inordinate credit they enjoy, of “Pulling himself up by his own bootstraps?”
     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 (in reaction to an entire “religious” tradition Van Gogh likewise accurately characterized as being DEADER THAN THE DEADEST DOORNAIL!), 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!  Moreover, while even Marx was inevitably just about nothing but a reaction to Hegel’s most lyingly sanctimonious promises, it was actually Schopenhauer, along with Kierkegaard, who most profoundly recognized Hegel for the piously superficial fraud he really was!), 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, least of all amidst all that slickly biased propaganda in the film to the effect that, not only are the proverbial “bad apples” the exception rather than the rule, but that they are always quite conscientiously, expeditiously discovered and weeded-out eventually!  Incidentally, I never got my twenty bucks back, either!), 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!  But, again, hot-shot McQueen takes the cake, even to the point of having no less impudently than stupidly determined to coarsely ram his way right down the middle, while finally raising his one free hand in a gesture of surrender the very point of which depended upon more good faith from his captors than he’d self-contradictorily presupposed, while displaying even greater faith in them than ever by pushing it to the very limits of their endurance he possibly could, to the point where I could just about not have blamed them had they decided to gun him down, even as a SPY, right on the spot!  David McCallum had a much more intelligently well-calculated chance, just as he died the noblest death of all!  One can only lament, in the process, that it had been anything greater than the kind of wasted self-sacrifice which only a “Monday Morning Quarterback” can retrospectively verify!  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!  Unfortunately, however, Ms Rand’s own screenplay is quite flawlessly unimprovable enough, even with its artistically symbolic exaggerations, to where I can hardly include the reason for Roark’s trial, at the end, as being among the same quality of grotesquely unacceptable realism as the actual verdict, for real, would rather have been; just in case anyone has the misimpression, at this point, that I regard those who’d insisted upon “modifying” his work with the same high regard mentioned in the examples immediately above, either motivationally or otherwise!), 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!–Although, as illustrated, also, in the case of Sergeant Alvin York, played by Gary Cooper, there appears to be no single, unequivocally correct answer, Romans 12:18, Luke 22:35-38, applicable to all; lest, for instance, one of the favorite Centurions of Jesus is likewise automatically damned, on the basis of his profession alone!  Either way, though, Jesus deliberately and even more clearly left no basis, any more than does the First Amendment alone, for self-righteously castigating even the absolutely unconditional pascifist in His Name, let-alone the conditionally Conscientious Objector; just as, for that matter, I would have come to exactly the opposite conclusion, even about WWI, although it’s, at best, extremely difficult to believe those in charge would have been nearly as “understanding” as they’d been portrayed in the case of York!), 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), The Gunslinger (Yul Brynner, in Westworld, still another at least as Magnificently Poetic encore!),
     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!), George Collins (Carleton Carpenter, in a Rifleman episode entitled “The Coward.”  How can anybody honestly assess my alleged “arrogance,” with such an empathetically and humiliatingly raw-to-the-bone admission here?–One about as comparable to my good friend, Brock Peters, in The Incident!), Abel MacDonald (George Mathews, in a Rifleman episode entitled “The Angry Man.”  He’s not exactly the greatest of heroes, but it can happen; just as, for that matter, McCain had an extremely difficult decision to make, one which most people undoubtedly bungle–either way!), John Jupiter (Peter Whitney, in a Rifleman episode entitled “Male Order Groom.”), Dev Farnum (Dennis Hopper, in a Bonanza episode entitled “The Dark Past.”  Again, not exactly the greatest of heroes, but it can happen.  In fact, it’s quite a serious problem in the world today, violently polarizing opinions about God, both pro and con, just as tragically and dangerously–either way!), 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!), Gus Hendrick (Jack Klugman, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled “Everybody Gets Hit In the Mouth Sometime.”  It was a dead ringer for my Mary, in virtually every sense, including her brats, as played here by Geraldine Brooks, who helped drive Gus so fatally over the edge!), Tad (Dee Pollack, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled “Devil’s Carnival.”  When this episode first appeared, I was truly watching myself, at about the same age, and about as painfully as would have turned me into so much more of an Eden Saunders, also earlier played by Pollack, in a Bonanza episode entitled “My Son, My Son,” had I not also been blessed with at least as solidly moral-an-upbringing, nevertheless, as Eden had rather quite tragically let go to waste.  Neither can I blame such a rare advantage, as described by Sam Waterston, as Nick Carraway, at the beginning of The Great Gatsby, for even the terribly non-extra-legal extent to which Robert Drivas, as Roger Roland, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled “The Sharp Edge of Chivalry,” also hits so painfully close to home!), 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”), Tom Lightfoot (Joe Don Baker, in a Big Valley episode entitled “Lightfoot”), Andro (Martin Landau, in an Outer Limits episode entitled “The Man Who Was Never Born”), Dr. Marshall (George Macready, in an Outer Limits episode entitled “The Production and Decay of Strange Particles”), Major Roger Brothers (Harry Guardino, in an Outer Limits episode entitled “The Human Factor”), Jim Darcy (Dewey Martin, in an Outer Limits episode entitled “The Premonition”), 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.”   That’s why the INTERNAL IMPACT of the FINAL BLOW, the one which confirmed all my worst suspicions about her, those I had been most trustingly disinclined to believe, had come as such a RUDELY ABRUPT SURPRISE to me, even though I had been Divinely Warned about IT from DAY ONE; as the STRUCTURALLY SYMBOLIC REPEAT of an INITIAL BLOW, the INTERNAL DEVASTATION of which I had  been DREADFULLY ANTICIPATING from DAY ONE as well (Romans 9:9-13), but with a much more FRESHLY WOUNDABLE incentive for Denial, rather than merely one I’d falsely believed I could much more easily withstand during the second round, as coming no less symbolically from what had SYNONYMOUSLY or SYNTHESIZINGLY been a STRUCTURAL REPEAT of the one who’d unsuccessfully chosen me prior to the INITIAL BLOW!   Yet, as Zorro said, before having swiftly finished the job, “I needed that scratch,” even that FINAL BLOW, “to awaken me!”–Although this analogy should also be balanced with still another, one which applied with ALMOST equal force, when, during the first bout, Apollo Creed failed to stop clowning around with Rocky Balboa quite on-time!  But, then, it was an entirely different kind of excessive self-confidence with which Apollo had to contend in the second bout, in a total reversal of my own respective forms of excessive self-confidence.  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!  But “Sister Sharon Falconer I” really does take the cake in this sense, while “Sister Sharon Falconer II” even bore such a physically uncanny resemblance to Diana Sands, in A Raisin in the Sun, that only SOCKETS were present for “EYES!”  As for the “tenderest” of all “genuinely Christian” impulses to be found in such creatures, the kind in which they so disingenuously need to believe, themselves, I’m also reminded of, again, the “warmpth” of Diana Sands, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled “Dossier on a Diplomat,” where, and HOW, as well as the REAL REASON WHY, from beneath every “conveniently” self-mystifying excuse, she says to Kimble, “It’s not that I fail to sympathize with your plight; I’m simply unable to accommodate it.”  Moreover, I cringe, with the same intensity of disgust they do, 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, in all the “cleanliness” of their souls, 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!  The Manager at that time (currently ex-manager, and I’d still like to know why, particularly given the “timing!”) had finally threatened me with eviction, if I refused to sign a paper, stating I no longer needed Rita anymore!  How sorry I am, now, that I’d yielded to such an illegally unwarranted form of outright intimidation and extortion!  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!  Moreover, right now, the same ‘Protective Services” Agency which had been sent out, three years before, to my apartment, to allegedly “investigate” as to whether she was “abusing me,” is now “advising” me, as it “investigates” her situation, where she’s currently residing, sick, and helpless, minus any but the assistance I have to offer, as well as the same which her mother, on her death bed, had me promise to provide, to leave her virtually for dead!   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!  Yes, there was one problem in particular which a neighbor or two had more understandably expressed, but I’m loathe even to identify it, not only because it could have been resolved much more expeditiously to all parties concerned, but also due to the actual “reasons” which really only served to reduce this one to the level of nothing but a conveniently, rancorously mean-spirited excuse, even one with which most of you would undoubtedly concur, but which can only be proven via a competent sense of SMELL!!  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.  When I first encountered Rita, eight years ago, she was in a very serious state of shock, which still persists to a very considerable extent, and was almost totally unable to get out of bed, after just having seen her closest sister, prior to the one above, carried out dead, in a transparent plastic bag.  In general, she’d carried on where Lulu had been determined to cut it off, by having to see all her loved ones taken away first, rather than virtually none of them.  And there are many structurally, symbolically prophetic signposts built into the fabric of this particular phase of my journey, which I’ll not take the even more excessively necessary space to specifically outline here.
     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 (a DEAD RINGER for the old Peter Clemenza, played by Richard Castellano, in The Godfather!) 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 a real expert on what he called THE PRIMAL FORCES OF NATURE, that is, 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!  In my brother’s case, the numerous HORROR STORIES, involving also how my mother, and the Roman Catholic Priest of their parish, had VEHEMENTLY BLESSED every CYNICALLY ABOMINABLE DESECRATION of God’s laws, just for the SHEER HELL of it, are recounted, in much more dismally astonishing detail, in Philosophical Letters, Volume III.
     But, then, if biblical tales about, for instance, God “whimsically” striking people dead, for the most “implausibly petty” of reasons, have you typically, “sophisticatedly secular moderns” busting a gut with laughter, particularly at the thought that anybody could ever take them seriously; then let’s not overlook perhaps an even greater kind of objection, on your part, to the “primitively bloodthirsty savagery” of those offenses which were formally punishable by death under Mosaic Law.  My brother’s “ex” wife was raised by a father who heartily encouraged her to become the arrogantly, unconscionably vile beast she is, while bragging about the kind of “bitch battle” in which she enthusiastically “lives” to engage.  Moreover, these are Roman Catholics, who still fancy, in the process, with the reinforcement of every “priest” they know, as well as virtually every other typically depraved “parishoner” in their midst, that they are “genuinely devout,” just by participating mechanically in all the “proper rituals,” as the most “gracefully-unmerited” substitute for any kind of actual virtue.  Some of her favorite and most often-grilled-in expressions to my brother had been, for instance, to the effect that “What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine,” as well as “It’s my way or the highway!”  Just before she’d been “recruited” by the Norwalk Mexican Mafia, in conjunction with numerous comrades in the Norwalk Sheriff Station, to become one of their “bag whores,” she’d cynically convinced my brother to get a vasectomy for her, while her only real intent had been to disable his capacity to have any more children, as she prepared to remove even the two they already had from his midst.  About the only thing which had held their “marriage” together, for over fifteen years, was the extremely good sex this beastial nymphomaniac derived from my brother, and which she still didn’t want to lose, particularly given also the fact that she considered even him her own personal property.  Lulu equally despised this LOATHSOMELY VILE CREATURE, so much, and so understandably, that she just couldn’t resist the BRAZENLY PRESUMPTUOUS AUDACITY of BARGING IN, QUITE UNINVITED, to Lulu’s wake, just to “as much as” GLOATINGLY SPIT ON HER DEAD BODY!  Not a week later, and just to MEAN-SPIRITEDLY GRIND IN ALL THE ANGUISH SHE COULD, she SNEERED CONTEMPTUOUSLY AT ME, “Ya killed her, Rich; the truth hurts!”  How fervently I long to see the day when SHE’S the one FORCED TO FACE–THE TRUTH!
     By the time she’d finally grown too “indignant” to any longer bear the “compromise” of sneaking her boyfriend in through the back window, while my brother was out working, as if she’d had anything to hide, or be ashamed of, and thus decided to waltz him in, right through the front door; it had also become plain enough to her that she’d wanted to retain them both, and thus had the brazenly unmitigated audacity to invite my brother to stay for a “threesome,” which he refused!  His recently broken leg had been in a cast at that time, but this was no deterrent to her calling the police, and having him forcefully ejected, simply on the basis of her whim!  That’s the “strength” of such pure, unmitigated evil, as it dares do things, right in plain sight, which few would be the least bit capable of believing, even then, rather than bringing into question the credibility of anybody who could proceed to “exaggeratingly” make such a report!  It was close to midnight when this happened, and he had no place to go but my residence, two houses down, where he’d stayed, thereafter, for about the next five years!  The houses belonged to my mother, who hates my brother, a reminder to her of her husband; perhaps even more than she does me, as I continue reminding her of her father; but not nearly as much as she hates herself, as one of the strongest, and most “consciously,” hysterically un-self-recognized incentives for the many things she’s no less harmfully done, from beneath every “conveniently” well-rationalized excuse, whenever she even bothered with that much!  My brother’s “wife” clearly recognized this fact, and gloated, with the most viciously, sadistically, mockingly savage kind of blood-lust, at the sheer stupidity and gullibility to be found in a situation upon which she could so easily and opportunistically as well as vindictively proceed to capitalize!  Not only were those two scoundrels heartily congratulated, by their parish “priest,” as well as by the “po-lice,” and my mother, in addition to their two children; but they just had to mockingly, tauntingly rub it in, every time they saw my brother pulling up the driveway, as he needed to pass “their” house, in order to get to mine, all the way in the back!
     I’ll again briefly reiterate, just in case you failed to register what should be, to anyone, the nature of the UNSPEAKABLE HORROR just mentioned, the BRAZENLY HYPOCRITICAL AUDACITY, the kind of SWINISHLY VULGAR DEPRAVITY which provokes me almost beyond any inwardly containable endurance, precisely to the extent that there’s no doubt as to the kind of evil involved here!  That UNSCRUPULOUSLY, MONSTROUSLY EGOTISTICAL BROAD, who called herself my brother’s wife, had been CYNICALLY, MOCKINGLY, BELITTLINGLY LAUGHING at the ways they’d been able to pull my brother’s life right out from under him, and even his livelihood; knowing that, by every legal as well as moral standard of decency, they were totally guilty, beyond even the slightest “mitigating circumstances,” but with nobody in the world to care at all, lest it be to jump with glee, at the triumph of such unrighteousness, which far-too-many JUST PLAIN SPITEFULLY, MEAN-SPIRITEDLY did!  At the same time, they were just as CYNICALLY, MOCKINGLY, GLOATINGLY, DEMONICALLY SNEERING at my mother, but only behind her back, of course, for being the fool she is; led astray, by her own vindictively evil heart, to the betraying of her own flesh and blood, precisely to the extent that it was not guilty, not deserving at all of such; while playing into the very hands of those who do hate even her, who contemptuously call her as stupid as my father repeatedly, and understandably, even desperately did, many times, but rather to her face, and, of course, to none of the most constructively well-intentioned avail.  They were laughing, not only at my brother, and my mother, but at me, as the very one they knew could see what was going on, but the one they could also see to be just as helpless to do anything about it, that is, short only of YOU-SHOULD-KNOW-WHAT, and the very one whose consequently brutal distress they SADISTICALLY, BLOOD-CURDLINGLY SAVORED!  They knew how wickedly as well as gullibly impervious my mother was, to any attempt, by me, to pleadingly reason with her, while they enjoyed seeing the ways she INSULTINGLY, DISMISSIVELY treated me, right in front of them.
     The HARROWINGLY INCONGRUOUS PERPLEXITY is that, like Mary, my mother also has a heart, along with a genuineness, almost as unmistakably real as the RED HOUR GLASSES hidden not-so-carefully or avoidably underneath!  I still reflect with dismay upon the times my mother had contemptuously mocked the poor, and cursed me to my face, as well as over the phone, on many, many occasions, whenever I tried to remind her about what she used to claim as one of her favorite stories of Jesus, involving Lazarus and the rich man.  When I asked her, on as many occasions, even the same ones, how the devil she, or her daughter-in-law, as well as the latter’s father, not to mention the parish priest, at St. John of God, in Norwalk, and even the sheriff of that city-wide EPIDEMIC of MAGGOTS hiding in the woodwork, also behind the most “professionally and responsibly respectable” poses, could have mindlessly condoned such brazenly, hypocritically, cynically unconscionable breaches even of Roman Catholic Law, the only verbal “answer” I ever received was–SHUT UP, I DON’T WANT TO HEAR OF THE MATTER!  Yet, they all go on as though nothing happened, to this very day–as though they were all good, respectable Roman Catholics, every one!  When they give no verbal responses to the many charges I’ve presented repeatedly over the past twenty years alone, what characteristically follows, instead, is that disgustingly dismissive shaking of the head, slowly, methodically, as though pitying a madman, out of whose mouth everything uttered must be, therefore alone, by nature quite incredibly and ridiculously perverse, or, at best, sincerely though psychotically delusional.  During a more acutely vulnerable interval, well-timed to coincide with the shock treatments administered by Mary, my mother had taken the opportunity to sneer, right into my face, how DISGUSTING I was, and how I reminded her of the selfsame father she’d prayed to God in vain she’d never end up bringing into this world herself!
     And this war is still ever-raging, between all of them and me, between all of them and my brother, whom his so-called wife, and her Mexican Mafia friends, had mistakenly anticipated would end up physically dead as well, long, long ago, as dead as they’ve by now very successfully helped to make him, in “just about” every other, more “figuratively inconsequential” respect!  The only place he’s had to live, over the past couple of years, is in my mother’s house, which I gag on the thought of even trying to refer to as a real “home” at all!  His daughter eventually pleaded to move in as well, along with her daughter, and yet another, with whom she’d become illicitly pregnant, subsequent to having made theirs her new address.  She is just as BRAZENLY CONTEMPTUOUS as her mother had VICIOUSLY BRED her to be about OBLIGATIONS to ANY KIND of MORAL STANDARDS, and no less DEFIANTLY, SPITEFULLY ignored all my brother’s warnings, as coming from one she’d also been taught to regard as nothing better than a joke, about doing any such thing.  Ever since that little bitch moved in, she started doing everything possible to drive the already strong wedge between my mother and brother as unendurably far as she could, probably under her mother’s own vindictively collusive guidance, until he finally had to leave, thus helping pave the way for her mother to fill the vacuum as well.  Even while capitalizing on her father’s hospitality, and cleaning him out of his last cent, she ranted and raved, like a spoiled, snot-nosed, vulgarly ungrateful child, about how she hated having to live there.  I asked her, one evening, and as sensitively, understandingly as I possibly could, why she refused to find it in herself to thank God for what she did have, and even inquired as to why she couldn’t move in with her mother, instead, since she liked her so much more.  Her response was to go into a physically violent rage, while even ordering me to leave the house!  And this is what you typically, “sophisticatedly secular moderns” call “progress,” and such a “superlatively civilized advance” over the “primitively savage” Law of Moses, a Law under which such vile creatures would have been STONED TO DEATH, LONG, LONG AGO!  Indeed, one of the more dismally apparent reasons God even allows this kind of “Modern Advancement” to systematically run its course, is to demonstrate, the HARD way, why such things had been CAPITAL OFFENSES in the firs place, and, by the way, STILL ARE!      
     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!
     Moreover, what even that particular bastard mentioned above, along with far-too-many others like him, never had even the brains to understand, and have probably never learned yet, even to this day, is how unworthily fortunate they’d been that I Was a MORAL Teenage Werewolf, who OTHERWISE would have taken out plenty of them instead, rather than letting such a Spartanly Ravenous Animal continue tearing me up inside, to nearly the extent it still is!  Like Brando said, at one point, to Ben Johnson, in One-Eyed Jacks, they came much closer to THE VERY EDGE than even I can bear to contemplate!  But, then, of course, that same abovementioned bastard, first of all, but far from last, will sadistically, brutally, swinishly, vulgarly, mockingly, belittlingly, dehumanizingly sneer, back, again, until, by the age of sixty, even the most cynically hearty Laughter of the Gods is barely sufficient to override the virtually indistinguishable alacrity of demons, that I’m just a “pussy,” after-all; even though they were the very ones who boasted, at that more spontaneously, transparently, “pre-Christianly” young and “tender” age, that they were the very ones who had no kind of theistic religion or idealistically-rooted morality behind which to hide, and correspondingly far less even of the possibly bogus pretense of any kind of excuse from real strength, for the fact that I’m still alive, even as much as they would have loved to murder me altogether, but slowly, tantalizingly, while savoring every “pussy-like” cry of physical anguish as well!–Which they undoubtedly would have done, even and especially as the kinds of real cowards they are, had I given them even a fraction of the very good reason to feel that way, even in strictly carnal terms, that they’d enjoyed giving me, especially in the kinds of spiritual terms I may soon be able to laugh about just as heartily, but at their kind of long-overdue expense, for a change!  Even the professing “Christians” among them are of the same instinctively, degenerately rotten persuasion, from behind the sort of “Sid-Sawyer-like” whining as well as sneering which forces me to have to wonder which, if either type, I find the more disgusting!  Even as they psychologically rape and torture you into becoming “good,” they’re instinctively, self-righteously ridiculing you to scorn for having been “weak” and “stupid” enough to succumb, just because they can’t really face the fact that you are alone the one among them who is really decent by choice, even without having had to be beaten down so brutally, savagely in the process that even you, yourself, can barely if at all discern the difference after a point!  Nietzsche really understood why the herd would instinctively, resentfully lust to devour anybody it knows to tower more innocently as well as magnanimously above it, but while also being vulgarly, swinishly, “freely and equally” thrust into its ravenously vindictive clutches!
     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” (or, more accurately with relation to Nietzsche’s meaning, the term would be an even higher “Transfiguration” of the Will to Power, an Inner Strength which Unrancorously, Unconditionally says “Yes” to Life, to What Is, while becoming Stronger rather than Perishing from every “Misfortune,” thus turning even it to one’s own advantage!) 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 page here. About the only thing I can just about guarantee, however, is that, when it 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, even if Satan is the one who gets first crack at dazzling you with all those miracles (Revelation 13), until the Sixth Seal finally opens (Revelation 6:12-17)!!  God 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 Ballard 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 magic bullet in the head. 

Idols of the Theater

Exorcist: The Beginning (2004)
The Clearest View of God–From Hell!!!, 27 April 2005
10/10

     Exorcist: The Beginning is an existentially-moving, excellently-performed portrayal of Father Lancaster Merrin, whose faith had given way to skepticism, disillusionment, and despair, augmenting a deeply, personally unbearable sense of guilt, upon having encountered some of the worst evil in the human soul!–That is, until, ironically enough, this same faith had been restored–by what Sarah had well-described, and experienced herself, as the clearest view of God–from Hell!!! Or, as Burt Lancaster said, during one of his most passionately fiery sermons, in Elmer Gantry, “How do I know there’s a mercifully loving God? Because I’ve seen the Devil plenty of times!” Ordinarily, Satan takes care of one such as Father Merrin with the assistance of creatures such as Father Barre, from Ken Russell’s The Devils, and their cleverly-disingenuous capacity to emphasize, in the words of Barre, “That what you see here is, not dignity, but pride, unrepentant pride!”  Yet, one does have to give Barre the point, in that the two are regularly and systematically confused; just as about the only reason it is rather pride which is the more often mistaken for dignity, is that the latter is so much rarer, instead of nearly as popular as is commonly misbelieved!  Thanks to the enormously institutional weight of Barre’s religious “credibility,” he was able to milk the idea of the supernatural to the marrow; until the transparency of his fraudulence could no longer be endured, and his own insatiably depraved blood-lust, for “Extraordinary Rendition” in particular, was viewed, along with the very essence of all belief in “demonic possession,” as a very symptom, if not a cause as well, of the selfsame “neurologically-rooted hysteria” it was purporting to “treat.”  But the “problem” of Grandier is still as timelessly to be reckoned with, while merely needing to be more “humanely” as well as “accurately” re-interpreted, in “strictly psychiatric” terms; by a priest-turned-physician such as Barre, and the “counterbalancing” reaction-formation, or antiseptically sterilized “adaptation” to something more closely resembling the policy that dignity itself is an “emotionally treatable disorder” of some kind or another!  But fear “not,” for the old Barre shall again be back, in all his fulness; just as I can already hear Mr. Applegate (Ray Walston), from the musical Damn Yankees, firing up to do one of his favorite numbers again, speaking of the “Good Ole’ Days!”   
     It’s tragically and understandably characteristic, particularly with relation, ironically enough, to the goodness of human nature, to view the greatest evil in it as well, as virtual “proof” that there cannot possibly be any God, consistently at all, philosophically speaking, with even such a possibility, let-alone the most woundingly shattering experiences of its actual reality to help burn in the point more completely, sentiently as well. But, when Satan finally unmasks his supernatural qualities, for all the world to see (Revelation 13:13-15), it will be for the well-calculated purpose of further bolstering Father Barre’s position; which too many prefer to believe, anyway, despite the perhaps equal number of agnostics whom Satan shall thereby help forfeit to God in the process (Revelation 7:9-17)!!!  Of course, though, the “New Age” believers will have no difficulty “transcending” the “God verses Satan” monopoly, with some version and/or another of, say, Chariots of the Gods (along with the presumptuously, impudently erroneous belief, of those, for instance, at Radio Alchymy, which is undoubtedly and ironically shared by the very scoundrels they are accusing, too; that an End-Time Apocalyptic Scenario, along with all Biblically-recorded history itself, had been craftily, mystifyingly, diabolically invented!  However, they might even be converted completely, from such suspicions, at least as to its “humanly” evil origin and nature, when it does finally materialize, perhaps also in the form of a Satanic counterfeit of Ezekiel, Chapter One, claiming to have originated from the selfsame Source!); just as, for that matter, one of Satan’s favorite tricks is to distract attention, from the manner in which he regularly, but much more subtly, “undetectably” operates, through most, who are nothing but putty in his hands (And, if they mockingly deny his existence in the process, he’s the one laughing, even at that!); by helping, but in a more marginally well-calculated way, one directed at believers rather than unbelievers, to foster the false impression that, if his presence fails to be as “glaringly obvious,” as it had especially been, in the original version of The Exorcist as well, then it must not be there at all!
     Another careless assumption which should be clarified, is that, in order for Satan to enter and possess a person, it must be known, to the person in question, that he is doing precisely that; say, after the manner of Walter Bedeker (David Wayne), as he was knowingly signing his soul over to one of the slickest imitators of Satan ever performed (Thomas Gomez, as “Cadwallader”), in the original Twilight Zone episode entitled “Escape Clause.”  Again, such cleverly “technical” melodramatics serve mostly the well-calculated purpose of distracting attention from the more regularly “informal” manner in which such “contracts” are “signed,” particularly by those who need not even believe in the existence of any God or Satan at all!  Even Robert Sterling, as Douglas Winter, in Serling’s “Printer’s Devil,” while having found his “escape clause” in precisely his argument from ignorance, nevertheless had to first recognize his enemy, before being able to reverse the damage.  Of course, with Mr. Feathersmith (Albert Salmi), in Serling’s “Of Late I Think of Cliffordville,” Satan didn’t even have to hoodwink him into believing it had been too late, by the time he’d discovered the truth; contrary to Jabez Stone, in The Devil and Daniel Webster, who antithetically utilized the freedom he still actually had, even after having walked into Hell with both eyes open, like unto Joe Hardy (Tab Hunter), in Damn Yankees!  Yet, when Satan makes his very identity as well as existence so undeniably clear (which is why he “hides” himself, as a generally, modernly, agnostically “civilized” rule, but not to those already primitively superstitious enough to be more effectively, unedifiably manipulatable in the opposite way; just as Pharaoh’s magicians, in The Ten Commandments, only “helped” him to believe, even more firmly, that he must have been “really on to something!”), it is impossible for any coherently thinking person to avoid, not only concurring with Burt Lancaster, as, again, the dynamically though simplistically, negatively misunderstandable Elmer Gantry, when he also similarly said, to his good friend, so superlatively played by Arthur Kennedy, that, “If there’s a real hell, then it follows there must be a real heaven,” but also neutralizing rather than enhancing Satan’s effectiveness. Even Roddy McDowall, in Fright Night, quite glaringly as well as “amusingly” serves to illustrate this point; in conjunction with one of the slickest, most dynamically-animated vampires I’ve ever seen, played so masterfully by Chris Sarandon!
     And, again, of course, Scripturally speaking, the possibility of individual demonic possession, even in the most glaringly, dramatically obvious forms, does not necessarily imply a deliberate invitation, or even an evil heart as such, and, thus, at least, an “implicit” or even an “unbelievingly inadvertent” invitation for demons to enter (Matthew 12:43-45), but only, one might say, a lack of the kind of “disinvitation” which only the individually-indwelling Holy Spirit can enforce.  There is no indication that Sarah had conformed to anything but the latter condition, even in conjunction with the lack of an evil heart per se; although something must have been decisively amiss, in her attitude, despite even the most movingly human appearances to the contrary; particularly in conjunction with the extent to which Scripture gives indication, even of the Holy Spirit’s individually indwelling protection, based on a pure heart, in the absence of any “conscious” awareness of the “chemical composition” of the Water of Life having been consumed (Matthew 10:41-42; 13:17; 25:34-40) (Romans 2:1-16).  Yet, the case of possession, in the first Exorcist film, did involve as least an “implicit” but, still, much clearer invitation as well, via the instrument of the ouija board (Acts 19:19).  Scripture unmistakably forbids the practice of necromancy (Deuteronomy 18:10-12), just as King Saul was finally killed by God for having tried to contact the Prophet Samuel, through the Witch of Endor (I Samuel 28).  Allegedly true tales such as The Amityville Horror continue to successfully abound, nevertheless, at indulging one of Satan’s favorite pastimes; of convincing people, quite unscripturally (Ecclesiastes 9:4-6), that particularly the murdered dead really do haunt their houses; even with the “implication” that Satan therefore has no involvement at all, if he’s believed in the process even to exist at all.
     It’s not just intellectual ignorance which causes people to miss the mark, even when they do encounter anything “miraculous,” but the basically instinctive will to unholiness (Luke 16:29-31) (James 2:19); even if that will can no longer avoid having to indulge itself, within a Christian frame of reference, by conveniently mistaking Satan’s miracles for those of the real God.  In this connection, of course, the most tragic irony of all, which remains seriously unaddressed in the film, and, thus, even more cleverly because “implicitly” denied in the process; would perhaps have also at least “implicitly” come into somewhat clearer focus, if not, much more likely, prevailingly, overshadowingly, the very opposite (as Rome’s very ability to “drive out” the Devil, in his most conveniently, nakedly, and yet even quite “cooperatively untransparent” form, had been so “clearly, undeniably confirmed!”), in terms of Satan’s most cleverly sinister capacity to deceive, had the setting of the story been–Rome–rather than Kenya!–Along with Alejandro Rey, from right out of Satan’s Triangle!!!–II Thessalonians 2:1-12–Galatians 1:6-9!–Revelation 2:12-15–II Corinthians 11:12-15!!!–And numerous other passages which collectively fit together into the most amazingly scriptural pattern! Much more information, on this systematically comprehensive Weltanschauung, and its historically, prophetically teleological unfolding, can be found in Philosophical Letters: The Last Revival, available online.

