July 1, 2016
The Vampyres Of New York
Angeline woke up in a fine frame of mind. Just as a test I quickly flipped her in and out, the hypnosis was working as before. Now began the hard part; what to do with her second personality. With a little luck it might prove that they didn’t give her a third or fourth but I didn’t perceive any evidence of it.
I thought it might be best to try to combine Ange’s second personality replacing it with a dream world, a sort of false memory, and only a nightmare hence not real and threatening while as a dream I hoped it could be eliminated.
While a vacated second personality might still exist perhaps with time it could be forgotten or fade away. For myself my own painful early personality had become dissociated from myself existing more or less as a parallel universe that had nothing to do with me.
I will spare you the details of our work over the next couple days. While I think we made progress the work seemed far from done. There was some means to transfer the memory images from the second personality to the dream life of the first personality that had me baffled. The purification rites with Hera did seem to remove any sense of responsibility from Angeline’s mind but the memories were still there.
While in her first state she couldn’t consciously remember her activities in the second state still the mind has only one subconscious and that was affected equally by both the first and second states. The deeper I got into her mind the better I understood her catatonia. But, it was Friday and time for our luncheon date with Lessing.
As I had devised a plan to possibly foil any spy agents Ragnar had the limo ready at ten. We drove up to Lessing’s. While standing in his lobby that I thought could be bugged while Lessing should have been able to recognize strangers I explained that my idea was to take the ferry to Staten Island, rent a car and drive to the abandoned Seaview Asylum where I thought it unlikely that we could be overheard. I asked Ragnar to call for a rent-a-car as we would have to leave the limo at the Whitehall Terminal.
Me: The ride’s on me Lessing.
Ragnar: Sure. The ferry’s free.
Me: Aren’t you the spoil sport Ragnar.
Lessing: Funny. Lived here all my life and I’ve never been to Staten Island.
Ange: Me neither.
Me: I just got here and me neither. I’m looking forward to it.
Ange: Any idea how long it takes?
Me: Five miles, about half an hour. Ferries leave every half hour. It’ll be great. Love the ferries in Seattle. If you ever get the chance take the ferry through the San Juans. That’s a wonderful trip.
Lessing: What are the San Juans?
Me: They’re a group of five islands I believe, up on the Canadian border. Small islands but romantic. You can stay at Friday Harbor on San Juan Island and take the ferry back in the morning. Great fun. Plus unlike the Staten Island Ferry you can take your car.
Once aboard Lessing had a puzzling experience.
Lessing: Hello Angeline. Do you remember me?
Ange: I’m sorry, Lessing is it? I don’t think we’ve ever met.
Lessing: Strange. I thought we attended a couple parties together a few years back.
Ange: I don’t think so. I’m sure I’d remember someone like you Lessing.
Lessing: Maybe or maybe not. But I seem…
Me: Lessing, I’ll explain as soon as we’re in the car. This is going to amaze you.
Lessing: That was a wonderful trip. I don’t know how I could have lived here this long and not have taken it before.
Me: Bravo, Ragnar. A Mercedes. Thoughtful of you; how did you swing that on such short notice?
Ragnar: We chauffeurs have our ways.
Me: Great. Punch in Seaview Asylum and let’s get some directions. This place is supposed to be in central Staten Island. Ruins. You’ll love it if you like ruins.
Lessing: Oh, ruins, yes. Nothing like a good ruin. Do they have a ruined restaurant?
Me: Naw. We’ll have to stop on the way. Get something to take along. If you see a MacDonald’s pull over Ragnar.
Ange: MacDonald’s? Don’t you really like Burger King better Partly?
Me: Not really. Actually I prefer Jack-In-The-Box but I didn’t think you’d have them out here. If that’s what you prefer, it’s all right with me.
Lessing: If I have to, it doesn’t matter one way or the other to me. I’m not sure that this will be a first with me but close to it.
Ange: Ooh, a snob.
Lessing: A man of distinction and taste.
Me: Oh, come on Lessing, a little plebeianism won’t hurt you any. We’ll do some fine dining later.
Lessing: I believe you said that you and uh…Mrs. Wright ware married Perry. May I ask how you met and hooked so quickly?
Me: Why not? It’s one of those matches made in heaven, Lessing, so far at least. I was at the Nordstrom’s opening as was Ange, our eyes locked and that was it.
Lessing: Ha! I’ve heard of it before but I’ve never seen it.
Ange: It’s true. Partly rescued me from a world of desolation and loneliness. Why do you call Partly Perry?
Lessing: Because Partly told me to call him Perry.
Ange: Well, you do have multiple personalities Partly, or is it Perry?
Me: I’ve only got one, at least only one I use or use consistently, not that I’m trying to be confusing Ange, but I have many facets to the one personality. For people that don’t know me I adopted Perry because Partly always mystifies people. For you Ange, I prefer you call me Partly. I hope we can all keep our identities straight.
Lessing: But, Angeline, you did work at Barton, Dustbin didn’t you? You were a pretty good real estate lawyer there.
Ange: I was a top real estate lawyer there. Top. I wrote some of the biggest deals on the East Coast and as far West as Chicago.
Me: Ooh, that far West?
Lessing: And you don’t remember me Angeline?
Me: I’ll have to explain Lessing. This bears directly on our ability to manage the police and courts. Now listen carefully Lessing because you might have difficulty believing what you are about to hear. You are a lawyer and I’m sure you believe the best of your legal fraternity while probably considering Merivale Adelstein to be a good lawyer and a fine man. You are about to learn differently. Did you ever hear of a Dr. Wormowitz?
Lessing: No, I don’t think I know the name.
Me: Fine. Now, the period we’re talking about is the late seventies and the eighties here in New York. Things were Satanic, violent, druggy and sexually insane. Women’s liberation essentially meant that men could fuck any and all at will. But sexual relations still had consequences. The problem for men was how to avoid the consequences.
Merivale and his colleagues at BAAD worked out what has ‘till now the perfect plan seemingly negating any consequences. The plan was simple. The women could be hypnotized, indoctrinated and conditioned to be perfect sexual objects. Party girls. The girls could be told to remember nothing they did under hypnosis. Thus BAAD had a cadre of partly girls handy for an afternoon delight when things got frustrating or they were emasculated in a courtroom brawl.
Of course once trained one didn’t want them drifting away so they were given exorbitant salaries to keep them at BAAD. They were thus getting good workers and party girls for what was really a particularly good price as if they had to hire working girls for their sexual wants the price for those alone would have been far more than their ‘employees’ were being paid. Thus, the women were actual monarch slaves although not chattel or even obvious slaves as I think you can figure out.
Wormowitz who was Jewish may or may not have been a doctor as he came over from Germany in the thirties and probably lacked any degree nevertheless was an accomplished hypnotist and from practice a fairly knowledgeable psycho-analyst. BAAD billed him an MD and sent the girls to him as a condition of employment for a physical. It was he who hypnotized them and began their indoctrination and conditioning.
Ange was one of those monarch slaves. When she says she doesn’t remember you it is because Angeline I was never at one of those parties; it was as Angeline II. I hope that clears that up.
Lessing: I’m sorry Angeline.
Ange: It was a different time and different place and it didn’t involve me.
Me: No. One might say she wasn’t there. Now Lessing, we have a list of several dozen women who were exploited by the men of BAAD. We have a list of a couple hundred men, mostly lawyers from BAAD and some few others who might surprise you, including actually, yourself.
There is a whole litany of crimes committed by BAAD here, crimes punishable by good long spells in prison not to mention the destruction of careers and lives, nearly all of them are still alive.
This should get us enough leverage to prevent any of our people not only out of jail but not arrested in the first place. As police everywhere have been told to stand down when Negroes, Mexicans and whatever have rioted assaulting Whites our own people have now been re-enfranchised and can do what they deem with impunity.
Ragnar: Bravo, bravo. We now have no worries.
Me: Yes, Ragnar, you can turn the troops loose.
Ange: Boy, this is one spooky place.
Me: What? What? Spookier than you think. This place was used for conclaves of the Son of Sam conspirators, the Final Judgment people. Amazing that buildings like this are allowed to go to ruins. Acres and Acres of what were fine grounds allowed to be overgrown.
Ragnar: Not overgrown, returned to nature.
Lessing: Yes, of course. This is good news Perry. I can certainly turn it to good effect.
Me: I hope so. But we’ll have to be alert for the reaction. I’m sure Adelstein is a resourceful guy and certainly keen on the self-defense. I’ve been set-up several times back in Oregon so I know what to look out for. I don’t know all the tricks but they always use the same ones. At least this time I know who I’m dealing with and have ample resources.
So, Lessing, how soon can you set them up?
Lessing: Right away. I’ll set up a meeting with you, Angeline and myself with Merivale so that he knows that he’s up against the wall. I’ve got it, Perry, now can we get out of this used up asylum? Angeline is right the place is too spooky. I expect to be assaulted by the ghosts of lunatics all the time.
Me: Yeah, well, the ghosts of lunatics can’t hurt you like the lunatics were going to be dealing with.
The conversation continued as we walked back to the car for the return trip to the ferry slip. Lessing changed the topic as we set out.
Lessing: There’s a meeting of the Serapion Brethren this Friday Perry, are you coming?
Me: Yes. Am I to pick up where I left off?
Lessing: We prefer to have a different reader at each session, if that’s alright with you.
Me: Perfect as a matter of fact. Who’s up?
Lessing: Max Savings is going to present an essay on the confiscation of the Russian art treasure by the Soviets.
Me: Sounds great.
Ange: What is the Serapion Brethren?
Lessing: It’s a study group Perry and I belong to Angeline. We meet and discuss any submerged aspect of history.
Ange: Where did you get the name Lessing?
Lessing: We borrowed it from a fictional group of the same name created by ETA Hoffman. Have you read any Hoffman, Angeline?
Ange: In college we had to read a story by Hoffman I think. Something about an eccentric jeweler or even crazy, he hated to part with his creations so much he burgled the buyers houses and stole them back. Creepy.
Lessing: That one’s called Mademoiselle Scudery.
Ange: Oh yes. I remember now. Are you going to leave me alone Friday night Partly?
Me: I’ll have to Ange but as Frankie told Johnnie: I won’t be gone very long.
Ange: You better come back.
Me: You and I are one Ange. You need have no fears. Don’t be insecure.
Ragnar: Are you going to help us out establishing our turf Partly?
Me: Yes. I’ll start a magazine so we can all keep in touch and stay informed. I’ll come down tomorrow morning to see where things stand. But, listen Ragnar and Lessing, remember that Angeline is an accomplished lawyer and she is the key for controlling the legal end so she deserves a full share of respect. She has things to contribute.
Where do matters rest now?
Ragnar: We are roughed out in Aryan areas on the East Side from ninety-second down to the Bowery and across town from fifty-second to about seventieth but maybe a little higher and lower. Madison, Park and Fifth are free passageways we have to allow. We avoid the subways.
There have been some serious clashes and some of our guys are in the jug. We want them out.
Me: How is it going on the legal end Lessing?
Lessing: With our present organization we’ve been able to keep them in Manhattan but we haven’t been able to get them out. Angeline’s info will strengthen us greatly. Adelstein himself is powerful and his connections can get things done.
Me: Hmm. Angeline can call him and have him meet her- that is at her apartment. The rest will fall out. You don’t have anything important doing tomorrow night do you Lessing?
Lessing: No, I’m free.
By now, we were back aboard the ferry for the return trip. Passing a newsstand I grabbed a paper. I hadn’t been able to keep up for the last several days while tending Ange. The news was eye popping.
Me: My goodness. Look at the pictures of Chicago in flames. Is this 1871 revisted?
Lessing: Where have you been Perry? That mess started three days ago.
Me: I was otherwise employed.
Ange: Let me see that Partly.
Me: So a major revolt has begun in Chicago? Is this just a riot or what?
Ragnar: More than a riot; it’s fighting for real. Our guys are on the alert.
Lessing: the papers only give a hint as to what is going down. It’s really bad. The carnage is going to be terrible.
It started on the South side when some Blacks attacked a police station. When reinforcements were sent the whole place erupted. The West Side and all areas joined in. Lines of citizens have formed around Black areas where possible. Constant shooting across lines but apparently infra-Black areas are wars of Blacks against Blacks. The killing is intense.
As you know there are no grocery stores across the lines so food is already short. ‘Humanitarian’ White groups are gathering food but the problem is how to get it through the lines. The ‘humanitarians’ are shot down as soon as they come within range….
Me: Started three days ago! Lordy, bodies must really be hitting the ground . Which reminds me, has anyone thought of securing our food supplies?
Ragnar: How’s that?
Me? Land deliveries can be cut off easily since the Bronx is controlled by the Negroes. So we should secure water routes across the Hudson and East Rivers, barges or something; and also exit routes if needed.
We should block deliveries into the Moslem area to starve them out. Turn off the gas, water and electricity. This could get serious. We should also raid a military base or two, Ragnar, for fire arms, ammo, grenades and grenade launchers and anti-tank devices. Machine guns.
Obama hasn’t called out the army to suppress the Chicago insurrection but he will do it against we Whites so it’s best to best to be prepared.
There’s a bright spot here though– the Stock Market is up a hundred twenty points, we can still pay the rent.
Lessing: How long is that going to last, I wonder.
Me: Quite a while I suspect, Lessing. The Negro concentrations are all in our major cities fairly tightly confined. Of all we useless feeders the Negroes are the most useless of all. There is no economy in those areas to disrupt. So life can function fairly normally outside those areas.
Even during WWII people fought desperately to go on normally. You would think something like publishing would stop but, I more or less collect books published during WWII, publishing went on close to normal. Almost hadn’t skipped a beat as things resumed immediately right after the war.
So, there may not be a serious reduction of means outside the Negro cities.
Lessing: You may be right. I’ll have to consider things in that light.
Me: Accentuate the positive, Lessing, accentuate the positive.
Ange: I had no idea you had such a grim sense of humor, Partly.
Me: You should have been in the orphanage with us Angelina. I had my early training for this there. I’ve been ready for the worst all my life.
Ah well, here we are, Keep your cell phone on Lessing. I’m going to try to set something up for tomorrow.
Drop us off on the way to Lessing’s, Ragnar. We’ll need you tomorrow.
I won’t say Chicago was a surprise. First the collection of the Rebbes and then an insurrection in Chicago. I suppose Obama was surprised at it as we’ve fought back. Well, you know you can only push so hard and then the hot heads take over. We were into it now. Things should really escalate rapidly. I hope we can keep order within our areas here in New York City. We can’t let law deteriorate but from now on it is our law, not Negro law, Shariia or Jewish law, but our law.
Me: Sweetheart, it’s time we put our plan in action.
Ange: I’m ready Dearest Partly.
Me: Alright. Call Adelstein and invite him over to your condo tomorrow night, seven o’ clock. I’ll call Lessing to be present and I think it would be wise to have Ragnar along. I have conditioned your other mind upon the signal to attack Adelstein with all your fury. I have instructed Ange II to desist at a voice command. You, as Ange I, know it too.
I will allow you to punish him as severely as possible but as we need him for our plans you’ll stop short of murder. Besides dead he wouldn’t suffer the humiliation he will have to. The difference between your unearned humiliation and his is that he’ll be conscious of it. So, tomorrow is The Day.
I’m going to go cook something to eat while you call Adelstein.
Our preparations are in place. The morrow will find us waiting for the appearance of Adelstein at Angeline’s.
Lessing, Ragnar and myself waited in the kitchen as the doorbell sounded. This was a big moment for Angeline while curiously it was a big moment for me. As Ange represented my own Anima in Ange’s getting her revenge, through her I was getting a little of mine back too. Along with a very large minority of the country’s population I hated lawyers. I saw them as the very scum of the earth.
I knew the type from high school. Nearly everyone I detested had become a lawyer. Curiously enough the detestation was mutual, they scorned me as I loathed them. Peculiar circumstances from my childhood prevented me from hating anyone but if I had been able to hate I would have hated them heartily.
I was able to avoid contact with lawyers until I got into business in Oregon. When you’re in business you’re a target; it becomes unavoidable that you will become very familiar with lawyers, the extortionate bastards.
It was then when I was drawn into the system that I became aware of what kind of men- and women- lawyers are. I would say a full half of them are full blown psychotics of which Adelstein was a prime example, they and the rest of them look upon law as a racket in which you extort money from simpletons who they make sure have no defense.
If it is thought I think of lawyers as criminals that is correct. They are the third part of the criminal system, sometimes erroneously referred to as the justice system. They are base men and women armed to the teeth. Way off back at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when a group of working men called the IWW, Industrial Workers of the World, nicknamed the Wobblies, were resisting the inhumane working conditions in the woods, logging that is, they naturally clashed with the police and law. The lawyers of Portland Oregon all swore a mighty oath never to give legal assistance to a Wobbly. This was of course in violation of the Constitution of the United States or, in fact, the Law. Nevertheless no Portland lawyer ever defended a Wobbly in Court.
Now, a mid-century counterpart of the Wobblies were the people called Hippies. As latter day Wobblies we were placed outside the law. No hippy was ever given a defense although hypocritical lawyers took the money and then negotiated the lowest sentence the accused would get. This isn’t the place to get into it but let’s just say a lot of people who should have been in jail were immune to charges if you get me.
I had started a record store and I did very well. At that time in the late Sixties marijuana, the chief offender in the popular mind, was spreading into the middle classes. Marijuana and drugs were associated with record stores ipso facto. As a store owner I was also characterized as a drug dealer and much worse. As such I was denied any services such as insurance while I was barely able to get electricity and was able to clear the streets as people moved aside to avoid possible contact.
I survived all efforts to shut me down, was forced to move the store several times as agreements were broken, with no recourse. I was forced to walk a very narrow line as any deviation from the very straightest and narrowest would have landed me in court where lawyers were sworn to not represent me unless to turn the trial into a kangaroo court.
This violated everything about America I had been conditioned to believe. Many ridiculous petty charges were brought against me, some of which no lawyer would handle but some of which landed me in court where I was compelled to pay a lawyer for essentially lynching me. In one case I had merely opened my mouth to protest when the judge looked at me sternly and bawled: One more word out of you and I’ll have you for contempt of court. And he would have too. I had to sit quietly while my fate was pronounced. It only involved a trifling fine in the case but my hatred for lawyers and judges was set in stone. Now, not only would Judge Adelstein pay a big ‘fine’ to Angeline but I was going to get mine back in a big way.
As may be imagined when Lessing, Ragnar and I emerged from the kitchen area into the living room Adelstein was non-plussed. Looking first at Lessing, who he knew very well, then at Ragnar, then at me he exclaimed: ‘You’re the fellow I challenged outside the door a week or so ago. What’s going on here Lessing? What do you have to with him? Who is he?’
Lessing: He’s an acquaintance Merivale. As you know recent political developments have been quite startling. There are racial disturbances all across the country while here in the city racial territories have formed with our Whites staking our claim for mid-island. So far the authorities haven’t understood. They are disputing our claims while Negro and Moslem claims have been accepted.
Our people are being arrested while theirs haven’t. We’re asking you to balance equity. We want our boys released and to remain unmolested. As a believer in fairness and justice may we count on you to act in our interests?
Adelstein: Why those people to whom you refer are White Supremacists. There will never be peace until Whiteness is removed from the face of the earth. Why those White Supremacists are even expelling Jews from mid-city.
Ragnar: They aren’t being expelled; they’re leaving on their own. We don’t have anything to do with it.
Adelstein: Nonsense, there will never be peace until Whiteness is removed from the earth.
Here Ange, Ragnar, Lessing and myself made scoffing noises.
Lessing: I was hoping you wouldn’t force our hand Merivale.
Adelstein: I will absolutely not release any White Supremacists. What do you mean by force my hand?
Seeing the futility of arguing with Adelstein at that point I gave my ear a tug.
It is difficult for me to describe this but Ange caught my signal only from the corner of her eye as she was staring fixedly at Adelstein. It seemed like the air exploded with the fury of her response. I don’t know if I actually was but I felt like I was knocked back on my heels.
Adelstein had no time to anticipate Ange’s assault. She leaped like a tigress with a piercing shriek on him simultaneously raking both sides of his face with her nails from temple to chin while knocking him to the floor. She leaped on his chest in the most undignified manner on her knees pummeling with triple strength at his face. I’m sure his nose went at the first blow.
Hitting and scratching the white carpet began turning red beneath his head as the blood flowed copiously. Damn, I thought, we probably will never get the rug clean, have to buy a new carpet.
Just then Adelstein shrieked: My eye, my eye. Ange had only caught him by the corner so no real damage but as his nose was wobbling right left and back again I thought it best to call Ange off before she killed the bastard. Not that I objected but dead he would be no use to us while a murder trial might make us look bad.