The Fly II (1989)
An Ingeniously Excellent Film, In Every Conceivable Sense!!!, 14 October 2006
10/10

     As, for example, the great Matlock has to so often say, Please bear with me, Your Honor, while I shortly make abundantly clear, in response to my opponent’s objection, beginning with the third paragraph of this critique, the relevance, here, of my opening line of thought, there!–Although even what’s here is much-too-briefly-inadequate to accommodate my many unstated observations, as well as deepest gratitude, for one of the greatest film masterpieces, in every conceivable sense, which has ever been made, or could, by nature, ever be–at all!–Even given the abundance of some very stiff competition!–Including Exorcist: The Beginning!–Which I specifically mention because it is, as of yet, the only other film I have dealt with on this website.  I only wish I could as skillfully do the kind of justice, with this particular film, that Martin Brundle was able to accomplish, given his kinds of strictly technical skills!  But, then, neither can I jump fifty feet, and land on my own two feet nearly as gracefully, let-alone leap tall buildings in a single bound!  Martin’s enemies are dismally real enough, however, with their sadistically, dehumanizingly brutal vitality; just as they’ll undoubtedly never stop wresting, until what Martin called the pain of an open wound, “contemptibly” weak and vulnerable, finally begins to morph! 
     Of course, it would be totally unfair to “caricature,” at all, by comparison, the original inspiration for all this, starring Vincent Price and Brett Halsey; or, for that matter, to press the point as to a more crudely implausible form of gene splicing, coupled with the way the fly, with the white head of David Hedison, in part one, was able to cry for help, in English, even though the brain itself had not been “grafted” as well.  After-all, not only had the original version made this one possible, in a manner for which anyone with real perception realizes it is virtually impossible to be sufficiently grateful; but, also, among other things, and many nameless people involved who never get any of the thanks which is due to them, the original “Return of the Fly” was every bit as profoundly well-conceived, too, as any Morality Play could be!–Including the many Martin Brundles on school campuses today!!!  Moreover, while David Hedison, too, embodied no less impressive-a-moral figure, at least it must be observed that Jeff Goldblum’s more disappointing performance in this respect, alongside the equally questionable integrity of Geena Davis, nevertheless failed to detract in the least from the effectiveness of the remake of part one as a first-class Morality Play as well, including the anything-but-accidental observation that her jilted boyfriend turned out to have been the only impressively palatable figure.
     A demonstrably, systematically, comprehensively teleological design is Divinely behind all this, even in the sense that any kind of resemblance, to real people, here, is not quite as “merely coincidental,” at least not in the sense I mean, as those I am hereby thankfully acknowledging might very understandably but erroneously believe! It is a teleological design, in prophetically written form, or “transcript,” as well, which also enhances my own intellectual love of God, in the exquisitely perfect depth and resonance of its most axiologically-rooted purpose, all woven together into the only Weltanschauung which is, by nature, or, more accurately, super-naturally, capable of rationally confronting and synthesizing every philosophically or transcendentally “if” not “pragmatically” (rather than otherwise “inherently” or “fancifully”) indispensable question structurally fashionable by the human mind.
     Unfortunately, most, and virtually all, popularly self-alleged “experts,” as well as “lay representatives” per se, on this subject, have spread more confusion than clarification; which is even more damagingly compounded by their own, far-too-often-enough, equally, mutually flawed bones of contention, even with one-another (I Corinthians 3); so that, in effect, it’s hardly any real wonder that the millions of formally-professing unbelievers they’re so formidably helping to maintain “if” not create (II Peter 2), have long arrived at the “conclusion” that the Bible is not only less than Divinely-Inspired, but also “hopelessly incoherent” enough to be saying nothing which is consistently, systematically, comprehensively decipherable in itself!  Job’s equally ancient, or rather quite dismally, characteristically perennial, “friends” gave excellent sermons, flawlessly impeccable to the letter, but while having understood virtually nothing they were saying!
     While the variously and self-insistently incompatible strains of “believers” are doctrinally clear enough, nevertheless, particularly in terms of the points upon which they virtually all do at least theoretically claim to themselves to agree (Romans 1:16-32) (Hebrews 11:6))(I John 3:11-18), to help leave professing unbelievers with virtually no ultimately decisive excuse; they are, again, and again, confusingly, even sickeningly, hypocritically obscure enough, in their clear lack of any genuinely adequate credibility (Romans 2)(I Corinthians 3)(II Peter 2)(Revelation 3:15-17), to where they’ll all end up owing their Boss an answer for the many-too-many they’re even quite cynically, complacently, judgmentally, and, again, competitively (Matthew 23:4-7) unconcerned, and even delighted, that they’re driving so bitterly away!
     Can one even count it a blessing, to them, or anyone else, that, first of all, they ever even learned how to “read” per se, and thereafter presumptuously claim (Luke 14:7-11) to have “totally mastered” a book deliberately designed, by its real Author, to indubitably require an “intuitive edge,” beyond the “merely intellectual,” in order to be accurately, edifyingly discernible, in its systematically-interrelated totality?  Among other things, the Bible contains innumerable statements which must be intuitively weighed against one-another, while in the process of determining the most well-balanced form of their applicability, not only with relation to themselves, but also while applying their principles within the actual, particular circumstances of life, as the mind synthetically connects these principles to the various life-contexts in question.  To cite a rather formidably imaginative analogy, from The Fly itself, as well as its sequel, even far-too-many self-alleged “experts” lack the necessary “finesse”, or, one “might” even quite regretfully albeit “arrogantly” and “judgmentally” have to say, to these incessantly and unteachably (Hebrews 5:-9-14; 6:1-8) self-appointed “sermonizers” and infernally, insufferably alienated as well as alienating “scolders” (Matthew 7:3-5), the most basic sense of humanity (Daniel 12:8-10)(Romans 8:7-11), and, only thus, even the basic intelligence, per se (James 1:5-11), to be capable of programming the computer to electronically transfer living things, perfectly intact, instead of just inanimate objects.
     Or, as my father used to say, in the most understandably skeptical vein, the Bible is like a fiddle, and you can play any tune you want on it. What I should add is that there are many bad tunes, which still succeed at sounding somewhat like music; but, really, only one good one (I Corinthians 14:32-33), with a real feeling, or, more accurately, a spiritual gift, even for reading let-alone actually playing the music, as prolifically as it had been written; rather than just a head for the most essential logic as well, if, therefore, even that much of it to speak of at all!?–Isaiah 28:5-13!!!–Or, again, to invoke still another analogy from the film, it’s something like a group of typical monkeys trying to figure out how to operate an automobile, but with at least the one crucially decisive difference that the monkeys aren’t yet capable of concluding they’ve already mastered the process!  But, then, as even an an ex-cave-dweller such as Socra-Tease would have had to say, that’s Devolution for you! . . . In the Spirit of Elijah, Richard O’Donnell

Wild in the Streets (1968)
Great Film!!!, 20 October 2006
10/10

     It was Jimmy Fergus who initially brought out the “very best” in Max, who met the former so abruptly on the former’s own terms; but, as the kind of modern-day Caligula lingering not too deeply beneath the flimsiest of surfaces in Max, at least when the wrong buttons were even quite innocently and inadvertently pushed; but, particularly, by the kind of “legacy,” from “Stiffs,” who “live high, and fat, with all the money!”–Or, “at least,” given their most miserably poor driving habits, in a way which would have produced the same “high-intensity” reaction, especially from James Dean, and, in fact, did, on many occasions.
     This is a dynamically thought provoking script, from beneath its more “cultishly caricaturistic” surface; as one of the most timely and relevant yet marginalized and underrated satires of social commentary ever produced, even despite its “grossly absurd improbabilities.”  Moreover, as for all those “Old Tigers?” Maximilian, baby, couldn’t have been more wrong! Just wait and see how well one of the oldest of them is about to “fly!” Yet, nobody but Jones could have carried this lead so effectively, with the kind of professionally well-polished finesse he exhibited. He was truly fated to assume this particular role, just as he blended in so smoothly with the character of Frost, that it’s about anybody’s guess, from far enough away, as to where he ended, and Max began.
     Only Shelley Winters had been as “archetypally” irreplaceable here–Along with her Sally LeRoy!–and, in total, an entire cast which it was extremely fortunate didn’t have to be replaced. The songs were no less movingly, inspiringly performed as well as composed. For instance, the thought of seeing such a dynamically new paradigm envelop the land, “like a fresh, new breeze,” had been something quite overwhelmingly, urgently, inseparably “top-of-the-line!” At least one unsung line is more than applicable today, which goes, “The only thing that blows your mind when you’re thirty is getting guys to kill other guys; only in another city, another country, where you don’t see it; they don’t know anything about it!”
     I was hardly the first to notice the close physical resemblance of Jones to James Dean. I believe he missed one of his greatest opportunities, and commands upon the scope of his talent, by not having portrayed the role of James Dean himself, in place, for just one instance among others, of a Stephen McHattie–who had no business in the part, either!  As for his differences from James Dean, which do run much more than “skin-deep,” even in ways which need never have detracted from the uniqueness of the skills of Jones, had Dean been permitted, in this sense, to reduce him to nothing but a “clone?” James Dean had a genuineness, an existential depth, which is not at all the easiest thing in the world to merely imitate!–Save, that is, and short only of the real thing, to the extent that a level of “method acting,” on a par with, say, Kirk Douglas, in his purely superficial though movingly convincing portrayal of Vincent Van Gogh, had been adequately at the command of Jones.
     The only other real waste, next to that of Jones, here, is that Charles Laughton would have played the role of Socrates, as superlatively as he did Gracchus, in Spartacus!  I’m not sure whether Lionel Barrymore ever portrayed FDR, but it would have been about as exquisitely perfect-a-match as, say, Fredric March proved to have been, as William Jennings Bryan, in Inherit the Wind.  As for Jones, however, he did, nevertheless, get a very good “Shot at the Title,” of being Dean, at “Home,” or, more accurately, in the words of Dean himself, at the “Zoo,” and, of course, again, after a car crash, during the opening scenes of Wild in the Streets!  Even more candidly, though (than a spitefully, sarcastically God-despising Devlin of an editor, at IMDb, by the name of Ann, would permit me to explain; just as it’s no small wonder any of my material was ever, let-alone remains, at least hitherto, knock on wood, available on that site!), Jones (and I say this minus any trace of malice for the artist in him) wouldn’t have been nearly as impressive, after-all, as Brad Davis, in the part of Dean; for, in addition to embodying all the foregoing qualifications of Jones for the part, he also had more of Dean’s own personality.  Jones was a classically or rather modernly test-tube example, the most glaringly perfected prototype, of every real punk I’ve ever had the destructively irritating displeasure of so abundantly, incessantly, even predominantly encountering!
     On the whole, just watching him in action reminds me of what Milton Berle said to Stephen Boyd, in The Oscar:  “Do you know why you were nominated for that Oscar, Frankie?  Because you played yourself, as you really are!”  It also brings to mind something Brando said, to Mary Murphy, in The Wild One:  “If anybody thinks they’re better than me, I make sure I knock ‘em over sometime!”  In fact, the real reason, I suspect, that Jones appeared to welcome no identification with Dean, was, not the problem of “cloning” per se, but rather his kind of “perception” of Dean as such an “ever-whining nerd,” the kind of “chicken” who even quite “hysterically” lacked the “guts” to admit to himself what he “really” was.  After-all, even Buz Gunderson had enough “guts” to go totally over the edge!  Yet, even Buz turned out to have been more meaningfully “abstract” than the kind of punks Jones undoubtedly enjoyed portraying.  It’s most regrettable that I’d never been able to shake his hand, but then that punk who’d taken over in his place, as well as the rest of those typical bozos beneath him, were about the best I’d ever had to know, just as I couldn’t give one hell of a damn what anybody just as typically “thinks,” undoubtedly even to this very day, and so many years “older” on their part, that I never really made it beyond being a “Yo-Yo,” either, thanks also to far-too-many “Judys” who, in her own words, weren’t “very sincere,” either.
     Not unrelatedly, just thank God, if even most of you believe in the right one, that Wild in the Streets is only a fantasy; along with its logically necessary sequel, Children of the Corn, and a gradually renewing expansion of the “Legal Age!” However, perhaps nothing at all, even in such a dismally-conceived future, could possibly surpass, for instance, the reportedly true as well as normatively realistic history, of a film such as Mark of the Devil, with Herbert Lom!–Or, The Conqueror Worm, with Vincent Price!–Or, as Nietzsche said, Progress is merely a Modern Idea, that is to say, a False Idea!

Pressure Point (1962)
The Great Bobby Darin!!!, 21 October 2006
10/10

     This is one of the greatest films of all time, and Bobby Darin was truly a masterful artist! I still watch, or, more accurately, study, his inspiringly gifted performance! Nobody else could have done any more to honor the part he played, just as he had been accompanied by the most impressively, realistically believable cast; but particularly in the flashback scenes, going back to his childhood. Not only must the acting be applauded as top-notch, but also every aspect of the strictly technical contributions; all woven together into such a superlative art form, as well as a deeply educational experience.
     The writers, in particular, very cogently nailed down one of the most compelling themes of the film; where Darin points out, to Poitier, that America has the latter so confused that he continues to sing, “My country, ‘Tis of Thee,” while they’re walking all over him! Poitier’s most sensitive “Pressure Point” is really touched by that; and, despite the profoundest truths Poitier utilizes, to “neutralize” this very observation, one can plainly see the extent to which he is very dishonestly, with himself, and resentfully, victimizingly attempting to “cope” with it! Even the other psychiatrists at the prison only served to confirm the truth of Darin’s contention; which remains just as true-in-itself, regardless of how disingenuously Darin proceeded to capitalize upon it!
     Of course, Poitier’s own deeply-rooted insecurities, and even quite “repressed” but not so “latent” hostilities, not only rendered him something less than the paragon of “professional objectivity” he’d nevertheless believed he was, even despite certain of his own candidly-indicative admissions; but also did a great deal to inhibit the effectiveness of his therapy, as well as helping to convince his superior as to the problematic extent of his limitations.  While less flattering things need be said about that superior, he was, after-all, genuinely trying, in his own way, to believe in Poitier, and to give him every chance he deserved.  He’d even gone so far as to candidly express his admiration to him, for abilities displayed on the job which had, in his words, far surpassed his own initial expectations.
     Yet, here was Poitier, so needlessly and even legitimately disappointing him, as a result of what had likewise been one of the more seriously failing moments in his consultations with Darin!  Even the latter had branded his apology to Poitier, during that particular session, as the very kind of laudable achievement it was, only to have the compliment scornfully, insecurely, and destructively thrown right back into his face, by the very person who also should have rather viewed it as nothing less than his own great achievement as well; a response to which Darin, at that point, would undoubtedly have likewise concurred most genuinely and sincerely, even in conjunction with his previously-stated admiration for a black doctor nobly though “naively” struggling against all the odds.  About the only “lost opportunity” in the film more senselessly and seriously damaging, next to the tone of Poitier’s last farewell, or that of Darin’s father, of course, when it could rather have been something no less extremely, pivotally, and lastingly positive in its impact, occurred at the front door of a wonderful little Jewish girl, and why he would never see her again!
     As with James Dean, it “almost” feels “as if” certain people are symbolically fated to die young, as the kind who are a bit too pure for this world; and, thus, Divinely-ordained for protection from so many of its characteristically corrupting influences (Isaiah 57:1-2). Moreover, their early deaths sometimes serve the equally constructive purpose of “showcasing” them for the kind of “immortality,” to popular perception, which should act, much more than it ordinarily does, to the intended benefit of all, exactly as Darin had so deservedly and successfully wished! At any rate, Bobby Darin has made an everlasting imprint upon me! Had he been born for nothing but this role, it would have been no less superlatively worthy of the effort!
     And, speaking, again, of the good dying young, perhaps even “Giant” had served as a kind of “hypothetical preview” of what could have happened to Dean; although I still wish, as much as they both would have, that Divine Providence had left them in our midst just a little longer.  The only other currently relevant figure I’ll explicitly mention here is Elvis Presley, who held his own, in a most magnificently meaningful way, with early greats such as “Wild in the Country,” and, also, as Deke Rivers, in “Loving You!” As with Brando, however, Presley had been “showcased,” much less “hypothetically,” after the fashion of “Giant!” It would be a big mistake to regard any of these popularly-immortalized legends as mere accidents. 
     Yet, to what Purpose as well as Design? Dostoyevsky said it one way, in just a single stroke: “If there is no God, then all is permissible!” Even Nietzsche, who claimed Dostoyevsky was one of the very few from whom he had anything to learn, very tragically, fatalistically took extra special note, no doubt, of this particular observation; until finally collapsing, about twelve years before his very end, from the most strenuously-insoluble dilemma; and the scathing “moralic acid,” as he called it, which also helped to purifyingly burn his own most blessedly-agonizing soul to the very marrow; as he quite symbolically, surrogately, foreshadowingly, prophetically bore the sins of the shortly-upcoming Hitler!!!–Of whom Richard Basehart was so magnificently the best, despite even some of the otherwise most difficult quality of competition available, but who nevertheless shouldn’t have even bothered, here!!! Try General Tanz (Peter O’Toole), along with Wolf Larsen (Edward G. Robinson), or Stalin (as masterfully portrayed by Robert Duvall), and even a special role by Adam West, in The Big Valley; if you care to understand why certain kinds of people are so much closer as well as further away from God than most, who feel so uniquely qualified to judge them!Even Frollo (Sir Cedric Hardwicke), from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, is another whose feet most “moralists” aren’t the least bit fit to lick!

     Nietzsche also went into his coma the same year Hitler had been born, just as they had both died at “virtually” the same age! But Hitler was only the main symbol, predestined to go down tragically in flames. There were, however, others, whom Nietzsche meant more accurately. Castro was a better example, and Emiliano Zapata (the real “Brando”) even better yet, along with Elmer Gantry, and Billy Jack; but John W. Burns (“Jack,” for short) shall always be one of my favorite–cowboys!–Or, even more accurately, my very favorite!–Just as Superman himself, for that matter, was Zarathustra’s kind of–Superman–too!!! But, then, Nietzsche, by his own admission, had also been too much of a poetically romantic dreamer, concerning every kind of possibility short only of Great Caesar’s Ghost; despite even his acute awareness that there are fundamentally, ultimately only one of two ways to go, particularly into the twentieth century; including what could even have become of a Lucas McCain, in the form of The Mad Bomber!–Although, had anyone really harmed Mark, they would have had him to deal with, even in the nineteenth!!!  “Perhaps” even more alarmingly, let’s not tend to overlook what Officer Geronimo’s partner so perceptively said to him, at one point, in the middle of a very tasty snack (at least to his partner):  “If you were anything but a cop, I’d be out there looking for you!”  Geronimo (Vince Edwards) at least “subconsciously” identified with The Mad Bomber so completely as to have longed for the opportunity to literally strangle himself to death–surrogately–or “self-exorcizingly!”

“The A-Team” (1983)
Three Cheers for the Great A-Team!!!, 22 October 2006
10/10

     Three Cheers, for the great A-Team, and George Peppard, first of all; when it comes to the difference between, in “Mr. T’s” vernacular, a Real Man, and a “Real”–Whatever! Moreover, Jonas Cord, Jr., from “The Carpetbaggers,” was one of Peppard’s most inspiring roles; regardless of how much even he finally needed to be “cut down” at least a couple of notches, by the same kind of Real Man (Alan Ladd) who also played the lead “Junior,” but, this time, of himself (Steve McQueen), along with his good friend, Jonas Cord, Sr. (Brian Keith), in the marvelously well-conceived, movingly-retroactive sequel to this film, Nevada Smith!
     And, of course, Clubber Lang needed to be “cut down” a couple of notches, too; although I know the feeling well, when, in the first fight, he kept screaming, with every punch, “You made me wait, Balboa!” I only shudder to realize against Whom we were actually fighting, somewhat like unto the occasion when Jacob was wresting with You-Know-Whom for his new “Name Change!” God forbid that we should make Him wait nearly as long in return, for the amount of time He’d given us to get in such really good shape (Revelation 3:7-8)!  In the A-Team, they’re both “on the lam” with a very impressive entourage of rogues, whose swagger is, quite believably, buoyantly, nothing less than second-to-none!–Even Next to Errol Flynn, in Robin Hood!–And that’s going almost to the very top!–Save for the fact that Robin Hood was much closer to, in particular, the real “throat” of the problem!
     Moreover, in such strikingly, redeemingly real-life contrast, with most equally “Real”–Whatevers, even “Mr. T” had a point, many years ago, about being “Born Again!”–At least, perhaps, until he’d far-enough surpassed most of his “spiritual competitors,” especially the most “sweet-smelling” varieties, even so much more dynamically enough to where he probably no longer continues to say, “I don’t like that term, fool!” He even very recently, graciously, and freely, of the Spirit, made note of one of my own favorite lines, from long, long ago; about how most “parishoners,” after having “praised the Lord” for an entire hour or so together, will characteristically, thereafter, threaten to ram one-another down with their cars, while trying so very “courteously,” and “tender-heartedly,” to exit the parking lot first!
     “Mr. T,” particularly, would get a real “kick” out of the following “Joke,” from the Reverend Ralph Woodrow, if he hasn’t heard it already. There’s a meeting, between the members of a Baptist and a Presbyterian (or is it Methodist? Whichever, it doesn’t matter!) “congregation,” for the purpose of uniting the two, because both “congregations” had decided they were too small. But, then, the problem of what to call the combined grouping could not be solved. Finally, they decided to “compromise,” by calling it the Christian Church; at which point, an old woman screamed out, “I’ve been a Baptist all my life, and nobody’s going to make a Christian out of me!”
     It’s like in that original Star Trek episode, where a computer named “Landru” had control of “The Body!” Maybe that’s about the best they could do even together, but they’re doing just as good-a-job separately! Most today unfortunately need to learn, the hard way, what a hypocritical rather than redeeming world of difference there is, between genuinely laying one’s sins on the Lord, and dumping them upon a favorite scapegoat such as Judas Iscariot!  Also, does “Mr. T” need even one mere guess, as to which of these characters most resembles the real “Lonesome Rhodes?”–Who really ended up being hated for having been as sadly correct as well as wrong as he was, concerning his most fervently-devoted admirers! In fact, how many, even of his harshest critics, can begin to tell the difference, in anything but Babbitt’s favor, between him and Elmer Gantry?–Or, for that matter, an inspiring joy to the heart such as Robert Duvall’s The Apostle! No less positively, I just finished watching Glenn Ford, again, in The Fastest Gun Alive! Now there was a Real Congregation!
     Preacher Jamison (Royal Dano), from an episode of The Rifleman entitled “Day of Reckoning,” had a very hard time forming one, but I would have been proud to join!  The same goes for Brother Love (Robert Goulet), in an episode of The Big Valley by the same name, at least after his release from the pen!  Moreover, what a long, barren gap, between Joel McCrea and Randolph Scott, in Ride the High Country, and Captain James T. Kirk and Mr. Spock!–Except for Dr. Richard Kimble, The Fugitive; who, despite competition as close as Rocky vs. Creed II, has always been my favorite!–Even if he did end up dropping me, so very fast and hard, along with John Wayne’s accompanying “jab” at Van Gogh, the “nerd,” that I enjoyed Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (a superbly moving work of art, along with both The Sting I and II!) so much more–almost as much as I still do my favorite–Champion!–And his Paths of Glory, particularly, as well as Town Without Pity.

Revenge of the Nerds (1984)
Timely Social Satire, but Certainly No Comedy!!!, 23 October 2006
10/10

     I had nothing but hell, every year in school, from both ends: First, those in “authority,” who permitted my kind to be savagely assaulted, by, secondly, a majority of “peers” who literally needed bullwhips applied to their backs; but who were never disciplined, since those in “authority” were too busy threatening my kind (among other things, the most conveniently easy to handle!), if we ever dared think of defensively fighting back!  Hitler, too, had encouraged such bullying, to either “weed out” or “toughen” the “weak,” although I would have to give even if not especially him at least enough credit to where, much more probably, no such double standard would have been so “piously,” rancorously enforced, under his jurisdiction!
     The physical education instructors, especially, were always emphasizing militarism, and encouraging their closest friends among the students to relentlessly pursue their favorite sadistic pastime, of systematically destroying the self-images of every “nerd” on campus, so as to feed off the condition of degradation which resulted!  Their kind are glaringly illustrated in the motion picture Casualties of War!  Moreover, most females, who otherwise whine about “brutes,” are characteristically at the vanguard of this persecution; until it’s hardly any wonder that so many males symbiotically cleave, sexually, to other males, where they can both play the female role, with relation to one-another! Many females also aspire to being men, while feeling smugly certain they can have it both ways!
     Such “cleverly amusing satire” may, however, only succeed, overall, at “unoffensively” smoothing out too many of the “roughest edges!” Thus, for a much more grimly candid portrayal of the kinds of damage people succeed at doing to one-another, until it’s sometimes vomited right back out, Charles Bronson’s “Ten to Midnight” deserves much more scrutiny! Personally, I thank God, Unto This Very Day, that, Unlike Warren Stacey (Gene Davis), I Shall Always Continue, as I Always Have, to “Aspire To Being An Angel!!!”  Either way, however, the kind of brutally dehumanizing attitude encountered by Warren Stacey, in the workplace, particularly, is hardly confined to the kind of person he’d turned out to be, and which they’d had no idea he was; just as he might as well not have been at all, and much more characteristically isn’t, no thanks to them! 
     However, it’s actually James Dean, in “Rebel Without a Cause,” which is my own much more realistically normative “Cup of Tea!” I struggled, in school, and at home, with exactly the same problems! The details of what Jim Stark had to endure, internally, too, as the kind of person he was, were all very accurately portrayed, with relation to me; save, that is, for his most tragically climactic experience, in the middle, as well as the hopefully promising ending. “Parenthetically,” Plato (All Remember Sal Mineo, Don’t They?), too, was a Dismally Unheeded Warning, Even To This Very Day, and Despite So Many More Of Them Now! Moreover, I Had To Experience What Plato Felt, Too; But, Again, Thank God, Not The Kind Of Thing He Finally Ended Up Doing!!!
     Even My later experience, as Cal, in “East of Eden,” shall continue, Thank God (minus any doubt about what He Wills!), keeping me as intact as it did him, since I haven’t yet reached the very end of it. But, as for “Giant?” I’m just lucky enough, at least, never to have had the money–or the racism!!! For another glaring view of this kind of problem, compare the difference between the Jonas Cord, Sr., of Brian Keith, in Nevada Smith, and Leif Erickson, in The Carpetbaggers! Consider, also, a very old man, in Amadeus, who never could quite grasp the answer to a question which had been perpetually in front of his very nose! Burt Lancaster’s Robert Stroud, the “Birdman of Alcatraz,” was a more valuable gift of longevity, bestowed by Woodrow Wilson; although Cordell Walker, Texas Ranger, wasn’t so lucky with a little boy he had just about talked out of suicide, before the boy slipped accidentally and tragically to his death!
     Many continue to ask why the Lord, if there really is one, after-all, permits such senselessly wasteful tragedies to occur; while, at the same time, He’s undoubtedly asking why almost everybody permits such expensively vital lessons to go no less thoroughly to waste! Kirk Douglas said it well, several years ago, in a television ad: Prospective suicides don’t really want to die, they just want to stop the pain!!! But as for Mark Twain’s Sid Sawyer? There’s real nerd, the kind that’s just looking for trouble, but only where he never expects to find it, at least not on the receiving end.  Most of you Americans, in the ways you ordinarily treat even one-another, just because you anticipate that the good, hard smack, right across the face, which you instinctively know you deserve, shall not be forthcoming, are really no better, whether you strive to cover up the Sid Sawyer in you, even and especially from yourselves, or not!  You’ve all been so willingly, complacently domesticated, that it sickens me, to the very pit of my gut, even more than you’re so deservedly, viciously, scapegoatingly disgusted with yourselves, to watch virtually every one of you “in action,” throughout a movie entitled “The Incident!”  Beau Bridges finally stood up, but it took him disgracefully long enough!  Even the Eloi, from The Time Machine, had something you miserable swine lack; namely, at least a total lack of malice, contrary to just about every murderously cud-chewing cow I’ve ever had to endure, and still must!  After your “schools” alone are finished cowering everyone into submission, it requires nothing less than the equally, murderously depraved brutality, of “basic training,” as in Full Metal Jacket, to again beat any of the “guts” or “pride” just as artificially back into you!