‘Enough’ Ange’ I cried hoping she would remember to respond to my voice command while I was trying to maneuver to where she could see me tugging at my left ear. Fortunately she responded to voice command backing away spitting and snarling, shouting epithets at the bastard. She was terrific; how I loved her.
Having been abused by Adelstein and his band since she was twenty-five you may be sure she had pent up resentments probably conscious in both identities. How I admired her but how ashamed I was that I had to make her appear so unladylike. Still for her mental comfort she needed that revenge.
Merivale was rolling around on the floor screaming ‘My eye, my eye’ when there was really nothing very much wrong with it, just a small tear at the corner of the lid. He should have been shouting my nose, my nose; he was going to have a hell of a time explaining those shiners.
I asked Ragnar to set him on his feet so we could get on with it. Ragnar grabbed him at the shirt front and like a feather pulled him up and stood him on his brogans. Boy, I hated those shoes. What evil memories of guys walking around in those shoes I had from my young manhood. I’d always been the loafer type.
Me: Calm down, calm down Adelstein, it’s not that bad and we have business to discuss
Adelstein: (ignoring or not hearing me) What the fuck’s the matter with you bitch?
Me: Now, now Adelstein I can’t tolerate being called a bitch.
Adelstein: Not you ass, her.
In her own persona, the violence of her acts must have melded both personas. Ange actually spit in his face calling him a eunuch and bastard. Eunuch? Hmm, well maybe that was the ultimate insult in Ange’s situation. I hate spitting and I really hate to see women spit especially Ange as she was such an integral part of me. It was as though I spit.
Between the two then the air resonated lightning with seeming thunder rolls for several minutes. I became aware of myself breathing hard when Lessing made a pass with his hand in the air between Ange and Merivale that seemed to calm the storm. Until as coming from afar could be heard his voice soothing: ‘Calm down, Merivale, calm down. We have to explain our terms to you. Listen, listen.’
I had to laugh to myself when he told Adelstein to calm down while Ange was still fuming at him, making threatening moves at him even in her own persona. I moved over, put my arms around her and tried to comfort her. A little petting and she sank into my arms against me suddenly exhausted, relieved, but exhausted.
I suppose Adelstein must have been almost in shock as he was bleeding from deep scratches all over his face. Ragnar grabbed a roll of toilet paper and threw it to him. The paper brought him around some as he dabbed his face wincing as he brushed his nose. I don’t know how much pleasure Ange got from his agony oh, but it did my heart good as I silently laughed deep within my breast.
Agonized needless to say Adelstein dabbed until recovering his wits sufficiently he turned his face toward Lessing and asked: ‘What the fuck arrangements are you talking about Farquhar?’ This was my cue.
Me: We want your cooperation and assistance Judge in the freeing of any of our men arrested at the first hearing and your cooperation in preventing charges from being brought.
Adelstein: Never. Those men you refer to are White Supremacists and deserve the worst they can get. White Supremacism has to be wiped out.
Lessing: Take a moment Merivale. Take a moment and think. The list of charges that can be brought against your firm, your colleagues and yourself will likely fill pages. These women have been treated criminally; they were essentially slaves without a will of their own. They couldn’t say no. As you know Merivale the prejudice of the Court is always in the woman’s favor; you don’t have a chance.
From the moment of filing charges, that I have already written up, the reputation of you and your firm will be destroyed. You personally will be thrown out of your clubs. Restaurants will refuse to serve you. You’ll never eat lunch in this town again. The charges are heavy charges in multiple counts. White slavery charges alone could get net you two or three life sentences. I could list more but do you really want to risk the penalties by refusing our very reasonable requests.
Adelstein was still dabbing at his bloody face while in real agony over his nose and eye. Now Lessing threw real fear into him; we had irrefutable evidence, damning evidence. We waited patiently as Adelstein dabbed.
Adelstein: Alright. I’ll apply whatever influence I can.
Me: Not good enough we don’t want you to apply pressure, we want results now.
Adelstein: I’m only a judge, Federal not State or City. I have jurisdictional limits.
Lessing: Stop it, Merivale. You know your influence is distributed throughout the system. Your word alone can advance or stop any career. Perry is right. Either you do it or we file. I already have the papers drawn up. We have pages and pages of offenses; don’t be a fool Merivale. You’ve a wife and kids.
Adelstein: I never thought you…oh, alright I’ll issue instructions not to book your people too.
Me: Today. We want our men out.
Adelstein: My G-d man, can’t you see I’m in agony. For G-d’s sake get me to a hospital.
Ange: Your god doesn’t exist. No, you bastard. You get your own self to the hospital. Suffer, suffer, suffer. I hate you, you bastard. I hate every time you touched me. I hat the very sight of you. Get out of my condo! Now!
Adelstein was suffering but I couldn’t feel sorry for him. I was almost sorry I called Angeline off but I couldn’t let her kill him. He staggered out the door.
Ragnar: Nice work, Miss Gower. Do you think he will get our boys out Mr. Farquhar?
Lessing: Yes I do. He’ll have to have his injuries doctored today but I’ll call him in the morning to prompt him. You can tell your men they’re safe from the Courts; I won’t call it the law. We’re into this new phase of warfare where words are being redefined.
Me: I have an appointment at James Carter in a couple days so I should have an account from Goldbladder.
There should be a renewed attempt to penetrate our ranks Ragnar. Keep a sharp lookout. Adelstein may have to comply but he won’t take this lying down. They’re wily fellows; remember the Amalekites.
All three: Remember the Amalekites? What’s that supposed to mean?
Me: Oh, when the Hebrews were on their way to the Promised Land from Egypt they asked the Amalekites for permission to cross their territory rather than take the long way around. The Amalekites refused. The Hebrews took the refusal as an injury and didn’t forget so decades later after they had consolidated their power they returned to exterminate the Amalekites root and branch as the Bible tells it.
Today was a declaration of war between the Jews and us. They will come at us any way they can, they won’t let up, they won’t forget. It will be and already is a war of extermination; I don’t know how long things will take to develop but don’t forget the Amalekites.
Ange: You know this and you’re still going to James Carter?
Me: They won’t do anything direct at this time Ange. They’ll want to shift the guilt to us. Meanwhile hopefully we’ll get more info from them than they get from me. Abe and I are almost buddies anyway.
Ragnar: I don’t think so.
Me: That was joke, Ragnar, that was a joke. Don’t be so literal.
Ange and I were talking over soup and a glass of white wine, a Riesling.
Me: Well, Ange, you have had your revenge, how was it?
Ange: Good but not as good as I expected but now I’m having hallucinations.
Me: Yes. What kind.
Ange: It’s like I can see over a wall or maybe through those glass blocks. Terrifying visions. I’m afraid.
Me: Don’t be afraid; you can’t be hurt. I’ve been trying to break down the division between your two identities and unify them into one so that you have your whole life and no dark spaces. Maybe your encounter with Adelstein opened the way a little. Don’t fight it but let the barriers fall. The first rush may overwhelm your senses but just remember they are only memories.
Ange: Oh, but, Partly, what must you think of me? I’m afraid you won’t love me anymore.
Me: Of course I’ll always love you Ange, you are half of me. Hera will welcome you as redeemed; you are her cherished daughter. As her priest I rejoice in your recovery.
You must understand Ange that you are innocent of any guilt and as such you need have no shame although possibly regrets. And I am here to truly love you.
I am familiar with your situation myself. It has taken me decades Ange to realize I was under a post hypnotic suggestion, a hypnotic spell from the second grade to perhaps seventy years of age although to a weakening degree. The reasons for my behavior have only been known to me for a few years. It was only when I came to understand hypnosis and hypnotic suggestion that I understood.
In kindergarten, 1943, some Negro kids were let in school to the great resentment of parents and hence their kids. On the first day, at recess, they were told to sit on the sandbox and not move. I was already an outcast because of things that happened in my neighborhood so I objected to their treatment and offered to help them fight for their rights. They refused and that left me hanging out. It was late in the year so I was told that they would get me next year.
They had to wait for the second grade as I was transferred to a different school in the first grade. At recess they were waiting for me. About twelve boys and girls of the elite formed a semi-circle around me and glared hatred at me while Morford berated me on my sin. Then I was told to stand on one foot for the duration of recess which I did. Then I was told to put my foot down and that I was their nigger now.
In a state of terror with all defenses down I was actually hypnotized although they may or may not have been aware of it, their parents that is, and the post-hypnotic suggestion that I was their nigger mirroring the Negro kids sitting on the sand box, was implanted so that in similar situations I had no resistance and did what nearly anyone told me to do mirroring standing on one foot.
This went on all my life even after integrating my personality at forty-two until I could recognize and reject my post-hypnotic suggestion in my early seventies. So, Honey, I understand completely. My Anima was destroyed at that time also but now that I have found you, I’m complete. You are me; I am you. I rejoice that you’re recovering.
But now you must be especially wary. When Adelstein recovers he will come to avenge your assault. His kind never acknowledge their crimes but only resent the revenges. So tomorrow night I have to attend the New Serapions and under no circumstances are you to answer the door. If the fire alarm goes off ignore it there will be no fire. I will call a couple times to reassure you and will call from the lobby on the way up. Is that clear?
Ange: Yes, darling Partly. I won’t open the door no matter what. I will call you if anything happens.
Me: Exactly, Ange, my darling girl.
And so, here I am sitting in Lessing’s living room.
Clip 10 follows
May 31, 2016
The Vampyres Of New York
Vol. I, Clip 8
Ange: Partly, I tremble when I think about growing up in a country fraught with dangers I could never conceive as a child. For me my life has been an amusement park House of Horrors. The adaptations I have made to survive terrorize me. I haven’t been able to sleep well because of horrifying nightmares. Perhaps that is why I went catatonic as you say. I’m alone, or I was, and defenseless against forces I can neither evade or control. Life is a nightmare with that bastard Adelstein hounding me, demanding what I don’t want to give and he is the most powerful judge in New York.
You want me to tell you my story and I’m almost in tears thinking back to my girlhood. As you know I was born in nineteen forty-eight; that was in Orange County, California during the Gidget and surfing days. It was all oranges, sun and water, a near paradise.
Me: So you became aware somewhen around nineteen sixty.
Ange: Yes, and my parents got divorced at the same time. I was an only child and so I went with my mother. I don’t know what she was thinking when she divorced my father. He took care of her. She was a beautiful airhead and at the risk of being vulgar she didn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground. Men flocked to her and she couldn’t handle herself at all. It was horrible. Finally my father put me in Warren’s Finishing or I don’t know how I would have made it through my childhood.
Fortunately my father stuck with me. After Warren’s I went to UCLA and from there believe it or not, I graduated from Harvard Law School. That was in nineteen seventy-six.
As you may believe I was very good looking and had this amazing chest and you know what it was like in the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties.
Me: Only hearsay. I was married. Since then, of course, I’ve done a lot of reading. UCLA. You missed the Really Big Shoo up at UC but you must have around for Sunset strip in the Sixties. Sex, drugs and rock and roll and all that . How did you survive that?
Ange: You were up in Northern Oregon at that time?
Me: My wife and I left the Bay Area in sixty-six for grad school in Eugene then I opened a record store that became very successful. LA was the record capital of the world so I spent maybe three or four weeks a year on business in LA. I caught some of it but more from the fringe. I felt threatened too, perhaps in a different way but for me the terror started in Sixty and never let up until I got clear in about two thousand five. It was hard, hard travelin’ through those years. I can tell you stories.
Ange: Yes. I wish that Pill had never been invented. Of course as a silly young woman I had to have it.
Me: They beat the drums loudly, didn’t they? The Pill, the drugs, the disintegration of society; there was no safe place.
Ange: The drugs! I can’t tell you how many women I saw destroyed by some joker with cocaine. My father warned me about drugs and thank god I listened to him. Not that I didn’t do them a little, but on top of Dad’s warning I had a strange inhibition as though some hand prevented me from taking them.
Me: Really? That is strange. But, tell me, you were twelve in sixty, eighteen in sixty-eight just as things really got rolling. You say you lost your virginity in sixty-six. Was your mother from Michigan? Did you grow up in Michigan?
Ange: I was born in Battle Creek but we moved to Orange County shortly after. Have you ever been to Battle Creek?
Me: Yes, relatives there.
Ange: That’s where mother got in trouble. Some boy seduced her when she was sixteen and I was born when she was seventeen. My grand parents were horrified. They took me from her and raised me while they banished mother as a disgrace to them. That’s when she went up to the Grand Traverse where she met you or this other you. She was allowed to come back shortly after you left when I met her for the first time. She married father and we left for California.
She used to speak to me of ‘that boy’ often. She could never understand why you left without saying goodbye. Why did you?
Me: I have often thought about this Ange with an aching heart. You see, I had a broken wing and your mother had a broken wing. To salve her hurt she took to injured and things with broken wings. Toward the end she came across a deer injured by a hunter. She brought it to her cabin where she lavished all her attention on it bringing it back to health.
Then, one day, when it had recovered it looked at her with those big doe eyes lowered its head and walked away, disappearing into the forest. I thought, I don’t know what I thought, I was far from healed but I knew I that to leave too and so I just disappeared too.
I’ve always been ashamed of that but still I had no choice. In order to survive I had to cross the straits and disappear into the UP.
Ange: Where did you go?
Me: Oh, I don’t know. It’s all a blank space. The next thing I knew was that I was in Madison Wisconsin. I was already in the Naval Reserve so not knowing what to do I went active for three years and when I came out I was beginning to become Partly Wright. The name wasn’t really my mother’s joke, it was mine.
So, how did a young girl like you react to the Sixties. It was a pretty strange time. Strange Days like Morrison sang.
Ange: The Sixties pretty much passed over me. I was boarded at Warren’s most of the time so I was pretty insulated. At UCLA I spent most of my time in classes. Other than listening to a few records I don’t remember being too involved in what was going on and then I left for Harvard.
Me: From the West Coast to Boston. That must have been culture shock.
Ange: Talk about culture shock! I learned a thing or two at Harvard apart from law.
Me: I can imagine. And then you came down to the Big Bagel and then what.
Ange: Well, I had good grades, finished in the top ten percent, passed the Bar and was recruited off the lot by a middling level firm did well and was then taken by Barton, Adler, Adelstein and Dollop, a top firm.
Me: Adelstein? Is that where you met this Merivale Adelstein character.
Ange: Yes. A black spot in my life that, that I will never be able to erase.
Me: Oh, sure you will, I can erase that for you but tell me but this BAAD
Firm. A black spot. What exactly is your grievance, Angeline?
Ange: I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it but every time he leaves I have this revolting feeling and I hate him. I always have to take a shower.
Me: Every time he leaves. Yes, I think I see. So you are aware of his coming and going but not what happens while he’s with you, is that right?
Ange: Well, I never thought of it before but no, I don’t remember anything between his coming and going, it’s just a black spot, and I always feel dirty.
Me: Hmm. And this list of women you gave me. How did you know them?
Ange: Oh, we all worked at BAAD.
Me: Let me guess. You were all blond and attractive.
Ange: Yes, either natural or peroxide.
Me: And why did you leave the old firm…what was it called?
Ange: Gorden, Oils, Oswald and Dustbin.
Me: I see, so you went from GOOD to BAAD. Why did you go to BAAD?
Ange: Well Merivale made me an offer I just couldn’t refuse; it was nearly double what I was getting at GOOD.
Me: How about that. Very nice offer. So he was impressed by your work at GOOD?
Ange: That was the funny thing. He never checked. I thought it must have been because I was from Harvard.
Me: Well now, these women hired at BAAD, did they all get real nice salaries too?
Ange: Oh yes, BAAD paid its women well. Even the receptionist made a fabulous wage for a receptionist. It was nearly a dream.
Me: I think it was a dream Ange. Do you know what a Monarch slave is my darling girl?
Me: I’m beginning to understand your situation at BAAD.
Ange: You mean catalepsy?
Me. If you prefer. I’m going out on a limb here but you know what hypnotism is don’t you?
Ange: Of course. What do you mean?
Me: Umm, I don’t know how they did this. By any chance did the firm require you to see their doctor for a physical exam?
Ange: Yes, we all did, Dr. Wormowitz.
Me: Right! And was Adelstein the only Jew at BAAD.
Ange: Well, Partly, I’m not prejudiced or an anti-Semite so I don’t look for that but yes, now that you mention it Jews might have been half or more of the attorneys.
Me: And the attorney’s you knew best were all more or less chummy with Adelstein and you women were all Anglos, perhaps?
Ange: Partly, I don’t know what you’re getting at.
Me: I will tell you Ange. In your present state of mind you might not find what I have to say believable. Just listen, ask questions if you need to, think it over, that is, sleep on it and then we will see if it applies to your situation.
I think what we’ve got here is a problem in psychology. Hypnotism and suggestion. That’s a problem society is unwilling to address and of which most people have little to no awareness.
In the nineteenth and early twentieth century when thinkers began to develop a rational understanding of mental processes the discipline was co-opted by a Viennese Jew, Sigmund Freud, who then began perverting psychology through psycho-analysis for Jewish national ends.
I am not opposed to psycho-analysis per se, Ange, in fact I use it for the basis of my understanding of the mind, but a discipline can be used for good or evil and psychoanalysis has been organized for evil ends; not all practitioners are guilty and may even not be aware of the ends others are seeking.
Freud himself developed little merely adapting and organizing what other researchers had discovered while taking all the credit and suppressing the others. Two very influential in the development of Freud’s program were the Frenchman Gustave LeBon and the Russian Ivan Pavlov. LeBon gave Freud the key to mass hypnosis while Pavlov showed him how to master indoctrination and conditioning.
Freud was fortunate in having developed his program, I won’t call it a theory, just as the great hypnotic media of movies, sound recordings, radio and later TV came into existence, all developed by gois. Thus the means for a blanketing dissemination of propaganda came into existence making his program possible.
As a Jew Freud hated the European civilization that had made the Jewish ideology obsolete and like his hero the Carthaginian General Hannibal who ravaged Rome he wished condign punishment on Europe and Europeans. As a field of battle he chose European mores and morals and by extension North America.
Freud’s rise also coincided with the years of projected Jewish redemption that the Elders Of Zion had scheduled for nineteen thirteen to nineteen twenty-eight. Freud made himself a leading light of the redemption, one might almost say its Messiah. This is clear if you read his collected works aright.
The redemption was going along swimmingly. In Europe the Great War worked to the advantage of the Jewish people. Heavily represented, very influential, at the Paris Peace Conference they achieved signal goals in Europe, especially in the German Weimar Republic that Jews consider the high mark in achieving their goals. In the new Soviet Union they had replaced the Russians as the directing force in government. The native Russians essentially became Monarch slaves.
While Jews practically owned the Wilson government in the United States their plans hit a snag when the Republicans won the nineteen twenty election. At the same time in reaction to their success in Washington during the war Henry Ford began his expose of their anti-American activities that lasted for seven years. The Republican Interregnum endured until nineteen thirty-three when their Democratic stooge, Franklin Roosevelt, regained the presidency.
Then, just as it seemed that success was in reach from the US to the Soviet Union, the Big Clinker showed up in Germany overturning the Weimar Republic and upsetting their plans of capturing Euroamerica. If not the whole story this overturning of the Weimar Republic caused their rage against Hitler compounded by what they would call his anti-Semitism.
Now arising in America during the Great War as a publicist, Freud’s nephew, his wife’s cousin, Edward Bernays, had established his career as a leading Public Relations and advertising man. He had visited his uncle a couple times receiving indoctrination from him. The Jews considered Hitler’s German triumph as evidence of the basic irrationality of the Demos when left to their own devices. Therefore the Demos had to be hedged out, that is controlled so as to remove any threat to the Jews.
As Freud’s agent in the US, much as August Belmont had been the Rothschild’s, Bernays acted to blunt the will of the Demos. As he expressed it a rational elite had to take direction of the Demos to prevent another irrational outburst as had happened in Germany. In his position of Public Relations and advertising he was able to slant advertising to achieve mind control advancing those controls. By the Sixties Jews had captured, for all practical purposes, the advertising industry managing the direction of advertising content.
To set the scene wholly, when Hitler displaced the Weimar Republic he also displaced the whole of Freud’s subversive Psycho-analytic Order. While psycho-analysis was based or disguised as science it was set up as an Order along the lines Medieval Chivalry. Thus the Order’s goals were political rather than medical.
The displaced Psycho-analytic Order, as well as other orders such as the Frankfurt School almost entirely re-located in the United States, mostly in New York and Hollywood, the two most important Jewish colonies in the US. While the gois had a visceral reaction to psycho-analysis it prospered mightily until by the Fifties and Sixties it dominated intellectual attitudes.
That’s a brief history of Freudianism for our purposes Ange. Now, if you haven’t any questions we’ll go on to the application of Freudianism in the US situation.