Revenge of the Nerds II:  Nerds in Paradise (1987)                                               
Is it Really Only Winning that Counts, Rather than How You Play the Game?
                                                                                              
     (A continuation from Revenge of the Nerds) . . .  Indeed, just strip away the kind of psychological reaction formation which is characteristically obsessed with being so very “tough,” while thereby only demonstrating, no less characteristically, the most hysterically sadistic kind of weakness, against others less self-defensibly “well-endowed,” and Mark Twain’s Sid Sawyer is about all that more transparently remains.  Nietzsche recognized the iron-clad law involved here, a kind of psychological categorical imperative which no real inner sense of strength and courage can possibly have any incentive to delight at violating.  This particular categorical imperative, contrary to Immanuel Kant’s, which is also Christ’s (Matthew 7:12), postulates no morally absolute freedom of the will (to be capable of acquiring inner strength, but not of changing the very nature of such); but is, rather, a totally deterministic manifestation, again, also in the sense that inner strength is automatically synonymous with an intrinsically or idealistically rather than merely instrumentally abject abhorrence of the most lowly psychological impulses.
     Nietzsche even “slipped,” in Antichrist, “morally” or “idealistically” speaking, by referring to the “Duty” embodying any such real sense of inner strength; but, while striving to “reconcile” this even quite naturally let-alone super- or anti-naturally unnullifiable principle, as to the inherent nature of real inner strength, with a philosophy of nature which just about as inherently demands the kind of anti-social Darwinism typical “disciples” of his, such as the main character who engineered the end of The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With the Sea, along with John Dall and Farley Granger, from Hitchcock’s Rope, are no less more consistently than self-contradictorily able to appreciate.  And, of course, I’d almost very fatally neglected, at this particular juncture, to include the greatest strictly artistic let-alone philosophical illustration of them all; as Humphrey Van Weyden (Alexander Knox) proceeded to so completely unmask Wolf Larsen (Edward G. Robinson), during the closing minutes of The Sea Wolf!  Or, if nothing else, even the most nobly, genuinely self-respecting savage, in his determination to rule over others, inherently finds himself confronted with endless “regretfully unfortunate necessities.”
     Nietzsche’s view of nature, as the Unequivocally Ultimate Ground of Reality Itself, totally repudiates the doctrine that it exists in a spiritually Fallen, aberrantly twisted form, and that it is correspondingly the very nature of nature to be once again Divinely redeemed, healed, and transfigured, into its original state of being.  Yet, again, one of the most compelling pieces of evidence, that the Divine Imprint upon what He has created can never be totally removed, rather than only twisted and perverted, is to be found reflected in the very nature of the psychological law previously mentioned.  After-all, were it actually the case that nature has the final word, in an arena where survival and dominance are the only goals of every biological form, involved in a mortal competition to self-evidently establish which is the fittest; then all other values, and “moral” ones in particular, to the extent that they have any real value at all, would be inherently reduced to nothing but means to this end.  Winning, or losing, here, is all that counts, rather than how “nobly,” albeit otherwise unsuccessfully, perhaps precisely even on that account, one proceeds to play the game.
     As such, whoever or whatever “biologically programmed” the humanly psychological make-up to be inherently incapable of violating the abovementioned psychological law, even in man’s own degenerately Fallen state, had to have been concerned about something other than, something quite irrelevant if not organically detrimental to, the merely natural or biological notion of “Survival of the Fittest.”  Even the Dialectical Materialist, in his emphasis upon supposedly qualitative transformations of nature, in a kind of evolutionary advancement toward something structurally approximating the social equivalent of a Christian set of ethics; is nevertheless the most rigorously notorious about referring to “moral ideals” in strictly operational terms, as mere means to the sole end of human survival and dominance over nature, a view which totally nullifies any notion of “values-in-themselves,” or those which can be objectively assessed in any other respect.  Moreover, even the “end” of a worldwide communist transfiguration of the nature of the human condition would be, herein, nothing but a means, the mere means of interpersonal cooperation rather than competitive strife, toward the end of further survival and dominance.
     And, if even this Marxian “end” would actually exist as nothing but a means, how much more so the very means Marxists boast of, as being so very antithetically albeit paradoxically necessary to the achievement of this “end,” as intra-species antagonism (pseudo-individual, self-centered atomization) self-consciously begins “re-directing” or “doubling back” upon itself, by utilizing the very means, of even more interpersonal antagonism, but for the alleged sake of neutralizing or reversing this very phenomenon.  Nietzsche, too, emphasized his view, in The Gay Science, that even the most reprehensible elements in man’s nature are no less necessary than anything else, as a means of strengthening the species.  Of course, it choked in his throat to have to include, here, even what he accurately and tragically identified as the most characteristically “Christian” impulses; the kind of petty, even rancorous cunning, which is strictly Darwinian fundamentally, but while simultaneously masquerading, even and especially to itself, as something inherently “antithetical,” strictly for the sake of selfishly dominating over others it cannot subdue in any other, more “Chivalrously Honorable” manner.  Indeed, Nietzsche regarded the disease of what I’d call the most degenerately, perennially pseudo-Christian norm as the epitome of Resentment, of everything which needed to be Overcome, and thus needed to exist in the first place, as mankind’s most challenging opportunity to demonstrate the maxim that “Whatever does not destroy me strengthens me!”
     Even more unbearably excruciating, to Nietzsche’s sensibilities, than his intrinsically-rooted abhorrence of such instincts, was the fact of how perennially, overpoweringly durable they have demonstrated themselves to be; if, for no other reason, because mediocrity-in-itself is, itself, so much easier for nature to yield, thus lending it the overwhelmingly greater abundance of participants, in their own vigorously counter-competitive reaction to the kind of systematically, explicitly, unabashedly Pagan Roman strength which had formerly dominated so ruthlessly over them, thus decisively helping stimulate their incentive to merely very symbiotically rather than “altruistically” consolidate their forces.  This systematically degenerate pattern of “Christian” unfolding was quite understandably seen, by Nietzsche, not as an aberrant form of “True Christianity,” save to the extent that its actual instincts are totally antithetical to its most nobly, idealistically theoretical ones; but, rather, as the actual origin and essence of everything which by nature professingly passes as “Christian.”
     Yet, even while being virtually synonymous with a total violation of the aforementioned psychological law, this pattern of “Christianity” still, again, passes the only kind of test with which nature is substantially concerned; proving itself debased and unworthy, but only by way of actual Christian definition, rather than according to the law of nature.  Self-contradictorily enough, of “Nature,” the most virulently “worthy,” of survival per se, shall finally, and, by now, very soon, prove to be the total “undoing,” of everything, including itself, short of Divine Intervention (Matthew 24:22)!  Even the Roman Emperor Constantine had merely succeeded at buying essentially the same whore (Revelation 17 & 18) a bit more hopelessly dead time!  Hitler had constituted the last seriously “natural” challenge here, but found out, the hard way, what Nietzsche meant, by a certain strain of being which is as durably inexterminable as the flea!  In fact, if one wants to witness a real competition for survival, between cunning and durability, or, perhaps, between cunning and durability plus cunning, then watch Starship Troopers!  Moreover, for real, my bet would be on the insects!  However, even this film, let-alone some of the older and tamer Peter Graves, James Arness, and James Whitmore flicks, doesn’t quite penetrate to the marrow as chillingly as still another.  I caught it just the other night, and right at the beginning, but not quite soon enough to see the title.  It involved a nest of giant, radioactive mosquitoes, and the trail of human corpses only the females, no less chillingly, symbolically enough (Romans 1:18-32), had left behind them!
     What, in fact, speaks more convincingly for itself, as the greater, more effective means of selfishly biological survival over a competitor?  Is it the kind of Classically Noble Chivalry which would even quite pridefully rather than altruistically move to manifest its courage, by voluntarily yielding to its opponent at least a more evenly-fighting chance, while unnecessarily risking its own life in the process?–Or, rather, is it the antithetical policy of never yielding the upper hand, while utilizing all the most viciously deceptive cunning at its disposal, in the interest of mortally subduing a potential or actual rival?  Moreover, why would nature regard even outright resentment, against particularly a more chivalrously noble opponent, as being anything short of totally consistent with a serious competition for survival; particularly as a means of enhancing the very chances of such a survival, by facilitating a more undistractedly single-minded focus upon precisely this very objective?  If another must perish, as a means to one’s own self-affirmation, rather than a quid pro quo being more circumstantially, symbiotically available, as the means to this selfsame end; then why should anything but resentment, toward that very other, in its determination to obliterate you instead, be regarded as the most consistently, effectively self-affirming attitude toward that very other?
     Of course, such an instinct is totally nihilistic, and a manifestation of the most inherently internal weakness; but, again, only from a genuinely Christian or morally idealistic frame of reference, rather than a strictly Darwinian one.  There exists, by definition, no strictly natural law, in the latter sense, but one’s own arrogantly self-centered determination to survive and dominate; contrary to every instinct which moved Christ to voluntarily, altruistically embrace the Cross.  Indeed, what a Christian regards as being the most noble manifestation of inner strength, on Christ’s part, is rather viewed with at least as much suspicion by Nietzsche, who more naturally, rather than super- or anti-naturally, tended to postulate the most mediocrely, exhaustedly self-centered, even tragically self-misunderstood, will to perish, from beneath every “morally noble” impulse, in Socrates, too, as well as Christ; particularly in that neither appear to have had anything which could, in the most pragmatically plausible frame of reference, be called substantially or consistently (as in dying at least for a friend, rather than an enemy) altruistic to accomplish in the process.  From a strictly natural perspective, it appears Sid Sawyer’s own typically “Christian” attitude, toward Christ Himself, of “Thanks for the sacrifice, sucker, as your part in helping facilitate precisely my kind of seductively mystifying swindle,” has proven the most ruthlessly effective means of survival.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975)
I’d Give it an Eleven or Twelve if possible!, 7 November 2006
10/10

     Just in case any audience I may be attracting at least suspects, by now, that someone ought to be preparing a looney bin for me, please try to have, as well, if you will but consider being nearly so very kind in the process, not only some good, old-fashioned “teas,” and plenty of Beethoven, but also Jack Nicholson, and the Chief, plus Billy and the gang, including, of course, sweet little Candy, and the great Scatman Crothers!  In fact, what really serves to make the latter two, in particular, deserve to be called so sweet, for reasons only the most typically “religious” prudes, as well as most of their “polar opposites,” could scarcely comprehend?  They very innocently fail to manifest, or even to feel, even the slightest trace of malice, despite certain follies of their own which have inevitably to be addressed; but, still, quite contrary, again, and again, and again, to most, on both sides, including the most “faithfully married!”
     But Nurse Ratched? Perhaps, on second thought, there may just be some real use for some Thorazine!–Although that mindlessly air-headed bimbo who assisted her probably doesn’t need any! But that much-too-typical kind of aberration, who couldn’t answer Randle Patrick McMurphy’s question about the dirty laundry, may be still another issue entirely!  He’s about the same kind of being who called me the Devil, and tossed me out callously on my ear, from a fundamentalist denomination, one barren night, six years ago, when I’d felt desperate enough to turn even to the “likes” of their kind, again; and all that, simply because, among a couple of relatedly unwarranted “reasons,” he couldn’t handle the truth, that I Corinthians 9 does speak, among other related things, about–money!
     Good Lord, it’s “almost” enough to drive even me back to the Mother of my Roots, despite an “allergy” about as “violent” as Damien’s! And I suppose that, given how completely so many things have been symbolically, ever-mystifyingly, and just as cleverly turned back over, entirely on their feet, including the world itself (Acts 17:6), you by now have all the “real evidence” you need, right there alone, against me!  But, then, just check it out yourselves, if you don’t know it already; for at least the one, Calvary Chapel (the branch I’m referring to, here, being the Downey-Flake, Ca., one!), is openly calling the other, that is, Roman Catholicism, “The Devil,” too; which would alone serve to “embarrassingly” necessitate, and, thus, all-the-more-solidly reinforce the most basically mutual feelings here!–Which is all-the-more warranted, even by the likes of these two, against one-another, “merely” quite symbolically due to how “highly doubtful,” to say the very least, it is that either of these two “Judas Goats” (and they both ought to know!) shall soon be burying Billy on Holy Ground, while the Chief is being hunted down like a dog, by the dogs, with shoot-on-sight-to-kill orders, no questions asked!
     It’s as Randy Quaid said, replying to Brad Davis, in Midnight Express:  “The law’s never wrong!  The law Is!”  And, unfortunately, he was almost as right as he was wrong, thanks to most “Lawmakers,” in whose cynically, abusively self-indulgent hands such tools are systematically reduced to the most primitively, savagely, albeit asymmetrically “sophisticated” weapons!  On the other hand, though, Tony Curtis did one of the cleverest Public Service Announcements I’ve ever been told about, many years ago, at least for as long as it had been permitted to remain on the air. He simply said, with that little pause, in the middle, and an accompanying “twinkle” in his eye, “I don’t smoke–cigarettes–that is!” It’s a real wonder they haven’t gone witch-hunting, by now, after cigars and pipes, too!–Or, have they, after-all?–For, again, after-all, at least which one, if not both, could possibly have been meant?
     By the way, I don’t require any behavior modification; that is, unless, of course, your real intent is, after-all, to turn me, perhaps even of my own free will, into what Malcolm McDowell had originally been, and finally become, once again!–About as radically as such a procedure would have to be accomplished at all in my case! And I’m only beginning to “touch up” this particular painting, along with the last one, and so many others!–Unless somebody is at least nice enough to even–let me–let-alone tell me–perhaps even the way they did Barry Champlain–once he’d so eloquently and unbearably unmasked all of them completely–save for one rednecked caller in particular, Champlain’s responses to whom should have been at least as sensitively cordial in tone, as well as more thoughtfully contemplated, even as to the very accuracy of their content–to–flake off!
     In the Spirit of Elijah (although you can just as easily call me Constantine, too, violent cough and all, in the very middle of this Religiously All-Encompassing Matrix!–At least until you soon have the closest thing to a Bruce Almighty on your hands!–Never-mind even the Incredibly Indestructible Hulk!–Although I personally find Edward G. Robinson, at the end of Soylent Green, an incalculably more appealing prospect!–Just as Richard Widmark, for that matter, as Dr. Harris, in Coma, has greatly refined his Kiss of Death, as applied to certain “squealers” in particular; even if the kinds of shock treatments still being administered to a more lowly breed of employees, by an equally questionable quality of technicians, has failed to correspondingly follow suit!),  Richard O’Donnell

The Omen (1976)
The Main Story Line is Anything But Fantasy!, 19 November 2006
10/10

     Mr. Stephen Hanchett’s book, Is George Bush the Antichrist?, is much more carefully reasoned and impressively researched than the movie, here; but, with a dangerously misleading limitation which ultimately and ironically serves to make it the fulfillment of II Thessalonians 2:11!!! Is George Bush the Antichrist? The answer is, paradoxically, both yes and no–but, more basically, the answer is no!–Just as the selfsame description applies to Hitler! Embodying the true configuration of Biblically Prophetic Patterning (but without being able to elaborate adequately, in this brief space, upon most of the finely and scripturally/historically demonstrable details) is a comprehensively paradigmatic unfolding of the story of Joseph (Genesis 37-50), from the time he was sold into slavery by his eleven brothers (the other sons of Jacob), until the time of the Exodus, subsequent to his death. His having been sold into slavery was a prophetic foreshadowing of Exodus 1:8-14. His having become a servant in the Egyptian house of Potiphar represents the physical nation of Israel under the Old Covenant Law. His removal, from there, to Pharaoh’s prison (but, in his case, like unto Christ’s, whom he foreshadows, on a false charge) represents the numerologically and historically decipherable (Leviticus 26) 2520-year period of national punishment inflicted, first, upon the even hitherto displaced, but not for much longer (Ezekiel 37:15-28), and “lost” ten tribes of Israel at Samaria (II Kings 18:9-12), and, then, over one-hundred years later, upon the Kingdom of Judah at Jerusalem (II Kings 25), for Israel’s breach of the Covenant of Deuteronomy 28. The first half, or 1260 years, of these world-ruling empires, or seven heads, of Revelation 13:1, culminates with the wounding of Rome, the seventh head, or fourth beast (Daniel 7), in 476 A.D.; just as the second 1260 years, from 554 A.D., with the healing of Rome’s mortal head wound, by Justinian, to 1814 A.D., with the fall of Napoleon, consist of the “Christianized” or “Holy” Roman Empire, an eighth beast (Revelation 17:11), which both is and is not of the seven, in that it is and is not Christian (Galatians 1:6-9), but fundamentally and ultimately is not (Matthew 6:24) (Mark 9:38-50) (Revelation 3:15-17; 18:4).
     Moreover, this eighth beast is, not only on the seventh head, but is also an image or reflection of the original beast, with still another seven heads and ten horns. Charlemagne, for instance, is, as the third horn and first head on the resurrected or eighth beast, a mirror image of Nebuchadnezzar; while, at the other end, Napoleon is a mirror image of Alexander the Great, and Hitler is an image of Antiochus Epiphanes. Most intriguingly, though, just as there is no head like unto the seventh, there is no head like unto the seventh of the seventh (Daniel 7:7). With the fall of Napoleon, is to be found the benchmark date of the restoration of the birthright promise to Israel, originally bestowed, by God, through Jacob (Israel), to his two half-Egyptian grandsons (the sons of Joseph), Ephraim and Manasseh, the “Great Nation” and “Company of Nations” (British Commonwealth) existing today (Genesis 48). The concept of American Manifest Destiny is biblically-rooted, but also bitterly betrayed by those blessed and honored with the duty of fulfilling it, as a virtuously magnanimous example and inspiration to the world! Because of this tragically modern repetition of the ancient breaking of the Covenant by Israel, the Birthright Nations shall again be taken captive, but, this time, for 2520 days instead of years, divided, again, into two 1260-day intervals (Revelation 13:5), which structurally reflect the 2520-year intervals, but in reverse order. The “Man of Sin,” in II Thessalonians 2:1-8, who was finally revealed, when the explicitly pagan Roman Empire had been moved out of the way, ruled for 1260 years. Currently, she (Rome) is a widow (Revelation 18:7), minus her “Holy Roman Emperor” upon whom to ride. However, She shall be uniquely, overshadowingly preeminent, once again, when the ancient beast rises, one last time, over the ashes of the Birthright Nations.
     In that particular vein, here’s just a small structural indication of how history repeats itself, but not exactly in the same ways, although unaccidentally close enough–here–to be Divinely-instructive, teleologically as well as axiologically! Compare Hitler’s invasion and carving up of Czechoslovakia to the current occupation of Iraq; just as Iran shall be, for America, what Poland had been, for Hitler, and Germany–and the world! Obviously, then, Joseph’s removal from prison in Egypt, and appointment by Pharaoh as the second most powerful man in Egypt, represents the crushing of the head of the eighth beast, in 1814, and the reinstatement of the ancient Birthright Promise to Ephraim and Manasseh, a material and national blessing, to be distinguished from the Scepter Promise to Judah (Genesis 49:8-10). And, of course, the shortly-upcoming dissolution of the Birthright Nations (Revelation 12) is anciently symbolized in the Pharaoh who “knew not Joseph,” and the bitterly tragic consequences of that! The ancient “Apocalypse” which God, through Moses, had brought upon Egypt, was a type of what shall shortly occur on a global scale, when the seventh seal opens, as it does only once, at the beginning of the latter 1260-day interval shortly to come; while the first six seals open three times, with the last, or “Anti-Typal” opening shortly to occur, at the beginning of the first 1260-day interval. . . . For a continuation of this critique, go to the first sequel to this film, Damien: Omen II.

Damien: Omen II (1978)
Another Thought-Provoking Springboard to the True Configuration!, 19 November 2006
10/10

     Although this account is also a sequel to the one I’d begun (with a most relevant cross-referencing of Stephen Hanchett’s book, Is George Bush the Antichrist?) in commenting on The Omen, I am trying to keep it as briefly albeit indispensably and crucially cogent as possible, as a means of structurally outlining the wider pattern within which Mr. Hanchett’s fits, as well as the corresponding actual meaning of his. Because America has betrayed its Divine Mandate, God has structured the scripturally prophetic patterning to where the current president can indeed be plausibly argued to be the Final Antichrist!–In accordance with a scheme wherein the first six seals open only once, followed by the “Millennial Sabbath Rest” of Rome, and the “Holy Roman Empire,” and then the “Setting loose of Satan for a little while” (Revelation 20:7-8), in the form of the Protestant Reformation. America, as Mr. Hanchett brilliantly elaborates upon in the most unaccidentally compelling detail of his own, has become an Image of the beast! And, indeed, what more cleverly self-disguising manner for the actual antichrist to re-emerge, than in the form of the one who replaces or gets rid of the antichrist, just as Hitler had been similarly deposed! Intriguingly enough, even the previous Pope, just before his death, had reportedly been entertaining thoughts that Bush could be the Antichrist!!!–While, to be sure, Iraq (along with how many historically Roman Crusades, for that matter) hardly satisfies the Classically Roman definition of a “Just War.” In Mr. Hanchett’s scheme, the Roman Deception is perfectly accommodated, as the interval between the wounding of the fourth beast (explicitly pagan Rome), and the healing of this fatal head wound!
     Of course, Mr. Hanchett counts Rome as the sixth head, based on the manner in which he calculates. However, a clue to his limitation, in this sense, is provided in Daniel 7:6. Not unrelatedly, the Holy Roman Empire, contrary to Mr. Hanchett, is not “one” of the ten horns on the Eighth Beast, but rather embodies them all; just as, for that matter, there is more than one way of accurately configuring many of these symbols, including, in the instance of the ten horns, those which serve to symbolize the ten major persecutions, from Nero to Diocletian. Moreover, as for Revelation 17:10? Mr. Hanchett’s very popular interpretation, like unto the one which falsely identifies the Lord’s ministry as the sixty-ninth week, is not the only possible one; any more than that, at least for Mr. Hanchett’s purposes, it is even at all optimally desirable, let-alone necessary; as an alternative, that is (and notwithstanding all the structurally pivotal “loose ends” which are much more “accidentally overlooked” in Mr. Hanchett’s historically prophetic paradigm), to calling explicitly pagan Rome the seventh head, and America, the “Eighth Beast!” Yet, like unto all such possible interpretations (Isaiah 28:7-13), it does have a Divinely-intended usefulness. And, finally, here, at least for now: Situating the seventh seal, within Mr. Hanchett’s scheme, is quite an intriguing puzzle all its own. We find it fitting most “perfectly” into place after the wounding of Mr. Hanchett’s sixth head, as well as contiguously with the beginning end of the thousand years, or “Millennial Sabbath Rest” of Rome, and extending, after that, no less contiguously with the unfolding of Mr. Hanchett’s resurrected or seventh head.
     Moreover, in this scheme, the recently popularized application of Revelation 8:10-11, involving “Wormwood,” or Chernobyl, appears to be, in retrospect, quite chronologically, harrowingly well-timed!-Indeed, so much so, in addition to just about everything else already covered here, that one can only wonder whether Rome is still deliberately concealing, until the “proper moment,” this much less “poetic” or “allegorical” version of John’s “vision” or “dream,” or whether even it has yet to receive this particular “revelation!” At any rate, an objectively real and physically invisible spirit being called the Devil quite consciously understands, or essentially and no less “cleverly” believes he does, exactly what he is doing! In this connection, even the historical evidence suggests that the popular “Rapture Theory” had been deliberately set-up, in advance–for an extremely useful–fall!–Save for a single, hitherto doctrinally and tragically misunderstood “snag” (Revelation 12:12-17), involving only 144,000 people (Revelation 3:7-13); while most, who vainly, presumptuously expect to be “Raptured,” are, again, identified in Revelation 12:17, as well as Revelation 3:14-22; 6:9-11; 20:4, and many other places. Moreover, take one guess, if you dare, concerning which country to which the next to last application of Revelation 18, falsely posing as the very last, is quite imminently, by now, slated to apply!-Immediately followed by the final Satanic counterfeit of Daniel’s Seventieth Week!-Including such parallel occurrences as that between, say, Matthew 27:51 and Daniel 9:27, or between Matthew 21:12-13 and Revelation 17:16-18!
     Moreover, If we count, from 554 A.D., we arrive, one-thousand years later, at the point where the spiritual exodus, from Babylon, in the form of the Renaissance and Protestant Reformation, begins! Therefore, take, say, 1517 A.D. as an approximate benchmark date (Matthew 24:36-51), and count 483 or 490 years ahead on this “mirror image!” Where does that take you? Moreover, count, from Christmas Day, 800 A.D., when Pope Leo III crowned Charlemagne as “Holy Roman Emperor,” to, again, 1517 A.D., so that all one need do is add another zero to the seventy years the Israelites had been in captivity at ancient Babylon. The next phase, now shortly as well as briefly-upcoming, shall rather necessitate the removal of both zeroes.  And, again, as for the “Falling Away,” of II Thessalonians 2? Within the real paradigm, this occurred, or, more accurately, came to a most pivotal form of fruition (II Thessalonians 2:6-8), when the last explicitly Pagan or Anti-Christian Roman Emperor, Diocletian, was “taken out of the way,” by the “Christian convert,” Constantine, early in the fourth century A.D., thus paving the way for the “Christian” Man of Sin. In the Roman Catholic paradigm, however, it is the Protestant Reformation which moves the “Christian” monopoly of Roman Catholicism and Economic Feudalism aside, thus making possible, as a result of this “Falling Away,” the emergence of, as symbolically understood here, Nero’s successor, following the Roman Catholic “Millennial Reign of Christ” (the Popes), and culminating in the current American president (check out even his birth date!), and the final, “Post-Millennial” Cataclysm, not of Revelation 19:15-20, but rather of Revelation 20:7-19, as the Protestant Reformation, rather than Roman Catholicism, ends with the account in Revelation 18!

The Final Conflict (1981)
Packed With Thought-Provoking Symbolism, 28 November 2006
10/10

     Of course, Michael York’s version of The Final Conflict was much more literally on the mark, even though Sam Neill’s no less chillingly, charmingly magnetic performance was packed with an even more in-depth, thought-provoking element of symbolism. In this connection, beyond the drawing of a few logically plausible inferences, in conjunction with various questions of “military strategy,” it would be quite an ambitious leap to attempt a clinically psychological analysis of Satan. It’s certainly beyond much real doubt that, having lost everything he’d been so abundantly handed, on a proverbial silver platter, he was, again, as Damien so passionately expressed it, in a bit of his own kind of agony; although, for all that, there were apparently no regrets, except for what only his enormous pride, as so well expressed by Milton, had blinded him to foreseeing; namely, the inherent inevitability of his losing the War in Heaven he started. Thereafter, the thought of anything short of taking what he wanted by force had still been no less unbearably demeaning and compromising to him, particularly in the form of his having rather attempted to more honestly earn his rightful place, God’s way; although, about as self-compromisingly albeit unavoidably, one can just about hear him, even now, putting his enormous rhetorical skills into action, once they’d been about all he’d had left, by way of personal defense; in his argument to the effect that it was God, and not he, who amounted to the real “Tyrant!”
     Moreover, now that Satan has had about six-thousand years to no less incorrigibly continue “inadvertently” proving himself so categorically dead-wrong, one should not even need the prophecy, so graciously provided in advance, as to how utterly unbroken he shall prove to have been, even subsequent to a yet future one-thousand year period of confinement in the Bottomless Pit of Revelation 20:1-3!–Which is undoubtedly one important reason, from among others too fascinatingly lengthy to delineate here, why God patterned the prophetic sequence of events in precisely this way, in answer to the logical question of at least a few, as to whether it would have done any good for even the Infinite Compassion of God to have provided some kind of “savior,” or whatever, even for him; that is, merely assuming, but only in the most academically insoluble sense, that such a thing would have been possible at all; or, at least, somehow provided for, under an alternatively-predetermined Plan, had the Lord foreseen such a fruitfully-redeeming necessity to have been the case.
     On the other hand, though, there just may be a Judicial Criterion here which does not simply, unequivocally embody the question of an individual’s “reachability” per se; to the exclusion of some point at which even God has to draw the line, regardless of how “willingly heartfelt” the prospective convert might finally happen to be.  Of course, it’s difficult to conceive how the Principle outlined in II Peter 3:9, Ezekiel 33:11, and John 6:37 could be coherently nullified, on the basis of any alternately discernible Principle, even in cases where an individual human resurrection from the First Death would have otherwise resulted in genuine repentance and conversion.  Yet, one might attempt to argue for even what could be, at least to the limits of human discernment, the most “apparently,” disturbingly “nominalistic” form of judgment on God’s part; while using the equally “apparent” evidence that the rich man, in Luke 16:19-31, seemed to have finally awakened, as to the eternal severity of his error, and would have been totally willing to repent and convert.  But, then, to the contrary, his apparent sincerity, which, if genuine, it would seem a monstrously insensitive waste for God to utterly discount; isn’t necessarily or even probably what surface appearances would serve to suggest at all, when one considers that the rich man had changed his tune only when it was his own selfish tail he’d finally found on the line, just as he undoubtedly had at least himself “sincerely believing,” at the time, that he gave one hell of a damn even about his still “living” relatives!   
     However, either way, one can be certain that God takes no pleasure in having to forfeit any of His most magnificently angelic creations, just as He considered Satan to have been no less personally than symbolically, judicially, and even didactically more than worth the kind of six-thousand-year Trial of the Ages, at human expense, which is now about near its end.  Of course, God had been sporting enough, in the process, to have given Adam the choice (as to whether each individual’s morally free options would subsequently have to be decided on the easy road, rather than the hard one); one which could have rather resulted in Satan’s having lost his wager, right on the spot, thereafter no longer to have been potentially useful for anything, either, other than the Lake of Fire, in Revelation 20:10! After-all, Adam’s choice could not have been a real one, if this hadn’t also constituted a correspondingly real possibility. But, alas, it didn’t actually materialize, after-all!
     Finally, there’s no comparing the Fairest of Trials having been granted, by the alleged “Tyrant,” God, to Satan; with the kind of “Trial” Satan delivered to the Only Begotten Son of God, in return! Additionally, just about anybody worth everlastingly salvaging, by now, should have well-surpassed Satan’s continuing level of denial; in his insistence that even democratically, capitalistically “scientific” competition, the kind which has allegedly “synthesized” the “principle” of universal selfishness with a system of “lawful checks and balances” which externally if not motivationally serve to prevent the unscrupulous victimization of anybody in the process, thus at least potentially opening the way for the individual self-actualization of all, is anything better than the inevitably, decisively unacceptable failure it is still very terminally proving itself to be.
     And, to be sure, subsequent to his defeat at the Cross, Satan has been utilizing the only real strategy he has left; in that, for about two millennia now, he’s been systematically masquerading as the only credible thing remaining (John 16:7-11), even to the most characteristically, “morally-minded” of atheists, namely, his Opponent, along with an array of remarkably-interlocking though “contrastingly” effective results! No “Tyrant,” after-all, could possibly have demonstrated His point (or, for that matter, Satan’s, too) any more effectively, selflessly, expensively, indictingly, and, of course, no less redeemingly!–Than had been accomplished at the Cross!–That is, the total antithesis of everything “scientifically socialistic” or “altruistically” hedonistic as well!–Although, for essentially the same reason, His was not the only “Time of Jacob’s Trouble,” to the exclusion of still another, shortly to commence!
     The Tragic Irony is that one doesn’t have to tell ole Cool Hand Luke how compromising to God’s Image Satan has inherently demonstrated himself to be, and what a brutally painful “Failure to Communicate” it’s helped to foster; to the point where His Very Existence per se would appear the greatest of every Impossibility in which He claims to specialize, especially for one who’s struggling as desperately as even Anthony Quinn’s Barabbas to make Him “compute!” Howard Beale discovered, too, in a manner which didn’t turn out to be very funny, after-all, about the kind of Court Jester to which God has been reduced; just as even His Clinically Bi-Polar Sense of Humor is perhaps the most Absurdly Bearable thing about Him, but only if there’s really Nobody There to Thus Have to Blame, other than the most “Easternly Wholistic” or “Pantheistically, Adventurously, Amorally, ‘Self-Dismemberingly’ Ever-Dreaming” Culprit of Dostoyevsky’s “Notes from Underground!”–Or, as John Lennon said, “Ain’t no Jesus gonna come from the sky; now that I found out, I know I can cry.”  How many even wonder, let-alone begin to grasp, what he must have meant by that?
     Satan must get one of his biggest kicks of all, however, from the childishly, shallowly Socratic doctrine that, if he exists at all, then even he really wants to get caught, but simply doesn’t “self-consciously” realize it!  What Satan doesn’t find so very “amusing” at all, however, is the Inherent Impossibility of nevertheless continually trying to “outflank” the same Master Architect who had originally programmed his mental computer, too; so that every single “compossible” which Satan contributes to the series, in an attempt to thwart God’s Master Plan, only serves the purpose of helping to complete it!–Romans 8:28-31!  Is it “unfair” of God to have “stacked the deck” here?  Not when one considers that Satan, in aspiring to replace God, thus necessarily bargained for the chore of having to juggle as many balls as necessary; even to the point that whatever God doesn’t do, to make it any more difficult for him, amounts to nothing but charity!

Exodus (1960)                                                                        
The Seven Annual Holy Days of Scripture

     Just as the Lord was completing His Creation Week, He rested on the Sabbath; the last day of the week, rather than the first. The weekly Sabbath had been, at that point, formally, inalterably ordained; not just as a perpetual reminder of the Original Creation, but also in conjunction with still another, more amazingly prophetic Mystery. Just as God had rested on the Sabbath, the world shall rest, during the seventh one-thousand-year segment of man’s mortal existence; when all the burdens of his earthly, sinful labors and follies shall have been lifted. Thus, each literal day of the original Creation Week symbolically represents a one-thousand-year segment of human history, just as the seventh such segment is about to begin.
     However, under the Old Covenant, there were likewise instituted seven annual Sabbaths, with their own prophetically didactic significance. The original Passover had been followed, the very next day, beginning at dusk, with the first of these annual Holy Days, which is also the first day of the week-long Feast of Unleavened Bread, symbolizing the release from bondage; just as the last day of this week constitutes the second annual Holy Day, which foreshadowingly symbolizes the end of Daniel’s Seventieth Week (Acts 10), just as the end of Daniel’s Seventieth week is structurally foreshadowed, under the Old Covenant, in Numbers, Chapters Thirteen and Fourteen!-Along with a Tragically Ironic “Twist,” which only served to temporarily victimize Caleb and Joshua; just as, for that matter, all the Jews, save for a Small Remnant (Romans 11), had been temporarily left behind, at the end of Daniel’s Seventieth Week! Moreover, whichever day, within that week, falls on Sunday, is the same day from which one counts ahead, fifty more days, to arrive at the third annual Holy Day, Pentecost; which, therefore, is deliberately patterned to always fall on a Sunday.
     Just as the original Passover, of Moses, begins this process, with all its spiritually symbolic, prophetically-foreshadowing significance; so, also, does the third annual Holy Day signify, under the Old Covenant, the receiving of the Law, by Moses, from God, as a foreshadowing of the New Covenant, at Pentecost. The fourth annual Holy Day is represented, under the Old Covenant, by the Israelites having crossed over the Jordan, into the Promised Land; just as the fifth annual Holy Day represents the successful completion of the securing of the Promised Land, under Joshua’s leadership, and the “At-One-Ment” of Israel, under God, in this sense. The sixth annual Holy Day represents the Coronation of David, which begins the symbolically-foreshadowing week of the Feast of Tabernacles; just as the last day of this week, so vividly symbolized in the reign of King Josiah, is followed, not long thereafter, by-Nebuchadnezzar!-That is, the typal foreshadowing of Revelation 20:7-15!
     However, these Old Covenant events, which correspond to the seven annual Holy Days, were, again, only shadow fulfillments. But their historically one-time New Covenant fulfillments are still in the process of unfolding. Thus far, only the first three annual Holy Days have been anti-typally fulfilled. The Passover, of course, was fulfilled when Christ was crucified, on the very same day of the year the Passover itself had been annually celebrated by the Israelites; and, no less symbolically, in the very middle of the literal week, as well as in the middle of Daniel’s Seventieth Week! The first annual Holy Day, which could only have fallen on a Thursday, in its historically one-time fulfillment, followed immediately, the very next day, after the Passover; just as, again, the third annual Holy Day had its historically one-time, anti-typal fulfillment at Pentecost.
     After the Passover, Christ rose from the dead, three days and three nights later, right before dusk, at the very end of Saturday, the weekly Sabbath. Then, of course, counting fifty days, from the Sunday when the Lord first appeared, in his resurrected and imperishable form; one arrives at the day of Pentecost, the New Covenant anti-type of the giving of the Law, by God, to Moses and the people. The Old Covenant Law was replaced, or, more accurately, completed, in the form of a better Covenant (Hebrews 7:11-28), the Covenant of Grace, and the indwelling of each personally regenerated individual by the Holy Spirit (Romans 8:9). Again, only the Passover, along with the first three annual Holy Days, have thus far been anti-typally fulfilled, in their historically one-time unfolding.
     The fourth annual Holy Day, the Feast of Trumpets, is about to be anti-typally fulfilled (Revelation 11:15-19) (I Thessalonians 4:13-18) (I Corinthians 15:50-58) (Zechariah 14:1-5) (Acts 1:9-12), in its historically one-time unfolding; just as the fifth annual Holy Day foreshadowingly follows, ten days later, to be anti-typally fulfilled, in its historically one-time unfolding, at the point of Revelation 20:1-3. Five days after the Day of At-One-Ment, the sixth annual Holy Day, the first day of the week-long Feast of Tabernacles, is foreshadowingly celebrated, and shall have its anti-typal, historically one-time fulfillment at the point of Matthew 26:29 (Revelation 19:6-9), just as again, the ancient Coronation of King David had been a typal foreshadowing of this event. The last day of the Feast of Tabernacles, foreshadowingly celebrated at the end of that selfsame week, shall, again, have its anti-typal, historically one-time fulfillment, at the point of Revelation 20:7-15.
     We are, now, historically in-between the one-time fulfillment of Pentecost, and the one-time fulfillment of the Feast of Trumpets, that is, again, the First Resurrection to Immortality; although, of course, while being incalculably closer to the latter, now, in the last Gregorian month of 2006 A.D. Just as the third annual Holy Day occurs in the third Hebrew month, the fourth annual Holy Day occurs in the seventh Hebrew month, almost on the other side of the solar year; thus symbolizing a vast and indeterminate amount of time, between Pentecost, and the First Resurrection, yet, as well as, by now, shortly to occur. Ten days after that is what is annually celebrated as the fifth Holy Day, the Day of Atonement, symbolizing that Christ shall become, very soon, by now, “At One” with his people, the spiritual “Children of Abraham” (Romans 2:26-29); while the Devil is cast out, the way Joshua had cast out the heathen, in type, from the Promised Land!
     Again, the ancient crossing of the Jordan, the typal fulfillment of the fourth annual Holy Day, foreshadows the beginning of the Last Great Millennial Day (John 7:37-38), when the Great Harvest of Souls occurs (as distinct from the Small “Firstfruits” Harvest, which is now almost complete); retroactively as well, for those who are resurrected mortal (Ezekiel 37:1-14), to complete their preparation for transformation from mortal to immortal; since, at the point of personal moral reckoning, even for those without the Law (Romans 2:9-16), they freely chose not to Decisively Blaspheme the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Love, in their hearts (Matthew 12:30-35). Moreover, what was the reason the Apostle Paul had Scripturally broken out into Ecstasy, while writing Romans 11:25-36 (but beginning in verse 33)? Paul had been given a special mandate (I Corinthians 9:16-18), as one murderer having replaced another (Judas Iscariot), to preach the Gospel (Galatians 1:11-24) (Ephesians 3:1-11); so that, just as Gentiles shall be teaching Jews, during the Seventh-Day Millennial Sabbath Rest, Paul himself, who could have been left at the end of the line (Matthew 21:31), was shown mercy, and moved to the front of the line, as one who had persecuted the Church in ignorance (I Timothy 1:12-17) (Luke 23:34).
     Moreover, what can also be symbolically discerned, from the fact that the typal fulfillment of all these events preceded the Babylonian captivity, of seventy years; followed by the Decree of Syrus, which began the Seventy-Weeks-of-Years countdown to Christ’s First coming? Symbolically and Tragically instructive, here, is the fact that, under the New Covenant, only the first three annual Holy Days were anti-typally fulfilled, before the “Mirror Image” of the seventy-year captivity in Babylon, or the roughly seven-hundred years, between 800 A.D. (the Coronation of Charlemagne, Nebuchadnezzar’s “Mirror Image”), and 1517 A.D. (the year of Martin Luther’s Proclamations), had intervened; that is, prior to the advent of the equally foreshadowing Image of the anciently typal events, symbolized from the crossing of the Jordan, to the captivity in Babylon, had occurred. Thus, just as the anciently typal unfolding of events symbolized in the fourth through the seventh annual Holy Days had been physical, and not spiritual (in the sense they could and should have been, which would have avoided the Babylonian intervention); the counterfeit millennial reign of Roman Catholicism had followed the anti-typal fulfillment of the first three annual Holy Days, in the form of the spiritual (the truly Regenerated Church, in the midst) which had not become physical.
     Also, It was only in the midst of the “Mirror Image” (beginning with the benchmark date of 1517 A.D.) of Daniel’s Seventy Weeks of Years that a “Mirror Image” of the crossing of the Jordan (this time, the Atlantic Ocean), and the securing of the Promised Land, followed by a “Mirror Image” of ancient Israel, under David and Solomon, had begun; yet, a “Mirror Image” which had been, again, in a sense, something spiritual (given the existence of, again, the truly Regenerated Church, in the midst), but not actually physical (just as even the outward forms had been “Babylonianly” twisted, as had been the case anciently, both before and especially after the Babylonian intervention). In fact, as Mr. Herbert W. Armstrong pointed out, modern America, in having symbolically abandoned the true weekly Sabbath Day (Exodus 31:13), had lost all sense of its true identity! Even worse, as a “Mirror Image” of the Ten Tribes, which had, under Jeroboam, broken away from Rehoboam, and moved, from Jerusalem, to Samaria, over the issue of taxation without representation; America, as with Jeroboam, had finally become another Image of the Beast, the very Beast which had its counterfeit “Christian” millennium under Roman Catholic Rule, during a stretch of time which can be counted, symbolically, in two ways, first, from 554 A.D. (when Justinian resurrected the wounded seventh head), to 1517 A.D. (the advent of Protestant Fundamentalism, or the Church of Sardis, Revelation 3:1-6), and, also, from 800 A.D. (with the Coronation of Charlemagne, the “Mirror Image” of Nebuchadnezzar), to 1814 A.D. (the fall of Napoleon, or “Mirror Image” of Alexander the Great). This American “Mirror Image” of the Beast shall soon be taken captive, by the seventh and last head on the “Mirror Image” of the Beast, thus ushering in the final “Babylonian Captivity,” to last seven years, to be ended by the actual, historically one-time, anti-typal fulfillment of the events symbolized in the fourth through the seventh of the annual Holy Days themselves, when the spiritual and the material, the inner and the outer, are finally synthesized!
     What we have here, in summation, is actually a patterning as intricately and exquisitely complex as it nevertheless is extremely simple and clear, in its general outlines and meanings, once it is sufficiently grasped in its totality.  Basically, we can identify three “grids,” which all fall synchronizingly into place, with relation to one-another, on the very temporal map of events which can be so very unmistakably discerned in historical retrospect (Daniel 12:8-10).  First, there is, again, the patterning of the seven annual Holy Days, with their physical, typal fulfillment, under the Old Covenant, which reflect their spiritual, anti-typal fulfillment, under the New Covenant.  But there is also, secondly, the patterning of the Beast with Seven Heads and Ten Horns, and Its Image, to configure within this scheme as well.  Just as the seven annual Holy Days are followed by a “mirror image,” so, also, is this Beast similarly followed by a “mirror image” of itself, the Eighth Beast, which both is and is not of the seven (Revelation 17:11), but is still on the seventh head, which is like no other of the heads (Daniel 7:7), as the “Christian” or “Holy” Roman Empire, with its Seven Heads and Ten Horns.  Then, thirdly, there are the Seven Seals to be configured, or superimposed onto the same patterning just mentioned.  According to the true prophetic paradigm, the fourth annual Holy Day, the Feast of Trumpets, has not yet occurred, but shall come to pass at the First Resurrection to Immortality.  Yet, according to the false paradigm, which God structurally built into this selfsame fabric (II Thessalonians 2:9-12) (Isaiah 28:13), the anti-typal fulfillment of the fourh annual Holy Day immediately follows the time of the Ten Major Persecutions (and, just as symbolically, the sacking of Jerusalem, by Rome, forty years after the anti-typal fulfillment of the third annual Holy Day; contrary to the very opposite occurrence, forty years after the typal fulfillment of the third annual Holy Day!), from Nero to Diocletian, when the Church of God was brought into the wilderness, subsequent to the anti-typal fulfillment of the third annual Holy Day (Pentecost), and the completion of Daniel’s Seventieth Week, with the baptism of Cornelius.  In the false paradigm, these Ten Major Persecutions represent the one-time opening of the Fifth Seal, which, in the true paradigm, opens three times.                                                         
     When the falsely paradigmal one-time opening of the Sixth Seal occurs, Rome is being sacked, in 476 A.D., to the wounding of its by now falsely “Christian” head.  However, when this wound is healed, in 554 A.D., by Justinian, what is being represented, in the false paradigm, is the anti-typal, historically one-time fulfillment of the fourh annual Holy Day; followed by the fulfillment of the fifth annual Holy Day, the Day of Atonement, which Charlemagne unfolds, the way Joshua had, as the land is again cleared of all the heathen, and militarily brought together under one rule; just as the sixth annual Holy Day commences at the Coronation of Charlemagne, by Pope Leo III, on Christmas Day, 800 A.D., during “Holy” Communion, at Mass, in St. Peter’s Basilica, at Rome.  This Coronation represents, in the false paradigm, the anti-typal reflection of the Coronation of King David, under the Old Covenant; whereas, within the true paradigm, this Coronation is a reflection of Nebuchadnezzar, the first head on the Beast.  In accordance with the false paradigm, this supposed reflection of the Coronation of King David ushers in a symbolic thousand-year rule of “Christ,” followed by the benchmark date of the dissolution of the “Holy” Roman Empire, 1814 A.D., with the end of Napoleon, which ushers in the fulness of the falsely paradigmal “Falling Away,” in II Thessalonians 2, as the Protestant Reformation yields what is, in the true paradigm, the end of the 2520-year period of Divine Chastisement, imposed upon the Northern Kingdom, the Lost Ten Tribes of ancient Israel, as Britain and America are exalted.  Remember, again, that, in the false paradigm, the “Falling Away” occurs “Post-Millennially,” as Satan is set loose for a little while (Revelation 20:7-15); whereas, in the true paradigm, the Church is being brought out of the wilderness, out of a typal fulfillment of Revelation 12:13-17, which shall be anti-typally repeated with the dissolution and chastisement of the Birthright Nations (Ephraim and Manasseh, or, respectively, the British Commonwealth, the “Company of Nations,” and America, the “Great Nation”).  In the true paradigm, the sixth head, Napoleon, on the Resurrected Image of the Beast, is wounded, and shall be Resurrected, again, with the dissolution of the Birthright Nations, in the form of the Seventh Head on the Image, the Seventh Head of the Seventh Head, which is like no other head, but rather a composite of all the others, upon which the first six Seals open anti-typally, followed by the one-time actual opening of the Seventh Seal, in the middle of that seven-year interval.  Moreover, just as the Northern Kingdom had its 2520-year interval of chastisement, the same countdown had actually begun, for the Southern Kingdom, as many years later as had been correspondingly required for modern-day Jerusalem to be captured by the Jews after America gained its independence; just as, for that matter, Jerusalem shall again be sacked, by the Revived Roman Empire (the Seventh and last head on the Re-Resurrected Beast, or, more accurately, the Eighth Beast, of the Eighth Beast, into which he, in turn, shall personally Resurrect), three and one-half years after the dissolution of the Birthright Nations themselves.
     More specifically, though, what about Napoleon, just for openers?  On the true reflection of the Beast with Seven Heads and Ten Horns, the Eighth Beast, on the Seventh head, which both is and is not part of the seven, Napoleon is, again, the structural image of Alexander the Great.  Yet, on the very image itself, this structural reflection of the Beast, he both is and is not the Sixth head, both is and is not a “Holy” Roman Emperor, and, just as symbolically, both is and is not a Hapsburg, the sixth ruling dynasty of crowned “Holy” Roman Emperors, which had technically been dissolved in 1806 A.D.; just as Alexander the Great both is and is not the Third head, the head of the third ruling empire.  Moreover, Napoleon, contrary to Charlemagne, had symbolically subdued Rome, rather than having been subdued, indeed, seduced, very cleverly and ironically, and just as symbolically, “sacredly,” by it.  Napoleon, for that matter, had occupied Rome, in 1799 A.D., just as Nebuchadnezzar had anciently done in Jerusalem; so that Napoleon reflects, on the false image, not Alexander the Great, but rather, again, Nebuchadnezzar!  On the false paradigm, contrary to the true one, there is a gap between the Seventh head on the Beast, and the emergence of the Eighth Beast, with its structural image of Seven Heads and Ten Horns.  This gap, on the false image, is, in fact, the actual Eighth Beast, the “Holy” Roman Empire, of the true image; just as the structurally and symbolically pivotal of the two true Fallings Away (the latter shortly yet to occur, as of this writing) are such INTO this empire, whereas the one Falling Away on the false paradigm is such FROM the Eighth Beast of the “Holy” Roman Empire.  However, the fact that most if not virtually all professing Fundamentalist “Christian” Conservatives are followers of the current American president should help provide an extremely dismal clue as to how ironically and tragically as well as dynamically II Thessalonians 2:9-12 actually applies, although the reference to individual damnation contained therein is not necessarily one of the everlasting variety, at least not in every single instance.  On the false paradigm, the reflection of the First head emerges, then, again, with Napoleon, whereas Hitler is the Ram, or, even more specifically, a reflection of Haman (Esther, Chapter Three), while the Goat which defeated the Ram is the post-WWII Ten-Horned American reflection of the Beast identified by Stephen Hanchett.  Moreover, who represents Mordecai here?–And Esther herself?–Along with the ancient Persian king himself?  Yet, even more specifically, Hitler can be seen to reflect characteristics of Belshazzar, whose defeat resulted in the Exodus back to Jerusalem, as had been the case with the defeat of Antiochus Epiphanes, of whom Hitler is also a reflection, whereas Britain and America reflect the two asymmetrical horns on the Ram, Cyrus and Darius.  Indeed, while reflecting these, America also has ten presidents, as pointed out by Stephen Hanchett, from Truman to Clinton, whom the false paradigm would, unfortunately, not so very counterfeitingly, “at least” in spirit, identify as images of the Ten Horns, or ten major persecutions, from Nero to Diocletian.  Even more, on these Ten Horns, there is another ambiguity, like unto the one where Hitler can be seen as a reflection of Belshazzar and Haman, as well as Antiochus Epiphanes.  On these Ten Horns, from Truman to Clinton, there is a struggle occurring between the symbols of the Ram and the Goat.  Truman has characteristics of both, but the latter increases its foothold even more overshadowingly with the assassination of President Kennedy, then, even more so, with the usurpation of President Carter, and, finally, with the usurpation of President Clinton, the third symbolically “Ram-like” image on these Ten Horns which Stephen Hanchett identifies as having been “plucked up by the roots.”  Yet, the Goat characteristics still quite overshadowingly or underlyingly dominate the images of all the Ten American Horns in temporal succession, as reflected, overall, again, in America’s defeat of Hitler; just as this Goat-image manifests itself in a most uniquely and pivotally overshadowing way, when, as Stephen Hanchett also elaborates upon, President G.H.W. Bush strikes down the “Hitler-reflection” or “Ram” of Saddam Hussein, and is thereafter dethroned, with his image shattering into Four Heads, those of his four sons, only one of whom is to become the Eleventh or “Little” Horn, following President Clinton, and the only one of the Ten Horns which is also a Head, along with a “King of the South,” another presidential aspirant whose name should be equally obvious, as analogous to the correspondingly “peninsular” Mussolini, and two others God had seen no reason to specifically highlight in the originally ancient paradigm, either.  Whereas the Ten Horns from Nero to Diocletian had been followed by the actual “Little” Horn of the Pope, the Ten Horns from Truman to Clinton are followed by the “Little” Horn of George Dubya Bush, Jr., who, within the framework of the false paradigm, is currently acting out the scenario, again, beginning with Revelation 20, VERSE SEVEN.  Curiously, and even quite “poetically,” however, Rome, the Seventh head (with Dubya actually being number six, as the falsely paradigmal reflection of Antiochus Epiphanes), which shall replace Dubya, is not characterized, on the false paradigm, as a Beast (not until Revelation 17:16-18, anyway, or, that is, the “Middle of the Week”), but rather as the very liberating representation of Christ, but on the wrong “White Horse,” foreshadowed also in the liberating image of Cyrus; whereas Dubya symbolically assumes the ancient position of Belshazzar at this point, as well as of Antiochus Epiphanes, and Diocletian–PLUS ZEDEKIAH!–Or, perhaps, Jeconiah!  Moreover, what structural resemblances can be discerned, say, between Jeroboam and Constantine?–Or, between Jehu and Justinian?

The Making of ‘The Passion of the Christ’ (2004) (TV)
Very Well Done, 28 November 2006
10/10

     The simple truth is that there is only one Christian God, one original Person of God, contrary to the well-founded criticism of Islam that Roman Catholicism, with its “Triune God,” is indeed quite non-biblically (this being my added emphasis, rather than that of Islam) albeit ambiguously and rhetorically rather than “paradoxically” polytheistic in form. What about the traditionally-argued claim that God had originally been referred to in the plural, via the term “Elohim” (Genesis 1:26)? Actually, if the angels were present at the creation of the physical universe (Job 38:1-7), then it is hardly a far cry to assume that they were also present at the creation of man; just as, for that matter, it would have proved “awkward,” to say the least, had God not addressed the angels themselves, directly, in the second person, on that very occasion! But, then, what about John 1:1-15, in which Christ is referred to as “The Word,” who, in the beginning, was with God, and was God? In the beginning was the Creative Power of God, and the Creative Power of God was with God, and the Creative Power of God was God. As for John 1:2? Before Christ’s physical conception as a separate manifestation, He was with God, but in the same way any offspring is “with” his parents before conception (Hebrews 7:9-10), but not as a separate identity. Christ was, again, with God, and was God.
     Christ represents the Creative Power of God (Colossians 1:15-19), the Distinctive Person of God; which can have no coherent meaning apart from the concept of a beginning, and His creation of that which is not God (Revelation 1:8).  This Creative Power of God had eventually produced (or, more accurately, reproduced) a created and separate manifestation, or Perfect Reflection, of this very Creative Power. Christ, as a separate and mortal individual, per se, with a distinctive Identity, did indeed have a beginning.  But, then, what about still other statements, from Christ Himself, which seem to indicate the “pre-existence” of a “Second Person” (John 17:5)? This is rather a reference to predestination! Cross-reference it with, for instance, Ephesians 1:4! And, if one still insists upon more, then try Revelation 13:8! Moreover, one can only praise the heavens, the way Jesus did, in Matthew 11:25-27, upon marveling no less at the, at bottom, no less merely political in motivation than childishly pseudo-religious wrangling (Colossians 2:1-10) (I Corinthians 1:10-29) of those who finally concluded the current “Trinity” Doctrine! While you’re also glimpsing through I Corinthians, Chapters Two and Three, concerning even the “wonders” of the current “non-denominationalism,” too, for that matter (1:12d), please try taking particularly special note of 3:10-20!
     But, then, what about statements to the effect that “Before Abraham was, I Am” (John 8:58)? Actually, the Spirit is Indivisibly One, and it is only in this sense, along with the fact that Christ is an Exact Duplicate of the One who thereby became His Father, that Christ, as a separately mortal individual, had been “Pre-Existent” as such. Even scriptures such as Matthew 19:17 quite symbolically serve to reinforce this point, as Christ therein attributes His Own Goodness, distinctively enough (from Himself), to God. Moreover, Christ very explicitly disavows any claim, as a still mortal individual, to Omniscience as well (Matthew 24:36). As a separately mortal individual, Christ did indeed have a beginning, when He was miraculously conceived (quite distinctively, in this sense, John 1:14, next only to the first Adam) minus a human father (although Satan had been capable of siring offspring through human females, too, Genesis 6:1-4, like right out of Rosemary’s Baby!). The only real paradox, here, is that of how such a thing could have occurred per se, of how Christ could have been (the Son of) God, and yet also not God (the Son of Man), too (Matthew 26:64; 27:40); rather than in the form of how God could have been “One,” and yet “Three Separate Persons,” before the advent of Christ’s conception in Mary’s womb.
     Christ, as distinct from God, rather sits at the Right Hand of God (Romans 8:34). He is God, in the sense, also, that all authority has been handed unto Him (Hebrews 1:1-6). Similarly, those who shall rule with Him (Revelation 3:9), in their Immortally Transfigured States, likewise share in this very distinction, albeit to various degrees, from beneath Him (Matthew 25:14-23) (Luke 19:11-19). The simple, rhetorically uncluttered truth, is that God the Father had a Son, with a beginning, and yet no end (Isaiah 9:6-7) (Hebrews 1:8-12). All the rest of the ultimately redeemed, with their mortally human fathers, shall yet be, each in their own order (I Corinthians 15:20-25), imperishably transfigured, but as spiritually adopted Sons (Romans 8:14-15). Unlike only Jesus Himself, even the “Natural Branches” (Romans 11) share merely in His maternally biological lineage; which ultimately, individually profits nothing, in and of itself (Luke 3:8). See the second and final part of this critique in Impact: The Passion of the Christ

Impact: The Passion of the Christ (2004)
Also Very Well Done, 28 November 2006
10/10

     (This is a continuation of the critique of The Making of The Passion of the Christ.) The actual Trinity (Matthew 28:19) is a reference, not to the “Three Persons” of God, but to the Three Functions or Manifestations of God. The Holy Spirit is, not an “It,” contrary to what Mr. Herbert W. Armstrong contends (just as he uniquely errs in saying there were, not Three Persons, but rather Two Persons, in Eternity Past), but rather the very Spirit of the Father. That’s why Jesus, in having been conceived by the Holy Spirit, is thereby the Son of the Father, rather than being the Son of the Holy Spirit instead of the Father. Consider an ordinary human being, created in the image and likeness of God, consisting of a soul (an animated body) and an individual spirit; however, not, again, as two persons, but rather as one (just as the mortally human soul and spirit are separated, at the point of physical death, Hebrews 4:12). God the Father was the separately Creative Manifestation of God, in the beginning; and, thus, the Symbolic Image of the Word, or the Son; until, that is, He became the Father. But, while the Holy Spirit is the Spirit of the Father, Jesus had an individual human spirit, which united with the Father’s, after His water baptism in the Jordan; so that the two had become one, and blended, in the most uniquely, virtually indistinguishable way of all.
     However, that very process had been unavailable to Fallen man, in the most Judicially open sense, until Jesus had become a totally Perfected and Glorified participant in the Holy Spirit, so that this Spirit was actually Their Spirit, in the most Completely Finished sense. Moreover, Scripture further confirms the extent to which Jesus had to be Perfected (Hebrews 2:9-10); in a manner which would not have been necessary, for Him, had He “simply” and “unequivocally” or “unparadoxically” been God! That’s why Pentecost could not have occurred before all this was fulfilled (John 16:5-11). The most which can be said for the concept of the “Three Person Trinity” is that, paradoxically, the very language being employed, here, in defense of the Real Trinity, could also be quite logically, consistently applied to the concept of “Three Persons,” too; however, in a manner to where the very question of whether “Three Persons” are actually involved becomes, at best, something hopelessly, paradoxically insoluble. Moreover, at least some of the reasons the “Three Person Trinity” is no less structurally disjointed than strictly superfluous per se, should be explicitly clear enough by now. Even the very best possible manner of defending it is necessarily as inadequate as the very thing being defended in the process, as an “adaptation” of the polytheism of pre-Christian Rome.
     When carefully examined, the only real difference (aside from Rome’s uniquely historical predominance, as the Mother of all cults), by way of Mainstream Protestant Fundamentalist definition, between a “sect” and a “cult,” is that the former embrace the doctrine of the Trinity, while the latter do not. Indeed, aside from this one essential difference, Rome fits virtually every Mainstream Protestant Fundamentalist definition of a “cult.” Just to cite but one “minor bit” of such predominantly astonishing blindness in this respect, particularly among professing Christians of all “sectarian” denominations; where does, for instance, Romans 14:5-6, appear to condone the teaching that everlasting torment is the inevitable result of “unrepentantly” missing a Mass on Sunday, or a “Holy Day of Obligation,” or eating a piece of meat on Friday? Such regressions into spiritual bondage are quite elaborately exposed for what they really are in Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians. Grace, in general, as opposed to Law, is also poetically symbolized in the outline of Daniel’s Seventieth Week (Daniel 9:20-27), which begins with a baptism (Matthew 3:13-17) and ends with a baptism (Acts 10).  Just as John the Baptist, who symbolized Law, had said he must “decrease” (John 3:30); so, also, did the order itself symbolically “evolve,” from that of the Holy Spirit following the baptism itself, to that of this same “Baptism of Fire” preceding the baptism itself. More accurately, Peter, at the end of Acts 10, is commanding, as such, not that baptism be mandatory, but rather that it not be forbidden. There’s an infinity of difference, in spirit, between having to be baptized, and having no reason not to be, as beautifully ushering in as well as symbolizing the overall spirit of New Covenant obedience. A real Christian is free rather than bound to be baptized–after the fact.  Of course, the repentant thief on the cross had a most unassailable explanation for his failure to comply, just as would anyone else who felt it necessary to actually refuse water baptism in order to counter with the most urgently corrective point that it’s not “necessary” in the popularly-misunderstood sense at all!  The same principle applies to the question of what actually makes a man and woman married in the eyes of God, minus the “absolute need” of any kind of “ceremony” to do anything but confirm as distinct from establishing such a union.