Ange: This is different than anything I’ve ever heard Partly, where have you read this? Especially the part about the what?, the Jewish redemption?
Me: I am an historian Angeline. The history you and the public read is heavily redacted and edited for Jewish purposes, one might say a conditioning of the mind. Nearly all of it is written by Jews or vetted by them. Thus only a homogenized version of history favoring Jewish goals is made available. Any exposure of its falsity is punished.
The major Jewish actors of the twentieth century are virtually unknown although their influence on the period was immense. I doubt if you have even heard of the most prominent Jewish actor of the period, Bernard Baruch.
Ange: Not that I remember.
Me: I thought that would be the case yet he was known as the advisor of presidents from Wilson to Eisenhower. You may have heard of Felix Frankfurter but I doubt if you know anything but the name.
Ange: Hm, no, not even the name.
Me: Felix is down the memory whole then too. He was as influential as Baruch. Tsk, tsk. Well, historically the Jews have functioned as an autonomous or near autonomous and separate nation within the nations and heavily influenced the Paris peace talks of WWI to place themselves in a very advantageous position vis-à-vis the Europeans. The talks enabled them to virtually takeover Weimar Germany.
In the US they were actually depicted as having their capital in New York City while the American capital was in Washington DC. Thus if you treat them as an autonomous nation working for their own interests as against those of the Americans you get a different and more accurate picture of the period than if you merely read what you are intended to and not read what is forbidden. Right?
Ange: I, well, I suppose so.
Me: What I tell you is true. So, that’s the bare bones of the history of the period. I have lots of corroborating evidence in my blog articles. You can read them if you want. So, now, leading into your situation.
As I say, Freud wanted to destroy and change the moral order of Europe. Having spent some time with Jean-Martin Charcot at the Salpetriere in Paris and with the important hypnosis developers Liebeault and Bernstein at Nancy as well as reading LeBon Freud acquired the means to undermine the mental state of Europeans while he developed his method. This is why the Nazis burned his books; they knew what he had done and what he was up to. These were all defensive moves.
His first assault was to attack the dream mechanism and put the understanding of dreams on a sound basis. This was actually a signal service but very unsettling to conventional understanding. Significantly his motto for the Dream book which while from a quote from Vergil in Latin essentially said that if he couldn’t make it in the gentile world he would create a hell and destroy them. You may think this is a stretcher but fourteen years later the Great War erupted that gutted the manhood of the Aryans.
I think the actual translation is closer to if the gods wouldn’t help him he would resort to Satan. And he did. Satan triumphed in nineteen sixty-six when Time Magazine asked on its cover: Is God Dead?
You might think that’s a stretcher too, but as Gustavus Myers said of his History Of the Great American Fortunes, it’s all facts, all facts.
Freud’s Dream book was not an immediate success but its sales volume grew year by year. As Freud recognized Dreams slipped the subconscious and had to be interpreted in that light. He also realized that life revolved around sex although he misinterpreted the meaning of sex, and he knew how disturbing the sexual act is. Emphasizing sex was a perfect way to unsettle society.
Europe’s efforts for two thousand years had been to get the sex impulse under control. They had succeeded to some extent, probably as much as could be done but Freud wanted to and did release the sex impulse to full indulgence. His Three Essays On The Theory Of Sexuality in which he defended homosexuality and proposed childhood sexuality threw the gois into a tizzy knocking them off center. These are legitimate topics of research but Freud always approached these things from the smutty side. As D.H. Lawrence noted Freud wasn’t trying to reform morality his goal was to destroy it. Sex being the potent disturber, he made his assault on the European vision of Woman that put her on a pedestal. The attack was fierce; he wanted to make a wanton of Woman, sluts and in the Sixties that was achieved. It was laughingly referred to by the knowing as ‘women’s liberation.’ Ask yourself, and Ange I wasn’t thinking, who benefited?
It was also necessary to disarm the goi so that there would be little or no resistance. This was a two pronged attack. The first was to induce guilt for thinking ill, or realistically, about Jews. For this the notion of anti-Semitism was exploited. In control of the media the Jews were always eulogized while it was forbidden to call attention to, for instance, Jewish criminality which by the way they now celebrate, while on the other hand goish faults were dwelt upon.
The Jewish Order of B’nai B’rith organized its terrorist arm to seek out any offenders and if they didn’t heed the warning they would hurt. For small fry this worked well but when the virtually immune Henry Ford appeared on the scene the Jews really had to exercise their powers. It took twenty years but by nineteen forty Ford was on the edge of bankruptcy. The government and most of society had been organized against him. Rust never sleeps and the Jews never desist.
Freud discovered cocaine in the eighteen eighties becoming something of an addict at the time while destroying a few lives by pushing it. He learned firsthand of the power of such a morality dissolvent and what it did to the mind.
His drug years are usually glossed over while it is said that he kicked the habit. Maybe. But how many do? I’m convinced that he remained a user all his life although he obviously brought his use under control.
Nevertheless, in the twenties, having discovered the effects of heroin the Jewish New York gangster Arnold Rothstein organized the heroin trade on a commercial basis. Of course most if not all drugs were legal until nineteen ten and hop heads, as they were known at the time, had always been around but now began a concerted effort to promote heroin use.
There were also synthetic drugs such as amphetamines. Amphetamines were synthesized in the 1890s. Strangely enough in the first thirty years of the century vitamins, previously unknown, were discovered. This led for some strange reason to the combination of amphetamines and vitamins into a feel good cocktail. It was believed that the vitamins neutralized the harmful effects of the drug.
Somewhen about nineteen thirty a Jew by the name of Max Jacobson claimed to have invented the potent mix. Max isn’t particularly reliable so he may have or he may have picked up the idea from someone else. In any event flushed out of Germany he showed up on America’s hospitable shores with his vial in his hand. By nineteen sixty he was medicating a large portion of New York City.
Numerous other drugs and psychedelics were synthesized over the forties and Fifties so that by the Sixties the cornucopia of mood elevators and depressants were legion. Many of these new stimulants were legal through most of the Sixties.
Lurking behind this was the development of the understanding of hypnosis, suggestion and post-hypnotic suggestion which is what you experienced if I’m correct Ange. The mothers of mind control. The Holy Grail of what many people sought for many various reasons.
You remember, Ange, that the Jews speaking through Eddie Bernays thought that an elite, that is a code for themselves, had to control the mass psyche to prevent them from aberrant behavior, code for anti-Semitism. The method would have to be through suggestion, indoctrination and conditioning.
If you examine the media through that lens it is easy to see how they manipulate the mass psyche. TV, movies and records are the key media and those have always been Jewish owned and controlled. If you watch the internet for your news you will quickly become aware of what the programmers want you to think. Deviate and society itself will correct you as the conditioning also teaches one to reject any unauthorized opinions.
However, specialists want more complete control. Thus the operators emphasizing indoctrination and conditioning go directly into the mind compelling the subject to delete old memories and opinions and replacing them with induced memories and opinions. This is facilitated by suggestion under hypnosis and post-hypnotic suggestion. Once the suggestion is accepted by the mind at any time in the future the suggestion will be performed. If you’ve seen the Manchurian Candidate you know how it’s done. A trigger word or gesture over the phone or anywhere will activate the suggestion.
The North Koreans used what was then called brainwashing during the Korean War on POWs to get them to renounce their allegiance to the US. The CIA under that strange one, Allen Dulles, experimented extensively. By the Sixties using sex, drugs and the media all highly hypnotically suggestive repeated over and over means the Jews were well on the way to conquering the mind of America; a truly remarkable conquest.
The Pill removed the fear of pregnancy, hence sex ‘liberated’ woman but also turned her into a piece of meat. Then in sixty-two Betty Friedan, a Jew, delivered the coup de grace to the Chivalric conception of Woman with her book The Feminine Mystique. By rejecting the Mystique or Chivalric approach, that women did, they were delivered to the meat market. As the Negroes said they were holes or ho’s to be used and discarded. This was especially clear in the world’s meat market, New York City. The Vampyres of New York had arrived fangs bared.
As I mentioned, in nineteen sixty-six Time Magazine signaled the changing of the guard when its cover blared Is God Dead? That created quite an uproar at the time, quickly obscured as time rushed on. It might be coincidence or it might be the Freudian plan unfolding but Time Magazine being published in New York City, the largest colony of Jews in the world was always if not controlled, majorally influenced by Jews as was the publishing industry in general.
No surprise then that in sixty-six Ira Levin, a Jew, published his novel Rosemary’s Baby. Rosemary was of course impregnated by Satan giving birth to his baby Andy in imitation of Mary and Jesus. Thus Satanism replaced Christianity. Roman Polansky the movie director, a Jew, immediately set about turning the book into a movie that was a smash hit in sixty-eight. Polansky made very few, possibly no changes, to the story. After Rosemary’s Baby the whole movie industry became Satanic. That would have been when you were sixteen and eighteen Ange. You are probably familiar with The Exorcist and the flood of movies of the kind.
Ange: Yes I am. That movie horrified me. I have even seen Rosemary’s Baby but I just thought it was a movie. But, I think I can see how society did change from God centered to Satan centered now that you’ve explained it. But except in a general way how does that apply to me?
Me: It sets the stage for what I am going to suggest happened to you Ange. Once you changed employers from GOOD to BAAD I think you must have some memory black outs, blank spots once you get to BAAD. Would that be correct?
Ange: Well…there are things I can’t explain, like waking up sore all over without being able to explain it as I couldn’t remember how it might have happened. At times even though awake I thought I was sleepwalking.
Me: Yes. I am probably right then. Now you must understand Angeline that on sexual matters I don’t follow the Liberal agenda. I find feminism puerile, self-serving and unrealistic. Sex matters are totally dependent on biology. Nature has created what nature has created no tinkering can change that and certain consequences have fallen out of that creation that cannot be denied. Because men have an Xy chromosome they are more or less self-sufficient; because women have the other two X chromosomes they are more dependent. Men are stronger, women are less strong. In point of fact men have no other use for women other than sexual and perhaps as beasts of burden. That may sound rude but if women had no sexual use but remained women they would be superfluous to men. However as women are conscious and intelligent beings men have to make certain concessions to them to maintain harmony. We call that Love.
There have been ways attempted around those concessions however, for instance, the harem in which a rich or important man gathers a group of women about him distributing his favors by his own peculiar method. As with all solutions there are unintended consequences, expense being a major one and the envy of other males another although to be surrounded by women is enervating.
Another solution most famously tried on slave plantations of the West Indies was to select favored females and then bringing them up with their every wish or whim fulfilled while being trained to be compliant in sex. Perhaps not too distant in concept from the Japanese Geisha girls.
The Negro slave women were difficult in numerous ways being unsatisfactory. Then fortune shown on the planters. Along about sixteen sixty or so Oliver Cromwell chose to subdue the Irish. Being the good self-righteous Protestant that he was he was especially brutal. He rounded up tens of thousands of Irish men and women selling them into slavery, chattel slavery, in the West Indies where they were put to work in the fields with the Negro chattel slaves. The beauteous Irish girls were more spirited and lively than the African women, however when half breeds were created the combination was just right to create near ideal sex, or Monarch, slaves. The women were near ideal however they did have to be coddled from birth and that can be downright irritating to more brutal male desires. The women’s attitude was easily ruined. So that solution was somewhat less than satisfactory.
Interestingly as New Orleans was part of the French West Indies when Haiti revolted and thousands of White planters fled to the Gulf Coast and New Orleans they brought that tradition with them so that the system continued to exist in Louisiana and as I understand it a few such women still exist there although only those men of a certain standard of wealth and temperament can possess one as the women must be maintained in their complete innocence.
The hope then was how to have women trained to gratify men’s desires without the unpleasantness of having to be directly concerned with them. This is where the advances in Freudian psychoanalysis, Pavlovian conditioning and hypnotism come in. I believe that you were part of that grand experiment along with the women on your list. You were all Monarch slaves.
Ange: Partly, what you are getting at is just too incredible. I’ve never heard of Irish slaves in the West Indies. What you said just doesn’t seem possible.
Me: I can assure you it was, not only that but those indentured servants in the American colonies you read about were actually slaves although technically not chattel. Still, men and women both worked in the field cheek by jowl with the Negroes. Hence the strong mixing of Negro and White blood. If you don’t have the historical background, and there is no reason you should have, check it out on the computer after we finish. It is there plus there are many books now dealing with the subject. So, I’m not talking through the back of my neck, Ange. I am a bona fide historian.
Ange: I believe you, dearest Partly, but it is all just so incredible.
Me: Not so incredible as may be revealed in your case Ange. I think we have a fearful tale to tell. Just remember that Hera loves her daughter and I have been sent as her priest to absolve you of all responsibility. All responsibility Ange, you are as innocent as a new born baby.
Ange: Yes, I believe you Partly. You have already saved my life and I’m sure that Hera and you can redeem it.
Me: Redemption is of the mind and can never be complete. So, now, we’re going to have to examine what happened after you went to BAAD.
Let’s start with your physical by Doctor Wormowitz. I think he may be the key. From his name did you think he was Jewish?
Ange: Yes, he was Jewish. He had a big Star of David in yellow facing you on his desk and other Jewish memorabilia scattered through his office including a couple pictures of Auschwitz on the wall.
Me: No secretary, just he and you in the office?
Ange: Yes, that’s right.
Me: What do you remember about the physical Ange:
Ange: Oh…well…I…I can’t recall anything.
Me: I imagine not. What do you recall between entering his office and leaving it?
Ange: I remember sitting down and then hearing him say close the door softly when I left.
Me: Right. So you were hypnotized while in his office and have no memory of what went on.
Ange: Hypnotized? I can’t believe that. He didn’t try to hypnotize me, I would have resisted.
Me: You didn’t know what hit you Ange. When I went to visit my parents and the Little Bastard once in Keokuk where they lived the Bastard took me to a party at his so-called friend’s house. Apparently completely without my knowledge or compliance his friend’s wife hypnotized me in the midst of assembled people. It took me a long time to realize what happened but I have a blank spot from the point where I was standing talking to them to where I moved across the room. I became aware that she was staring into my eyes. I thought then that she was trying to hypnotize me so at that point I pitted my will against hers and shook her off. Came out of it just as I was about to really go under. I have no idea what happened between us whether she planted a post-hypnotic suggestion or not. Wormowitz put you under without your realizing it. He must have begun indoctrinating you into sexual practices; so he must have implanted a signal or sign, a word, that would flip you in and out of trance in a split second. Do you remember any words or signs that these guys at BAAD flashed you or the other women?
Ange: No, no, I don’t remember anything like that. They did have this odd twitch when I saw them talk to some of the other girls.
Me: What twitch was that?
Ange: I guess they got nervous when they walked up so they scratched the lobe of their ear like this.
Me: Of course. Rubbed it three times. That’s it, Ange. With that sign they could flip you in and out at will.
Ange: That’s really hard to believe, Partly.
Me: OK, Ange. Watch this, I am going to put you under on the count of three. One…two…three.
And there it was. Ange flipped into her party girl, hot babe persona.
Me: Ange I command you to remember that I have just hypnotized you. I’m going to flip you out now.
At this point I rubbed my right ear lobe three times. But, instead of flipping out she leaped into my lap and began to French kissing me. I didn’t know what else to do so I responded in kind. While I was thinking she clasped my hand to her breast which upset my thinking momentarily. Christ, what could the counter-sign be? She had my right hand clasped to her breast so in my anxiety I put my left hand up to scratch the back of my head accidentally hitting my left ear lobe.
That was it. She flipped back to reality or, perhaps better, to her alternate or first personality.
Ange: Well, aren’t you the flirt Partly? How did you get me in your lap without my knowing it, Fresh One?
Me: I hypnotized you using Wormowitz’s signal Ange. That’s was the physical you were taking. You were being put under the control of the men of BAAD. You were then a sex slave. You were an improvement on the West Indies or Geisha model. You couldn’t remember what happened when you under when you were out. They had no responsibility for you. Being well paid kept you on the job. Don’t you remember saying you would remember if you were hypnotized?
Ange: Yes, of course I remember saying that, you told me too but how did I get on your lap and when did you begin to feel me up?
Me: You followed your conditioning well Ange. We’re going to have to experiment with your trance state to learn what they had you do and figure out how to back you out of it. By the way, was Merivale Adelstein a young lawyer at BAAD then?
Ange: Yes. I’ve known that bastard for a long time. How I hate to see him coming.
Me: I’m sure you do. How would you like to get your revenge by tearing his eyes out?
Ange: Nothing would give me greater satisfaction.
Me: OK. That was an easy one. That is what you are going to do. First let’s clear up your career at BAAD. In its own way this is a horror story, Ange, that you might find unsettling or maddening. I’m going to have to do another cleansing of you by Hera before we continue. Your mind has to be prepared. It’s almost five o’ clock. Let’s have a bite to eat and then a cleansing. You’re going to be conscious this time but I want you to open yourself, be receptive to my suggestions. Believe. Accept without resistance.
Now, here Ange, undress and put on this green silk wrap. Green is the color of rebirth. When Hera or the Earth blossoms in Spring she is a fresh virgin green. You were released from your former self at the first ceremony, with this rite you will be born again shedding your old self much as the first stage of a rocket falling away, a future without that burdensome baggage. Once free of that I will put you to bed and you will enjoy a healing and refreshing sleep until sunrise. You will awake to a new world without fear of a past that will appear as a novel written by someone else.
Ready? Now throw your raiment from you and slip into the cleansing waters. Hera will reveal a past concealed from you by the machinations of evil men. As they captured your soul by devious means you had no responsibility for their actions as they affected you. You are innocent. Your will had been taken from you supplanted by their wicked desires by criminal means. You will now reaquire your will.
Their means was suggestion that I am now removing and replacing that suggestion with the love of Hera for her daughter. You will respond to the sign of the ear only from me. No other is to be observed by you. You will respond only to my voice, no other.
You are to avenge yourself on Merivale Adelstein. At the opportune moment when confronted by Adelstein I will sign you to attack him. Your strength will be tripled, your fury will be irresistible. Tear at his face with your nails. Ignore all consequences until I say cease.
You are once again purified. Hera bless you.
With that I patted Angeline dry, placed her in bed, tucked her in, planted a sweet kiss on her lips and said: Sleep, my beloved.
She closed her eyes and was lost to the world till the sun rose over the horizon.
As I went out into the living room the phone lights began to blink so I said hello.
Lessing: Hello, Perry. Haven’t seen you for a few days. You OK?
Me: Hi, Lessing. I’ve been busy with another problem. Demanding. Didn’t mean to ignore you. How have things been?
Lessing: More and more interesting. You have heard the news about the Rabbis?
Me: No, Lessing. I haven’t had any news for a few days now. What about the Rabbis?
Lessing: Our lifetime president ordered them all rounded up.
Me: Rounded up? As in collected for further disposition?
Lessing: Yes. They have apparently been put in a camp put in operation to receive them. It’s unbelievable. I don’t know what to think.
Me: I can’t say I’m surprised. I won’t say I saw it coming but he’s had it in for the Jews from the beginning. I don’t know why they couldn’t see it. He didn’t happen to nab old Soros did he? Along with the Rabbis that would more or less wipe out the leadership cadre leaving the people rudderless.
Lessing: Soros is out of the country, may have had advance word. What do you think is next?
Me: Probably a general roundup when they get more space. Has he done anything to empower the Moslems? Anything in Sharia law, something like that?
Lessing: There is talk of Sharia law being permitted in the Moslem colonies but nothing firm yet. But, what is the other problem you spoke of?
Me: It’s sorta difficult to explain over the phone but I have found the means to virtually take control of the courts so we’ll be more secure than we are.
Lessing: How did you do that?
Me: I’ll have to explain face to face. Just let me ask: Do you know Merivale Adelstein?
Lessing: Adelstein? Sure.
Me: He’s in the bag and the knot is tied.
Lessing: Hard to believe. When can we meet?
Me: Give me a couple days to complete my matters here. How about Friday for lunch?
Lessing: Sounds good.
Me: OK. Oh, and I’m bringing my wife Angeline Gower so there will be three of us. Pick out a place that is always empty or close to it so we can talk low.
Lessing: Your wife! Angeline Gower! The woman who worked at BAAD?
Me: Yes. Do you know her?
Lessing: I know of her but I’m so flabbergasted I don’t what to say.
Me: It’ll keep till Friday. We’ll need a planning session on Saturday too.
Lessing: You’re sure about that?
Me: Yes. Be prepared for some excitement on Saturday. Should be fun. If anything happens give me a call; otherwise Friday for lunch.
Of course I knew the conversation was recorded so I sent Ragnar with a different set of instructions. We probably couldn’t elude the authorities but we could make it a little difficult for them.
Continued on Clip 9.
April 22, 2016
The Vampyres Of New York
Vol.1, Clip 7
Expecting Lessing to get busy organizing legal defenses I more confidently approached Ragnar. As he would be on the line, that is more open to suspicion, I decided to drive over to Newport to view the site of the famous Folk Festival. Newport was a big event in younger days, the site where Dylan went electric shocking the Village folk crowd.
A few years back in twenty-fifteen or so a lot of video stuff was released covering those several years along with a bunch of CDs of Dylan’s nightclub appearances, Carnegie Hall and things. What shows up visually and aurally is quite different from the written accounts. Anyway I wanted to walk over the grounds.
Clearly we were being tailed so we took a couple of evasive measures just to let them know we knew they were there and then I forgot about them. There was a nice breeze in from the sea so Ragnar and I walked into it; I hoped the wind might muffle any microphones directed at us and at any rate they would be directed at our backs.
Me: So, Ragnar, I had a talk with Lessing. He definitely wants to do something to address the racial imbalance. He’s actively working to organize some lawyers and judges who sympathize with our plight. They intend to protect any Whites arrested as ‘domestic terrorists’ or whatever; either get the cases dismissed outright or delay them or if possible have them fall through the cracks as they say.
Ragnar: That’s interesting. So?
Me: Well, maybe I’m wrong Ragnar, but I have the feeling that your gym group might be grumpy about the race war and the lack of affirmative action against it.
Ragnar: We’re not happy with what’s going on, that’s for sure.
Me: Yeah. This might be the right time to get something going.
Ragnar: Like what?
Me: Oh, you know, securing the streets so they’re safe for wife and family. A little neighborhood ethnic cleansing to clear out unwanted elements and replace them with suitable people for instance. Kind of a White no-go area to match that of Harlem and the Moslems surrounding Wall Street, for instance.
Ragnar: You know how far that would get.
Me: That’s what I’m saying Ragnar. No charges would be filed or if they were they would be nullified by legal procedures. A certain care would have to be taken but action could be pretty well denied. Intimidation rather than actual violence just as with the Mexicans, Syrians and Negroes. We all know who to get rid of unwanted Whites, don’t we?
Ragnar: Farquhar would cover our backs?
Me: That’s what I’m saying. And if any of you know policeman, which I’m sure you do, they can take their time arriving, if they leave the station. They know how to obfuscate procedures. I’m sure they would appreciate safe neighborhoods for their families, cleansed schools without racial terrorism.
You’re all body builders so put on a scowl and terrify intruders into cleansed neighborhoods. Levey donations on business owners who will no longer be bothered by roving groups of thieves. They’re all losing ten or fifteen percent minimum to those guys and maybe paying protection. Guarantee them no shop lifting, no gay activists and it should be worth a few hundred dollars a month plus the ability to relax a little. Chat them up, see what racial discord is costing them and strike a deal. That way you’ll cover your expenses with a little over.
As front line freedom fighters that would be only fair. Talk to your buddies Ragnar. See where they stand. Let me know and we’ll get some effective offensive moves going. Reclaim the streets and then move on from there.
Ragnar: You’re sure Farquhar will perform?’
Me. Well, Ragnar, your gym is public, why don’t Lessing and I come down on some Saturday and chat while you’re pumping iron. You have ten pound weights for the amateurs don’t you?
Ragnar: Ten pound weights? Yeah, for the kids. OK, great. You two are the leaders?
Me: No, Ragnar. We’re both down the list a ways. We’re just organizers. The big guys prefer to be incognito.
That was a little white lie but I and I’m sure Lessing wanted to stay in the background as far as possible. It would be best to organize on standard conspiratorial lines.
I relaxed on the drive back to Manhattan but my brain was working. Little did I suspect but the next day would be a life enhancing experience. Nordstrom’s Department Store was beginning its grand opening for its first Manhattan store so I decided to go up and see how things were working out. Nordstrom’s was a Northwest chain that began in Seattle so I thought I’d see if they could handle the Big Bagel.
The outside of the store was magnificent while crowds of people pressed through the banks of doors. It seemed likely that more people would want in than the store could handle. Amazingly the limousine seemed to announce that an important personage was within so that when I stepped out the crowd parted to let me in. Smiling benignly left and right I strode to the doors as though by divine right. Once inside though I became common place jostling and forcing my way through the crowd.
It may not be true but it seemed like the retail store was the church of the age. While people seemed to be buying, for myself, I couldn’t see how they could examine the merchandise so quickly. Pushed hither and thither I was scarcely aware of what department I was in. And then…I saw her standing there. She was tall and willowy, probably seventy years of age, right for me and deep chested, always a top criterion.
Her head was lowered as though her gaze was fixed steadfastly on something on the floor. She seemed oblivious to all around her, one could almost mistake her for a manikin. Then it occurred to me that she was catatonic, devoid of volition. She was mine for the taking.
I walked over, slipped my arm around her waist and said: Come Darling, you are found. She was lost inside but made no resistance as I applied a slight pressure allowing me to guide her through the crowd. Ragnar concealed his surprise at my appearance with her but leading us to the Limo, I put the woman inside following her.
I studied her intently as Ragnar threaded through the dense traffic. I thought I recognized her problem. When I was in the Orphanage I had withdrawn into myself at one point. Unable to resist or change the intolerable conditions I was facing I shrunk down against the wall of the dormitory withdrawing inside my mind with no intent of ever coming out.
The house mother pleaded with me and I heard her but gave no outward indication of hearing. I don’t know exactly what caused me to relinquish my attitude, perhaps the thought of being transferred to another institution and that might clearly be worse than the one I was in. At any rate I came out and resumed my life.
I thought that probably was the woman’s situation. Something about the Nordstrom situation catalyzed past influences in her life causing her to give up. I thought possibly I could bring her back especially as I knew she could hear me. I had a plan I had been nursing for a long time; this would be a good time to try it. It was a dream come true.
I knew what she represented to me. She was the living image of the Anima I desired. Recent developments had left me Anima voided causing me psychological discomfort. Now I had found her, she who I needed, she was mine and I was determined she wouldn’t get away. I watched her quietly working out my method. I believed I had to be successful within three days or she would probably be beyond reach forever. And then what could I do with her.
I escorted her past Ottmar and into the elevator. She wasn’t difficult to steer but she stopped in her tracks when the forward pressure was removed. Thus she stopped in her tracks without lifting her her gaze from the floor as I worked through the first set of keys. Opening the entry door I moved her into the little vestibule while I manipulated the keys for the inner door.
That done I moved her into the living room and left her staring out toward the Staten Island view. Coming back, I placed a chair behind her and invited her to sit down. I knew she could hear but she was incapable of responding so I backed her into the chair, took her purse from her and seated myself on the couch facing her.
I wasn’t clear what to do next. Finally I said: Darling, you were lost but now you are found. I have rescued you. As I expected, this elicited no response. As it was now well after lunch I decided she needed a bite of something. As loving care might be as useful as anything else I led her into the dining room telling her I was going to make her some soup. Sitting her down I had no qualms about leaving her as I knew she was incapable of moving. Cooking up some Cream of Squash which was a nice bland soup I next faced the dilemma of how to get her to ingest it as she refused to or was unable to grasp the spoon.
Filling the spoon halfway I pried her lips open and slipped the spoon into her mouth tipping her head back so that she involuntarily swallowed as she was apparently hungry. As I fed her I began to speak soothingly to her using ideas I had developed earlier. I still had no idea of who she was but…
Me: Al right, Darling Girl, I think I know what the matter is and I was sent to rescue you. The great goddess Hera saw that you were in danger. She sent me to save you before the authorities picked you up and took you to Bellevue. Once in there the gods only know what would have happened to you. They would have injected you with horrible drugs or even subjected you to electro-shock therapy. You would have been destroyed. Once you’re in the hands of the authorities you’re lost but you were fortunate that Hera was watching over you and I found you.
I am a priest of the cult of Hera. My name is Partly Wright. Hera has invested me with the power to restore you to health. I love you and you’re safe in good hands but you will have to follow the cleansing and purification ritual. In your condition it may take three days but perhaps less depending on how injured your mind is.
As I hope you know, but if you don’t I’ll tell you: Hera is the goddess who protects and aids women. She has a long history. Her home was in the Greek city of Argos. For a great period she reigned there with her consort Heracles, this was in the days before the Patriarchy. In her period, the Matriarchy, she reigned with her consort Heracles. Their relationship was known as the marriage between the Sun, Heracles and the Moon, She. Her name meant She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. In point of fact I was deputized by that earlier Sun God Heracles as male administering to Hera’s daughters of which you are one.
When the Great Cataclysm came, the arrival of the Patriarchy, the ancient harmony was shattered. Unable to resist the warriors of the Patriarchy Hera lost her place and freedom becoming subordinated to the Patriarchic great god Zeus. You may be sure she made a troublesome wife for him.
Heracles was torn from her side and cast down from the abode of the gods to become a mere human while others squabbled for his place as avatar of the Sun. He was subordinated to the role of a mere human while being given onerous tasks that were thought impossible to achieve in the hopes of dishonoring him forever. Heracles with the covert aid of his former wife was made of sterner stuff fulfilling all the tasks.
To make the story shorter after a lifetime of trials and tribulations he died but with an enormous reputation that had to be taken into account. More from shame and embarrassment than from desire Heracles Patriarchic gods made him a demi-god and gave him the role of doorman for the godly abode of Olympus. But, let the dead past bury its dead. For you and me here that has no effect, but you should know.
I will now give you a small glass of wine as a symbol of the power of the Sun and then we will begin the cleansing and purifying lustration.
I looked for any signs of recognition concerning my account but could notice only a slight relaxing in the tension she was under. I deemed that a positive sign indicating that with care she could be reached and rescued.
I thought her problem was obvious. As she appeared to be about seventy when the mind begins to go through changes becoming a little less elastic that her defenses against all the abuses we endure got in the way and she failed to make a small transition at which time she sank into a serious depression which is what this catalepsy is, at least mine was. Somehow the joyous ecstatic atmosphere at Nordstrom’s opening contrasted too strongly perhaps with her growing depression and she sank into catalepsy on the spot. This was serious but early enough so that I was positive she could be saved. I would have to be at a peak of form I have never attained before however.
I gave her a couple sips of the wine, a mere sip actually given more as a form of ritual, a suggestion, to hopefully gain her confidence. Then I raised her from the chair leading her to the shower in the bathroom. In the modern taste the bathroom was a little temple in green marble perhaps three hundred square feet. Why the modern mind has made so much of the bathroom is unclear to me. Along the way I began to explain to her the necessary legend or myth of Hera that gave the lustration sense.
‘Listen carefully, Darling Girl, for this is how you will be saved. In those days our patroness Lady, Hera, was as well as the protector of women the goddess of life, as you may know. This was represented by the annual cycle of birth in Spring and the death of vegetation in Fall. Of course, the earth is revived by the rains bursting forth once more in the virgin Spring. This is symbolized in Astrology when Ganymede as Aquarius pours forth the water from his urn on Hera characterized as Virgo the Virgin.
In another telling the great goddess Hera every Spring bathed in the waters of the spring of Kanathos thus restoring her virginity. We are now going to replicate that ritual using the water of this shower. Water, as is well known, is a purifying agent. Thus as a priest of Hera I through She will restore you to a state as of virginity.’
While speaking I had been disrobing the woman to reveal a gorgeous well formed figure with stunning breasts. The ravages of time could not be fully resisted but she was a perfect example of what a woman of seventy should be. I adjusted the shower just above warm verging into hot then, as the woman still had no volition I had to lift her legs over the lip of the shower. It may have been my imagination but I thought she responded to the water.
Taking the bar of Creed soap, Creed is among the finest made and my favorite, I began to lave her neck, massaging carefully, moving down her body at the same time intoning: By the power invested in me by Our Lady Hera the crimes, indignities, insults and injuries this lovely woman has endured in life are washed away. Any guilt she mistakenly carries is cleansed from her soul, mind and body. She is returned to her original virginal state.’
As my hands caressed her lovely curves I thought I felt a relaxation of the muscle tension. As she had not yet raised her head I ventured further telling her that she could see the soiling made from her body go down the drain, a pale grey color. Her eyes did seem to focus.
Then lifting her head, I concentrated my gaze into her lovely golden eyes, a golden green, to see that they were clear exhibiting no trace, as far as I could see, of her temporary insanity. Using my soaped finger I caressed her cheeks washing away the makeup, although expertly applied, to reveal a clear vibrant complexion. She had apparently, curiously, avoided the sun as there was little damage to her face and her exquisite body.
Amazingly there was little wrinkling other than the slight sagging of her cheeks from the pull of gravity. Her mouth was neither small nor large, although for my tastes it could have been a little larger, while her lips retained almost youthful form while beginning to narrow.
Having completed the conjurations and lustration I led her from the shower as she still lacked volition, to carefully pat her down with a snow white towel.
That completed I led her back to the bedroom. I put her in the shirt I had worn the day before then lay her down on the bed. Speaking softly I said: Darling Girl you will now sleep a deep and dreamless sleep until the morning sun comes up. Your sleep will be dreamless but your unconscious mind will absorb the ritual of Hera you have just performed while your mind will repair and reorder any injuries you may have received leading to your catalepsy.
You will wake refreshed and be able to resume your active life. Now, close your eyes Darling Girl and sleep. Sleep the all healing sleep.’
At this point she visibly relaxed with closing eyes, ‘Sleep , Darling Child of Hera, sleep.
As she appeared to be asleep I closed the door leaving it slightly open. I then went to get her purse to see who I was dealing with.
Being a New Yorker she had no driver’s license but she did have a medical insurance card. You can imagine how stunned I was to learn her name was Angeline Gower. I had once been rescued by a woman named Angeline Gower. After high school when I was in emotional shell shock from my rotten childhood I took to the highway ending up in the Grand Traverse where I blanked out in a coffee shop only to return to consciousness ten days later in Angeline’s magnificent bed in a shack out in the woods. Angeline was almost in the condition I was from an equally rotten childhood still she managed to nurse me to health and save my life. I’ll add to the details when Ange (short for Angeline) wakes up tomorrow.
So, she was Angeline Gower II whose life I was now saving. She wasn’t broke, her billfold contained six hundred fifty-two dollars with a checking account balance of near one hundred thousand dollars so it wasn’t ticket price shock at Nordstrom’s that put her into catatonic shock.
Looking further I found a Bar Association card so she either was or had been a lawyer. From that I deduced her catatonia was sexually related probably from a too casual attitude from her fellow lawyers or perhaps worse. After all, the sixties, seventies and eighties had been very degrading for women, not that they didn’t embrace the period calling it freedom. She must have numerous stories of legal sexual misconduct. I could have obtained a force with which to control lawyers and judges in Angeline. She must know dozens of women in her situation and they would know hundreds of lawyers and judges.
Otherwise her bag was an eight thousand dollar Chanel with all accoutrements equally expensive. Heck, the crappy short haircut probably cost five hundred a session not to mention the makeup brands most of which I had never heard of and I follow the fashion magazines.
Alright. I would have to see if she was with the living on the morrow or still one of the walking dead. It was getting late and I hadn’t eaten so I made up a pastrami, corned beef and ham sandwich, emptied out a can of Campbell’s Chunky Potato and Bacon soup that I ate at a leisured pace. I had come across a nice Chateau Ste. Madeline, Cassis appellation, that proved a pleasant complement to my, well, repast.
Angeline seemed to sleeping peacefully or perhaps she was comatose. Anyway, I crawled in beside her, overwhelmed by her beauty. Don’t get any idea I took advantage of her because I intended her for my Anima and to violate my Anima would be to violate myself. I’m no masochist. I did however fold the cover back to gaze for a few moments at her magnificent breasts and wild strawberries. I’m only human as the weasels say.
True to my suggestion her eyes opened with the sunrise but she didn’t seem to be aware so I got up to make some poached eggs and toast to supplement my meager takings of last night.
I had just sat down at table when I looked up to see Ange standing there in the nude. It was going to be a good breakfast. She stood there with one hand on her hip the other extended above her leaning on the door jamb, or arch way rather. My eggs tasted great. A slight smile appeared on her lips as she studied me attentively.
Then she said: May I have some eggs too?
Nice voice, lovely voice, cultivated but not ostentatiously so, no Eleanor Roosevelt.
‘Sure Angeline, sit down. How many would you like, two or three?’
‘Three.’ She sighed languorously.
‘I’ll be three minutes, the water’s already boiled.’
‘Thank-you. Is your name really Partly Wright?’
‘You think that’s funny, Ange? Yes it is. Mother had a sense of humor as I never tire of saying. You’ve been going through my pockets?
‘I took that liberty.’
‘Yes, well, and is your name really Angeline Gower?’
‘What’s funny about that?’
‘Nothing, only a while back, a long time now I knew an Angeline Gower up in the Grand Traverse.’
‘Grand Traverse, Michigan?’ Angeline said freezing in her tracks as I had on looking at her medical card.
‘Um hm, yes, many years ago, back in nineteen fifty six but you can’t be her, she was several years older than me so you’d have to closing in on ninety.’
Ange: My mother was in Grand Traverse, working at a restaurant at that time. She used to tell me of an ungrateful boy she rescued at that time but his name wasn’t Partly Wright.’
Me: ‘No. I was in my Dewey Trueman phase at that time.’
Ange: ‘That’s the name! You’re Dewey Trueman?’
Me: ‘No. I’m Partly Wright. Dewey Trueman died on the Grand Traverse.’
Ange: ‘Mother used to say that she woke up one morning and you, or this Dewey Trueman, was gone.’
Me: ‘Yes, that’s true. But that Angeline Gower didn’t have a daughter and she wouldn’t have been your age, Ange.’
Ange: ‘She never mentioned me to you.’
Me: No. She never talked about her past life at all and I really wasn’t in any kind of mental condition to be overly curious.’
Ange: ‘Hmm. Mother was in pain herself when you knew her. I’ll tell you her story if you like.’
I signified yes but I was getting very uncomfortable myself feeling like I would go into shock. It was déjà vu flickering past like film frames in very slow motion, I thought I might lose it. Suddenly I could pick my old Angeline’s features in my new Angeline’s face. Synchronicity bulbs kept flashing in my mind mentally blinding me. I put my head down dug into my eggs. Ange said nothing watching me, when I put my head up I had tears in my eyes that I couldn’t conceal. I guess that softened my new Angeline.
But Ange had brought up the memories of my old Angeline for which I had always harbored guilt. As had happened to me before while writing old memories had called up only what I can call a mental rash that is so overwhelming I had to take to bed, so now this rash arose and I had to go to bed until it passed which if the past was any guide might be one or two days. I explained my situation to Ange that only caused her to giggle as she followed me into the bedroom seizing my hand on the way.
Removing my clothes I crawled into bed. Ange watched me giggling away then after I got into bed hopping up on it sitting on her heels still coyly giggling. But it wasn’t the giggling of a grown woman but more of a ten or eleven year old girl. Then I realized that she hadn’t fully recovered but though retaining her mental attributes of her age she had slipped into the emotional state of a child, as I was to learn, before she had surrendered her virginity, that had happened as I was to learn when she was sixteen.
Apparently in my cleansing ritual of the previous evening when I returned her to a mental virginity she had interpreted it as one level of consciousness literally; thus she was of two minds. Now she set about to seduce me as an eleven year old would do but her mind was shadowed by her current age and experience.
I was reluctant to engage as I wasn’t sure Ange was competent, on the other hand I couldn’t refuse without fear of offending her and perhaps losing her. After all I had joined her in marriage as the Sun and Moon. I don’t live in quandaries so we consummated our marriage. The combination of an eleven year old and post-menopause woman was a strange experience that I will never forget or regret.
At any rate we were now one. And then a strange thing happened. Relaxing in the glow Ange suddenly said to me in a sort of eleven year old baby talk: you remember you said your goddess had sent you to cherish and protect me?
Now I was frightened; what was coming next?
‘I want you to revenge me on a man who hurt me.’
Ooh, what had I gotten myself into: Yes, Angeline, who is he and what did he do?
‘He’s Judge Merivale Adelstein and he raped me more than once.’
‘What kind of judge, Ange?’
‘He’s a federal judge and he’s a horrible man. He treats us women like we are his sex slaves. He has to be punished.’
I quickly agreed, I even had formulated a plan in an instant. Angeline had said ‘us girls’, that meant several and if he used his position to compel sexual favors he was in very deep doo-doo, no statute of limitations, instant destruction. And if he was doing it very likely other judges were while it might be possible to uncover a system of abuse among the legal firms. Depending on things this knowledge could give us, the Serapion Order, nearly complete control over the legal establishment.
‘You said ‘us girls’ Angeline. Do you know the names of the other women?’