Falling Down (1993)
Screaming “Fire” In a House That Is Perhaps Actually Burning!, 15 December 2006
10/10

     Why do I like Mr. Foster so much, and even empathize with him so completely?–Albeit Purely Hypothetically! Is it really just because I must be no less crazy than he, as most would readily insist? Or, could it possibly be something much less typically simple (non-) minded than that, which is more popularly, normatively, thus alone unassailably reflected in what has happened, what we’ve all allowed to occur, to every one of us, and insist upon keeping that way? Perhaps it’s the form, and not the content, of how he’d begun expressing himself? Well, then, maybe he should have just found a friend to talk to, or even a stranger on the street; one who would, no doubt, have sarcastically called him crazy, regardless of how calmly and sensibly he’d tried to share his feelings! In fact, far-too-many, if not most, instinctively interpret kindness as weakness and stupidity! About the only form of somebody’s need to falsely or at least ignorantly but sincerely believe himself at all Christianly Compassionate, rather than much more predictably and viciously resentful, which he’d thereby have had even a small chance of encountering; would have undoubtedly assumed the conventionally and evasively falsifying expression of a suggestion that he see a psychiatrist, where the presupposition that he’s the only one with the problem remains axiomatically supreme. At best, the psychiatrist might uncharacteristically concede, if he’s sufficiently “one-upped,” that, while society itself unwittingly suffers from its own pseudo-collective form of psychosis, there’s nothing anybody can do to change that, thus leaving the only realistically sane alternative that of adjusting to it, while antiseptically neutralizing the very reason why society itself could and even should consider changing, one real individual at a time, if not all of them, at once!
     His wife was certainly not available, just as the film itself at least appears to presuppose that no account as to how the brutally-insensitive hostility in her attitude had come about needs to be offered, since the answer to that is allegedly right before the horrified eyes of the audience, which smugly assumes the way he’s expressing himself to be nothing but the cause, rather than perhaps at least as decisively an effect of the fact that no other form of approach had ever made any constructive difference. In fact, try saying “please,” to the Devil, and his technique will often be to get your goat, so he can be the one to point the finger! The only thing which never self-vindicatingly comes into focus is the kind of man who just wants to see his daughter, or the kind of man whose reasons for feeling so dangerously perturbed should have been no less self-evidently and understandably revealing. Perhaps he should have made a movie about the problem, although it would have thereby been reduced to nothing but a form of contained and squared-away entertainment, infested with mere actors (as well as Circus Maximus spectators), who’ve learned nothing, but only want to be, as Nietzsche so cynically and accurately observed, well-paid, and “glorified,” in full (Matthew 6:1-6). Or, what if he’d tried to share his thoughts on a web site such as this, about a similar kind of film; only to have received a long string of negative votes, and even complaints to the web site masters about how he’s not sticking to an appropriately relevant or artistically non-controversial critique of the film; from many-too-many who are offended due to their unwillingness to handle any deeper, more meaningfully relevant kind of truth, and whose demands that the comments be deleted would thereafter be instantaneously honored?
     I was going to say that such people are typically reflective of Hitler, in their spontaneously instinctive inclination to insist that anything they don’t like be totally censored; particularly if their feeling is prevalent enough to where they know their demand would thereby alone be self-evidently vindicated, no questions asked, as well as very undemocratically minus any respect for perhaps even the many who would have appreciated a chance to read such comments. But, then, on second thought, perhaps even Hitler was also if not even primarily reacting, in spirit, to the very kind of people who would have unhesitatingly reacted, in precisely his way, to still others, who would have reacted, in exactly the same way, to them, had any one of them, from either category, simply had the chance Hitler did to do so, coupled with what Scarface called “the guts to be what you want to be,” which alone most so very “virtuously,” timidly, domesticatedly, albeit no less brutally, uncompromisingly, in attitude, lack.
     I have no doubt that most would want my head, or at least my comments bigotedly deleted, for what I’m about to say, in the more constructive way that they’d thus quite hypocritically suggested the Columbine boys should rather have expressed themselves! Nevertheless, what I do believe is that there is a great deal of truth to the assertion that Hitler had been at least as much a reaction to “Hitler” as anything else (he had himself called it “Fighting Terror with Terror!”), and that this is at least as much the reason he’s been so hatefully, hysterically demonized, from beneath all the indispensably good arguments against him behind which they conveniently hide from themselves!  Even more, how can most people in the world, that is, most, who purport to be qualified to judge Hitler, but particularly his most notorious victims, even think of accusing Him of racism, with any kind of a straight face? Even Bible Believers incoherently forget that, when Paul and Peter speak of all the powers that be having been Divinely-Ordained, Hitler must thereby have been meant, too, at least for the duration of his tenure, and for a much better reason than that he had simply “come out of nowhere, ” to disrupt an otherwise “Christianly Harmonious” situation! The biggest waste of all is that nobody’s learned, even from Hitler! However, the next and last one will prove to be much more “antithetical” or “diplomatically palatable” than he had been, particularly in his most equally, morally unjustifiable folly!

The Mask of Zorro (1998)
A Superbly-Inspiring Work of Art!, 16 December 2006
10/10

     Speaking of cinematic masterpieces, the Final Anti-Type, the Seventh and Last Head, on the Image of the Beast (Daniel 7:7), really should preview carefully one of the very best, as well as, now, and, therefore, all-the-more-amazingly, one of the latest; in which some of the finest examples of his dreaded “Oligarchical Principle,” Noblemen who, to quote a line from the film, “say one thing and think another,” are very vividly displayed. In fact, Zorro is a very personal Trademark to me, as a connoisseur who couldn’t be more delighted with the latest enhancement upon an already immortalized classic. Whereas most ultra-modern cinema tends merely to substitute for the lack of any formal resonance, with technological enhancements designed to stimulate the most sensationalistically depraved senses alone, The Mask of Zorro is a genuine work of art; to begin with, in the strictest aesthetic sense per se, as well as in the form of one of the most thoughtfully inspiring and carefully well plotted Morality Plays I’ve ever encountered, right up there with the inherently insurpassable Robin Hood of Errol Flynn! All the right elements of action, romance, chivalry, and honor serve to bring out the deepest subtleties of the human spirit, with a refinement which can only be appreciated to the unfortunately rare extent it deserves by those who find it nothing short of the most personally and permanently transfiguring experience, rather than as the mere entertainment it no less abundantly is.
     Even the casting, as well as the script, and the finely blended musical score, could not have been more to perfection! Anthony Hopkins was in the finest form I have ever seen for him, as Don Diego de la Vega, with his magnificently aristocratic charm, and genuine nobility of stature. And, of course, Antonio Banderas holds his own with an artistic mastery every bit as impressive as the swordsmanship it nevertheless so much less plausibly embodies, particularly on such buffoonably short notice, along with just about all the skills of a Valentino, a Bruce Lee, and even a Tarzan combined; although I wish that little trick with the candles, which had Basil Rathbone laughing out the other side of his face as well, in 1940, had likewise somehow found its way into this particular script, in some imaginatively analogous form.
     Even while exaggerated to the point of the most deliberately fanciful ludicrousness, I only wish I could say in everything but the strictest ethical sense as well, one embodying a fight for the most genuinely independent kind of California; such antics are, in the process, really only intended to lend greater buoyancy to the spirit and imagination of a Vision for which almost nobody is even soberly religious enough to search. The truth is that the herd loves and insists upon nothing more than to be kept fattened, contented, dumbed down, and led by the nose, particularly with the most beautifully self-flattering delusions! Indeed, about two-hundred years of modern democracy have done more than the past few thousand to completely confirm perhaps even its grossest incapacity for anything else, as well as its strongest instinct to murder anybody who dares tell it as much!–Speaking even of most Working Class Heroes who think they have any more use for John Lennon than he did for them! What most of them really need, to replace the unwarrantedly inflated view they currently have of themselves, is enough of the right kind of guidance and discipline, for a totally unprecedented change!–Revelation 2:27!
     Catherine Zeta-Jones could not have been more charmingly tailored to her role, with the same added sword-in-hand through which Stuart Wilson likewise compounds so dynamically upon the original 1940 script. In fact, I never realized just what a superb character actor Mr. Wilson actually is, until given a chance to compare this performance, of Don Rafael Montero, with his part, for instance, as the equally though much less demandingly evil “ex” cop, Jack Travis, in Lethal Weapon III. As Captain James T. Kirk, from the Star Ship Enterprise, would have put it, he’s definitely earned his pay for the week, along with other compensations just about as harrowingly reminiscent of the great Kodos; that is, next to an equally fine performance, of Captain Harrison Love, played by Matthew Letscher, whose own chivalrously ignoble sense of “honor” had also come to its most Divinely-Predestined End (Psalms 57:6), as seen through the eyes of its very own worst enemy.
     And it’s certainly no surprise to see the name of Steven Spielberg among the list of credits, for the same reason it would have been quite a surprise to me had just about anybody else been able to pull off this particular little stunt.  However, don’t misunderstand me here; for, although this version is one of the best remakes, of any film ever originally presented; it is still nothing but a cheaply modern imitation, along with its just as excellently well-crafted sequel, The Legend of Zorro, including a most charmingly talented young son, of the only real version, with Tyrone Power! Finally, to quote still another line from the film, which might as well have come directly from, again, the Final Anti-Type, the Seventh and Last Head, on the Image of the Beast, “The children should never have to see the things we do,” after-all; and yet, to the contrary, he, as with any real “traitor to his own class,” should be among the first to insist that the children not be spared even the most tastefully as well as meaningfully well-proportioned violence in this one! But, to be perfectly honest, I have very little hope here, for essentially the same reason–He’ll Never Be Rid of Me!

A Christmas Carol (1938)
The Angst of Ebenezer Scrooge, 21 December 2006
10/10

     For my part, the bitterness and cynicism of Scrooge is something much more genuine than all the self-righteously, judgmentally, venomously, “wholesomely sweet-smelling” hypocrisy which can’t wait to get its hands on his money; in a way which makes even the merchants more honest, and which the image of Tiny Tim is prostituted for the purpose of obscuring most effectively. And they dare call Peter Lorre The Face Behind the Mask! I’ve had the lifelong displeasure of knowing their kind well, just as it was because of my formerly, vulnerably childlike innocence and trust, the kind they conned out of me, that they’d hated me even more, before the fact, and to the spoiling of my soul, than they do him in their compassionlessly backstabbing spite and envy. I’ve never encountered anybody, in religion, education, or anywhere else, conservatively or liberally, who cares at all about the “Business of Mankind,” contrary to the therefore compoundingly, nauseatingly, brutally, mystifyingly self-deceptive endlessness of the infamy of their mere words! The most “inadvertently” redeeming ending to the Dickens story is the deeper reason that Scrooge had been judged worthy of a final chance at redemption!
     If there’s anything this typically “sweet-smelling” kind will turn on even more vindictively than one who tells them the most scornfully they don’t really love a living thing, it’s the person whose innocence awakens the Claggart in them, but less honestly or woundedly than even he’d ever had it in for Billy Budd! Claggart’s too internally complex for them, but even a final product of his kind of handiwork as refreshingly uncomplicated as General Zod knows most of them better than they do themselves! In fact, I can just about understand, but with the most genuinely “laughable” of tears in my own eyes, why it was that even General Zod had soon begun to find these earth creatures so very boring! They’re almost enough to make me wish I could trade my Father God for something as mutually exclusive as The Godfather, given how they love to mock the kind of anguish they have no capacity to feel, but only to inflict! Try asking Rock Hudson, from The Spiral Road, about that; although even his preacher of a father had been more inquisitionally, transparently sporting about showing his true colors, and his own already tragically destroyed sense of humanity!  Ultimately, at any rate, Xmas doesn’t at all bring Santa Claus up to the level of the Lord Jesus Christ, any more than the Easter Bunny shall ever be resurrected from the dead.  Instead, it brings Jesus down to the level of Santa, and the Easter Bunny; that is, “at least” quite “subliminally” down to the level of myth, with its origins in nothing but old wives’ tales, all woven into a fabric of paganly religious traditions which had their common origin in Babylon, prior to God’s having divided the tongues, and scattered the inhabitants into separate tribes.
     Thus, in case anyone believes the usual “merry countenance” is all I really have against Xmas, there’s also the scripturally-compelling evidence that this uncoincidentally, anciently Pagan Winter Solstice could never have been Christ’s birthday, any more than he could have died on a Friday. The only annual Holy Day biblically calculated to fall on the same day of the week, every year, is Pentecost!–Not the Passover! Indeed, if the Lord didn’t die on a Wednesday, in the middle of the literal week, as well as of Daniel’s Seventieth Week, just before sunset, then Christianity would have to be just as false as God’s Word! So much for their outright lies. But these typically self-professing Christians can’t even utter a single truth without turning it likewise into the most hatefully-bigoted kind of lie! That’s why Spencer Tracy was so much more palatable than Fredric March as to have been capable of literally mopping the floor with him, in Inherit the Wind! On the contrary, though, speaking of “hobby horses,” about the only real “scientific proof” Henry Drummond and his kind actually have for their half-baked theories, is the even more philosophically mediocre, presumptuously nimble-minded “conviction” that, because there cannot possibly be any God in the first place, it therefore simply “must” have happened in the only way there is left!
     And, again, who can really blame even them, given the extent to which they’re up against the most viciously anti-social Darwinists of all, those about as philosophically inconsistent as the “naturalists” who nevertheless speak of nothing but a “love” I’ve never been able to find in any of them, either! You can, for instance, behold the “Spirit of Xmas” in any shopping mall, with people walking about drooling over inanimate objects, while completely ignoring one-another, and even giving dirty, petrifying looks if you try to “suspiciously” acknowledge their presence, as the most worthless objects of all! They’re right out of George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead!–Or, as Rodriguez (Brock Peters) said to Sol Nazerman (Rod Steiger), in The Pawnbroker, “Right in the middle of one big whorehouse, right in the bosom of the world!–Right in the middle of it, and you don’t know it!–Or, maybe something else, maybe because you don’t want to know! Are you the kind who doesn’t want to know about things, feel about things, are you that kind?”  Who says Satan never tells the truth!  In fact, he tells much more of it than most “good” people could ever dream of comprehending, let-alone admitting, even and especially to themselves!  One of his biggest lies is that he does nothing but lie, when one could only wish this were the only truth he’s ever by nature uttered, in which case, of course, he wouldn’t!  The difference, here, however, between God and Satan, in addition to the fact that God inherently tells nothing but the truth (Titus 1:2) (Hebrews 6:18), is that Satan never by nature tells the truth, simply because it is the truth, either!  Then, there’s what a hired gunslinger, Vern Hickson (Robert Loggia), said to Victoria Barkley (Barbara Stanwyck), in an episode of The Big Valley, entitled The Profit and the Lost: “Bankers don’t kill people? Everybody, everybody kills! And for the same reason–money! My way’s more honest–that’s all!”  Or, to very closely paraphrase Damien (Yaphet Kotto), speaking, again, to the Great Lady Herself, from still another episode of The Big Valley, entitled The Buffalo Man:  You’re good at endlessly spouting all your camouflagingly idealistic words, about “Law” and “Justice,” but they don’t mean nothin’–nothin’ at all!

The Last Mile (1959)
Mickey Rooney Gave a Superlatively Masterful Performance!, 24 December 2006
10/10

     While the original 1932 version, with Preston Foster, was good, there’s no remake more worthy than this 1959 one, or more impossible to find anywhere, just as I strongly suspect Mickey Rooney to have had something to do with that. Never could a mere performance have ever been so masterfully brilliant, or a script more thought-provoking, as well as an improvement upon the original. Many years after the last of my several viewings of this film, in 1970, I read an article in which Mickey Rooney was recounting a visit he’d made to death row, and which had apparently very drastically eliminated whatever sense of personal identification he’d felt with people in similar circumstances. The article was about as short as the main character here, and didn’t cover much, other than the extent to which his extreme disillusionment with the quality of the inmates themselves had been emphasized, even in language I would not care to explicitly quote here.
     One of my main problems with capital punishment is that, of course, it is not evenly, impartially applied, just as many innocent people are far-too-carelessly, thus unnecessarily sent to meet this particular fate.  Check out, for instance, Alan Alda, as Caryl Chessman, in Kill Me If You Can, and the criminally contemptuous scorn of his far-too-typically “impartial” so-called “judge” in particular!  Barbara Graham, played by Susan Hayward, in I Want to Live, also received the kind of “trial” which only helps hurl me into the arms of Rose Bird!  Another problem I have with it is that it is not applied swiftly enough (rather than inordinately delayed, as a deliberate means of torture, as well as in the form of the most theatrically, formally “sanctifying” ritual!), or, for that matter, even publicly enough (murder, by nature, being no “antiseptically innocuous” affair, although the State virtually, “inadvertently” admits its perception of its own guilt, of being an accomplice to murder; just by “virtue” alone, if nothing else, of trying to “hide” as much, perhaps even and especially from itself)! The bible makes a special point, in such cases, about one of the more important purposes of such, as a deterrent, being ineffectually obscured, minus, not only a public viewing, but also the direct participation of all! As for those who claim to prove, statistically, that such is not an effective deterrent? In addition to having a problem about the reliability of their data, I have little if any objectively disprovable doubt many are behind bars now due to the extent that such a deterrent is lacking. However, I do have a problem about the fact that Robert Duvall, in The Apostle, had been punished at all, for his particular “crime,” or that the only hope of leniency for one such as he would have to be based on a “temporary insanity” defense, as though that would serve as the only acceptable excuse in his kind of case.
     In addition to various other questions concerning the motives of Mickey Rooney for that particular visit he’d recounted, and about the answers to which I can only try to speculate, I suspect the main one had been of a decidedly religious nature. I don’t know exactly when he’d become the professing Christian he now makes it a special point, whenever possible, to emphasize that he is; but, as anybody should be well-aware, this particular category of people tends to be the most vehemently out for blood, when it comes to extracting an eye for an eye. However, I have no particular bone of contention concerning that, per se, just as there’s no doubt, scripturally speaking, that not all, and perhaps not even most, shall be spared the same ultimate fate, at the hands of the Lord Himself, as a result of His sacrifice on the cross. However, there is a problem, for me, about the spirit or attitude with which most professing Christians emphasize their enthusiasm for capital punishment; for, contrary to the Lord Himself, who would love to see everybody saved (Ezekiel 18:32) (II Peter 3:9), they seem to go vindictively out of their way to find reasons to condemn!
     What most people, on either side of this superlatively ever-burning issue, cannot appear to sufficiently appreciate, is that the Lord is as dynamically and elusively soft in nature as He is hard. The two sides of His nature appear to be so inherently incompatible as to render Him mentally deranged, at least by any strictly human reckoning. Yet, regardless of how harrowingly ungraspable this miraculously dynamic blending of the water and oil in His nature surely is, there can be no doubt that anything short of it, or anything fanatically and characteristically on either one side or the other of this equation, falls inadequately and unacceptably short of the entire judicial truth. Indeed, I’ve seen the most blood-curdling thirst for the same come out, self-contradictorily enough, on far-too-many occasions, whenever the categorically anti-death penalty advocates are confronted, even in the most rationally well-balanced ways, with the fact that, although the Lord died for everybody, not all are thereby going to be saved. After-all, in order to receive absolution, one must, to repeat the same term, reach out and receive it, that is, repent (Luke 13:3-5). Could anything make more sense?
     But, then, what about the Lord’s command to forgive, even in the case of one’s enemies, of those who despise and persecute you without a just cause or provocation? One of the far-too-prevailing difficulties with this kind of sentimentality, as popularly misinterpreted, is the way it obscuringly over-simplifies the real meaning of forgiveness. The act of forgiveness does not, in itself, mean the same thing as unconditionally excusing the one being forgiven. When one takes a clearly sober, rationally well-balanced view here, from the perspective of God’s own attitude, all it actually amounts to is a fervent wish that the one forgiven will ultimately succeed at finding his way, seeing the light, and being granted mercy. This attitude is, of course, the very opposite of, say, that of Jonah, who actually resented it when God told him that his preaching to the people of Nineveh would result in their repentance. Jonah didn’t want them to repent, but vindictively desired that they be destroyed. How self-righteously, cold-bloodedly like unto most professing Christians he was, save that even his reasons were undoubtedly better than most! I envy Jonah almost as much as he would me! However, minus the repentance of the one being forgiven, any forgiveness he may receive from a genuine Christian is not going to do him any good. In such a case, the only one to benefit is the real Christian himself!
     Finally, and, again, concerning Mickey Rooney himself, I don’t surmise that Capital Punishment’s having been “On Trial” in this film, at least “implicitly,” and perhaps even “inadvertently,” gets, per se, to the main essence of the problem I believe he’d finally decided he’d had with it.  More clearly to the point, in this sense, is that the movie has a most penetrating way of putting Faith Itself on trial.  At one point, early in the film, the Death Row priest, Father O’Connors (Frank Overton), is asking Mears for a chance to talk with him “about God, and about faith,” after which Mears snaps back, by saying “I’ve got two lousy weeks left, and you’re asking me to have faith?  You’d be wasting your time!  John Mears has got to see it in black and white!  I’m not talkin’ myself into nothin’!  What kinda world is this that you believe in, anyway?  Have you ever seen it?  Has anybody ever seen it?  It’s easy for you to talk, because you’re out there!  You’re not inside, waitin’!  You’re not afraid!  You’re not afraid!”  After that, O’Connors calmly assures Mears that, were he inside, waiting, instead, he’s certain he wouldn’t be afraid.  As O’Connors is walking away, Mears gives him a look I’ll not soon forget, while his lower lip is uncontrollably trembling, and he’s also about to drop dead, just from the sheer exhaustion of, as he also pointed out, not having slept for nights.  Even Richard Walters (Clifford David), in cell four, next to Mears, is struggling with faith.  Another prisoner says to Walters, “Just keep right on praying,” to which Walters very passionately replies, “I’m prayin’!  It’s no use!  I guess I’m not bein’ heard!”  Frankly, I have the strongest suspicion Mickey Rooney had felt those lines so deeply, that he wanted to flee away from them.  The very lines which moved him, perhaps, to seek his faith, were the same ones he instinctively repudiated, in an effort to confirm that faith!  But, in so fleeing, he was only very fearfully, disingenuously compromising the very faith which should rather have embraced them; instead of having also perhaps felt the false sense of guilt, as well as fear, in being at all associated with them; particularly given even the fact that he was ready to murder the priest, too, no less than anything else, as a symbolic expression of his contempt for the very concept of faith, in his determination to escape!  Richard Walters, particularly, only helps to demonstrate, at the very end, what a strong testimony in favor of faith itself, rather than a repudiation, The Last Mile serves to represent!  No less symbolically here, even a bit of rationally healthy suspicion, in the presence of the “absolute assurance” of a Roman Catholic priest such as Father O’Connors, is perhaps not entirely remiss, but even much more “Transcendentally Neutral” than the actual nature of his “Concern!” 

Lethal Weapon (1987)
A Very Poetically Symbolic Message, 27 December 2006
10/10

     Please consider this very symbolic remembrance of me, as it reflects the internal struggle I have been undergoing just as coarsely yet sensitively; including certain language I hope you need no more tastefully shun than embrace, despite my deepest apologies, even for some of what can be much-too-plainly seen as well. I’m also sorry it’s so intricate-an-interweaving of just about everything to which I most essentially relate, and just about every image I’ve so thoroughly come to renounce; but perhaps not quite on time to avoid dying of cancer, almost as Fatalistically as I sometimes feel tempted to jump, if not indulge the most compulsively-evasive appetites!
     It’s as if the good guys, those only the god of this age really loves for what they are, but no more than to the point where even that remains so unavoidably expedient to his most tenderly domesticating sensibilities, were not any other than Mr. Joshua and The General.  That is, contrary to the viciously, systematically slandered image of just about everything this god as dishonestly, shamefully despises, while insuring that it hates him back in a way which really does work, if only to prolong the dirty little secret that it’s not crazy!
     They’re still denying it a more chivalrously sporting Shot at the Title, and have even quite carelessly written it off for dead, due to a zeal for being thorough which they mistakenly assume has penetrated to the very heart of the problem!  They thereby defy a Force of Reason it need renew, every single day, in order to continue doing the only thing it’s ever really been good at; over-against their need never to admit how accidentally neat they are at even wounding it in the leg, let-alone with such rhetorically mystifying impact?right between the eyes!
     That is, just as far-too-many of their more intentionally fatal blows must be even more accurately yet lyingly listed by them as accidental, at least in the only way which can possibly matter at all; to those who quite conveniently pay no more real mind to the motive than to the deed, lest even by luck the worst kind of marksmanship does operationally manage to redeem.  That is, while embodying a Reason of Force which often tells the truth, but never by nature because it is the truth; contrary to as explicitly-relentless-a-denial as necessary of this very truth, in the form of their most fundamentally, categorically misleading expedient.
     How much more gracefully yet I’d love to be able to put my weapon permanently under the pillow, rather than needing a hollow point to do the job right; as one who never really expects to be home for Christmas, but only followed without mercy by one last reminder that the closing theme is all that remains, even of his dreams.  If there are any real heroes left in the world, I’d sooner include even a future heroin dealer who got off anything but easily, before nominating any grandson of slaves with a concept of law which still can’t even look a simple child in the eyes, with the kind of answer he needs about whom that law is really glad to shoot!
     That is, a concept of law which intimidatingly flaunts its own vulgarly intoxicating duty to bypass, not only the most legitimately overriding sense of personal debt, but also nothing less than the First Principle of the Nuremberg Tribunals! Right? Or Wrong? Wrong! Right! And Right! But, this time, about as lightly as the Miranda concept is trivialized, as an opposing mirror image!  That is, at least until Due Process is just as questionably exchanged, even for a general’s time to die; just as it had only thus been for a family member, grounded under punitive asylum; as if these allegedly opposing images lacked an operationally identical point of origin, obscured by eternal contrasts made manifestly relevant only after the fact, minus any optional way to die.
     That is, as well as contrary to their own insufferably paternalistic insistence that the lesser substance by nature leads to the greater, but with the same Bad Faith behind their raving that sellers would be impossible without buyers, until the truth is ironically taken hostage, against even the most consistently incoherent incentive not to know.  Ordinarily, I’d have been much-too-negatively overwhelmed by the misleadingly pretentious duplicity of such a twistedly-discordant composite, were it not for the way even those more bitterly offensive elements had been Divinely grafted in; albeit with the aid of those who already have their reward, save for the very dismal fact that it has barely begun to be paid in full!
     That is, as a reminder not to continue cursing our civilized heritage, even for let-alone through its grossest misinterpretations of just about every genuinely moral principle it even more self-indictingly knows so very well how to preach, and just as demandingly impose!  But, rather, let us mourn for it, as it continues, right to the very Razor’s Edge of every rapidly-narrowing Shade of Gray, to demonstrate that its is the kind of Superlatively Idealistic Imagery which needs be just as artistically, compellingly subdued; via a few jolts of shock therapy which cut so anorexically thin that one is almost doomed to say?Good Night!
     Yes, right up to the closing cemetery scene, with its tenderly somber and solitarily meditative mood; which speaks so clearly of the love I’ll always have for my own “Victoria Lynn,” and of a metamorphosis which just may succeed at putting me again in touch with my deepest feelings.  That is, contrary to an inner sense of emptiness which still projects only the illusion of her absence, as well as a very serious form of blindness which time cannot for very much longer afford to indulge?before even its Diplomatic Immunity is fatally revoked–and involving the real meaning, here and now, of Ezekiel 24:15-27!