‘Of course, we used to get together and compare notes. What are you going to do to him, walk up and punch him in the nose?’
‘First I have to find out who he is but then I’m not sure punching him in the nose is a suitable punishment, he merits more than that.’
‘I’ll say he does. What are you going to do?’
‘Well, I won’t be doing anything in the next couple of days Ange but I might be able to get him by the short hairs within a week to ten days.’
‘Pooh, short hairs, how’s that going to hurt him?’
‘Short hairs is just a saying Ange, meaning causing him great pain as in saying ‘cut him a new asshole.’
‘Oh, I don’t know that one either.’
‘I’m surprised, but, Ange, can you draw me up a list of these other women, addresses and phone numbers if possible.?
‘I thought you said you loved me, that I was your Anima.’
‘Nothing has changed Cara Mia. I’m not going to make passes at them. Lessing and I have an operation going and this information clinches it for us.’
‘Lessing? Lessing who?’
It occurred to me then that as both Ange and Lessing were lawyers she might know him. ‘Lessing Farquhar. Miles and Lady’s friend.’
‘Lessing Farquhar is a lawyer. How do you know him? And Lady and Miles sound like the Carmichaels.’
I forgot I had never mentioned the Carmichaels. ‘Lessing is a friend of Lady and Miles, so I met him through them.’
‘How do you know the Carmichaels?’
‘I guess I haven’t had time to tell you. This is the Carmichael’s condo. I’m house sitting for them while they’re in Europe for a year. Ange, now you’re a lawyer so you don’t betray confidences do you?’
‘No. You aren’t in trouble are you, Partly?’
‘No, no, no, no. Lessing and I belong to an Order. The New Serapion Order. We’re a kind of a revolutionary group. You’re not an Obamite are you?’
‘I’m whatever you are Partly. I am your woman, you can’t get away.’
‘Oh good, that’s the way I feel about you too Ange. So, anyway your revenge on Judge Adelstein will come through his subordination to our uses. If you were his sex slave he’s now going to be your slave. He will jump when you say jump. He’s the guy that’s angling for the Supreme Court isn’t he? You must be aware of dirty work he’s involved in. Probably bought stock using insider information? The guy’s walking on gilded splinters.’
‘Oh sure, that’s the least of it.’
Me: ‘Great. Listen Ange I want you to get some rest. You’re still a little wired from your catatonia. And tomorrow I want you to draw up the list. We have to move fast. Helzapoppin’, as they say.’
‘You rest. I’m going to go up to your place and pack some clothes for you, get your makeup. Is there anything else you need Darling.’
Ange: ‘I’m happy here with you Partly, I don’t need any clothes. I don’t want to leave.’
Me: ‘I know Darling Girl. I’d like this to go on forever too but reality will intrude soon enough. We may have to go out together, clothes will be more important then. I won’t be gone very long. Just long enough to get some things for you. I never have anyone come up here, there will be no deliveries, no reason for anyone to come up so, in on the off chance someone knocks, don’t even get up. You’ve got a phone, my number is at the top so if you feel any anxiety, call. This won’t take long. Fifty-Sixth Street is your address, right? OK Honey, rest for a while, let your mind heal.’
Ragnar had the limo ready. Not too many minutes later I was in front of Angeline’s building.
‘Come on up Ragnar. I’m sure I’ll need help carrying.’
Angeline was only on the eighth floor. Ange only had double locks, thank goodness, and only one door. The condo was surprisingly large, tastefully if sparsely decorated. Showed a clear mind or a capable decorator. There was a feeling of longing about the place, a picture with a far away horizon over the couch.
‘Better take her computer down Ragnar, that will probably be needed.’
Bagging her makeup wasn’t a problem, at least I didn’t think it was but stuffing a couple suitcases with clothes was more difficult than I thought. I didn’t know anything about mixing and matching and those feminine things. I made sure she had enough underwear then stuffed a bunch of skirts, slacks, blouses and sweaters into the suitcase thinking Ange was right, I was out of my depth.
I snapped the suitcases shut as Ragnar returned. He took one and I took the other. As I was locking up one of those booming voices of authority growled: Who the hell are you?
I turned to see a vision from my childhood. A hated one. The fellow wasn’t big, only about five-five but he stood tall, occupying his space securely. He looked like one of these world war posters where Uncle Sam is rolling up his sleeves for a fight. He had on a pair of those massive wing tips that look like you’re trying to leave a big foot print. New too, minimal creases. The guy probably threw them away before they looked even a little worn. The green plaid sport coat over a pair of black pants was atypical. Hadn’t seen that one before. I didn’t know his name but then he didn’t need one. As I said: I knew the type.
He glared at me too proud in his inner powers to ask me twice.
I had to choose the right personality to gain the upper hand. I chose to be confident, cool and distant, a quieter tough: ‘What business is it of yours? Who are you?
‘Don’t get wise with me.”
‘I think you’re talking to the wrong man Friend. Move aside.’
‘This isn’t your apartment; I know the woman who lives here.’
I looked at his face more closely. He was Jewish. Then it hit me. This was Judge Marivale Adelstein.
‘So do I. Come on, let’s go Ragnar.’
‘Ragnar? Lady Carmichael’s chauffer?’
Good god, he knew the Carmichaels. Christ. I was going to have to talk to him. Ragnar looked my way for directions.
‘Yes it is, Judge Adelstein. Hello, I’m Partly Wright. I’m house sitting for the Carmichaels. Nice to have met you. We have to go now. I’ll talk to you later.’
While he stood staggered that I knew his name Ragnar and I walked away quickly. Behind me I could her him snort: Which part? I really hate that stale joke.
I dragged the suitcases into the apartment. I looked up to see Angeline, back to me, looking over her shoulder smiling. She wasn’t nude anymore, she had put on a pair of Lady’s four inch spikes. Not unattractive but disconcerting.
‘I got up to look out the window.’
‘Oh. You’ll never guess who I met at your apartment Angeline.’
I was wrong on that one. ‘My, you’re prescient. How’d you get it first try?’
‘He always comes over and bugs me about this time. I don’t know how to dump the guy. I’ve insulted him, called him names, the guy’s impervious.’
‘It will work this time. Nice shoes. Shall we have a glass of wine my lovely?,
‘OK. I’ll get it.’
I sat down on the divan, accepted the glass of wine Ange offered and sat back as she cuddled up close to me. I almost fainted.
‘You know what I can’t understand Partly dear?’
‘How you got here?’
‘No. Second chance. You keep saying that I’m your Anima. I don’t know what that means. Is that like sweetheart or something?’
‘Oh, no, Ange. It’s much more intimate than that. Have you read any psychology? Freud or Jung?’
‘Not much psychology and I’ve heard the names but I don’t know much about them.’
‘OK. I’m sure you’ve heard chat about a man’s feminine side?’
‘You’re not bi-sexual Partly? I couldn’t stand that.’
‘No, not at all, wholly male. The way you’ve heard it is a misunderstanding of the right side of the brain. A man’s feminine side as I understand it is the right side of his brain that carries the Anima. It comes from the ovum, a man’s X chromosome. The left side come from his y chromosome. A woman has two X chromosomes so she doesn’t have a masculine side, just what Freud in his crude way called penis envy, in other words, a longing for what is missing, that is, the y chromosome’
‘Well, I do understand penis envy.’
‘Sure, Well Gloria Steinem was wrong when she said a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. She was way out of her depth; a woman needs a man like a fish needs water is more correct. Gloria almost made a Freudian slip.’
‘Ooh, that’s good. I understand that now that I’ve found you, Partly.’
Flattered? Wow! I didn’t know who was writing this script but I was sure glad I was the star of the movie.
Me: ‘Steinem’s remark reminds me of the old poem called Evolution by Langdon Smith. It begins:
When you were a tadpole
And I was a fish
And side by side on the ebbing tide
We sprawled through the ooze and slime,
Or skittered with many a caudal flip
Through the depths of the Cambrian fen,
My heart was rife with the joy of life
For I loved you even then.
After a few eons and transmogrifications the pair are sitting in New York at Delmonico’s, more or less like here Ange, high above the vulgar streets of New York. The poem goes on:
…here tonight in the mellow light
We sit at Delmonico’s
Your eyes are deep as the Devon springs,
Your hair is dark as jet,
Your years are few, your life is new,
Your soul untried and yet,
God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds
And furnished them wings to fly;
He sowed our spawn in the world’s dim dawn;
And I know that I shall not die,
Though cities have sprung above the graves
Where the crook-bone men make war
And the oxwain creaks over the buried caves
Where the mummied mammoths are.
Thus we linger at luncheon here
Over many a dainty dish,
Let us drink anew to the time when you
Were a tadpole and I was a fish.
‘Oh, that’s a lively thought Partly but tell me about how I’m your Anima.’
Well, Darling, this is a story not unlike Smith’s poem of Evolution. It requires some imagination to put things into the perspective I’m going to give.
Biologically it is a fact that you and I as individuals are the result of the union of an ovum and a sperm. They come from two different individuals and though united in what becomes a new individual contribute separate identities. The ovum ends in the Anima and sperm in the Animus.
Now, this may be controversial but both the sperm and the ovum have intelligence and a primitive form of consciousness.’
‘Really, Partly, I’ve never heard that before.’
‘If you think about it Ange Darling it must be true. No organism can move without some form of intelligence or consciousness. Otherwise no organism could identify and find food. And yet the sperm released into the vagina can locate the ovum in complete darkness and finding the ovum violently and savagely attacks it forcing its way in against what must be formidable resistance. Hence in remembrance of which sexual union itself is a violent act by the male against the passive female. Once inside the sperm losing its tail occupies the ovum expelling everything except the mitochondrial DNA. I’ve seen a picture of the result and what you have is a sun nestled up against a quarter new moon. This is strangely replicated by the Sun and Moon once every nineteen years hence the marriage of the sun and moon of folklore or myth. That marriage is an obvious replica of the union of the sperm and ovum. There will be those who will laugh but I maintain the myth of the marriage of the sun and moon is a remembrance of the union of the sperm and ovum.’
Ange: ‘I’m not laughing Partly dear, but honestly, I’ve never heard that before, I’ve never even imagined it but that would mean the sperm had consciousness before it was ejected.’
Me: Remembrance comes from the union combined with the fact of the marriage of the Sun and Moon. But intelligence and consciousness begins with the creation of the sperm obviously before it is ejected which means that the parent organism must program it to do what it has to do hence the sperm knows beforehand and follows directions. Furthermore it had to be lucky to have the closest proximity to the ovum while amidst an intense competition for the prize. You can see pictures of the ovum surrounded by sperm burrowing away. Does the female select from her suitors which to embrace or let in? These are serious questions.
Obviously the fittest doesn’t always win the prize as fully one fifth of the zygotes self-abort while some real monsters reach fruition. Few are ever as physically perfect and as beautiful as you are Ange and fewer still are endowed with intelligence of the kind you have. And look at us, eighty and seventy years old and we’ve found each other. A miracle of miracles.
Two different strands of DNA bond together with the ovate side taking its position on the left side of the body while the spermate takes the right. The union is seldom perfect, differences in hands and feet, left and right side of the face betray the past of the ovum and sperm.
To bond the two sides together the left half of the brain migrates to the right hemisphere of the brain while the spermatic hemisphere assumes a position on the left.
Now, as to the Anima Angeline:
When Freud and Jung examined the problem each came to the conclusion that men had an Anima, that is a female side, and women had an Animus or male side. I have come to the conclusion that they were only half right. As I see it the sperm is the Animus and each sex has one while each has an ovate Anima. If you think about it this has to be true because each contributor has a separate identity. It is the ‘marriage’ that makes them one. This is also reflected in the old marriage ceremony of man and woman where the two are declared one.
At the lower end of the system it terminates in the gonads while at the upper end, or the brain, I can only explain it by saying that there are loose ends that make up the Animus or Ego as the psychiatrists explain it and on the ovate hemisphere the Anima- that is in both men and women. In women the spermatic X is still the Animus. The female also has a left side but it is a X and not a y hence she has the equivalent of two Animas only one is active and the other passive.
Now, don’t laugh at me, but in the horned animals such as bull and ram the loose ends manifest themselves in horns. Man subconsciously recognized this when he chose bulls and rams to symbolize the male. The goddess was always personified as a woman but the god as a bull or ram. In many representations certain gods are portrayed with horns while Dionysus may have horns or show the bull’s hoof.
As the child develops he adopts characteristics of male and female models, these clothe the Anima and Animus. If your models are good I suppose your outlook is bright or brighter than if they aren’t. In my case my Anima models were terrible. They were formed by my mother and Gaines. Thus I had to dig myself out from under a load of feces to be as balanced as I am now while I have never been able to shed my negative outlook completely. There is still the touch of the sad sack about me that at my age I will never be able to shed.
However with the aid of Dr. Anton I have been able to deconstruct both my mother’s and Gaines baleful influence returning to a simulacrum of childhood innocence.
Angeline: Is Dr. Anton your psycho-analyst?
Me: So to speak Ange. He’s actually an alter ego existing only in my own mind. The great Dr. Anton Polarion.
Ange: (muffling a giggle) You talk to yourself?
Me: Yes, of course. How else can you integrate knowledge or solve problems? Dreams are just a form of talking to yourself. If you learn to dream properly you can resolve all kinds of problems. In terms of memory method I assigned my psychological studies to an imaginary person named Dr. Anton Polarion to work out my problems subconsciously and then notify me of the results.
Once again, if you think about it Ange, you will find subconscious projections of that sort are quite common. The Confessions of St. Augustine is a much revered book; it only makes sense if you believe a human can talk to an imaginary god and get answers. In point of fact Augustine was talking to himself much as I do with Dr. Anton except that I’ve always gotten better answers than Augustine ever got. Writing is talking to yourself and working out problems. That’s really the only way it can be done.
Of course if you walk down the street babbling out loud people are going to think you’re nuts. Don’t do that.
Still, Charles Dickens was frequently seen by his wife gesticulating as one of his imaginary characters and voicing his thoughts out loud to get them right on paper. So, as I say Dr. Anton extrapolated my Mother Constellation and separated it from Gaines and then separated both from my Anima while elucidating it so that I can understand my past correctly. Would you like to hear what my mother did to me, her own child?
Ange: Yes. But first who is Gaines and what does he have to do with your mother.
Me: William C. Gaines published comic books like Tales From The Crypt. His relationship to my mother comes from the way his comics portrayed women. His comics were quite misogynistic but very sexually stimulating. When my mother put me in the Orphanage it created a reaction such as that women could not be trusted. My mind combined that with Gaines misogynism thus the two were twined on my Anima.
OK Ange? But bear in mind that a woman is only a woman who becomes a mother through necessity. Not all women are cut out to be mothers, mine wasn’t. Mine dealt me the kind of poker hand that a player looks at once and folds but I couldn’t fold, I had to play that crummy hand.
I know nothing of my mother’s girlhood. As I was born in May when she was twenty she must have been nineteen when I was conceived. I have seen a picture of her when she was eighteen; in that picture she looks grim and troubled. I suspect she was pregnant with me when she married. If so this would have been the first of the grievances she assigned me.
She must have graduated high school in nineteen thirty-six thus her girlhood was lived during the Depression. She never spoke of the period but she and that whole age cohort lived in almost a paralyzing fear that it would return all their lives. My father must have had a terrible time finding a job as in his desperate need to provide for us both he joined Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation Corps. Thus, at work in the forests he was gone for long periods however sending most of his wages home. My mother was not wise in her use of them.
Rather than remain idle she dated at least one man who impregnated her in the back seat of a Chevy in the parking lot of a grocery store. My father came home to find her in that state. As you can imagine he was crushed when he got the news. He insisted she tell him who the guilty party was but in the way of women she refused to name his name. My father then began slapping her around but she still refused.
As I was standing against the wall watching I became distressed finally jumping on his back as he stood over her when she lay after having been knocked down. My father was at a loss of what to do. My mother warned me to run. My father said that no, he would never hurt his son.
I had stopped the beating but my mother got up and placed me against the wall telling me not to interfere and then lay back down to resume the beating.
Her astonishing reaction had a profound effect on my personality. Her action was totally incomprehensible to me. As my mother developed my father became more distraught. And then the little bastard was dropped. I presume my father walked out at that time because he was not around anymore and shortly thereafter my mother, myself and the little bastard moved out of our house and in with her parents.
Ange: Why do you call your brother ‘the little bastard’ Partly? That seems harsh.
Me: Perhaps it is Ange but he is not my brother, he is an, what you might call, Illegal immigrant. You have to consider the psychology of my mother. She was one of that lot that thinks the woman can do no wrong. Therefore she laid the blame for her infidelity on my father. Then his treatment of her, hitting her and then leaving, was an unreasonable response in her mind so she transferred her resentment of my father on to me, a constant reminder, not of her shame, but his unreasonableness. She did whatever her female wiles permitted to injure my psyche, twist it, pervert it, thus becoming an evil presence on my Anima that over the years nearly completely debilitated me. From my experience my Anima had completely failed me leaving me distraught and incapable of responding properly.
From the time the little bastard was born she showed him preference over me, her first born. That is an unforgiveable sin. You can see that, can’t you Angeline?
Ange: I can certainly understand how you feel.
Me: I hope so. I only saw my father once after that. When he called at my grandparents. In the interim my mother had done everything to make me hate and fear my father. He must have found a good job, this last meeting must have been sometime in nineteen forty-one because he brought me this wonderful green corduroy suit with a stoplight badge on the pocket. I was apparently psychologically affected because in later years I wore a lot of corduroy and I still own a green corduroy sport jacket; it’s in the closet if you want to look at it.
Ange: How can you remember so precisely Partly? How old were you in nineteen forty-one, two or three?
Me: I’m two and half years older than the little bastard and while I remember the incidents dating it is merely a matter of reconstruction beginning from nineteen thirty-eight. I did have a lot of trouble disentangling the incidents and putting them in order but auto-suggestion and dreaming cleared that up. Took a while though.
Anyway, my father called me to him and I wanted to go but my mother had a hypnotizing threatening gaze fixed on me and I didn’t know what she would do if I disobeyed her so I didn’t go to him.
‘Oh, you’ve made him hate me.’ My father said.
Then my mother astonished me: she lied straight out. She said she hadn’t. First she refused to allow me to rescue her from a beating and now she told a bare faced criminal lie. My father turned, crushed, and walked out much to my mother’s satisfaction. I never forgave her of ever trusted her again.
What she did to my father next I have no memory of and can only guess. In Michigan during my entire childhood and youth people constantly threatened to put someone they didn’t like in the insane asylum. Apparently all a family member had to do was make a complaint and have the unfortunate committed. Once in you never got out. Of course it was more difficult for strangers to do that but still possible.
I have no idea what my father did, perhaps he was in despair at losing his son, whatever he did his mother had him committed, I’m assuming for being violent and was probably put down as criminally insane. My mother took great pleasure in testifying against him citing the beating he gave her but probably not the cause. He spent the rest of his life in Traverse City. One day decades later I got a call from her saying significantly: He’s dead. He’s dead, just like I was a fellow conspirator. ‘Who’s dead?’ I demanded. ‘Him.’ Came back the reply. ‘Your father.’ Lord. I’d forgotten all about him but that is a woman’s violence and vengeance. I learned a lot about women from mom.
Ange: All women aren’t like that Partly.’
Me: Perhaps not Ange but that doesn’t change my situation but that notion of responsibility is part and parcel of every woman. The man is always guilty. Besides when she had my father put away I remained as a living reminder of her guilt, or his, if she maintained that point of view. She somehow transferred her feeling of virtue to the little bastard while quietly punishing me.
As I say the last time I saw my father was in nineteen forty-one. I don’t know when my father was committed to Traverse City but in late 1943 she placed me with foster parents or rather perhaps as a boarder with a family named Smith where I remained until shortly after VE day in May of nineteen forty-five. Then I was transferred to a woman named Johnson not very far from my grandmother’s.
Ange: Where was your little brother at the time?
Me: Oh he came along to disrupt my life, the little prick, as a part of, I guess, collateral damage.
Ange: Did she ever visit you?
Me: I don’t ever remember seeing her at Mrs. Johnson’s but she came by maybe two or three times at the Smiths. She always wore real nice clothes. I could never understand why she didn’t have a little more in clothes money for me. Anyway, suffering rejection at the Smith’s just when I was beginning to trust them unsettled my mind and with problems caused by entering a new school a month or so from year’s end I began to become very morose. I suppose it was then that I acquired a depressed state of mind.
Mrs. Johnson could only take so much. She asked my mother to remove me. It was then that the horror of horrors struck. She put me away in the orphanage. I could never really place where the orphanage was in later years but it was only three or four blocks from my grandmother’s.
Ange: That’s close. Did she ever visit you? Take you overnight or anything?
Me: No. I didn’t see her for several years. She was always the hardest of hard hearted women. I used to roam all over in those years but it never occurred to me to go in that direction.
I was there in the orphanage for two years, nineteen forty-six to nineteen forty-eight. I don’t know if you understand what it means to be in an orphanage but it completely declasses you, places you lower than the Negroes in the social scale, you become a non-person, invisible. Carry the scars for the rest of your life in one way or another. A real soul shattering experience.
According to orphanage policy they farmed you out to foster homes at the age of ten, another really horrible experience I escaped because my mother remarried in nineteen forty-eight. I was pretty independent by that time so I knew I was in for it but I thought it was only eight years so I could manage it. As I look back I’d have to say I didn’t. By graduation time I was a basket case unable to function.
My mother’s method to torment me was to frustrate and deny me, to prevent me from enjoying my life at all. I have no idea how she talked about me but I was amazed when just before graduation a bunch of us were talking about what we were going to do. I mentioned I wanted to go on to college when a girl I hardly knew scornfully told me that I was not that I was going into the Navy for twenty years and could come back as a Chief Petty Officer. I asked her where she got that and she said my mother told her. I don’t know how she knew my mother but sure enough within a matter of days my mother took me to the recruiting office and signed me up. A couple weeks later and I was gone.
Thus she had me safely stowed away in the equivalent of the insane asylum for life just like my father. I might as well have gone to foster parents, it couldn’t have been any worse.
The problem with the Mother Constellation was I couldn’t find the motive for her hatred but as she and Gaines occupied my Anima I had no control of the right hemisphere, my Anima had completely failed me. Fortunately Dr. Anton was able to untangle the two stands of Gaines and my mother so that my Anima was freed. The final reckoning occurred just a couple weeks before I saw you standing there in Nordstrom’s and I recognized you as what my Anima should have been all along. In conventional terms: Love at first sight.
Ange: I don’t remember that Partly. I only have vague memories of you taking to me in the shower. How did I get there?
Me: Well, I came up for the Nordstrom’s grand opening and wandering through the high fashion department I saw you standing there almost as though you had a sign around your neck reading Rescue Me. When I got closer I realized that you must be catatonic. I put my arm around your waist and said: Come with me, Darling Girl. Gave you a little tug and led you to the limo.
Fortunately you were not yet beyond the range of contact so I was able to bring you back to consciousness. Since then you’ve been recovering well. Do you remember anything about the Sun and Moon?
Ange: Yes. There was a god and goddess and they married us. Is it true then that you are my husband and I’m your wife.
Me: Yes, it is Darling. You might say a marriage made in heaven. I’ve got you babe in my heart and on my mind and here beside me.
Ange: Alright. I don’t know how it happened but you have been in my dreams Love.
Me: And you mine. Now Sweetheart would you take the time to tell me your story. How did you get into that catatonic state?
Ange: I don’t know if I should. You might not like me so much then.
Me: Oh nonsense, Angeline, life is difficult at best. Let the dead past bury its dead. The way is forward. Let’s make our future the best years of our lives. You can’t make me stop loving you. You are part of me.
Ange: Well, alright.
Continue to Clip 8.
December 21, 2014
Edgar Rice Burroughs And The Ben-Day Dots
Over the years I have come to wonder why Tarzan was such an immediate success. The premiss on the face of it is absurd. While fascinating it requires such a huge suspension of disbelief as to be staggering. Perhaps that is why such a significant percentage of his contemporary readers were revolted by ERB’s work. He had to put up with a tremendous amount of abuse although his acceptance was greater than his rejection. Something had to prepare the way for that acceptance nevertheless.
The discovery of the unconscious that became prominent in the second half of the nineteenth century certainly opened the way for the strange and bizarre. It is not a coincidence that spiritualism and the paranormal became prominent at that time. Along with those came the rise of science fiction and fantasy. Tarzan is fantasy fiction while the Mars series of Burroughs is fantasy sci-fi.
Monsters like Dracula and Jekyll and Hyde established themselves in the popular imagination. Anthony Hope’s Prisoner of Zenda and the Graustark knock off by George Barr McCutcheon entranced ERB to the point of distraction. Jules Verne, of course, and the Oz stories of L. Frank Baum. When it came to the Mars stories ERB was merely the best exemplar of what by 1911 was an established genre.
The public mind was being softened to accept not only the incredible but the impossible.
Printing improvements made both half tone and color illustration less costly and easier to produce. Is it any wonder that ERB’s period is one of astonishing illustrators. Remember that ERB tried to be a cartoonist himself before he took up writing. His goal was judging from his drawings to be a political cartoonist.
Thus one can only presume he followed book illustrators avidly. Arthur Rackham was knocking them dead while Denslow’s and John R. Neill’s Oz illustrations must have wowed the envious Burroughs. N.C. Wyeth must have blown his mind.
More importantly than the book illustrators though were the emergent four color Sunday Funnies of the newspapers in 1895. They were so exotic and strange even in my childhood but at the time they must have seemed incredible. Of course I had no idea what made them seem exotic. In fact, I had never heard of Ben-Day dots until the fabulous personality posters of the Sixties exploited them.
According to Wikipedia on the subject:
The Ben-Day printing process, named after illustrator and printer Benjamin Henry Day, Jr., is a technique dating from 1879. Depending on the effect, color and optical illusion needed, small colored dots are closely spaced, widely spaced or overlapping. Magenta dots, for example, are widely spaced to create pink. Pulp comic books of the 1950s and 1960s used Ben-Day dots in the four process colors (cyan, magenta, yellow and black) to inexpensively create shading and secondary colors such as green, purple, orange and flesh tones.
The Sunday Funnies thus must have had an astonishing effect on contemporary minds. As the comics Bill Hillman has reproduced on his site, ERBzine, indicate ERB was an avid follower of the genre. His earth borer used by David Innes in the Pellucidar series was most likely cadged from a comic strip.
Seeking relief from those long weary job hunting days of the first decade ERB sought relief by hanging around the Chicago Public Library. He was a card carrying member too. Who knows what volumes he borrowed or browsed through on the spot. The Library would have had its racks of the country’s newspapers on display including those of NYC. Thus ERB would have been familiar with the comic strips of Winsor McCay, The Dreams of the Rarebit Fiend and Little Nemo in Slumberland. Himself an avid dreamer, very familiar with nightmares, ERB must have relished McCay’s work.
As it so happens McCay’s two most famous strips have a prominent place in the history of comics. In fact, just recently the Taschen Publishers issued a one volume complete collection in four color Ben-Day dots of the Little Nemo strip. At a size of 20 x 14 the strips are magnificently displayed. The accompanying 150 page text by Alexander Braun is a wonderful history of the period pointing out many developments that undoubtedly influenced ERB forming a background to his writing. Braun has a touch of genius too. Many strips of the The Dreams of the Rarebit Fiend are included in the ancillary volume, some full page.
The Rarebit Fiend strip began a little earlier than the Little Nemo strip of 1905. Thus both strips were running during 1905-09, the period of ERB’s deepest despondency. I will show how both strips are reflected in ERB’s writing.
To take the Dreams of the Rarebit Fiend first. Rarebit refers to the culinary dish Welsh Rarebit frequently referred to as Welsh Rabbit. The dish is simply melted cheese on bread although it can be a fondue. In the strip the dreamer overeats before bedtime producing a nightmare. The dreamers are all different while some of the nightmares are quite astonishing.
Burroughs’ emulation appears in Jungle Tales Of Tarzan in the story Tarzan’s first nightmare in which Tarzan overeats having the subsequent nightmare. My first reaction to the story was that Burroughs had been reading Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams. While he may have been I think McCay’s strip was a stronger or more immediate influence.
The Little Nemo in Slumberland influence appears in ERB’s first serious effort, Minidoka, put in a drawer and not published until 1998 by Dark Horse Comics.
The consensus seems to be that Burroughs wrote this short work c. 1905. The reasoning seems to be that because Burroughs wrote the story on stationery from this period that that proves it was written at that date. However ERB was an inveterate collector, read packrat, until he says he overcame the disease in the early twenties. So he says. So ERB was reluctant to throw anything away. The stationery proves nothing.
I have maintained that ERB wrote Minidoka c. 1908-09 based on internal evidence. We can now add the evidence of Winsor McCay’s Little Nemo in Slumberland strip. As the title implies this strip also revolves around dreams. It has a haunting surrealistic feel filled with strange characters and dream effects.
As I say, ERB haunted the Chicago library from 1905 to 1911 when he began writing The Princess of Mars. Thus he would have heard of the strip which was quite famous while following it at least periodically.
Minidoka reflects a Little Nemo quality. Little Nemo would then have been the catalyst that got Burroughs writing as he tried to emulate it in prose. As usual ERB combines a multitude of influences. He even states that the work is written in Ragtime Talk which meshes quite well with McCay.
Minidoka in itself can qualify as surrealistic before surrealism as does Mccay. That would not be extraordinary as the period from, say, 1880-1910 had a unified outlook not unlike the Sixties music scene when all bands played around a central motif.
As the work couldn’t have been written without McCay influence that places its probable composition date firmly in the 1908-10 range.
I heartily recommend the Taschen Little Nemo as an example of the current bookmaker’s art as well as for the astounding work of Winsor McCay. This rather astonishing video is available demonstrating McCay’s drawing expertise while showing him as the film creator of animation. He not only influenced Burroughs but Walt Disney said his own work would not have been possible without McCay.
A 1998 Japanese made movie called Little Nemo’s Adventures In Slumberland is available on Netflix. Ray Bradbury, no less, provided the story line.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kcSp2ej2S00 There are numerous other videos too.
The Sixties And The Negro Revolution
Terraplaning Through The Ozone
Always keep in mind 1954’s Supreme Court decision of Brown vs. The Board Of Education of Topeka as the basis of our interpretation of the Negro revolution. There are other things to consider. In that era before the internet, indeed, even as television networks were only developing, magazines were a key element in forming public opinion. Liberalism, even Communism, was the lens through which events were viewed. This was usually disguised as tongue in cheek conservative criticism.
The most important purveyors of this sort of public opinion were Time, Newsweek and Life. The first and last formed the Time-Life group of magazines all of which were very influential while disguising their Liberal bias very well. Life was the first to bite the dust probably being replaced by T-L’s People Magazine that more or less covered the same ground in a more contemporary fashion. Far back but vying with these was the William F. Buckley fronted National Review. Buckley was the most pernicious of all posing as the consummate Conservative while guarding the Liberal agenda from Conservative inroads.
These were New York based magazines so that it is not surprising perhaps that they were staffed mainly by Jews, including the National Review, hence Left Wing although disguised as right wing or objective, and heavily pro-Israel, Negro and definitely Jewish. It might seem odd that all pushed a Jewish agenda but then as New York City was 25% Jewish let’s just say they had a foot in the door.
Until Time-Life was absorbed by the Jews in the TL-Warner Bros. merger the Luces, Henry and Claire Booth who founded the empire ran a fairly useful organization. I read Time religiously and believed in the veracity of the magazine until I learned in their account of Howard Hughes departure from Las Vegas that they fabricated the story completely. Pure fiction and that this was done routinely.
Nevertheless as publishers of outstanding illustrated history books in extended series and phonograph record collections of very high quality they did their best to educate Americans of their past.
I finally chucked Time Life in after buying their mail order library, The Time-Life Reading Program. This was a series of 108 titles sent four volumes bi-monthly. They became progressively Red oriented, that is propagandistic. I read the first eighty or so titles then stopped although I have the full set of 108 less the replacement title of one volume.
As they were located in New York City they were enablers of the various revolutions giving national prominence to what were local situations. Andy Warhol would have remained a relative unknown except for Time while a relative nobody like Edie Sedgwick went nationwide with Life’s picture essay of her. Even Ed Sanders of the Fugs made the cover of Life as T-L constantly hyped the Greenwich Village Bohemian culture, enabling that culture to conquer America.
Newsweek was a Time wannabe that didn’t have what it took. One picked it up when Time wasn’t around which was rarely. Newsweek has gone defunct while pursuing a far left Jewish agenda. The signs are that Time sabotaged by the Jews through their merger will probably soon follow under Jewish editorship.
As commentary magazines there were Harpers, Atlantic, The Reporter and a host of others but they were minor in distribution compared to the giants Time, Life and Newsweek.
Time is of the essence of the period.
Movies and TV
Just as one’s dreams form a parallel reality alongside one’s waking life so movies and TV play a key role in the formation of one’s public life somewhere between dreams and waking reality. Contrary to claims made by the industry movies were not about entertainment but were purely propaganda disguised as entertainment. No serious history or study of movies exists to my knowledge although specific movies are being injected into articles as alternate reality. While movies may not be actually real they nevertheless create real memories and very influential memories that do affect your actions. And memory is the basis of consciousness. The memories are so powerful that one may adjust one’s personality to reflect what is on the screen. Thus when M.A.S.H. was on TV any number of Hawkeyes stalked the land assuming that persona. The Hawkeyes then cast the people around them in the various roles behaving as if those roles were real in fact. What a curse that was.
There was a changing of the guard that occurred in 1962. Within a few days of each other two movies were released the one being The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance and the other Ian Fleming’ Dr. No. The former was the swan song of the old American mores while the latter established the new Freudian/Reichian pornographic image of the New America.
Liberty Valance featured the two aging stars of the thirties and forties John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart while being directed by the old warhorse, John Ford. Dr. No introduced Wayne’s successor Sean Connery. It was like Zeus replacing Cronus in the Age change from Taurus to Aries.
The two female leads also heralded the change. Vera Miles as the beautiful Hallie Stoddard Aryan model of Chivalry of virgin sensibilities exited stage right while like Aphrodite of old the new model woman Ursula Andress rose nearly nude from the sea as the pornographer’s delight. Indeed, soon an area legal for pornography would be created within a twenty mile radius of the Hollywood studios ensuring that pornography would triumph in America’s theatres.
Thus violence was personated in the form of James Bond (Sean Connery) and pornography in various forms of Bond heroines who might all have been named Pussy Galore were united. The future was cast. Out with the chaste and demure Vera Miles and in with the lusty, busty, big-assed Bond heroines chasing the Big Dick. I knew something had happened but I was left scratching my head.
Nineteen sixty-two also produced the morally relativist masterpiece Mondo Cane. The movie had tremendous impact as it demonstrated that nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so. Sixty years later its images flash through my mind
Thus the Jews through Freudian/Reichian psychoanalysis triumphed over and displaced Aryan European Chivalric mores.
Now, Freud and Reich were motivated by Freud’s total misunderstanding of the Unconscious. Freud looked inside himself and extrapolated his malaise as the normal for mankind irrespective of race or religion. If Freud was the Jesus of psychoanalysis then his disciple Wilhelm Reich was its St. Paul. While Freud was rejected by Aryans Reich was able to translate sex and violence into something palatable for them.
While most people know Freud, at least by name, many fewer have heard of Wilhelm Reich. Reich was a disciple of Freud. While Freud dressed his discovery of the psycho-analytic method in a lot of mumbo-jumbo he essentially deified his own subconscious desires for sex and violence and passed them off as universal. He didn’t take those desires to their logical conclusion however while Reich did. Reich’s vision was pure sado-masochistic sex and violence and by sex I mean merely fucking.
While this had been what Freud meant, when Reich held up his mirror for Freud to see Freud was revolted by himself and cast Reich from his organization. At that time his group was all Jewish as it was realized that psycho-analysis was a Jewish affair.
Reich continued on and wed Communist violence to his psycho-sexual political creation. Where he would have gone from there having been discredited by the psycho-analysts isn’t clear but that scourge who destroyed America without lifting a finger, Adolf Hitler, came to power in Germany. The German States were the center of the psycho-sexual scum.
As Hitler was antagonistic to Jews in general, when he came to power in 1933 all this intellectual treyfe with the exception of Freud, and he was to plague England, fled to the United States settling in its two culture forming centers, New York City and Los Angeles. Reich, the King of Scurf, was one of these figures. Hitler’s revenge on the United States. He remained on the East Coast peddling his sex and violence.
If Freud had rejected Reich US authorities followed suit in spades. They were so repelled by Reichian theories that, this is truly remarkable, they not only arrested him as a criminal lunatic throwing him into prison but actually collected his books and burned them. This was in anything goes America too.
The only thing other than Reich that the US was intolerant of was Jewish comic books that were also banned. The Jewish Horror comics such as William Gaines Tales From The Crypt were sado-masochistic, violent and pornographic while possible inspired by Reich’s approach to psycho-analysis.
I was an avid reader from eight to twelve of all the Gaines comics which I considered outre and even as I read them thought to myself that they shouldn’t allow them for little kids like myself. But, I read them eagerly. Still I didn’t know that what I was reading was sado-pornographic stuff. Didn’t know either term at the time. Apparently our parents did. These were vivid, vivid stories. Great pictures. Many of the images linger on. Perhaps I was revolted because I have always rejected pornography as a mental malaise. Not that that does me or anyone else any good because every Hollywood movie has a pornographic base while many for general distribution are worse than anything Gaines published. His line was named, humorously I hope, EC- Educational Comics. Believe it or not.
At any rate not all Reich’s books were burned as they were revived in the Sixties forming the basis of Bohemian sex and politics notions. So a new synthesis began to form, began to jell in the Sixties. The adoption of a new set of mores. It was realized that movies were an unrivalled propagandistic tool.
Dusan Makajevic, a Yugoslavian film maker made a perfect visualization of Freudian/Reichian sexual politics in his movie of 1971: WR: Mysteries Of The Organism. The modern world in a nut shell, no pun intended I don’t recommend it as without proper education its sexual presentation will certainly be misunderstood as pure pornography. Of course it is, but only as a visualization of the Freudian/Reichian unconscious and its consequences. E. Michael Jones gives an extended literary version in his Libido Dominandi that I do recommend. Perhaps read it first.
So, now, we have the perfect propagandistic tool that functions through both the conscious and unconscious minds in hands of Jews indoctrinated in Freudian/Reichian psychology. After WWII and the discovery of Hitler’s death camps the Jews became absolutely hysterical. Even though American Jews had never been in any danger, not even remotely, they now saw White Americans as potential if not actual Fascists intent on destroying them. This was serious.
William Paley of CBS, himself a Jew, believed American death camps were so imminent that he capitalized the careers of prominent Jewish performers- actors, comedians and such- and sold shares in their future incomes to gentiles. By this ploy he believed that when the round up came these few Jews would be spared for economic reasons. This is serious, indeed.
In any event the path to survival in their mental state was to divide and discombobulate. The Negro as a tool was at hand. While the Judaeo-Communists of the twenties and thirties had always used the Negro to sow discord and confusion, in the post-war US their effort was stepped up. The movies were the perfect vehicle to divide and control America. Hence we had all those horrid Sidney Poitier movies shaming Whites and glorifying Negroes. By 1960 this was nearly in full spate. Miscegenation was a popular device so there were numerous Negro male/White female pairings. Remember the movies are a third reality somewhere between waking and dreaming providing both conscious and unconscious very real memories from faked reality. What was seen wasn’t true but was accepted as such by suggestion. This is serious business while presented as entertainment, it was actually behavior changing propaganda. New mores for the masses.
The dialogue, then, was controlled and directed through films, the third reality.
And then there was Brown vs the BOE. The greatest divisive decision ever made and taken full advantage of by the Jews. Here was a way to protect themselves from a nation, they thought, of Hitlers thirsting for Jewish blood. After the great preliminary battles of the Fifties came the Sixties and the wedge that split the nation- the Civil Rights Battle.
January 27, 2013
Marianne Faithfull: The Faerie Queene Of The Sixties
We skipped a light fandango
Turned Cartwheels across the floor
I was feeling kind of seasick
But the crowd called out for more
The room was humming harder
As the ceiling flew away
And so it was that later
As the Miller told his tale
She said there is no reason
And the truth is plain to see
That her face at first just ghostly
Turned a white shade of pale.
Now in 1968 both Mick and Marianne’s life were rolling by while both were teetering on the edge. Shortly after Godard’s filming of Sympathy For The Devil in June Mick was signed by Donald Cammell for the lead role in his film Performance. The invitation to star didn’t come from nowhere. There are many links from Mick and his friends to Cammell. Cammell was already known to the Stones having met them in 1965 at the time of the Paris Olympia shows. He was naturally first attracted to Brian Jones but then found some kind of love for Mick. Over the subsequent years he formed many projects that he offered to Mick. As Mick’s asking price was a million or more the projects did not pan out.
Not only did Cammell know the Stones but his live in the Parisian model Deborah Dixon had had a menage a trois with Anita Pallenberg. She had moved on to Brian Jones, passing on to Keith with whom she was living when the movie was shot. She had also viewed and/or worked on the script with Cammell a year previously so she knew that she was playing opposite Mick in advance. She then, was well aware of what the movie entailed.