Lethal Weapon 2 (1989)
All Men Are Created Equal In Value, If Not Abilities, or Privileges, Either Deserved or Otherwise! 27 December 2006
10/10

     If there are any bigots out there who find something which you believe needs correcting, at least have the quotatably qualifiable “decency” to rub it in my face (Jeremiah 11:15-23).  I do believe, however, albeit with less than a Uniquely “Papal” Breed of “Infallibility,” that I have finally caught all such errors thus far.  Quite relatedly, while you’re cosmetically “lamenting,” particularly in the mirror, that so many of your children aren’t even learning how to read, can any of their supposed “teachers” as much as stimulate them to think at all?–For one fundamentally “patriotic” thing, about the “reason” a Negro slave had been “Constitutionally” (though “only parenthetically”) counted as a mere “three-fifths” of a human being?  How pathetically ironic, that the very Yankees who otherwise defined them as entirely human, at least by clear implication, didn’t want them counted as human, for purposes of determining the number of slave-state members in the House of Representatives; while, to the contrary, the very slave-states who otherwise considered them no less entirely sub-human, suddenly, and very conveniently, wanted them to be counted as entirely human!  Indeed, no less symbolically, it was the south which won, by an edge of one-fifth! 
     Of course, short of a more “perfect” solution, at least it can be said, for one thing, that the voting had a great deal to do with determining the rates of taxation, for each individual so counted; even were the price, of having a greater number of votes, to have been a correspondingly greater burden, in the form of the quantity of heads to be counted, for purposes of taxation.  A greater irony here, to be sure, is that the south won the vote, again, by a symbolic edge of one-fifth, of the individual human soul; when, independently of any question as to whether universal suffrage ought, in fact, to be truly universal, it is at least more consistent, after all, not to count, for purposes of representation, those who are not permitted to vote!  Even more, it would make every bit of the greater sense, here, not only to totally discount the blacks, for the purpose of determining representation; but, correspondingly, to count them, at least as five-fifths human, and probably, in the name of a truly proportionate breakdown, as much more, individually, even than that (since we are, again, after all, speaking, here, about mere property, rather than people!), for purposes of taxation.  It seems a much more appropriate Symbol of America would have been, not the eagle, but, rather–the vulture; for much the same reason that the relevance of reparations, today, dares remain a “controversial” issue at all!  
     Roughly a century, subsequent to “Emancipation,” and, correspondingly, the most ungratefully disappointing generation of blacks to date (at least to the extent that they’re tokenly, complacently, philistinistically no less fat-in-the-belly than the average rich, white bourgeois parasite; in the very kind of manner King himself, along with Kunta Kinte, would have considered a worse nightmare than the very one both had been opposing, but also quite inadvertently paving the way for); not only was Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., one of the most wisely gifted interpreters of Scripture, but it is also the case that his message, as God’s messenger, had been, at least hitherto, murdered, along with him.  I’m not even saying that his real murderers be brought to Justice, at least not in this world; or at least not any more than King David had been, by God Himself, for murdering a most faithfully-innocent and loyal servant, Uriah, just to steal his wife!  Not only do these kinds of kings have uniquely unchallengeable powers, in this world; but, even more, Dr. King’s real murderers may really have believed they were doing the best thing for their country, and for reasons which can be very persuasively though ultimately as unsoundly as nevertheless forgivably defended.
     I, as a United States Citizen, by birth, am willing to see all such participants, who were and are directly “in the loop,” totally pardoned, under United States Law; just as, for that matter, I would gladly volunteer to defend them, in court, probably much better than they could themselves!  This offer of defense, on their behalf, for virtually everything illegal which they nevertheless may sincerely have deemed necessary to America’s national security; extends likewise to one man in particular, a law enforcement officer who is no longer alive to defend himself, but whom I am certain Dr. King himself would have forgiven.  But, please, do not oversimplifyingly, sentimentally misunderstand me, in this particular regard:  I speak of forgiveness, at least from my heart; merely despite the fact that it comes so hard, from one who nevertheless considers you perhaps the most despicable tribe of creatures imaginable (Ezekiel 3:24-27)!–Including, of course, even most “Liberally Democratic Humanitarians,” who, like unto most of their “Christianly Conservative” counterparts, or “opponents,” are hardly in any real position to be throwing stones, anyway! 
     However, the kind of “benefit of the doubt,” as to their intentions as well as accomplishments, which I have it in mind and heart to see them extended, even in the country which formally grants them the least conceivable right of any, in the entire history of civilization, to take the illegal liberties they did as leaders; should be offered, nevertheless, only on the condition that they come clean with the truth, and submit their explanations, hopefully as persuasively, to even the American People who currently know the truth here, and thus blame them the most, as I would understandingly and forgivingly feel thus persuaded.  The decisively symbolic crime, of Dr. King’s hitherto unrequited murder, is causatively and symbolically related to the attacks against America now; and God is not going to spare this nation, while the truth continues to be denied, denied, denied!  Please, if you are one of those who currently hate me for my stance, even in the very country where all theoretically declare that “I might not agree with what you say, but will defend to the death your right to say it,” consider the millions of American lives alone you can yet perhaps persuade God to spare, as well as being legally pardoned yourselves, at least in this world; by finally coming clean with the truth, and asking God, as well as the American people, even the entire world, for forgiveness. 
     As of now, God’s relatively tame warning is apparently going unheeded, even by virtually all the “churches,” which are deriving the totally opposite message from what God had intended.  Therefore, even though nobody knows either the day or the hour, despite the imminency of the signs of the times, it’s only a question of how much longer your current American “leadership” (for which I am likewise praying, despite all your sneering against my “real” motives here, as well as against an inner pain you only yet have to learn outwardly about how severely you have caused it inwardly, to those relatively few who can so feel) will require, in order to prove to most of you how “effective” their “bombs” really are.  The Children of the Bondwoman shall have to decimate–how many major American cities?–Before even your “ministers” begin sending for me!  You may be still laughing at these warnings.  However, when you have finally realized I am no longer that “funny,” or “entertaining,” rather than seriously informative; then the wrong reaction, on your part, to that change of “mood” in particular, will only serve to hasten the last thing you only “think” you ever want to experience!  Of course, in answer to those who do find me “merely entertaining,” particularly in my anguish, thanks to their kind:  Such creatures shall inevitably discover just how very expensive-an-entertainer I really am!  Indeed, if I still had any hair left to speak of, I’d be tempted to dye it green!–Particularly since, after-all, even Dean Stockwell’s had failed to grow back the same color, contrary to what he’d at least originally anticipated!–Or, even as Michael Douglas also so movingly expressed it, in an abrupt “about-face,” upon having “caught himself,” just before exiting the podium, “How do you declare war against your own family–your own children?”

Lethal Weapon 3 (1992)
Shot for Sport, as Prey, While Jaywalking?, 28 December 2006
10/10

     While things do have ways of becoming complicated, all by themselves; there’s still just enough thought, quite systematically though collusively embodying them, to where the prospect of things becoming uncomplicated, all by themselves, would never be permitted, by any statistically viable measure of effort; save to the extent of such being the only possible solution, or at least the only one potentially required, in its capacity to insure that every vital truth is just as fatally shot in the back!  That is, to the virtually categorical exclusion of just as individually and intelligently-systematic-an-attempt to successfully as well as deliberately and even quite forcefully untangle all this sinisterly-underhanded intrigue; with nothing, one could only wish, but the most effective of ex-cop killers, at least in terms of the kind of armor which really needs be officially pierced; while targeting about the only real threat to, just for openers, Second Amendment Rights, in particular, which the NRA would be the very last to confront.
     Riggs was an extremely slick act, even to those without the eyes to see completely through the loop of such a vitally indispensable parable. Yet, perhaps only because I’m still a lover of Mad Magazine, as well as the only kind of required reading in which I could never really believe; I wish he’d grow back that beautiful mane, despite even the extent to which we’d both love to be able to bypass the Mayhem and Chaos of the past fifty years alone, not to mention various other things which dare no less unjustifiably clash with the most uniformly rank-and-file blues.  I do hope it’s not merely a false assumption that he is more than the most typically modern kind of Thespian, contrary to the abject probability of an alter-ego whose Greek even most Classically sneaks up from behind; so as to project the mere appearance of a Pathos bordering on the very Razor’s Edge of self-absorption, within a Continuum of Being involving nothing but Involvement, and its redeemingly-transfiguring embodiment of even the most otherwise “merely professional” forms of detachment as well.
     As a Christian, of course, I’d have no official authorization to follow the lead of the NRA, assuming it is even consciously let-alone explicitly aware of the implication that its guns would be of any use against the very Institutionalization which so systematically threatens, should I rather say, last, and even least of all, the Second Amendment; even given that the only other conceivable alternative, a reinstatement of even the Second Amendment, on the basis of Due Process, is the most hopelessly futile as well as sanely-reliable alternative.  As an American, though, minus any scripturally-prohibitive restraints (which, again, is certainly not the case), I’d be duty-bound, by our very Constitutional Philosophy, to act in the only way left, according to It, upon how systematically I’ve been denied Official Redress of so many of my more seriously intolerable grievances. But, then, thank God I’m not an American first, particularly given her own logically non-sequitur inversion, when carefully examined, of the real meaning of Separation of Church and State.
     The “trial” of Marcellus Gallio (Richard Burton), with Caligula (Jay Robinson) presiding, at the end of The Robe, is more than adequate to help make my meaning here clear; at least for anyone, if anyone, with even the brains, let-alone the will, to distill it!  That is, coupled with the kind of Class Warfare, between those relative few for whom society exists, and those many by means of whom it exists, which reduces the NRA to the most tactically-misleading kind of Ornament, along with Emmanuel Goldstein and the so-called “liberally” American institutions, at the other end of this collusively well-coordinated panorama of “equally represented” images. Ordinarily, it would be a real dilemma, particularly for a real Christian, over-against the typically professing ones, who compel me to much more meticulously define what I mean, lest I be confused with them, almost as much to their consternation as to that of my own!
     That is, to decide which constitutes the real law of the land; either the de facto law, the kind only brute force could ever challenge the equally brutal enforcement of, if necessary; or, the very Constitutionally abstract codes, over-against the many layers of which this de facto law at least theoretically should be measured; assuming it is possible to overcome the most endlessly rhetorical debates, in favor of anything more than just as arbitrarily-rhetorical-a-consensus as to the difference, in any particular kind of case.  But then, again, it’s only in a purely hypothetical sense, at least for purposes of action rather than definition, that such an issue concerns me at all, even as an American; as one, that is, who is duty-bound not to react, in any violently opposing way, to any facet of the de facto law; regardless of how illegal, by any real Constitutional definition, it may happen to be, or may not merely happen to be; as opposed to how even the Riggs in me would sometimes just-as-soon opt to handle the problem, that is, on any normal day! . . . Part II, in Lethal Weapon IV

Lethal Weapon 4 (1998)
Is it Really a Freedom of, or From, the Law?, 3 January 2007
10/10

     In fact, that choice of movie directors, from the previous segment, who needed the Moe Howard treatment, and a few corresponding lessons, in the most uncommonly respectful, humanly-dignifying of manners, minus an army of conveniently available cops, to rescue him from the more evenly, immediately, and constructively chivalrous consequences of an insolence only characteristic of the most deliberately, systematically, victimizingly ill-cultivated swine, even with relation to still other, equally, and solely, by nature, self-defining projections of the same, until he finally saw the light; had been about as cleverly, symbolically “subtle,” in its clearest implications, as, for instance, a never-seen look-alike, of Amanda Bearse, from right out of Fright Night; although even the nature of the error which provoked his, over-against the “more understandably defensive” indignance of his reaction, rests upon the flimsiest, most conveniently, sinisterly obscuring foundation, of one who, for his part, is merely acting, at acting, at not acting, to the overshadowing of a more urgently real and dangerously neglected problem, involving, to speak almost as obscuringly as synonymously, those who prove even more convincing, when it comes to the practice of not acting, at, one could only wish, the even finer art of merely acting.
     Either way, though, Riggs remained just as impulsively, even innocently, refreshingly true-to-form, in his target, as well as method, when it came to upholding his image, or what was at least still salvageably left of it, even to behold at all, as had the vampire, referenced immediately above, with, by then, his own even more irresistibly compelling lack of choice; although one can only wonder why, for instance, Clint Eastwood had failed to be nearly as astutely on-cue, when, in The Gauntlet, his already so dangerously faltering intuition, on several almost terminally reckless occasions, had begun manifesting itself in the terminology of a preacher, with his answer, to Sondra Locke, about taking certain things on faith, rather than in the form of even a most dire warning, as to the kinds of answers which can only be acquired the Hard Way; but, merely assuming, of course, against all the real odds in the world, that they had made it nearly as far as city hall, let-alone actually prevailed, even then, out of the jaws of a legal system so “efficiently” infested with a predominance of henchmen who are paid, as Blakelock said, not to think, but only to “react,” to what is “right,” simply because it is the law, minus any neatly-quantifiable concept of the only real law being that which is already so “debatably” and, thus alone, “insolubly” right.
     Contrarily, though, given the inherent need of interpreting even the most clearly unambiguous kind of language, for content as well as applicability, rather than leaving even the latter to be determined only by the most Pontifically Infallible kind of authority; even an Adlerian Slip or two, which Murtaugh employed, for the purpose of laying down the nature of the law, to Leo Getz, is about the only kind of “improvement” to be otherwise so indispensably, even urgently expected, perhaps even more often than not, even on a totally freelance basis; as well as being so harrowingly reminiscent, in intent as well as quality, of Broderick Crawford, to Stephen Boyd, in The Oscar, or Brian Dennehy, to Sylvester Stallone, in First Blood, or even the Honorable Henry T. Fleming, to Arthur Kirkland, in And Justice for All, as to almost have necessitated the greater desirability of even a reprisal of Joe Pesci’s characterization, from Goodfellas! Moreover, were it not for the fact that, as an ambassador (II Corinthians 5:20) (Ephesians 6:20), minus any “Diplomatic Immunity,” my formal mandate authorizes nothing more than the attempt to peacefully, rationally persuade; I’d have been preparing a sequel, to The Patriot, single-handedly, if necessary, by now; over the issue, just for openers, of Tea, and Taxes, again!
     Jet Li, unfortunately, had been far-too-correct, as well, in his understanding as to the real nature of the law; along with his frighteningly superlative proficiency at the kinds of skills intended to help Riggs save a bit more face, the kind he’d also so cleverly salvaged while exiting ringside; just in case, that is, of any possible errors in judgment, from his audience, that he’d actually regarded himself as the greatest master of all; over-against even a much more seriously sadistic streak, too, which just about rendered even his own almost as genuinely unamusing, especially to him, as well as to the department psychologist, not to mention Murtaugh, as an actual trip to Uranus (or should I say Neptune?) could also very easily have been! Also, had it been me, rather than Leo, who’d been the victim, of one-too-many pranks, such as that mean-spirited set-up, subsequent to all the unprovoked bad-mouthing and belittlement, at a certain traffic stop, even after the times I’d already been impulsively thrown to the ground, face down, for no good reason, with cocked guns aimed at the back of my neck; I might have been almost tempted to remember the words, of Glycon, to Demetrius, in the sequel to The Robe, when he said, “Forget your religion, for just one day . . . Your God will thank you for it!” In fact, that pipsqueak, in the back seat, really needed a Jocko DeParis, The Strange One, to have dispensed with him; before far-too-many, of the likes of both, even on this side of the Rubicon, had undoubtedly ever graduated from the academy! But, then, if six long years of such, even at the university, followed by the related drowning, of my Natalie Wood, from Splendor in the Grass, had not decisively broken me down, I’ve therefore already long proved myself to be among the safest prospects of all! But I’d better stop now, as I’m getting a bit too “misty!” Nice guys still finish last, but Payback is going to be a real bear, while not a bone of His Body was broken (John 19:36)!

Getting Straight (1970)
It Doesn’t Work!, 11 January 2007
10/10

     We had our ideals as well, until a most institutionally, unassailably beastial atmosphere of corruption had so gladly helped to harden them into an angst which eventually left barely anything more in my own leading lady than still another version of Kim Stanley, at the end of Paddy Chayefsky’s The Goddess, right next to my own real-life version of Steven Hill. There had also been an intervening version of Lloyd Bridges, to help complete the analogy of that particular script; but minus any part of her left behind for me to cherish, which made it more like something out of Jane Eyre. The major difference, from Jane Eyre, was that mine had arrived more at the beginning, but with nobody to replace her at the very end.
     Or, on second consideration, to speak quite forgetfully (I could only wish!), there had been someone; in fact, who had been waiting, right there at the coffin! It required me an incredibly lengthy three years to decide I’d finally had enough, although she’d demanded an additional six, to the almost terminal detriment of my soul! I’m referring to Mercedes McCambridge, from right out of The Exorcist; or, to speak most synonymously, she followed my Angel Baby, in a reversal of that original script. A strong dose of Norman Mailer’s An American Dream must not be overlooked, either; just as the one “replaced” had derived scarcely any emotional consolation that we’d both known my real-life Dominique Francon, from Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead, turned out not to have been fit even to lick her feet. About all that’s left of me, by now, is Henry Hull; although he, especially, would have gone out chanting, despite his terminal disillusionment, that such is an incalculably far cry better than the typical dislikes of Kent Smith!
     We were both Liberal Arts majors, and that served to provide an overwhelmingly incredible array of strictly academic amusements; which occasionally resulted in the most rudely appropriate outbursts of uncontrollable laughter, right in the middle of the lectures. More specifically, it was a very culturally well-endowed exchange student, Inga, from Russia, whose temperament precluded any seriously self-brutalizing attempts to suppress this kind of flamboyance. Those lectures might have been somewhat useful, had their mouthpieces been the least bit intellectually let-alone morally or artistically qualified to do justice to their subjects. Even now, over twenty years later, I still wince, while reminiscing on the mechanically sterile tones alone, abrasively assaulting my most conscientiously vulnerable sensibilities. I wish there were space enough here to catalogue the long list of imbecilic one-liners alone which accompanied their coldly-petrifying glances, along with so much endlessly malicious gossip which totally destroyed my ability to function!.
     But she died, twelve years later, as agonizingly nondescript as I, never having succumbed to their numerous attempts even to bribe her away from me, with promises of the most professionally lifelong security, but only in exchange for her willingness, in return, to do–anything! It’s unfortunate I’d neglected to study just enough chemistry to have paid some of them a visit, in the form of Buddy Love; especially for the purpose of viewing such a moving performance of Shakespeare, from Dr. Warfield himself!–Or, in the case of Getting Straight, from the likes of Leonard Stone–instead! My favorite scene, however, shall always be of a flashback, likewise performed by The Master, Jerry Lewis, along with Ina Balin, from The Patsy, which most find just as murderously laughable as all the other typically-insufferable non-entities in that scene. I’m only sorry my alma mater hadn’t also been Carrie’s, for I wouldn’t have wanted to miss that particular prom, even in high school; although nobody else there would have been fit even for Eddie Murphy to escort, rather than the likes of Spencer Tracy himself! As much as Ingrid Bergman puts most of them to shame, even she needed his help, too; despite how costly it turned out to be, almost beyond even the extent of that for which she had so very “inadvertently” bargained!
     About the only one upon whom I’d bet my money, that she’d be successful at giving even him the hardest run of his, is Murphy Brown herself!  As hard as she tries, and she could never try hard enough, since it’s not really even in her at all; it’s still impossible for me not to like her immensely, despite the extent to which I can only experience this to be, nevertheless, a most painfully agonizing form of confession!  Yet, even she doesn’t hold a candle, next to Jackie Benson, played by Patricia Crowley; who stood up so very well, even over-against one of the slickest devils of them all, Mr. Smith, as played by the great Burgess Meredith; in an original, hour-long episode of The Twilight Zone, entitled “Printer’s Devil!”  One could only wish Eve herself had been so intuitively diligent, as well as decisively less susceptible to the same ambitious temptations which so “inadvertently” lured her.  Yet, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference, in that case, either; had that original manifestation of Satan been in the form of Miss Devlin, as played by Julie Newmar, in still another hour-long Twilight Zone episode entitled “Of Late I Think of Cliffordville!”
     More seriously, though, while the Devil may not be a woman, he did appear to have specialized in teaching her just about everything he knows!  And that’s quite a trick indeed, for the greatest personal paradox (of a-priori miscalculation as well, on the most profoundly, crucially elementary level!) of all time (Psalm 52) (Ezekiel 28), next only to The Very One who ever ordained that he was worth even an instant of anybody else’s (I only wish I could say virtually everybody else’s, but that would be so grossly inaccurate!) most genuinely unwelcome time and trouble (to the extent that I could just about pray, on behalf of most as well, along with Lionel Barrymore, from Key Largo, “Take all of us, if necessary, but–destroy him!”).  For that matter, even Walter Huston, in The Devil and Daniel Webster, wasn’t “quite so bad,” either; although, were most to wake up, one fine morning, and find Mr. Pip (Sebastian Cabot), from Serling’s “A Nice Place to Visit,” standing over them, with a big handful of money to offer, along with just about anything else for which they would never have “knowingly” bargained; I doubt they’d ever stop to ponder the question of exactly which place they’d finally entered, any more than do far-too-many, right here and now, who have absolutely no doubt whatsoever they must have already long arrived!          
 
Requiem for a Heavyweight (1962)
The Art of Boxing, 11 January 2007
10/10

     Although Mountain Rivera ties, with Mike Benson (Nick Adams), from an original episode of The Outer Limits, entitled Fun and Games, along with Joe Smith (James Edwards), from an original episode of The Fugitive, entitled Decision In the Ring, at being only my second favorite prizefighter (or, actually, the third, if one counts Jack Palance), only a viewing of my expanded layout shall reveal the answer as to who my number one is. But, as I also reiterate there, the difference is so very razor-thin only for the sake of those who no less meaninglessly than pedantically glory at splitting hairs, for essentially the same lack of any overwhelmingly factual reason there can only be a single winner, in any given category, during the Academy Awards. When viewed in such a symbolically endemic light, one cannot but regard boxing as being perhaps the most honest of all the professions, save perhaps for the gloves, in a manner which particularly the greater multitudes of its spectators are not even artistically discerning enough to savour.  Moreover, here’s a belatedly sour note, for all those who insist upon a single winner:  Lest I turn in my resignation to myself, as any kind of competent evaluator of such things, I must, more technically, declare it a virtual draw, for the number one slot, between the two whose brothers were both just as superbly performed by Arthur Kennedy!  In fact, since, as Stalin (Robert Duvall) once observed, to two of his closest comrades, a stool cannot stand on two legs, but is stronger at its center than a table of four; perhaps I am stuck with a single choice, after-all, that of “arbitrarily” moving still another, whom I’ll leave to be searched out elsewhere instead, into the number one slot as well; yet on a platform likewise so much more unstable, and capable of leaving only one of them up, when it falls upon its side.  However, it is rather Oceania which alone, thanks mostly to the leverage it provides, is about to take the hardest fall of all, squarely on its back!
     An unusually rare yet elementary level of perception is required, to avoid falling for such a pious fraud as Rocky Balboa, the Italian Stallion, despite the vast extent to which even I had initially been moved by the aura of his innocence. Such opponents as Apollo Creed and Clubber Lang most coherently understood, speaking about the real “Eye of the Tiger,” that there’s scarcely any such thing as a “nice, friendly round!” It’s only in training that anything approximating the isometric principle even at all instrumentally applies, but about as precariously as the shifting winds of circumstance. That’s why, contrary to something I’d read about Stallone, my favorite, from between the two, is Rambo, rather than Rocky; but only in the first segment (where I really started liking that soldier–a lot!), while Rocky ended, for me, in the third installment, just about as Fatalistically as it had for Mickey Goldmill!  In fact, how hypocritically, callously presumptuous, even of Apollo, to have so soon forgotten the kind of sense which needed to be beaten into him; even though he’d still failed to learn, nearly well enough at that, to avoid just as senselessly paying with his life!  Moreover, what form of denial could ever have been more disingenuous, than the kind which demonized Clubber, due to an honest win; coupled with an even more questionable attempt to “sanctify” the selfsame denial, by “proving” it “right” during the second bout, not to mention at the very end of part four; with relation to which, as all “worth” mentioning “should” know, not only did the Russians have to be twice our size, even to have had the “guts” to fight at all, but, in the process, they felt they had to even more cheatingly depend on steroids, even then!  Moreover, what “modestly good winners” Americans alone are, just so long as it all comes out, as Spartacus said, “The only way it could have ended?” 
     In fact, Stallone’s Cliffhanger got a truly raw deal at the box office; undoubtedly, for that matter, insofar as it had been much-too-deep, rather than high, to avoid being at least as insufferably bone-chilling to most!  Aside from the impossibly daring acrobatics involved, it was a movingly-portrayed example of the kind of painfully, tragically spiraling road to which particularly if not exclusively the deepest, most meaningful kinds of friendships are characteristically susceptible; and how they virtually by nature end up being, as Nietzsche would have said, even stronger, for having endured the most excruciating kinds of trials; first, those which served to inflict the most hopelessly-unhealable kind of breach, followed by those which very cathartically yielded precisely the opposite effect.  And, as any coherently-thinking person knows, on either side, there’s no turning back, or underestimating even a real pig “philosopher’s” appreciation of the most self-sacrificial kind of love!  A more popularly as well as “optimally well-balanced” example of the latter can be encountered in Lentulus Batiatus (Peter Ustinov), when he said to the Mighty Crassus, in Spartacus, “If you want something from me, I would be lacking in respect for my own conscience if I did not say I wish something from you.”  Yet, even such expressions of “patriotism” potentially have no limits, as when Anthony Quinn’s Barabbas said, at his trial, to Pontius Pilate (Arthur Kennedy), just before he was found guilty, anyway, basically the same thing Eric Qualen (John Lithgow) uttered, in Cliffhanger:  “Kill a few people, they call you a murderer; kill a million, and you’re a conqueror.  Go figure.”  Even more “viably unproblematic,” depending upon one’s perspective, would be the kind of “love” exhibited by Peter Craig (Joe Maross), in Serling’s “The Little People,” or by little Anthony Freemont (Billy Mumy), in Serling’s “It’s a Good Life,” or even by the Kanamits, in Serling’s “To Serve man!”  Moreover, the fallacy, that virtually any “Civilized Christian” at all is trying in the least to do any better, from beneath even the most “wholesomely” domesticated facade, is, itself, so intolerably monstrous as to invoke a line, at the end of Serling’s “Black Leather Jackets,” to the effect that “humanity” itself simply “isn’t worth it!”  In either case, however, “The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street!”   
     And, speaking of real artists, once again (or, rather, for the very first time, unless only my number one favorites are counted here, along with Mike Benson and Joe Smith), it required a connoisseur of Rod Serling’s own supremely superlative stature to understand, in a manner even Mountain Rivera had remained too romantically punch-drunk to grasp, what the sport of boxing really does entail (as also very cogently depicted in a little Night Gallery segment, minus any dialogue); especially for a real-life champ who has therefore alone managed to retain the Unchallenged Title of his name change, and corresponding conversion to Islam, even despite the further handicap of an inalterable pigment in his skin.  Malcolm X, to cite but one equally, symbolically showcasable illustration here, hadn’t been quite so enthusiastically, ever-popularly celebrated at all!  But this current sentence, and all the following, to the very end of this paragraph, really ought to be dated, as they are appearing so much later than any of the others.  Since I’ve already filled in my number one slots, I have no higher one but zero.  But even the number ones can take a hike, let-alone all the others; for my real favorite is Bolie Jackson, played by Ivan Dixon, in Serling’s “A Big Tall Wish!”  I simply forgot–that’s all!  Or, perhaps, what I was really so afraid of that I couldn’t even see it, any more than I can bear to look at it now, is that, like Bolie, I’m just getting–too old–and tired!  Like Gart Williams (James Daly), I’m so Fatalistically Disillusioned with all this “push and drive,” and the ravenously insatiable “appetites” which continue to animate it, as to be about as ready, by now, for “A Stop at Willoughby!”–Just as James, my brother, is not alone, in having come so very close, years ago, to making it, along with Stallone, entirely Over the Top–big rig and all!
     What Serling undoubtedly lamented, all the way back to The Twilight Zone, about the hopelessly-ineradicable nature of this sport, shall perhaps yet quite terminally prove to have been symbolic of America’s greatest weakness, once all her corresponding strength has been totally milked to the bone, for all it’s worth. This could be particularly the case, given the kinds of fights she goes so enthusiastically to engage, particularly with the gloves so very “civilizedly,” self-handicappingly donned, let-alone if they ever come off, in the form of nuclear devices which totally self-defeat their only potentially useful purpose, precisely to the extent that they have to be used at all!  But, then, as long as this continues to be a plutocracy, governed by nothing but politicians and voters who merely want to win, regardless of the truth, and regardless of justice, as Al Pacino said, at the end of And Justice for All, I find very little reason to hope.  How different it could have been, had there only been more to as worthily, gratefully fill the shoes of a noble pioneer such as Christian Horn (Cliff Robertson), in Serling’s “A Hundred Yards Over the Rim.”  But then, even “The Passersby,” along with the “last casualty” of the Civil War, have been totally forgotten, in the most dishonoring way of all, in everything but name also!  Just a flimsy, superficial veneer of “civilization” currently succeeds, even at quite “believably” repressing every real instinct which longs to come forth, under circumstances as “conveniently” accommodatable as those in Serling’s “I Shot an Arrow Into the Air!”  And, speaking of “Patterns,” even “The Brain Center at Whipple’s” is pulling up stakes, and cynically moving to China, leaving callously in the lurch even those thousands of employees who’d just as polarizingly, lopsidedly refused to learn anything at all from Karl Marx!  As for the many who are still at least fortunate enough to have jobs?  Unlike Hector B. Poole (Dick York), I wouldn’t even consider paying “A Penny for Your Thoughts!”  About all that yet remains is that Final Cry, so imminently on the horizon, entitled “I Am the Night–Color Me Black,” now that we’re already “Third From the Sun!”  Perhaps the next scene shall be a dog-fight to dominate “The Shelter,” if only due to a “false alarm” which brings out the “very best” in most; followed by “The Old Man In the Cave,” if any are fortunate enough to find him, let-alone wise enough thereafter to heed.  But Cecil Kellaway, as Mr. Wickwire, in Serling’s “Elegy,” perhaps had the best idea of all, Eternal Peace!
     Even Serling himself tried, at times, to be too “politically correct,” for instance, in an episode of The Twilight Zone entitled “The Mirror,” where, to use one of the favorite terms of President Ramos Clemente (Peter Falk), the writer himself turned out to have been the real chameleon, for all the good it ended up doing him, even in Hollywood!  Similarly, certain more well-balancing “revisions” could have been offered, say, of “Judgment Night” or “The Jeopardy Room,” although “He’s Alive” is already somewhat “inadvertently” revealing enough.  Indeed, it might not have cost him any more, in the end, had he even been inclined to muster up the incentive, let-alone the nerve, to do a real version of “Deaths-Head Revisited,” featuring the real Allied sponsors of those such as Lutze (Oscar Beregi) and his gang!  As for me, “One More Pallbearer,” such as Paul Radin (Joseph Wiseman), is not too compromising, considering certain “necessary” inaccuracies in the analogy which serve to compliment me, anyway, in conjunction with the thoroughly unsavory, transparently theatrical disingenuousness of the characters Serling had seen fit to heroize at his expense; just as, for that matter, McNulty (Richard Erdman), in “Some Kind of a Stopwatch,” was actually about the only participant, in that particular episode, whom I found to have been humanly palatable at all; along with still another favorite shipwreck of Cayuga Productions, that of Burgess Meredith, in both “Time Enough at Last,” and “Mr. Dingle, the Strong.”   “Civilization” has truly come a long way, quite “Christianly,” Effeminately down, from the “good ole days,” when the average, Explicitly Pagan Roman at least much more self-consistently, and no less clear-mindedly, not to mention courageously, manifested no “moral compunction” whatsoever about attending the Circus Maximus, and sporting events which make today’s bouts look like nothing but country square dances by way of contrast (Revelation 3:15-17)!  Moreover, speaking of the Real World, as distinct from the kind of “Christian” Fantasyland so many continue to presumptuously, self-righteously, even victimizingly take for granted; while butchering, in the process, the more Dynamically, Tragically Paradoxical nature, even of Truth Itself, in a way which shall yield many unexpected surprises, on Judgment Day:  Let’s not forget cowboy Joe Caswell (Albert Salmi), in the Serling episode entitled “Execution!”  I can’t exactly classify him as a hero, but he certainly had something to say I can safely bet I’ll never hear from another “Christian,” even if given a thousand years to wait!
     Hell, even King Arthur’s more “Christian” Knights of the Round Table had greater moxie than even today’s most characteristically murderous football superstars; let-alone an incalculably more noble “animal” yet, such as Spartacus, when he’d finally been pushed quite unendurably over the line; or even Preston Foster, from The Last Days of Pompeii, let-alone Demetrius and Glycon, who even “danced” so much more prolifically and theatrically together; although Richard Egan as well, no doubt, would have had a much more hearty laugh, today, even than he did from a real Christian warrior who quite “misleadingly” had only one other cheek to turn; but who proved, thereafter, right alongside Anthony Quinn’s Barabbas as well, to have been “somewhat” less “amusingly” true-to-form, in the correspondingly so very much more tremblingly unsteady view–of that mad-hatter, Jack Palance, too, as well as a no less cynically, brutally, sadistically wise-cracking “friend” such as Charles “Marcellus” McGraw!  But Lee Marvin, in Serling’s episode of “Steel,” is quite another matter entirely, even by way of the most anciently impressive of standards; just as, to be sure, his performance, in The Dirty Dozen, was no less a masterpiece of the greatest refinement in style!  But my own more favorite paragon, even than he, of even the kind of inspiringly moving “insubordination” from which an entire “civilization” could profit, is The Mighty Casey himself; although about as gratifying, at least immediately if not ultimately, is that slap, delivered to Mr. Whipple’s face, by his foreman, with the back of his hand, and accompanied by the following:  “That’s for your insensitivity, your lack of compassion!”   

Let No Man Write My Epitaph (1960)
Any Real Lawyer Must Have an Office!, 15 January 2007
10/10

     Like Burl Ives, who was scornfully, belittlingly laughed out of “court,” because he didn’t “have an office,” even though his defense of his client had been as genuinely eloquent as would have put most soberly licensed counsellors to shame; so, likewise, did I learn, even from my alma mater, through a similar experience with the campus attorney (another pipsqueak, cut out of the same cloth as that “therapist,” who couldn’t answer Jack Nicholson’s remark about the “dirty laundry,” in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest!), that nobody has any Civil Rights, at least not because that’s what they’re supposed to be. Whenever anyone is deliberately, cynically denied Due Process, particularly subsequent to years of useless Petitions; then even those who seem to have such rights, especially while sneering contemptuously at those of others, are enjoying them merely by accident, rather than based on principle!–Or, as one prominent enthusiast had expressed it, during the previous impeachment hearings, “Two standards of justice equal no standard of justice!”
     No, I wasn’t even drunk, so they hadn’t that to use, as a conveniently mean-spirited excuse, another ad hominem, simply and impurely! Next to the fact that they’d cheated me, simply because they could, in the instance of a victim they’d gleefully known would have nobody to defend him, even from them, the “problem” was that I’d simply been “weird!” Just ask any of them, the “attorney” to whom I’d gone for help, or those from whom I’d needed his protection; but whom he’d rather called on the phone, in an “impartial” determination to sweep the problem under the carpet, entirely for their sakes. Try asking any of them what they mean by “weird,” and their most “intelligent” answer, atop all the murderously malicious slander, would be “Well, you know–weird!” In “minds” such as these, even the structurally indispensable principle of self-evident truth, upon which alone even Aristotle reminds us that anything more discursively demonstrable can by nature be built, is abusively turned into the most dangerously self-discrediting kind of lie!
     It’s been over twenty years, and I’m still being maliciously, philistinistically ridiculed, by everyone I attempt to inform about the nature of all this; while they continue running a public, tax-supported institution of higher learning as though it belonged personally to them, governed by nothing but their whims. I’d had about the same proverbial ghost of a chance, even while having broken none of their laws (and also while having been threatened, just for “daring” to file a report!), as Ella Fitzgerald would have enjoyed, in any attempt to argue that her heroin injections should not be considered any more illegal than Burl’s right to purchase another bottle. Unlike a similar “criminal,” such as Cameron Mitchell, as the great war hero, Barney Ross, in Monkey on My Back, who’d been permitted massive doses of morphine, but only to stop the pain of his war wounds, then “legally,” mercilessly thrown to a dog like Paul Richards; Ella’s problem had been that such was simply her means of coping, with too much soul, in a totally soulless environment.
     In an intimately-interrelated vein, already touched upon, by way of “implication,” above, I totally concur with the great Humphrey Bogart; in tender memory of my own dear, sweet father (another of whose favorites was the frolickingly inebriated Dean Martin, whom he particularly liked, on a more serious note, in Rio Bravo, just as I must grudgingly confess to having enjoyed even “The Duke” as much as he did!), too, as well as his favorite philosopher, the Immortal–Omar Khayyam!  So much for anybody who either “doesn’t drink,” or else frustratedly, mindlessly, scapegoatingly, over-generalizingly, venomously salivates to hang, from the nearest tree, not merely the many-too-many (and I’m not even including all drivers here, but rather “merely” most of them!) who should never have taken their first nip, nevertheless (it’s really the person, not the substance, stupids!); or, who should at least have been somehow denied driver’s licenses, like unto about as many-too-many who again, “don’t drink!”  Even Cliff Robertson, who’d been denied his medical license, over a similar kind of insensitivity, in The Interns; would have had a better chance in England, had he been faced with an issue identical to the one here, where such “experiments” have proved most practical. Indeed, Dr. William Stewart Halsted had successfully fooled them for years, and in a manner more socially productive than anything like the current “war on drugs,” including Ricardo Montalban’s way of involuntarily recruiting new customers! While God may not be an advocate of such substances, there are other addictions, including a current epidemic of junk-food gluttony, which makes the “legal” distinction here totally arbitrary and discriminatory!
     Most would be thoroughly indignant against me, upon encountering such an opinion; but only for the same “reason” such behavioristically, self-righteously, judgmentally well-trained seals are, by now, just as hopelessly, “legally” dead to the kind of infamy which impelled Robert Duvall, in The Apostle, to come to the defense of his family, and of God’s Laws; over-against the pathetically anemic nature of man’s, which defined him alone as the “criminal!” Those who would condemn him, particularly on the basis of any religious defense he might have offered; are also the first to demand Ella’s head, on what would basically amount to the same alleged basis; despite the fact that they’d be hard-pressed to find even a single scripture to support it, over-against Matthew 15:7-9, or Romans 14:10-23, which too many hypocrites would rather falsifyingly hurl at one who is trying to unimposingly mind his own business! If anything, adultery has become the most socially-disintegrating epidemic of all, while being “legally” applauded! Even those who religiously rave against alcohol, conveniently ignore Proverbs 31:6-7, not to mention verses 4 and 5! Moreover, as for the kettle “legally” calling the pot black, in a most mentally-defective way, consider Billy Jack, and the “crime” he’d committed, at the very beginning of The Born Losers! Paul Kersey, of the Death Wish series, was no “criminal,” either; despite my official authorization, nevertheless, to formally advocate only against such kinds of actions; contrary to the way the Reverend Barney Clark (Keenan Wynn), from Johnny Concho, elected to handle a problem, when he could find no scripture to cover it.
     Of course, The Star Chamber, starring Michael Douglas, along with Dirty Harry’s boss, Hal Holbrook, pose somewhat of a dilemma here.  An episode of Walker, Texas Ranger, entitled “The Committee,” attempts to resolve this problem as well, but not totally to my own satisfaction!  Perhaps I’m more than fifty percent reconciled, but not nearly one-hundred percent at all!  In fact, one of the most hairbrained statements Ranger Cordell Firewalker ever made, was to his good friend, Ranger James Trivette, while they were discussing the problem of a racist sheriff, who turned out to have been secretly murdering prisoners and burying their corpses.  Walker said it was a good thing such creatures are the exceptions in law enforcement, rather than the rule!  Would he perhaps consider it an insult, instead, were I to say it would be, if nothing else, a lucky hit, to find even one–for real–of his most theatrically well-paid stature–where the highest ideals come so much more easily, and even as mystifyingly as in the case of Archie Bunker’s adopted son, who was using the stuff off-screen, while busting others for the same as “make-believe?”  Those occasionally “tender” references to a governor, whom the “real” Walker would have had in a cell, long ago, also serve to suggest, quite compellingly, that it’s me, if anybody, whom they’d be delighted to transport at least one-thousand long, excruciating miles, on that hard, bumpy floor, in back of their pick-up truck; and without even a coke, particularly upon request, to quench the thirst; if, for no other reason, precisely because of the way I’m writing, now!
     In fact, I have meant a few good cops who are better, after-all, even than these cowboys; who’ve told me, personally, that they’d deliberately look the other way, in cases of “offenses” for which nobody really ought to be busted at all, particularly while real terrorists are being pursued!  Of course, they’d never admit it on television, but not for the same kind of “perfectly understandable” reason you’ll never hear Walker, Trivette, or C.D., admitting it, either!  These “strictly personal” friends of principle corollarily have the honesty, and, thus, even the brains, to understand that, if somebody, who should be enjoying at least the abovementioned kind of “immunity,” is caught committing real offenses, at the same time; then what no real officer, let-alone any, “if” any, real judge, would ever do, is to allow the one thing to be behavioristically paired, in his strictly albeit “sincerely,” mechanically, typically defective “mind” (although even real computers are more innocent, as well as internally consistent, at least!), with the other; thus avoiding the criminally prevailing fallacy, as well, of at least “implying” that everybody who does the one thing, is automatically of the kind who have no moral compunction whatsoever about doing the other kinds of things as well, and that perhaps even quite prevailingly not doing the one thing even perhaps quite probably if not certainly means the other would be strictly out of the question, too, even when “nobody’s looking!”  Yet, I’ll have to give Walker credit for at least one extremely unorthodox little gesture, which really brought out the more Nobly Poetic Sense of Justice in his instincts; after a manner I’m almost tempted, tragically enough, against my own better, more painfully-cultivated nature, to actually begin to trust, in addition to simply admiring per se.  While busting a meth lab, across the border, in Louisiana, during a medically-induced “vacation,” he decided not to turn in the confiscated drug profits, but rather to give them to a mother and her son who had much better use for them.  In all fairness, that was a very daring move on television; although, ironically enough, for all that, perhaps only on television!
     Thus, just to help attempt to balance out any shallowly premature misimpressions most have probably acquired concerning mine, immediately above; I’m happy to end, here, about Walker, on the extremely positive note that, even despite how questionably proud he is of his war record, or, more specifically, the particular war to which this record pertains; he’s still a man after my own heart, albeit in the very manner he could only rightfully be were the feeling entirely mutual–at least in my wildest dreams!  He sounds off quite often about the importance of education, too, as well as religion, and that’s one boast I’d personally like challenging him to back up; although even he would undoubtedly need to be accompanied by the best “Medicine Man” available, as I’m referring, quite literally enough, to nothing short of–Fright Night Itself–For Real!  God, how I choke upon the extent to which I am forced to love those guys, as one who ordinarily has no more use for P.I.G.S. than for “Judges” or Politicians, let-alone “Professors” or “Ministers!”  Not unrelatedly, and, in the process, speaking, once again, about Archie Bunker; his guest appearance, as a real oinker, in an episode of The Fugitive entitled “Flight from the Final Demon,” really does serve to bring out the very “best” in him!  He even looks the part of one so thoroughly unsavory as to have been unable to as much as accidentally avoid spoiling the very end of Lonely Are the Brave.  Indeed, even a physically close resemblance such as Rod Steiger had failed to so abrasively assault my spirit quite as much, In the Heat of the Night, and that’s going some!  I’m certain this all-too-dismally-real strain in his personality, the same one rendered so “humorously inert” on his own show, was just as important-a-reason as the cleverness of the scripts themselves, and, of course, the equally realistic performance of Meathead, for rendering All In the Family such a superlatively well-deserved classic of satire, right next to those charming little perverts in Married With Children!  But a more worthy recipient, of the kind of lesson above, with relation to the dangerously normative extent to which no “merely personal” initiative in judgment is ever to be self-permitted (although, as Sartre would observe, it is inherently impossible to escape, instead!), exactly as Lieutenant Philip Gerard loves to emphasize; was, for instance, Officer Percy Rodriguez, in still another episode of The Fugitive entitled “Passage to Helena!”  This was a damn good cop, along with his boss, too, for that matter!  What he needed to learn, however, didn’t go down very easily at all!  Yet, when the chips were down, he came through with the most admirably flying colors!  Another good cop, in still another episode entitled “The Last Oasis,” had to be a bit more intimidatingly forced into seeing the light, albeit for anything but the worst of all understandable reasons, by a magnificent lady of the stature of Hope Lange, who also held her own no less movingly, alongside Elvis, in Wild In the Country!  But R.G. Armstrong, the cop in an episode entitled “All the Scared Rabbits,” is really among my very favorites, contrary also to Pat Hingle, in the “Nicest Fella You’d Ever Want to Meet!”

Guyana: Crime of the Century (1979)
What Does This Painfully Symbolic Episode Really Mean?, 17 January 2007
10/10

     In a reversal of their positions, as well as of the entire spiritual atmosphere, from Francis of Assisi; it is now Stuart Whitman who assumes just as commanding as well as demanding-a-lead, with Bradford Dillman filling a main supporting role, as one of his disciples. Just as Bradford Dillman’s lead, above, had been quite admirably on a par, in its own unique way (particularly during a confrontation with an Islamic Sultan, which all contemporary “Crusaders” should view!), with that of Graham Faulkner, in Brother Sun, Sister Moon; so, also, might it as well have been by way of nothing more than a mere toss of the coin, that I’ve selected Stuart Whitman’s leading performance, here, over-against the equally superlative one, of Powers Boothe. However, although Stuart Whitman has always been one of my favorite actors, it would have been impossible for me to have had to arbitrarily select, between him and Powers Boothe, had this “contest” been anything like the kind of real-life, crucially consequential “Blood Sport” it was, in The Oscar, for Frankie Fane (Stephen Boyd, and, “incidentally,” the only “Real Man” in the film, even compared to a Miserable Flesh Peddler such as Milton Berle, let-alone such Typically Endemic Dog-Meat as Joseph Cotten or Walter Brennan!  In that sense, Frankie was incalculably more wrong, but in his favor, than he was right, when he said, “I’m no different from anybody else in this damn town,” just as Kappy was incalculably more wrong, but against Frankie’s favor, than he was right, when he replied, “That’s not true, that’s not true.”), over-against Frank Sinatra; just as, for that matter, it would have been similarly impossible, to have chosen Kirk Douglas, in Champion, over John Garfield, in Body and Soul, or vice-versa, as my favorite prizefighter. Otherwise, John Garfield had also come out second, next to the only other three with whom he’d tied, for me.
     But, then, in the case of Jim Jones, why should I, or anyone, find anything not to so popularly condemn, even in the real-life character being portrayed here, and at the risk of thereby being no less popularly condemned, myself? Stuart Whitman very cogently helps answer that question, in the opening sermon of his version; just as Powers Boothe helps fill in more of the related biographical background, which tragically helped bring Jim Jones to that point. Is it a “cop-out” to suggest that, in any way, America itself had helped, in transforming the initially more innocent idealism of Jones into the twisted nightmare it finally became? Such would only be the case, were it utilized to shield Jones from the moral culpability of his own free will, in the same way that America tries, no less disingenuously, to shield itself, from behind the free will of Jones! Even to blame the drugs amounts to one of the most popularly as well as criminally falsifying cop-outs there is, on a par with what Maximilian Schell so desperately tried to accomplish, in Judgment at Nuremberg, despite even the otherwise profoundest truths of his closing arguments! But almost nobody wants to hear the whole truth, just as perhaps even most Christian pastors are accounted for, in their own ways, about as much as Jones, in verses such as Isaiah 56:6-12! From what I’d so dissentingly encountered over the years, in the case of various “ministers,” to the point where I’m not even welcome to attend; it appears they aspire to being, not “mere” guides, but more like the most self-indulgent, Papally Infallible “Gurus” (I Peter 5:3)! A very prominent one in particular, who reminded me of Lonesome Rhodes, from A Face In the Crowd, ran his congregation more like an outpatient concentration camp, “at least” in spirit, than anything else!
     Had Jones survived his final ordeal, and I’d been a member of the jury; I would not have hesitated to find him guilty of a capital offense, despite the fact that I otherwise feel more personal empathy in his case, than with relation to most other preachers; that is, I would have unhesitatingly voted him guilty despite even the most tragically understandable extent to which he’d felt himself to be doing his victims a favor, unlike most who need to believe they “care” so much! Unlike Euliss Dewey, in The Apostle, or Billy Jack, at the end of The Born Losers, or Paul Kersey, throughout his Death Wish ordeals, or Robert Ginty, as The Exterminator, or even William Foster, in Falling Down (particularly given those in whose deaths he had been instrumental), Jones went indefensibly over the line of terminally and involuntarily victimizing the most clearly innocent people. Only God can be the Final Judge of the things about him with which I empathize, but any truly responsible member of his jury would do well to as honestly understand (I John 1:8-10) why I feel as I do (John 8:1-11); thus making him less hypocritically incompetent to judge (Matthew 7:1-5), and thus less part of the kind of problem which virtually guarantees that “Those who fail to learn from history are condemned to repeat it!” Gregory Peck faced a similar dilemma, in David and Bathsheba, during a scene where an adulteress was about to be stoned before his eyes, but before he had himself become more honestly and repentantly “without sin,” thereby. Moreover, even Boaz (again, Stuart Whitman), in The Story of Ruth, had been faced with the dilemma of how to sit in judgment of Ruth; in a manner which helped serve to illustrate the extent to which the letter of the law must, ideally, be tempered with the spirit of the same, when arriving at a truly just and balanced verdict. This may be an elusively, frustratingly precarious line, one which must be no less prayerfully than rationally tread; but a real, sacredly, indispensably non-negotiable one, nevertheless.
     Moreover, the Lord moves in such mysterious ways that even an occasionally, more poetically tragic kind of resolution, from right out of Witness for the Prosecution, cannot be categorically ruled out, either!  Does that statement “morally shock” most of you?–Probably even most of the same who simply lack the guts, let-alone the actual “concern,” and, thus, even the brains per se, to at least “consciously” realize how salivatingly they admire, and even envy, Bonnie and Clyde, with Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway (a real work of art, in every conceivable sense, on Mr. Beatty’s own ingeniously creative behalf, I might add!), or, for an even more “cheerful” ending, ‘Doc’ and Carol McCoy (Steve McQueen/Alec Baldwin; Ali MacGraw/Kim Basinger), in The Getaway!  Oh, but they call it, to themselves, something much more “innocently neutral,” after-all, don’t they?–Namely, to use one of their favorite terms, “Entertainment!”  Moreover, I know why I cannot help but to like all of these scoundrels, and with far more “poetically subtle refinement” than in the instances of any of those who are more typically “shocked” at me, or, that is, “merely entertained,” by them; even despite the considerably rigid extent to which I am morally as well as legally disinclined to approve, in a manner I’m certain they’re equally incapable of appreciating, at least not on their own genuinely mature and responsible recognizance; particularly, with regard, again, to my disapproval, of the fact that certain of these dangerously, unjustifiably violent criminals actually got away with it in the end, for every delicately impressionable child to see, too, while feeling “at least” more “implicitly” welcomed, in the process, to come to his own “strictly personal” conclusions!–For, after-all, these children at least realize they’re more free to disregard the ending of the McCoys than they would be that of Barrow and Parker, or Kit Carruthers (Martin Sheen), in Badlands!
     On the other hand, though, how many Charlie Sheens are typically out there, to help cynically push someone such as John Wisdom so fatally, otherwise avoidably over the very Edge; in much the same way Henry Fonda was pushed, in You Only Live Once?  I should know, for, at a much younger age, I had to work under more of them than I can count, and minus anything to hide on my applications, but with the same dismally-unwarranted results, due to nothing but the most maliciously mean-spirited spite–a particularly ugly emotion!–Just as, for that matter, how many college “nerds” and the like are being deliberately and maliciously pushed, for about the same kinds of reasons to be found in one of those New Outer Limits episodes, to just as chillingly dream they could master the secret of Cold Fusion?  Yet, it’s not a question, legally speaking, of whether I, or anybody else, personally fails, even with the most “poetically moving” of reasons, to dislike any given character here.  Hell, I love Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, along with a magnificently photogenic kind of chemistry between them which equalled, in its own uniquely superlative way, the level of charisma between Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock.  But Butch and Sundance still got, in the end, exactly what they deserved, when one not even need so penetratingly grasp the “humorously” unjustifiable nature of their deeds!  As for even Martin Brundle, The Fly?  Well, in his case, along with that of Frank James (Henry Fonda), I’ll simply say their fates should be left in the hands of a judge and jury, rather than being permitted to “poetically” bypass any such process.  Even Mel Gibson, as Porter, in Payback, got off too easily in the end.  Despite there being so much more about him than I’d personally or even “poetically” relish having to legally set aside in the process, he’s nothing like the kind of hero Socrates would have seen fit to present to children as a role model!  Robert “Butch” Haynes (Kevin Costner) truly deserved better, at the end of A Perfect World.  But, then, even he had to find out, the hard way, about the kinds of things for which one should never bargain in the first place, let-alone therefore actually get!  Rocky Sullivan (James Cagney), in Angels With Dirty Faces, is, on the other hand, one of my greatest heroes, even before he’d finally come through; but he had to pay a very heavy price for it, particularly given the last noble request of the best friend he ever had in this world!

Hard Times (1975)
Bronson at His Best!, 21 January 2007
10/10

     I’ve seen about all of them, but there’s only one which is Vintage Bronson, and that’s Chaney, in Hard Times! This characterization was as resonant with meaning as it should be no less unnecessary than pointless to have to attempt to describe; just as any such commentary would inherently make no difference, to anyone who requires such a thing, for a man of so very few words himself. Like something almost out of this world, he emerged from nowhere, and disappeared just as enigmatically. I would have thought to include him before, in my attempt to rank at least the very few fictional prizefighters I consider worth instructively mentioning at all; save for the fact that he was as thoroughly “unprofessional,” by his own definition, as he would have been unclassifiably over the very top of the scale in either case, and certainly a natural-born loner as well. He fought with the same single-minded, simply well-focused kind of attention which animated his every breath, as one who appeared no less symbolically predestined by nature to be incapable of defeat than Johnny Cash, as Abe Cross, in A Gunfight. Guns were not exactly his specialty in this one, even though he knew how to deliver the most unmistakably effective message with one in his hand, at exactly the right moment.
     In fact, even certain of the more unsavory characters in this film had succeeded at commanding a much higher level of my respect than just about anybody I’ve ever encountered of a more “lawfully, respectably well-civilized” predisposition, who take such delusionally self-righteous pride at allegedly representing anything “morally above” the most universally primitive kinds of instincts. I’m referring, here, to something even more refreshingly and predictably candid, as coming from such transparently digestible representatives of the real world, than the mere fact that, unlike with the most typically and “virtuously uncorruptible,” one can succeed even at buying certain of the most basic human rights from them, if only he has the money; rights which the abstractly disingenuous hot air of even the most loftily letter-perfect of formally-binding Constitutions has never actually intended to guarantee, as difficult as it would be to deliver upon such a promise, even if it did; to so very many who must fight, even for the right to exist at all, in conformity with the most spontaneously, circumstantially, and mercilessly self-defining of rules. What I mean is that, in addition to being the kinds of specimens of humanity with whom alone one can at all do even the most soundly scrupulous kind of business, instead of being inflexibly mowed down by “legal” restrictions only the most typically and formally “law-abiding” have the lack of sense to take seriously, even a most genuine element of Honor is likewise to be found within them alone!
     It certainly hadn’t been easy for a man of Chick Gandil’s kind of pride to conform with the above description, at least not when he finally found himself on the side of a hefty bet only his opponent could not afford to lose. Yet, after having momentarily succumbed to the most despicably futile kind of temptation, he nevertheless came through, in the spirit of something so much better than a mere honor among thieves; which even some of the very worst from among them at least have enough sense to realize is structurally indispensable, if only for the most pragmatically selfish of reasons they are analytically discerning enough to truly appreciate. And, of course, Spencer “Speed” Weed, thanks to the almost innocently self-defeating extent of his own follies, would have been unable to arrive nearly that far along, apart from the kind of loan which required only the collateral of a few breakable ribs, if necessary, after the fact, to secure, minus anything as “respectably” sterile as an “application” to finalize. It’s just about enough to make me wish I were living even under Al Capone’s “protection,” or Peter Falk, from Murder, Inc.; instead of at the “mercy” of the kind of racket which rather took them out, if not having actually been so much more “legitimately” and undetectably absorbed by precisely their kind.
     I’ve been suffocating far-too-long, from the sort of typically, “Civilizedly Christian” lack of mentality which speaks of “love” only as a ruse, and which can thereby even succeed at sneaking up upon its prey from the very front; just as, when it speaks of “forgiveness,” such is only to excuse if not deny the most culpably unrepentant faults! Even the most parasitically “learned” of “gentlemen” and “scholars” at the university instinctively hated Nietzsche to a “man,” as though they respected anything better than the kind of “strength” he’d repudiated; just as they lack even the guts to fight their own unscrupulous battles, like any self-respectingly Noble Savage; as well as the brains to realize they simply love to slander and wound the rare, thus alone vulnerable “weakness” of my sincerity; while privately, invisibly sneering, right into my face, that they can do anything they want, and get away with it! It’s no wonder they chose the only kind of “strictly literary” specialty even their puppeteers demand they be able to bluff their way through rhetorically! The same Hard Times which help cut through every such “Idealistically Civilized” Facade are again about to materialize, but on a scale which shall perhaps render even this higher level of consciousness more terminally incapable of survival. The previous such interval had only been the most senselessly unheeded warning, concerning a Covenant With Death which is, this time, about to be Totally Annulled–Ezekiel 8:6-18!–Isaiah, Chapter 28!