In addition Cammell knew Robert Fraser and Chris Gibbs while being involved with the American
Satanist Kenneth Anger. Anger was himself a disciple of the arch Satanist of the Golden Dawn, Aleister Crowley. Cammel’s father had known Crowley reasonably well while Cammell himself had at least seen Crowley live. His father even wrote a biography of Crowley, so let’s just say that the sex magic of Crowley and his Golden Dawn played a prominent role during the filming.
Mick would have brought his knowledge of The Master And Margarita to the proceedings. He may have persuaded Cammell to read the book or perhaps as a Satanist Cammell had already read it.
Marianne who had become pregnant perhaps in January or February was sent to Ireland during the filming so as to be out of the way for the sex stuff where she became distraught. She was giving herself and was being given a psychological beating that was disappointing all her expectations leading her into a deep depression. This was furthered along when she had a miscarriage at eight months losing the child. I would imagine the miscarriage was the result of the stresses Mick had placed on her by sending her away along with his sexual misconduct. It may have been her own subconscious rejection of Mick that caused her to subconsciously refuse to have his baby.
Thus as 1968 drew to a close as the Stones recorded their Satanic Majesties Request album Marianne was trying to recover from her miscarriage and put her life in order. She probably ought to have left Mick at the time but as she tacitly admits in an interview video on You Tube the reason that she went with Mick was because her own royalties were dropping and she had gotten used to the money. Mick was a source untapped. I think that this is an underlying cause of her anguish. Nineteen sixty-nine would be a traumatic year for all concerned.
What To Do About Brian?
Marianne was a sentimental girl who formed sincere attachments to the people of her world. Thus Brian was not just someone on the scene but one might say a part of Marianne’s life. She cared for him. As we all know Brian Jones was the actual founder of the Rolling Stones. He named them and gave them their original musical direction. He held them together during the early stages. Naturally he considered himself their leader. He was actually a much more charismatic figure than Mick. While Mick was wiggling around all eyes were on Brian. There was just something about him.
This aroused Mick’s jealousy who once stated that the lead singer was supposed to be the center of attention. Mick also had the most powerful personality so that while he may not have been the leader he made himself the director. And then he and Keith shifted the direction of the music. While never a fan of the Stones I found myself reviewing the albums when I began writing of the group. My original opinion was only confirmed.
It became immediately apparent that Oldham’s first recordings done necessarily on the cheap were not good recordings, four track on primitive and worn equipment. While Brian and the Stones thought they were doing a good job imitating American Negro rhythm and blues it’s actually not even close. Mick makes a terrible imitation of a Negro blues shouter while its painfully obvious that the music doesn’t come close to the original. It’s so far off that it might as well be an original genre while being very close to a garage band.
Perhaps Mick who thought it impossible for an English band to pass themselves off as authentic was right to change the direction of the band to Negro influenced Rock and Roll. Brian was probably too close to his aspirations to know how far from the mark they were.
The original tunes are somewhat better but the inspiration for those soon ran dray so that by the 1966 and ‘67 albums Aftermath and Between The Buttons the band was quickly approaching the rocks. The West Coast fans were disappointed by both albums and, quite frankly, they’re not listenable today. As the albums veered toward English music hall Brian was quite right in thinking that they had abandoned his original intent. The 1968 Their Satanic Majesties Request, intended to be psychedelic in imitation of the Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s wandered off to a musical somewhere although one can sense the transition from the Old Stones to the New Stones of Beggar’s Banquet.
The cover of Satanic Majesties must have really sickened Brian as it had the boys dressed up in some sort of magician’s getup. A long way from Negro rhythm and blues.
Mick’s conception of the band judging from the current situation was always himself, Keith and Charlie. Bill Wyman, the bass player, being several years older was always an awkward fit. Mick marginalized him as much as he could until Wyman finally gave up terminating his role in 1993. So, was Brian forced out? Of course.
Andrew Oldham who promoted the Stones to a prominence far beyond their then abilities was the first that Mick pushed away in 1967. As a parting present Oldham turned them over to the American Jewish pirate, Allen Klein. As Oldham owned the masters to the Stones catalog he sold it lock stock and barrel to Klein who then legitimately owned them much to Mick’s chagrin.
As Brian was being marginalized by Mick, losing control of the band and its direction his behavior became erratic while he also sunk in the haze of drug addiction. It became obvious to the casual viewer of him on stage that his days must be numbered. On the Ed Sullivan show in the US he could barely stand on his feet but everyone was watching him placed back in the shadows by Mick.
Mick and Keith continued their petty harassments until Brian became a shambles of himself. After the Redlands bust the police turned their attention to Brian who hadn’t the emotional resources to bear the burden. It then in June of 1969 that Mick and Keith advised him that he was no longer in the band.
Brian either drowned in his swimming pool on the night of 7 July or was drowned. There is controversy over his death that may never be conclusively resolved.
Marianne, who by 1969 was not in a healthy sate of mind, was herself sinking into drug addiction, actually becoming a heroin addict, watched these proceedings. She was shocked by Brian’s death. And this came on top of her other woes. But life goes on. It is always painful when death removes a loved one from the building but painful or not the sun does not stand still in the sky nor do the bills stop coming in. Life goes on without missing a beat and you better had too.
So, Mick had movie offers coming in. Both he and Marianne as reigning pop couple were signed to do a movie in Australia. Ned Kelley an Australian bandit. In the 1840s when plays and books began celebrating former outlaws, highwaymen and crooks they were called Newgates after the equally famed Newgate Calendar of criminal trials. This would be a sort of Newgate movie.
Less than a week after Brian’s death Marianne and Mick arrived in Australia to begin their commitment; after all they had signed well before Brian’s death. Psychologically however all of Marianne’s misgivings were adding up to a heavy burden. While the reasonable approach may be that life goes on not everyone is so reasonable and I suspect Marianne was one of these. Perhaps, too, she realized that she and Mick were becoming estranged. Mick’s history was beginning to become apparent; his abominable treatment of women, Chrissie Shrimpton, of Oldham, of Brian; perhaps she began to wonder if she were next. While Mick may have had justifiable reasons for Oldham and Jones they may not have been that apparent to Marianne.
Certainly Brian was on her mind when the place touched down in Sydney. Exhausted by the long flight she and Mick checked into their hotel. Mick promptly flopped down on the bed to doze off. Marianne troubled in mind picked up a bottle of Tuinals and perhaps in a hypnoid state of grief and confusion dropped a hundred forty of them. Wow! That must have taken five or ten minutes. Shows determination. Who would do that if they weren’t serious about suicide.
For whatever reason Mick woke up and probably groggy himself scoped the situation. He rushed Marianne to the hospital for medical attention. But Marianne had overloaded her brain, she lay in a coma for six days.
The last thing on her mind before she suspended animation or slowed her synapses to a crawl was Brian. Since she was still alive although unconscious synapses must have continued; she must have continued to work on her problems, the anguish that had caused her attempt at self-destruction. Thus, when she came to Brian was still on her mind. I quote from her auto-biography Marianne Faithfull, pp.175-79:
By the time we got to the hotel in Sydney I’d forgotten not only where I was but who I was. I looked in the mirror. What I saw was a very thin, frightened face. I’d cut my hair, I was anorexic, and my skin looked cadaverous. I saw someone literally falling apart. Someone with blond hair and looking very scared. In my drug induced stupor I dimly recognized the ravaged face of Brian Jones staring back at me. I was Brian, and I was dead.
…At that moment Brian was my twin. I identified with him because he had been a public sacrifice; it was a role I understood.
Quite logically, I thought I was Brian.
It was all very rational in the way these things are when you’re unhinged. I reasoned that since I was Brian and since Brian was dead…(ellipsis in original) I had to take the rest of the pills so I could be dead too.
…The Tuinals were taking forever to kick in, I looked down and saw things on the street that shouldn’t have been there…And then I saw Brian Jones. At that moment I went into a coma that lasted six days.
When I first spotted Brian he was far below at street level, but greatly enlarged…Various parts of him- his face, his hands- expanded and extended toward me as he spoke, and then he rose straight up as from a shaft of air until he was directly opposite the window of our room.
…He beckoned to me the way spirits traditionally beckon to mortals in the movies. I passed through the plate glass and found myself outside. But instead of standing suspended above the street, I was now in an unstable landscape that pulsed and shifted as we spoke. I had I assumed gone over to the other side.
The grandeur and enormity of the place had the phantasmagoric mood of illustrations by Edmund Dulac or Durer engravings of Hell. As we were walking along, I realized that Brian had no more idea of where we were going than I did. Obviously he had woke up dead, not known where he was and decided to call for me!
It was the nicest chat I ever had with him, actually. He told me how he had woken up and put out his hand for his bottle of Valium, and about the panic that seized when there was nothing there. He said he had been lonely and confused and had brought me to him because he needed to talk to someone he knew.
We strolled blithely along as the quivering earth crumbled away on either side of us, and he told me about the miniature coronation set with Beefeaters and the coach and horses. He said he like books about railway bridges, guides to switching boxes, George McDonald’s fairy stories and Fox’s Book of Martyrs.
…Afterward he became weepy like the Mock Turtle in Alice In Wonderland and said he was sorry to have put me to all this trouble. He didn’t seem to know he was dead. I’m sure this happens frequently…They don’t know where they are. Hence ghosts.
…’Brian, Dear, isn’t this lovely, I said, trying…to distract him from grisly realities. But my sudden descent to small talk must have tipped him off that something was wrong. I was speaking to him in the patronizing way people talk to mad people, children and small dogs. Nevertheless, he plunged ahead in typical Brian fashion.
“Death is the next great adventure.” he said portentously. This something I used to go around saying myself, so I nodded wisely.
“Oh, yes, I quite agree,” I said fervently, as if we were speaking of a new religion. Or a new drug.
…”Welcome to death!” he said brightly.
…”Oh, is that where we are?” I asked.
…We came to the edge of the Dulac landscape. It dropped off abruptly and completely. There was a very obvious point where you chose to go over the edge or not. Brian said, “Coming?” and slipped off the cliff. I drew back. I heard a chorus of voices calling to me, but I wasn’t ready just yet.
Getting back took a long time. I was stranded in a desert town. The color had been drained from everything. The houses were empty. I was in Albania! Wandering down long deserted streets with names like the Avenue of the 17th October. Looking pretty incongruous, people I knew floated by (their feet didn’t quite touch the ground.) I called out, but they hurried past as if they hadn’t seen me.
I was lost in an airport. People came up to me and asked me the sort of questions you ask a child stranded at a railway station. “Are you lost, dear?” “Do you know your name?” And I would answer, “I’m waiting for Mick to come and get me.”
This was obviously the crisis of Marianne’s life. She associates her life with the desolation despair of Brian’s. She must have had the fate of Chrissie Shrimpton in mind, who Mick had crushed so completely. Mick had treated Chrissie and Brian in much the same way. Certainly Marianne could see the same fate for herself on the horizon. So now in an attempt to escape she slips into a Tuinal coma. She doesn’t explain what medical procedures were used to sustain her but she maintained mental activity throughout the coma.
Essentially the first half of her coma is a near death experience and a pretty interesting one. Wonderful, wonderful story; I could have stood another dozen pages. I’m sure she could call it up if she wanted to. I’ve had a couple near death experiences myself. They really leave indelible memories as this has done for Marian. It is possible to relive at any time you choose. I can run both concurrently through my mind.
Marianne’s problem at this time has been building since 1964 when the the life she living came into conflict with her youthful ideals obtained in the convent school. In those years she was much influenced by the chivalric literature of King Arthur, especially the quest for the Holy Grail.
Now, only the pure of mind and body, I. e. virginal, can ever hope to experience the Holy Grail. It takes only one sexual encounter. Even the great Lancelot who was tricked into a sexual act by Elaine forfeited the Grail even though he was innocent of intent. In chivalric terms Marianne was way beyond any hope of redemption. She must have known that. Thus the earth heaved beneath her feet and crumbled away beside her.
Having left Brian at the brink her way back was through a desolate wasteland of colorless desert. Thus, all hope had been lost. Her awakening must have been bleak, as her life would soon become.
She doesn’t mention the Arthurian fairy tales by name but she does recreate a dream landscape from the fairy tale illustrations of Edmund Dulac. (coincidentally Edmund Of The Lake). It is possible that she also confates Dulac with Arthur Rackham, another famous illustrators of fairy tales and also King Arthur.
Marianne also references other of her formative reading bringing in Alice In Wonderland, quintessential for the druggies of the sixties, plus George McDonald’s fairy stories and significantly, Fox’s Booke Of Martyrs. Very good browsing by the way as is Butler’s Lives of the Saints which is terrific.
I wondered if Brian liked books about railway bridges and the surprising guides to switching boxes? There can’t be too many of the latter so ‘switching’ may have a different reference point. It may mean switching horses in mid stream as Marianne said to Mick when she opened her eyes: Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.
The landscape ‘pulsed and shifted’ which may refer to her emotional instability. The Allman Brothers had a great line in one of their songs; See that clock up upon the wall? Rushing tides could make it fall. So possibly she could feel the ground moving out from beneath her feet.
‘He said he had been lonely and confused and brought me to him because he needed someone to talk to someone he knew! Sounds like Marianne is reversing the situation as it was only possible that she brought Brian to her reinforcing the similarity of their situations vis-à-vis Mick.
Then some more chit chat and Brian passes into the Great Beyond while Marianne stands on the brink at road’s end. Great story. I know where that’s at. In one of my experiences my heart stopped and I was standing in a huge empty concrete bunker type thing wondering what to do next. I dead no problem with being dead but I had no instructions what to do next. ‘Oh, well..’ I thought and turned to my right to start hoofing it when my heart started up and I was back in bed.
Obviously for Marianne her medical crisis passed and she was to return to consciousness. But then getting back took a long time. The first part of her fantasy then my have lasted a day or possibly two while reconstructing her nervous system took a little longer leaving room for mistakes that she feels might have occurred. She has obviously began to come to in her post-singing career with its overwhelming challenges that she wasn’t able to successfully deal with. The Avenue of the 17th October sounds as though it may be the Bolshevik October Revolution, if so she got the date wrong, it was the 25th not the 17th. She is obviously returning in a depression. I can dig that, too.
Marianne’s own brief interpretation of her experience is on p.178:
In anguished relationships like the one I had with Mick; it’s much easier and more satisfactory for all concerned if the one playing my role dies, after which I could turn into a sainted mythical figure- like Brian- and no longer be a threat to anyone and- more importantly- no longer be a bother to anyone.
They martyred Marianne…thus Fox’s Book Of Martyrs.
Marianne knew she had come to a turning point in her life or, rather, a dead end. She could no longer rely on Mick, he was a weak reed, a failure as the man he posed to be. At this time she chose to renew her acquaintance with her father at his sex shop who she says was a man Mick could never hope to be. Thus, goodbye Mick. She had been financially dependent on him and having known money liked it. Why not? But she was in no position to make money or at least sufficient money. Royalties of a diminished sort would keep coming in. There was seldom a year that went by that something wasn’t released in her name although she wasn’t recording. As she says Oldham had a re-release of her greatest hits edged in black on the streets before she recovered.
But she would have to record again, perform again for any real money. It was not possible to return again as the Virgin Queen of yesterday. As she was part of the myth making period she would always be the Faerie Queene of the sixties, she was secure in that position, but with four tarnished wings. She sank into a deeper depression finally ending up sitting on her wall above the bomb pit, thinking what to do next.
Her resurrection, such as it was, will be the topic of Chapter 8.
March 14, 2012
Edgar Rice Burroughs And The Accreted Personality
Time may fly but life seems long. Long enough for circumstances to alter your personality more than once. Consider for instance the National Guardsman secure in job, wife and family who is jerked out of his ideal existence to take a tour of duty in Iran or Afghanistan, foreign wars which betray the promises of his enlistment which were to defend his home state. Do you think a personality change didn’t occur when he received his notice? If he was kept in for several tours of duty over a period of years so that his former existence doesn’t appear to him as a dream that took place in a parallel universe? And if he comes home without an arm or a leg or, perhaps, both, that he doesn’t suffer from reminiscences or have a dual or multiple personality. You can bet he does. Nor does your life have to be as hard as the National Guardsman for your own personality to acquire personality accretions over your lifetime, all of which are stored in your mind and may be reassumed at any time.
As I said in the first part, these various existential states don’t disappear, they become part of your reminiscences whether suppressed or remembered and as possible fixations or idees fixe they influence your daily actions.
So now, let’s turn to the life of Edgar Rice Burroughs to illustrate the idea of the accreted personality. Psychology is simple if you don’t make it complex by mystifying it. I hope I can make Burroughs’ story clear without unnecessarily complicating it. I will try to use Occam’s Razor judiciously.
Edgar Rice Burroughs, who would become very famous as a fiction writer, entered this world of pain of pleasure on September 7, 1875 in Chicago, Illinois. He was parented by George T. and Mary Burroughs, he of Anglo-Irish ancestry and she of Pennsylvania Dutch, that is say, German. Eddie always considered himself pure English at a time when being English meant something, a much depreciated coin these days.
George T. was an upright man who had been an officer on the Union side in the Civil War a scant ten years previously. George Custer had not yet gone down at the Little Big Horn nor was Sitting Bull yet starring in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West. George T. had two other sons, George and Harry, who were born just after the Civil War.
George T. was a whisky distiller while at this time the Whisky Trust was coming into existence. George T. was an independent sort who needed the Trust less than they wanted him. I don’t say the Trust was responsible but George T. was burned out. Chicago loved a good fire.
The relationship between Ed and his parents was not a warm one. His father made his life difficult, seemingly on purpose, while his mother seems to have been rather cold. Burroughs seldom mentions her nor were any of his characters named Mary, or George for that matter.
Nevertheless, born into a world of creature comforts with high expectations in a fine house on Chicago’s West Side with two Irish maids Ed began life in a happy state of mind walking down the street singing Zippity Do Dah or the equivalent. He stayed that way for about eight years until his first personality changing event occurred.
Eddie attended Brown School in his neighborhood. I haven’t been able to find out much about Brown but the schools stands out as special in Ed’s mind. The school had several prominent graduates one of which was the showman, Flo Ziegfeld. As Ziegfeld was Jewish it is quite possible the school was close to Maxwell St. Maxwell St. would figure prominently in Ed’s later novel, The Mucker.
One day when Ed was eight he found a big twelve year old Irish kid by the name of John belligerently blocking his way. It isn’t known whether he was walking with future wife Emma Hulbert or not but I suspect he was. At any rate John threatened to beat him up. Thoroughly terrorized Ed took to his heels and as he did so several suggestions entered his terrorized mind. To be in terror is to enter a hypnoid state in which all ones psychic defenses are lowered or discarded. Suggestions are easily fixated in your mind. Thus at the age of eight Ed’s original personality was submerged, he assumed his central childhood fixation. Not only was he emasculated on his Animus but, perhaps because he shamed himself in front of Emma, he transferred his Anima to John; he then set up John as his ideal of manhood wishing to be just like him.
The result was that John became his favorite name. In his future novels he named a disproportionate number of characters both good and bad John. His two key characters were both named John- John Clayton, aka Tarzan Of The Apes and John Carter of Mars. Both have the initials JC referring to Jesus Christ, one supposes. Thus on the masculine side their names commemorate John the Bully while on the feminine side Jesus Christ. Ed also wore a book under the assume name of John McCullough.
As Ed was shamed by running, defenses against cowardice are liberally sprinkled throughout his works with justifications for the advance to the rear maneuver, or running.
Particularly troubling to him was the occupation of his Anima by a male. Probably not very usual but given the limited range of responses available to humans, probably not that uncommon. But this result of the fixation was particularly troubling to him appearing in a succession of his initial output of the ‘teens.
The clearest exposition of the results of this fixation was reproduced in the pages of Ed’s second novel, The Outlaw Of Torn. The hero of the novel is a boy of Ed’s age on the street corner, who is the king of England’s son c. 1400 AD. The King has a quarrel with his fencing instructor, De Vac, who then avenges himself by kidnapping the son, Norman.
The scene is that Norman is playing in the garden under the watchful eye of his nurse/Anima when De Vac appears outside the garden gate- I. e. Ed’s mind- luring Norman to him. Norman has passed the gate when his nurse who had been chatting with another woman notices. She rushed through the gate where De Vac struck her dead. Thus his Anima was outside Ed’s mind when she was destroyed.
Now, this is the replication of a dream story. The meaning is that Norman/Ed was safe inside when De Vac/John caught him, as it were, with his pants down, killing and assuming the role of his Anima. The nurse represents his Anima or right brain which was then disabled.