The Graduate (1967)
A Pricelessly Symbolic Reflection of Its Era, 28 January 2007
10/10

     This film, in terms of form and style as such, let-alone substance, is a uniquely gifted work of art; on a par with other, more wastefully “forgettable,” so-called “grade B” masterpieces, such as Desire In the Dust (a must, for every Raymond Burr fan), and Hell on Frisco Bay (an equal must, for every Edward G. Robinson fan). The latter two had apparently been conceived, or, at least, might just as well have been, for the very purpose of showcasing the induplicably villainous talents of, again, Raymond Burr, and Edward G. Robinson, respectively; whereas, quite obviously, Anne Bancroft herself stands out, to this selfsame end, in The Graduate; along with a no less outstanding supporting cast, as is also the case with the other two thus far mentioned. While my own release from prison bears certain outwardly, superficially, and commonly misleading similarities with those of Dustin Hoffman alone, in addition to a strong personal identification with the nature of his internal struggle as well; it is, nevertheless, my sense of deeply temperamental empathy with Alan Ladd, from Hell on Frisco Bay, and with Ken Scott, from Desire In the Dust, which serves, about as overshadowingly, to set me just as apart from Hoffman, too. I’ll even expand the analogies here, by referencing myself as a cross, between John Cassavetes, from Crime In the Streets, and, again, John Cassavetes, from Edge of the City; or, similarly, again, to Hoffman, too, but much more grimly, as a cross, between Farley Granger, from Edge of Doom, and Paul Anka, from Look In Any Window. 
     By now, I have a “sense of humor” which far-too-frightfully resembles that of Hoffman, at the end of the Marathon Man, coupled with at least as many painfully-debilitating extractions; although the Root of Bitterness (Hebrews 12:15) that’s had so long and hard to embed itself shall continue to remain safely confined enough to where I’d never permit it to be, as it were, tapping any shoulders abruptly from behind, even after the ways they’ve already tried to take out my closer brother as well (and might as well have!); contrary to the prayer I offer, without ceasing, in my uncertainty as to how much I’d be able to stand ( I Corinthians 10:13), that none of them ever come around again–looking for any more trouble with me!  Yet, as hard as it therefore is to continue up the steps of II Peter 1:1-10, in the hope of being worthily-enough received at the point of Luke 21:36, which is also Revelation 3:10, instead of verses 15-19, along with 12:17 and 20:4; I still wouldn’t trade even the very worst of chances here for anything they’d so “Christianly” had in “mind,” just as my bitterness, unlike Dean Jagger’s, in Serling’s “Static,” is rather based upon an entirely different kind of regret; one which, for that matter, could nevertheless end up consuming even me just as completely, if, like Theodore Bikel, I fail to master even the form, nearly as well as most Americans have yet to do at least with the content, by Serling’s “Four O’Clock” hour!
     Despite my enormous head start, over Alan Ladd, in the sense that he’d begun, during mid-incarceration; his own extremely volatile level of intensity had been very equal to mine, on both counts, in my case, prior to his period of confinement. However, Ken Scott had required barely no time at all to catch up, on one of the two counts, subsequent to his release; just as, by now, he’s the only one with whom I bear any kind of similarity, at least in one sense, during the very end of his own extremely well-crafted Morality Play. Unlike with him, however, my own particular story-line is not entirely finished yet; even though it is, in the most historically as well as personally climactic sense, just around the bend; as my own real-life version of Jo Van Fleet, from East of Eden, along with her other son, are also about to discover. Indeed, an equally superlative performance, by Edward Binns, from Desire In the Dust, is about to make its mark, too, the hard way; particularly with relation to those who also participate in the selfsame profession he did, but much more commonly than superlatively.  Parenthetically, to behold a real Pulitzer Prize winner in action, watch Jim Lefferts, played by Arthur Kennedy, in Elmer Gantry!  Watch with what mercilessly well-directed skill he so appropriately submits his religious opponents to the vivisection of the scalpel, based on the kind of authority which has no real difficulty, as opposed to the most commonly-unassailable kind, totally verifying itself!  Fortunately, the relatively imminent ending which I currently anticipate is much more historically if not otherwise so very circumstantially well-timed than had been the case, say, for Preston Foster, from The Last Days of Pompeii, or Kirk Douglas, from Spartacus; even when the latter had decided he could endure no more, let-alone when Laurence Olivier had finally had enough of him. What I have to concern myself with the most, however, is the extent to which the much more endurably noble temperament, of Spartacus, is still being displaced, in my case, with the one of, again, Kirk Douglas, from The Last Sunset, during his more dangerously, irrepressibly volatile intervals. Likewise, Al Pacino, even at the end of The Godfather II, let-alone III, just as analogously and tragically comes to mind; alongside the equally unfortunate relevance, on second and third thought, of these very same segments, from Stallone’s Rambo saga, just in case he thought he’d “won” anything, either!
     I do consider myself fortunate, nevertheless, that my story hadn’t already ended, long ago, in the same way it had for Dustin Hoffman, or even Alan Ladd. More to the point, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference, had I decided to continue the same senselessly masochistic ritual, right up to the back of the church; let-alone while slugging it out in a speed boat, against all the forces of hell! By now, about the most absurdly laughable thought I could possibly entertain, one which renders even an otherwise great cinematic classic such as Casablanca about as unconvincingly deformed as Bogart himself had been; is that I had ever wanted it to work at all, contrary to the dignity as well as the patience and self-control which required an alternate form of education to become more perfectly-ingrained; and which, even despite my current imperfections, has a much better chance of finally sinking in on time.  El Greco (Mel Ferrer) offered a much more refined form of inspiration, but even he should have listened to his assigned spiritual mentor, as well as to the one who paid with her life for his gross impertinence; a cost the more ideally avoidable as well as tragically noble quality of which is more than enough to render even the apparent waste of how I’d done the dying instead, even for a comparatively worthless cause, one who just as self-negatingly enjoyed spitefully murdering such a spirit, seem the most redeemable form of virtue.  While I’m anything but a stranger to the forces which impelled him, or to the kinds of intensely poetic dramas which unfold in stories such as Dr. Zhivago; I’ve already long learned, in my own equally hard ways, that it’s better to stick to one’s work, particularly in my Father’s business (I Corinthians 7:1-9).  Even the judge who presided at this great artist’s trial for heresy had nevertheless been as admirably worthy as the defense itself, and the spiritual rebirth out of which it emerged; just as the Devil’s Advocate of his re-appearance, for those who think Al Pacino was slick, shall soon be rendering his verdicts again, with an equally stern and well-disciplined vigor, but rather against far-too-many of the more typically rotten fruits of such an experimentally, daringly liberating transition, just as I pray even a few who’d helped me understand the folly of attempting to substitute for the most ideally unsustainable blessing, by invertingly giving birth to the spiritual via the physical, have nevertheless been spared nearly the damage caused by so many who cannot say, nearly as accurately as I, that at least “I never had sex with those women!”  There was only one occasion when the “Optimal Resonance” had been there, that Elusively Intangible Element which rendered the timing so internally right as well as externally wrong, in the choice I’d been compelled to make, as to have also rendered Jose Ferrer, in Cyrano de Bergerac, at least as absurdly applicable-an-analogy!  As for all the rest, both before and after, what I’ve learned, long and hard, and particularly in even the finest of instances, let-alone the remainder there also were, is–never to let them pick me, either!
     Thus, please, don’t play it again, Sam; for, even then, I’d also despised the entire lot of them, no less than they did me; the way Jack Ging felt, along with Brett Halsey, about the former’s own father and sister, at the end of Desire In the Dust. Regardless of how much time life proceeds to grant their kind, they only seem to continue feeling more and more delighted about what they are; to the point where I also deeply identify with Burt Lancaster, from The Swimmer, and feel just as Desperately, Fatalistically Vulnerable, during my numerously weakest moments.  Every such moment, by now, is, for me, about the same as it had been for Anthony Quinn, on the beach, at the end of La Strada! Vincent Price, as The Last Man on Earth, is an appropriate analogy, too; alongside Charlton Heston, as The Omega Man!  I feel as fed up, and for the same reasons, as Dr. Louis J. Prescott (Gene Lockhart), when he dived off the mast, to his death, in The Sea Wolf!–Or like Rod Serling’s Leading star, from Number Twelve Looks Just Like You, as well as The Obsolete Man!  And let’s not forget John Hurt, under the Tutelage of Richard Burton, in 1984; even though Edmond O’Brien, verses Michael Redgrave, would just as convincingly suffice!  Yet, even these must take second place, for me, next to Rock Hudson, in The Spiral Road, and Paul Newman, as Cool Hand Luke; including my kind of prayer, at least hitherto, at the very end!  As for Henry Fonda, in You Only Live Once, or Peter Lorre, in The Face Behind the Mask?  There, but for the Grace of God, go I!  And I should also include Farley Granger, in They Live by Night; but, then, most of you had already helped shove my little girl into her grave, over fifteen years ago, in ways you wilfully lack even the brains, let-alone the hearts, or guts, to comprehend; although, unlike Farley Granger, and his, we never did anything to anybody, least of all broken any of your preciously God-Almighty Laws!  If I end up not being so mercifully spared in this life, I can only hope there is at least plenty of whiskey to keep me company; in conjunction with the kind of freezing cold encountered by Tony Curtis, as Ira Hayes, at the very end of The Outsider!  So much for the outside of the cup, in this sense, as the inside of his has already long been mine as well, along with basically the very same reasons why!  What James Whitmore wouldn’t have needed, either, in my case, to bring out the “very best” in them, was the kind of pigment change he’d adapted, in Black Like Me!  In fact, by now, they’d probably consider it such a vast improvement, if it made any real difference at all, that, if nothing as preferable as Tony Curtis, I’d prefer to stay behind, with Captain Benteen; while letting those other Serling characters Leave for Home on Thursday, as the very kind, after-all, against whom he’d been attempting to warn them!  Good riddance!  He was my favorite, in that particular episode, anyway, particularly in contrast with still another typically vulgar specimen of humanity such as Colonel Sloane, as portrayed so Philistinistically well by the likes of Tim O’Connor!  They still despise me, but with even less reason, as well as more, than Brett Halsey had, for popping Ken Scott in the jaw; just as even the latter had much better reason than I would have, were I to reply, to the numerous jabs I’d received, by saying, “I don’t blame you for doing that, doc!” However, my warning is just the same as his, but on even Higher Authority (Jeremiah, Chapter 28), when he continued, “But don’t try throwing another one!”

Planet of the Apes (1968)
Is Man Still an Ape?–Or Rather Yet to Become One? Either Way, It’s–A Madhouse!–A Madhouse!, 31 January 2007
10/10

     Many insolently skeptical apes, with their religion of biological evolution, and, thus, by extension, anti-social Darwinism, too, might still be cynically, insultingly sneering that they need to see a “miracle,” before they’ll ever agree to capitulate, and acknowledge the authority of the Lord; in the only real way there is to verify it, through the most rationally sound and morally sober kind of insight, which leaves even them with fundamentally no excuse, particularly if their only real intent is to violate the Golden Rule without ever expecting to have to answer for it. However, by the time their “miracle” arrives, which it inevitably shall, and shortly, by now, in this world; they “might” just wish it hadn’t, as those who insist upon tempting the Lord, and taking it so mockingly, belittlingly, scornfully out, even on the flesh of His servants. Gene Kelly, as E.K. Hornbeck, was so right, from Inherit the Wind, when he said, to Spencer Tracy, as Henry Drummond, “Face it, Darwin was wrong, man’s still an ape!” But, then, who knows; for, if Charlton Heston is right, it may be a bit more loosely accurate to say he’s not quite an ape yet, in terms, “at least,” of how well he treats his own! I could seriously entertain this view a bit more plausibly, were it not for the fact that the words are always just about to come out of my mouth: “Get even your eyes, indeed, even your very ‘thoughts,’ off me, you filthy ape!” In other words, I feel I’m already here, as I continue screaming, at least internally, that “It’s a Madhouse, A Madhouse!” 
     Seriously, though, is there really any solidly scientific proof that any species transforms into another, rather than their being as separate as the Bible says they were originally created to be (Genesis 1:24-25)? I’m not referring to just evidence, either, with its yet insufficient support of such a possible conclusion. Even God is good at helping provide such misleading “evidence,” for the sake of those who insist upon it, even with anything, at bottom, but the most “neutrally scientific” of motives (Isaiah 28:9-13) (Matthew 13:10-17); when He likewise helps it to be “arguable,” for instance, that even Genesis 1:20-22 supports the notion that all life began in the sea, although never-mind the birds. Moreover, there’s no doubt even the way many animals are structured would seem to indicate that, comparatively speaking, either it had to have happened the evolutionary way, or else God designed it deliberately to look as if it did. The atheist will sneer that he doesn’t like it, that such would be a stupid idea, of any such “incompetently bungling” God. Yet, while the real God is about as fundamentally lovable, and animated by a sense of humor, as George Burns; He can also be as “difficult,” when irreverently taunted and mocked into provocation (Romans 1:17-32) (Hebrews 11:6), as Jose Perez, in the Steambath; and, in the words of this enigmatic “Attendant,” just as “whimsically,” harrowingly unpredictable! If one doesn’t like it, that’s just tough luck, pal; especially if he truly insists, again, upon getting too inordinately insolent about it!
     And where’s their supposed proof, by the way, that life even spontaneously generates, from dead matter, whatever that is (Hebrews 11:3; 12:25-28) (II Peter 3:10-12), if only the conditions are right? Indeed, even modern science cannot find any “solid stuff” called “matter,” which is “apparently” created from nothing. Even Job was smarter than most such contemporary “educators,” although he had no answer, when God reminded him that he simply hadn’t been there, at the Creation; and that even he wasn’t nearly as smart as he thought he was (Job, Chapters 38-41), let-alone his “Christianly comforting friends,” despite even their most characteristically, perennially eloquent sermons, to this very day (Job 42:7-9), along with their basically Darwinian instincts against Job! The skeptics also emphasize statistical probabilities, and the odds against earth being the only place which contains life. But, again, it has first to be proved, short of actually discovering any extraterrestrial life, that it does, in fact, self-generate, merely given the right physical conditions.
     And, let’s be honest, for that’s at least one basic reason why the skeptics really want to find life out there.  It’s not just because the prospect is so “neutrally fascinating.” They feel, at least instinctively, that such a discovery will also help shatter the Biblically “primitive myth.” They don’t want God to exist, and just the fact that one can no less instinctively smell as much, despite all their “pious” denials, even and especially to themselves, often enough, should be more than sufficient, all by itself, in confirming this fact, even though it’s not the only evidence to support as much. Also, I’m really not trying to attack or ridicule them, the way they characteristically do to their opponents. I understand their pain! I personally experience every instinct in their bodies, unlike the kind of typically religious people who smell no less intolerantly and provocatively foul! For my part, however, it’s not a question of what I wish to be true! To the contrary, the notion of everlasting sleep, beyond the grave, is hardly the most discomforting thought, and would be preferable, in one irreducibly ever-relieving sense, to even the possibility of going to a place of everlasting torment, let-alone one too “eternally blissful” to imagine! It’s simply a question of what I do, in fact, believe to be objectively the case, along with my arguments in support of it, which are hardly being exhausted here! (Part two, in Beneath the Planet of the Apes)

Beneath the Planet of the Apes (1970)
And the Madhouse Continues!–Part II, 31 January 2007
10/10

     (A continuation from part one, of Planet of the Apes). . . Although life could very well exist on planets other than earth, in addition to the ironic twist to be found in this particular series of films, as further evidence in support of the theory that life self-generates, given only the proper conditions, and minus the need of any Creator; even this, in itself, would not necessarily prove, in the strictest conclusive sense, that God hadn’t been the one to create it there, too, along with all the physical conditions necessary to support it. Yet, I still would not be the least bit astounded, if it turns out there’s nothing alive out there, as well as somewhat surprised if the proof finally emerges that there is. God’s Biblically-stated purpose for having created life on earth certainly renders no such possibility necessary, rather than even quite superfluous. 
     Moreover, if earth cannot be calculated, in any demonstrably intelligible way, to be the astronomical centre of the universe, which I’m certainly not stating to be necessarily the case; then it does at least appear that Jerusalem, the Eternal City, is the geographical centre of the earth’s own land mass. Even more, the Bible clearly indicates that Jerusalem is, if nothing else, the theological centre of the universe (Revelation, Chapters 21-22). In this sense, even the medieval theologians would have had it right, despite the false and misleading interpretation they’d inherited from Aristotle’s way of thinking; just as, to be sure, the Bible itself totally denies that the earth is flat (Isaiah 40:22), even while issuing the warning that end-time seismic activity shall build to such a crescendo as to literally shake it off its axis (Isaiah 13:13), but minus any possibility of something like an “Intergalactic War” or “asteroid collision” to end all life on earth (Jeremiah 33:14-26)!  Either way, the earth is no ordinary planet, but the very one which is uniquely central to God’s purpose. In fact, far from people “going to Heaven,” other than the Lord Jesus Christ Himself (Ecclesiastes 3:18-22; 9:3-6) (Acts 2:29-36) (Hebrews 11:38-39) (Revelation 11:15-19); it is actually Heaven which is Biblically said to come down to earth (Matthew 6:10), but in stages. It is written that after Christ rules the entire world, from Jerusalem, with a Rod of Iron, for one-thousand years (Revelation 20:1-4), then God the Father moves His Throne down to earth as well, in the form of the New Jerusalem; as the “physical matter” itself is being burned up, and transfigured into the same spiritual substance of which Christ’s own resurrected and imperishable body is composed.
     One may ask, however, whether Enoch had gone to Heaven (Hebrews 11:5), even though this story necessarily demonstrates nothing more than that Enoch could have been snatched away from an otherwise certain death, at the hands of those he describes, also, in Jude 14-15; just as there is even evidence (II Chronicles 21:12-15) to support the contention that Elijah, far from having “gone to Heaven,” was simply transported, like unto Philip (Acts 8:39-40), to another place on the earth; but, unlike with Philip, to a place from where no man could ever find him again. Similarly, the allegorical reference, in Revelation 12:14-17, concerning those who shall be Divinely protected, on the wings of a “great eagle,” is undoubtedly another instance of the same kind of “translation,” from one place, to another, right upon this earth; just as the common belief, that these 144,000 shall be preaching the Gospel, is compellingly overruled, in Revelation 14:6-9. And what would be the purpose of having made man unequivocally mortal in this sense, save for a resurrection from the dead (Job 19:23-27); so that, in effect, what Jesus said about, for instance, Lazarus having been asleep (John 11:11), would be literally true, while verses such as Revelation 14:9-11 are actually the more allegorical references? The point is that man would have been made mortal, as an act of mercy, to those who reject Him; unlike Satan and the other fallen spirit-beings, who are tormented everlastingly (Revelation 20:10).
     Of course, the indication, in this verse, is that the beast and false prophet are everlastingly tormented as well; but, as with other “hard to understand” verses (II Peter 3:15-16), this could amount to nothing more than an ambiguity of language, particularly in the English. Either way, it is necessarily the case that, if the Bible is Divinely-Inspired, and thus consistently coherent in its claims, the factor of allegory, in one direction or the other, cannot be avoided. It could even be that the plural reference, as to those who everlastingly suffer, in Revelation 20:10, is to the multitudes of fallen spirit beings, while the mention of the beast and false prophet being there as well is more in the nature of a parenthetical insertion. What also seems compellingly apparent is that God perhaps intended for the actual meaning to remain unclear, as indicated, again, in the references from Ecclesiastes, above; just as, for that matter, the reference, again, to Revelation 14:11, where it is said that the smoke of the torment, of those who worshipped the beast, shall ascend, forever and ever, is something about which to “literally” ponder.
     I Peter 3:18-22 is perhaps the most notorious of all such “hard sayings,” although it necessarily means no more than that the same Christ, who was literally, unequivocally dead, for three days and three nights, in the heart of the earth, had formerly preached, to the spirits in prison (the bondage of their sin, while they yet “lived”), through His Divine Spirit in Noah. What is totally clear, however, can be found, either way, in Deuteronomy 29:29, along with Ecclesiastes 12:12-14, which is all any of us indispensably need to know, along with, say, Matthew 16:13-17 (the only real way to know, although many pretend, I John 3:10-18, especially to themselves; just as many atheists, who just as disingenuously sneer that God never shows Himself, have never once even bothered trying to ask Him, in any kind of prayerfully respectful way; and will even contemptuously throw that very suggestion back into your face, regardless of how sincerely and kindly you attempt to present it to them!), and Romans 8:1-18, as well as I Corinthians 15:1-21.  Moreover, don’t trust any of the typically sodomizing “Greek,” either, as coming from so many self-alleged bible teachers; who, in their zeal to unscripturally flaunt their “unknown tongues” (I Corinthians 14:6-28), want their listeners to likewise, but much less conveniently, forget, among other things, that the translators God Himself had chosen, to write the King James version, knew plenty of Greek, too! (Part three, in Battle for the Planet of the Apes)

Battle for the Planet of the Apes (1973)
It’s Still a Madhouse, and About to Get Even Worse, Before it Gets Infinitely and Everlastingly Better!–Part III, and the Last, of This Series of Critiques, 1 February 2007
10/10

     (A continuation from part two, of Beneath the Planet of the Apes) . . . I’ll continue, here, from the last segment, concerning the kinds of uncertainty to be found in the language of various Biblical verses. What was axiomatically settled was that the statements in Deuteronomy 29:29 and Ecclesiastes 12:12-14 are literally clear; just as Hebrews 9:27 is also unmistakable, “at least” in its English phrasing, at ruling out reincarnation as the method of bringing each individual to judgment. One should also have settled the meaning of II Timothy 3:16, and II Peter 1:20-21, along with Hebrews 6:18, and Titus 1:2; thus enabling a certainty that whatever else seems more problematically indecipherable is intentionally and purposefully so, and not to be carelessly, disrespectfully scoffed at, as is characteristic of those who are seeking only reasons to doubt. Another reasonably certain element of information to use, as a logical point of departure, can be found in Hebrews 12:25-28, and II Peter 3:10-12, along with Revelation 21:1, as the nature of the “Lake of Fire” itself becomes correspondingly clear.
     But what does it mean that this fire can “Never be Quenched” (Mark 9:43-48)? Does it burn eternally?–Or, could it more plausibly mean, as Mr. Herbert W. Armstrong contends, that the fire continues until it burns out by itself; while the reference, in Revelation 14:11, would be correspondingly allegorical, along with the “Day and Night” of Revelation 20:10? Also, does being “Face to Face” with the Lord, at the instant of physical death, in II Corinthians 5:8, and Luke 23:43, necessarily mean what it commonly appears?–Or, could it perhaps more plausibly and consistently mean that, since the spirit sleeps (John 11:11), when separated from the body, the reference is rather to one’s very next experience, as though even thousands of years had not passed? That meaning would also serve to explain why the rich man, in Luke 16:27-28, had his dates confused; just as verses 29-31 could very easily be “tongue-in-cheek” on Abraham’s behalf, also for the sake of making the crucial point therein to be found.
     And, speaking of allegory, do even Satan and his fallen angels, one-third of all those created (Revelation 12:3-4), really suffer “Forever and Ever,” even if their mortally incorrigible colleagues (Matthew 12:30-37) are shown the mercy of being put everlastingly to sleep? While this would seem to account for the necessity of creating man in a physically mortal state, it is not necessarily the only possibility. Satan clearly suffers, in the Bottomless Pit, whatever that is, for one-thousand years (Revelation 20:1-3); but it is not necessarily any more than allegorically, that he thereafter everlastingly, self-consciously suffers, in the Lake of Fire; unless, of course, perhaps one is commonly, self-revealingly, even self-indictingly vindictive enough to relish such an interpretation! Contrary to those who claim to be “absolutely sure,” either way, all one appears capable of conclusively knowing is that various things must be either one way or the other.
     Here are a few more apparent “contradictions” upon which to presumptuously “wrest,” for those who are of such a mind: Genesis 6:19:20, relative to Genesis 7:2-3; 8-9; as well as Acts 9:7, relative to Acts 22:9, and Matthew 27:5, relative to Acts 1:18, not to mention Exodus 20:5-6, or Deuteronomy 23:2, or even Romans 9:8-21, relative to Ezekiel 18:20, or Deuteronomy 24:16; just as Genesis 1:16 does not necessarily say God created the sun, moon, and stars on the fourth day.  Yet, even if it turns out He did, the “problem” about whether literal twenty-four-hour days are being discussed is handled, for instance, in the case of the First Day, in another frame of reference altogether, so that what we’re told is that the evening and the morning were the first day.  Impossible?  Improbable?  Only until an actual God is postulated.  God reminded even Job that he hadn’t been there to see what actually happened, and that’s anything but a merely trivial point!  What about the light?  God Himself could have been the Light, just as He says shall again, and ultimately, be the case.
     In fact, if the most typically, cynically sneering skeptics really want some scriptural grist for their mills, they can easily turn to, say, James 5:14-15.  However, the negative “proof” they’re seeking is something they should pursue more RESPECTFULLY than they characteristically have to offer, or than, therefore, they could ever SUFFICIENTLY satisfy, in keeping the “experiment” pure, if they want to avoid getting the same “answer” received by Herod, in his “interrogation” of Jesus (Luke, Chapter 23); although, of course, given that this is precisely the kind of “answer” such scoundrels are so “neutrally” and “objectively” expecting, and even hoping to find, it should hardly be any great surprise to discover they have no compunction about “conveniently” or “conclusively” and even deliberately falsifying the actual reason for such an “answer,” the very “answer” they, again, seek, and, therefore, “perhaps” even quite causatively find!  In general, when Jesus speaks of others performing miracles, it is superficially falsifying to interpret that anything one whimsically decides to do in His Name shall be the case, if one simply “believes enough.”  The deeper meaning is, first, that any such things are not impossible per se, and, in conjunction with this, that they never specifically occur, unless God wants them to do so, in which case it is “invisibly” He who is “inspiring” even the requests described, say, in I John 5:14-15.  Indeed, considering how unbelievingly ill-rationalized and mindlessly un-self-examined the perspective of the average professing “Christian” is, it’s little wonder even, say, I Corinthians 11:26-32 “almost” always yields the most “positively” negative results, particularly when one reads the “fine print,” as reiterated, for instance, in Hebrews, Chapter Twelve, concerning who, and only who, really qualifies, in this context, even for the privilege of becoming ill, if not likewise just as Supernaturally killed, after the manner in Acts 5:1-11, let-alone being Divinely healed, in the manner of James 5:14-15, which covers the sins as well! 
     Moreover, for those who believe God has it in for homosexuals, it’s not the uncontrollable inclination per se which He condemns, however its existence as such is actually caused; but rather a freely-chosen militancy, in denying Divine Authority in the matter, even to the point of attempting to formally impose it upon society. Even the heterosexuals who bashingly misjudge here, probably while committing their own sexually though “normally” related sins, are also the kind who would inconclusively insist that Pee Wee Herman is necessarily gay. But, either way, he is one of my favorite nerds; along with Steve McQueen and Jackie Gleason, from Soldier In the Rain. Many, who are not prepared, but also not hopelessly incorrigible (Matthew 12:30-37), at the point of physical death, for the First Resurrection to Immortality, shall be resurrected mortal, for the purpose of completing their preparation, contrary to those who insist upon playing God with everybody now. Such people seem hopelessly inflexible, even were they given billions of years to ponder, contrary to as many aborted foetuses whose fate only God knows.  Parenthetically, while it’s uncertain how many prospective candidates for abortion can genuinely offer the kinds of reasons which should be legally required, I wouldn’t be surprised if at least a solid majority of them are no better than the very ones Steve McQueen and Natalie Wood were glad they didn’t even want anymore, at the end of Love With the Proper Stranger, just as it was fortunate for them that abortion had been illegal at the time!  Even Murphy Brown had enough Natural Affection to take it the entire distance!  And, indeed, even the age of the earth could be billions of years, although not necessarily; just as, even if it were, that wouldn’t necessarily undermine every possible interpretation of Genesis. While the theologian can have it either way here, the atheist cannot. Also, there is much popularly neglected scientific evidence to support the theory of a very young earth, just as the scientists who defend this are deemed “necessarily biased,” speaking of the pot calling the kettle black! This may seem “unscientific,” but why are there still apes?–Who typically swallow all this “Evolution” Jazz entirely on faith!–Even as teachers who couldn’t really defend it to save their skins!
     Still another thing these “Evil-utionists” crudely, vulgarly, shallowly fail to consider, is that the most difficult things for nature to achieve, assuming she’s “biologically evolving” at all, are, not only the most durable, but also the most delicate, easy to destroy, and, indeed, by the only real criterion of these “Evil-utionists,” simply worthy of perishing, anyway!   Also, if evolution is true, it’s hard to see how all have come from Adam (I Corinthians 15:22), while Eve is the mother of all (Genesis 3:20), which also raises objections on the subject of The Da Vinci Code.  And, where Scripture appears to provide no absolutely definitive answer to any particular question either way, as in the case of whether Mary had other children (for both sides present very formidably inconclusive arguments in this respect); the issue shifts to one of why anybody insists upon coming to a definite conclusion either way, when God appears to be saying, implicitly, that the answer is not nearly as crucial as either side insists.   From where did Cain’s wife come? The sneerers could learn even from Donald Rumsfeld here, concerning the nature of an “unknown known,” particularly since only Eve’s male offspring are mentioned. There’s only room left here to say that the question of Origins is Unique, and should be viewed accordingly; even as the issue of Genesis 1:29-30 is pondered, with relation to Isaiah 11:6-9. Even in Fallen form, only man is “progressively” able to militate against a closed eco-system, seeking its own level of balance!  If only at least social evolution were anything near to being the Judeo-Christian reality it alone could and should have been!  Instead, it has only proven, at best, to be what Mahatma Gandhi (Ben Kingsley, in an extremely impressive performance!) once called a “good idea!”  Or, as E.K. Hornbeck (Gene Kelly) said, of Matthew Harrison Brady (Fredric March), in Inherit the Wind, “That’s why he hasn’t an enemy in the world, only his friends hate him!”–As “The only man I know who can strut–sitting down!”  Nietzsche characterized a more optimal solution in the formula, “Caesar with the soul of Christ!,” just prior to his own Tragic End, as Dionysius, the Crucified!  Yet, that’s aiming a bit too ambitiously high, particularly in that Tribune Marcellus Gallio (Richard Burton), from The Robe, undoubtedly wouldn’t stand any better chance today!  I’ll offer this one instead:  Henry Drummond, with at least as much Bible Doctrine, yet preferably so much more, even of that, than Matthew Harrison Brady was ready to defend, and perhaps as seriously offend, tooth-and-nail, to his very death!  Drummond’s unmasking, at the end, of a typically contemporary smart-ass such as E.K Hornbeck, coupled with his corresponding defense of Brady, is most symbolically noteworthy here! 
     Finally, and somewhat repetitively, to sum up the essence of the matter here:  Please, as Crassus said, in Spartacus, to Caesar; I beg at least whatever True Philosophical Patricians there may yet be among you, as opposed to the many who, like Gracchus, First Senator of the Mob, much more cynically, disingenuously sneer, in attitude, that “Privately, I believe in none of the gods, but publicly I believe in them all!”  I beg you to dare risk the contemporarily, “sophisticatedly” plebeian ridicule, even from their greatest experts and specialists, of transcending the most “naturally obvious,” just long enough to more coherently realize the actual extent to which it does matter, regardless of how much like Richard Burton I must sound, from The Robe, as we quite “madly” continue to cry, along with God Almighty Himself, to Job (chapters 38 and 39), “Were you out there?”  After-all, if there is a God, who created all this, then he also created apes, but with so much more than merely His own superlatively, whimsically marvelous sense of humor in mind!  And, thus, the same God, who would have provided us with “at least” this much clearly, overwhelmingly symbolic evidence, as to His very nature, would likewise have been necessarily serving, in the process, thereby, to leave those of us, who can see and think at all, with the clearest possible message as well; namely, that virtually anything, to the contrary of that which is otherwise so “apparently well-given,” on His part, as to how it all “simply must” have begun, is, to say the least, entirely possible; and, for that “matter,” again, to say the least, extremely probable, when such an Absolutely Eternal “Shot-In-The-Dark” even “Dares” to so “Speculatively” Postulate a Divine Creator, along with a Moral World Order which only establishes rather than demolishing itself even more firmly, when squarely faced with rather than squeamishly and hysterically spurning the most honestly, intelligently, critically, Non-God-Almightily-Scientific kind of examination!–Just as there’s a Book which bears His Name as well, and much more authoritatively, when carefully-enough evaluated, than any of its more popularly-standardized competitors in this sense.
     Even today’s scientists could stand to be a bit more meaningfully humbled, on their very own turf; with, for just one additional instance here, the extent to which Dr. Gerald Schroeder, in his Age of the Universe, adds so much more dynamically relevant dimension to the possibilities embodied in the riddle of the original Creationist account, right down to the most plausibly sophisticated form in which its very language is so carefully albeit “primitively” structured.  The only plausibly digestible way to proceed, overall, is by starting with the most overwhelmingly, unmistakably verifiable evidence, in the most systematically, comprehensively prophetic sense as well, as to the Divine Authorship, of Scriptures which cannot be broken (John 10:35); and using that to determine the likelihood as to whether a God actually existed to inspire the opening of Genesis as well, in a manner which would therefore have to be consistent with whatever genuinely scientific evidence is likewise discoverable in the processing, regardless of how problematically indeterminate various aspects of this intricately-synchronizable decipherment may at least quite naturally continue to remain.  Like unto his equally innovative predecessor by the same name, one who quite pivotally challenged the “Christian” Orthodoxy of his day, but while trying to take it back, rather than simply abandoning it to them; Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was a Christian Fundamentalist, a believer in the Literal Truth of Scripture, for whom neither side has any real use, including today’s characteristically “Post-Enlightenment” Toadies on the “Left,” in degenerately symbiotic “coordination” with a “Right” which just as widely straddles away from The Golden Mean of Matthew 7:12-14, and the only real Hope as well as at least potentially ever-inviting Friend they only continue “representatively” falsifying and slandering even more!  But, again, in the meantime, if nothing else, “good luck,” with the Great Leviathan (Job, Chapter 41), for that’s about the best “hope” structurally available, particularly and even most exclusively if God Himself had never actually existed, even to inspire the very recorded words of the Biblical Canon themselves!  And, not at all unrelatedly, in closing, keep in mind what the Mighty Crassus answered, to Julius Caesar’s remark, which the latter had made, in reply to the abovementioned plea:  Caesar said, “My dear Crassus, I face no such choice.”  The answer of Crassus was, “You will–sooner than you think!”

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