So, as an eight year old boy Eddie has an emasculated Animus, left brain, and destroyed or shattered Anima, right brain. This has to be dealt with in some way so he can carry on and survive.
What Burroughs does then is create a myth to repair the damage as well as he can. De Vac now on the run with his prize who he must conceal takes Norman to a three story house in the slums of London built on stilts out over the water of the River Thames. The two live in this attic/mind for three or four years. During this entire period De Vac is dressed as an old woman. So, here we have the emasculated Animus combined with the dead Anima with the waters of the feminine flowing beneath the house, I.e. Burroughs’ self.
The two live this way for three or four years, Norman never leaving the attic. At the end of this period De Vac dons men’s clothes and takes Norman to a ruined castle in the Shires. The remarkable thing about this castle is that on one side, the right side, the roof has completely fallen in, can’t be used.
The interpretation is that Ed so identified himself with John that he had to put his own life on hold until he turned twelve, the same age John had been. At that point he recovered or began to recover some control of his Animus while his Anima remained destroyed.
De Vac then began to train Norman in the manly arts to be a killing machine to attain physical vengeance for De Vac on the King.
One can’t be sure of what effect the encounter had on his personality but the next year after the confrontation his father took him from Brown transferring him to an all girl’s school. George T.’s reason for this was that there was a fever going around and he wanted to protect Ed from it. How one would be safe from a communicable disease in a girl’s school isn’t clear so perhaps Ed’s father had another reason.
In Ed’s psychological state it is not unlikely that he went into a fairly serious depression while emasculated and crippled he may have become very effeminate. The placement in the girl’s school may have been one of disgust and to teach the boy a lesson to act like a man.
The humiliation on top of the emasculation was difficult for Ed to bear. He pleaded and pleaded to be transferred from the girl’s school. His pleas were heard although his father didn’t send him back to Brown but a couple miles across town to Chicago’s Harvard Latin School where Ed stayed through what would have been his Junior High years. During this period, the date isn’t clear, Ed fell off his bicycle banging his head against the curb; it isn’t known whether it was the right or left side. This left him dizzy and walking round in circles for three or four days, then the obvious effects disappeared. George T. then jerked him out the Latin School and sent him West to his brothers’ cattle ranch in Idaho. He doesn’t seem to have attended any school for the year he was in Idaho. However he learned to be a cowboy and had a great time.
Even without school the period was not without intellectual stimulation. George and Harry Burroughs were graduates of the Sheffield Scientific School attached to Yale University but not yet integrated with it, along with their partner Lew Sweetser. Sweetser was a fairly remarkable guy deeply interested in psychology when the subject was just beginning to assume its modern form.
William James had just published his two volumes on Psychology but I haven’t been able to discover who Sweetser’s teachers may have been at Yale. Departments of Psychology were rare at American Universities in the 1880s. However, as Sweetser apparently studied whatever psychology was available it seems certain that he would have been at least aware of Charcot’s experiments at the Salpetriere that were world famous. It is also clear that he was familiar with the idea of the sub- or unconscious. However much Ed may have retained, as he himself was relatively well informed on psychological matters when he began writing the foundations of his knowledge were probably formed at Sweetser’s knee.
Having left Ed in the wilderness for a year, George T. then moved him to the East Coast to Massachusetts’ Phillips Academy. Ed was now being moved around almost with the frequency of a military brat with its devastating personality consequences. Having consorted with a rough bunch of fellows for a year, Ed was now in an elite school without a great deal of preparation.
He was in Idaho at the end of Wyoming’s Johnson County War when the big ranchers squeezed out the small ranchers. Many of the small ranch soldiers whose shootings were classified as murders had fled to Idaho where Ed knew one or two; from the company of murderers, or killers at any rate, he was now in with a bunch of elitist schoolboys.
When his brothers had attended Yale their father had refused them an allowance that would have allowed them to associate with their richer school fellows as equals. If he continued the practice with Ed at Phillips then an extra burden was placed on the kid that would help explain his behavior. At any rate he assumed the posture of clown to gain acceptance while neglecting his studies. Naturally he was requested to leave.
Certainly he could have expected to return home and attend school in Chicago but this was not his father’s plan. His father enrolled him at the Michigan Military Academy outside Detroit billed as The Paris Of The West which is most laughable. This was the second great psychological trauma in his life adding another major accretion to his personality. Ed rebelled at being sent away again.
This was not merely rejection but also a condemnation of him by his father. As Ed saw the situation, with a great deal of accuracy, the Military Academy was just a holding pen for juvenile delinquents whose parents didn’t know how to handle them so they put them away in what was essentially an asylum or reform school where they could get some ‘discipline.’
Ed was horrified at these suggestions about himself coming from his own father. He rebelled at the rejection and its implications. He left the academy to return home or as his biographer Porges puts it, he ran away. George T. wasn’t going to put up with that. He collared Ed and dragged him back to Detroit, told him to stay put or…who can say or what? At any rate crushed and rejected Ed had no choice but to obey, but his mother and father died for him that day, slain by their own hand. Thus when Ed’s literary alter ego Tarzan came into existence in 1912 his parents had been slain by murderous apes and Tarzan was an orphan as Ed imagined himself.
Ed stayed at the Academy into 1896 when he was between twenty and twenty-one. He took the Commandant of the Academy, Charles King, as his surrogate father and mother. Because King was a captain in the Army, later a general, Ed decided he wanted to be an Army officer too. It is also noteworthy that King was a successful author of novels which Ed may have wanted to emulate when he too chose to become an author. One of King’s first novels was An Apache Princess while Ed’s first commercial effort was titled A Princess Of Mars.
Ed attempted in vain to win an appointment to West Point but failed. Then in 1896 while serving as an instructor at the Michigan Military Academy Ed foolishly abandoned his post choosing to join the Army as an enlisted man before the school term ended.
By now twenty years old his past with its many personality accretions had formed him. His original personality had been destroyed to be replaced by that caused by John. The accretions accumulated as he was shifted from school to school and West to East to MidWest leaving him dazed and confused while the final accretion of that youthful period was the devastating rejection by his parents all of which left him depressed and fatalistic. The high expectations of his childhood had been completely eliminated. The bright young boy had been transformed into a gloomy young man. But no former personality had disappeared; they all lived on in his unconscious where circumstances could revive any or all at the appropriate moment.
But, one is still alive and one must toddle on. Ed was not lazy or adverse to work. His intellectual interests were vast. He was a great wide ranging reader.
In the next part then, let’s turn to his personality forming accretions from reading and his general intellectual , social and political milieu.
August 10, 2011
Psychoanalyzing Captain America
From Out Of The Depths
Must we be responsible for our own dreams?
In answer to the above question by Herr Doktor Professor Freud in his dream book, The Interpretation Of Dreams. published in the year 1900 Prof. Freud said that dreams were the royal road to the unconscious. He then proceeded to suppress the conscious will releasing the unconscious will to dominate the personality.
Of course in 1900 movies, TV and comic books were in the future and unforeseen by the Professor. It is through those media that the unconscious visualizes itself. The Dream is manifested, the unconscious becomes realized.
In the case of the movie, Captain America: The First Avenger, first came the dream then came the comic book, then with movie technology undreamed of in 1940 when Joe Simon and Jack Kirby conceived the character, brought to the screen today. Comic books and movies are true projections of the unconscious. As might be seen by anyone with a ticket Capt. America is less a story than a dream, a dream that Sigmund Freud defined as wish fulfillment. So, one must examine the movie as a wish from the subconscious fulfilled as a visualization on the screen. What does the dream-wish fulfill?
First off we have a powerless wimp being knocked about by the big bad bully. We have a brief anti-bully list and then move on. However in this Cain and Abel story the rolls of bully and bullied are clear. The wimp then wishes to join the army to fight Hitler and is rejected on several counts of inferiority. But, never fear, the last shall be first.
Now, in 1940 the US was not at war with anybody while the America First Committee was determined to keep the country that way. But a powerful coalition led by the Jews had determined the European conflict was a ‘just’ war while it was morally compulsory for the US to butt in somewhat like Iraq, Afghanistan, Egypt, Libya and a few other places today. Unlike Viet Nam the usual suspects who opposed that war endorse all the current wars. The voice of dissent is unheard throughout the land.
So, bearing Freud’s Interpretation Of Dreams in mind that demonstrates the connection between dreams and the unconscious, Captain America is a daydream or psychological projection of Jack Kirby’s ne Jacob Kurtzberg and Joe Simon’s of Brooklyn N.Y. The relationship of these comic book writers to Judaism is explained by Rabbi Simcha Weinstein in his book Up, Up, And Oy Vey!: How Jewish History, Culture, And Values Shaped The Comic Book Superhero. This quote explains the real life origin of Capt. America:
Growing up in poverty, Kirby (born Jacob Kurtzberg) dreamed of being an artist but was forced to drop out of Brooklyn’s Pratt Institute after only one day because of financial hardship. Instead Kirby worked on newspaper comic strips under gentile-sounding pseudonyms such as Jack Curtis, Curt Davis, and Lance Kirby until he finally settled on the name Jack Kirby.
Kirby and his partner, Joe Simon, worked at Martin Goodman’s Timely Comics, where the mostly Jewish staff openly despised Hitler. When Goodman saw the preliminary sketches for Captain America, he immediately give Kirby and Simon their own comic book. The character was an instant hit, selling almost one million copies an issue. “The U.S. hadn’t yet entered the war when Jack and I did Captain America, so maybe he was our way of lashing out against the Nazi menace. Evidently, Captain America symbolized the American people’s sentiments. When we were producing Captain America we were outselling Batman, Superman and all the others.” Simon later commented.
Well, not quite all the others, as Whiz Comics Captain Marvel was the best selling comic of both the war years and the later forties. Certainly my favorite.
As in the years before the War The America First Committee enjoyed overwhelming popularity amongst Americans I would question Simon’s notion that Captain America overwhelmingly represented American opinion. As there were six million Jews in the country I might suggest the response from that quarter of ‘Americans’ was more overwhelming than elsewhere. Jews might easily have accounted for sixty to eighty percent of sales.
It is also probable that no real American would ever have invented a corny jingoistic persona like Captain American. The image was certainly repulsive to me as a child. My prime comic reading years were from 1947 to 1950 and I and my entire generation rejected Captain America while embracing Captain Marvel. Even then Superman was a distant competitor to Captain Marvel which is why DC comics sued Whiz for copyright violation.
We disliked the hokey repulsive jingoism of Captain America as well as his dumb outfit and the stupid shield. (I’m speaking as a nine year old here.) Of course we knew from nothing about Judaism and almost less about any other religious sects but there was something othery about Capt. America and Superman although we embraced the equally Jewish Batman.
The origins of Captain America then emanated from the Jewish dream subconscious of Jack Kirby which was quite different from ours. He, therefor, as all writers must, made Capt. America in his real existence and from his dream fantasies. Thus, giving his creation the goy name of Steve Rogers he nevertheless gave him a Brooklyn Jewish origin. As Rabbi Weinstein also a Brooklyn Jew explains Jews had a sort of dual identity as powerless Jews posing as goys in a powerful goy world. Thus the sickly ineffective Rogers undergoes a scientific experiment that turns him essentially from a 98 lb. Jewish weakling into an all powerful goy Charles Atlas. I’m sure Kirby saw those ads while growing up.
Rogers having now been turned into a Superman had to have a name. Superman being taken Super Jew was out for obvious reasons or even Super Hebrew, there was no Israel at the time, so Kirby settled on Captain America. Rabbi Weinstein again:
Of course a more literal reading of the costume is that it is the American flag brought to life. Captain America’s star is, after all, five-pointed, not six pointed like the Star of David. The flag-as-costume notion reinforces the ideal of assimilation [Jews ‘becoming’ Americans]. By literally cloaking their character in patriotism, Kirby and Simon became true Americans.
In 1940 there was a desperate struggle going on between the Jews and America First who the Jews styled as American Fascists, i.e. actual Hitlerites. By that line of reasoning the Jews became the true Americans, creators and protector of genuine American Democracy while Anglo-Americans or Native Americans or America Firsters were out to destroy the great American Dream the Jews had discovered. This is the theme of Philip Roth’s novel The Plot Against America backdated to this period. The movie Captain America could easily be subtitled The Plot Against America Foiled.
Rabbi Weinstein once again:
Despite the patriotic appearance, Captain America’s costume also denotes deeply rooted [Jewish] tradition. Along with other Jewish-penned superheroes, Captain America was in part an allusion to the golem, the legendary creature said to have been constructed by the sixteenth century mystic Rabbi Judah Loew to defend the Jews of medieval Prague. “The golem was pretty much the precursor of the superhero in that in every society there is a need for mythological chracters, wish fulfillment. And the wish fulfillment in the Jewish case of the hero would be someone who could protect us. This kind of storytelling seems to dominate in Jewish culture,” commented Will Eisner.
According to tradition a golem is sustained by inscribing the Hebrew word emet (truth) upon its forehead. When the first letter is removed, leaving the word met (death) the golem will be destroyed. Emet is spelled with the letters aleph, rem and tav. The first letter, aleph, is also the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet, the equivalent of the letter A. Captain America wears a mask with a white A on his forehead- the very letter needed to empower the golem.
So, you and I thought the A stood for America but it is actually a symbol of Judaism. Captain America then is an unconscious dream projection of the Jewish subconscious following Freud’s thought in his Interpretation of Dreams. Now we know who and what the Captain America or The First Avenger is.
Like Philip Roth’s The Plot Against America the movie is backdated to 1940 although as the US is already in the war perhaps 1942-43 although in Kirby and Simon’s dream vision they could have already employed the usurped power of America in 1940. However the movie writers, are writing today so assume different interpretations and aspects.
In point of fact Hitler no longer exists except in the Jewish mind so the relevance of the movie is hampered. Goys are not reliving the Hitler experience on a daily basis. To correct this and bring the Nazi threat forward Hitler is relegated to an inept showman while the real brain behind Nazism is the Hydra.
The Hydra in Greek mythology was a matriarchal year deity with seven heads and one neck, Six of the heads prepresented the last six months of the year while the seventh head and neck represented the recurring and indestructible year. Everytime a head was cut off it grew back as time does march on.
When the Patriarchy was displacing the Matriarchy the story changed somewhat. Hercules was sent to fight the Hydra and everytime he cut off a head three grew back. Thus the Hydra is represented in the movie as a Red Octopus with eight arms thus embracing the world. Ils sont partout. Obviously Hydra is a dream projection of anti-Semitism the arch fiend of the Jewish unconscious.
The Jewish Doctor Erskine, Reinstein in the comic, playing God botches his first attempt at creating the superman, Hydra/Cain, but finds perfection in Capt. America/Abel. Thus Cain is blighted while Abel is God’s favorite. While Captain America begins as a song and dance man belittling Hitler on stage, when the fighting starts Hitler is relegated offstage while the super-Hitler, Hydra, steps front and center.
While the Americans that Rogers as Capt. America have nothing like the incredible weapons and organization of Hydra they are nevertheless with their bare hands able to defeat him. He is however immortal like all dream fears so that as Arnold said: He’ll be back.
The action is standard comic book action fare and needs no further comment. You could have written it yourself. Pretty clicheed but if you like this stuff you’ll find it very satisfying.
However Captain America remains a Jewish hero in American drag with a purloined identity.
Themes And Variations
The Tarzan Novels Of Edgar Rice Burroughs
#14 Tarzan The Invincible
Part VI of X
Inside The Gates Of Opar
Life is just too short for some folks,
For other folks it just drags on.
Some folks like the taste of smokey whiskey
Others think that tea’s too strong.
Me, I’m the kind of guy who likes to ride the middle
I don’t like this bouncing back and forth.
Me, I want to live with my feet in Dixie
And my head in the cool blue North.
–Jesse Winchester: Nothing But A Breeze
And now we come to the heart of Edgar Rice Burroughs. One reason he is literarily disdained is that the story is not the story. Porges, p.524:
As the story progresses the perceived theme of a worldwide conspiracy is abruptly abandoned. Burroughs in his contempt for the communists refuses to allow them to be sincere even in their Marxist goals.
This is not true. Porges has misconceived the story. To quote the sixties Jewish revolutionary Mark Rudd: The issue is not the issue. By that Rudd meant that the Jews had created a diversion to mask the true issue which was the establishment of the Jewish culture as top culture or dictator in this multi-cultural world.
Burroughs intent is exactly the same as regards Tarzan. True, Burroughs has contempt for Communism but that is merely a frame story and a side issue. The true issue is that Tarzan’s authority as guardian of Africa is being challenged on the spot. The duel is between himself and Sveri mano a mano. He discredits the collectivity through the individuals. Thus at novel’s end Tarzan sits in state as Guardian or Emperor disposing the fates, godlike, of the remaining conspiritors. Magnanimously he allow Paul Ivitch (Paulevitch) to be escorted out of Africa rather than be thrown on his own resources that would have resulted in his certain death.
The issue within the issue, as always, is Burroughs attempt to resolve his psychological difficulties. Thus one has the Colt-Drinov combination, possibly reprsenting ERB and Emma, an episode within Opar of Nao who may represent Florence releasing him from the prison of his marriage to Emma, and Colt-La, the Anima and Animus problem. Tarzan and Colt change partners so that La nurses Colt and Tarzan nurses Zora. But to that in the next section.
While one expects a pure shoot out with the Communists, Tarzan is not going to defeat them by direct action but by a terrorist campaign of which Tarzan is the jungle master.
To compound the problem Burroughs confuses realism with dreamwork. This is not a realistic novel but a dream fantasy. It was said that Burroughs wrote out his dreams which has a basis in fact. The scenarios may have originated in his sleeping dreams but then he modifies them in day dream style while consciously molding the story for political and commercial purposes. A writer does need readers.
To give a basis for comparison for the dreamwork I’m going to play Freud here and offer up a dream of my own; it is similar to Burroughs’ in many way. Since integrating my personality I don’t have wonderful dreams like this anymore. As Jung correctly surmised when one integrates the conscious and sub-conscious minds memory destroys the symbolic basis of your dreams. I can analyze the common place dreams I have now even as I dream them. Something is lost, something is gained, but it might be of lesser value. I think I like the mysterious flavor of the smokey whiskey even though the water I have to drink now is better for me.
In my dream I began on the edge of a vast desert dotted with a few oases while far off in the distance twenty years away, rather than miles, away in the the distance a great white shining mountain arose. The distances were so vast they were measured not in miles but years. Indeed, the years of my life. I had to traverse the vast desert reaches between the oases. Each oasis merely refreshed me for the next perilous journey. Having traversed the years I came to the great white shining mountain. One might compare it to the tor containing the treasure vaults of Opar out on its desert. These are symbols common to multitudes.
I then came to the white shining mountain which might compare to the city of Opar. Censorship prevented me from climbing the mountain at that time. In other words in the control of my subconscious, consciousness was denied me. I approached the mountain from the back where I noticed a trickle of water leading into and down the mountain. I tried to drink the water but as it ran through a pure salt bed it was too salty. Unlike Burroughs who was in the pits of darkness I was always bathed in a clear light which came from nowhere.
I followed the little stream down the subterranean path into the mountain. Thus I had all land and no water, a barren psychological situation. Following the cave down I came to a series of gates made entirely of steel. I hesitated to go forward but there was no going back. I was impelled into one of the gates which turned into a chute that spilled me out onto a steel floor where unseen hands seized me pushing me into a steel room as the steel door slammed shut. Like Tarzan beneath Opar I was a prisoner with no seeming way out.
As I looked around I realized that this was a laundry room. All steel, of course. While I had no food I now had sinks full of water. My situation had been reversed from all land to all water, from the pure masculine to almost pure feminine. Where before I was barren now I was spilling over with wisdom. I knew I had to get out of there reasonably soon or I would starve to death. There was impenetrable steel all around. But I had plenty of water. Too much water. Looking around I spotted ventilation ducts along the ceiling. I conceived the notion that I could drink lots of water then urinate in the ducts which would create a foul odor that would be distributed throughout the rooms above. They would search for the source of the odor thus opening the door of my prison.
The ducts were difficult to reach but I was able to urinate in them. As I expected voices came down the duct asking ‘What is that smell?’. The door to my prison opened inward so I stood to the side that opened waiting. Sure enough a couple maintenance men flung the door open bursting into the room. I slipped out the door behind them unnoticed.
I now descended still further until I came to a bank of elevators. One door was open for which I made a rush. The elevator was packed with boys I knew from high school. With doubled fists they pushed me back refusing to allow me in the elevator with them. Mocking me as the doors closed I was left alone way down there.
There was a flight of stairs but censorship prevented my using them. I waited in vain for another elevator. As with dreams I next found myself at the back of the mountain but the path into the mountain had disappeared so I now had to climb The Great White Shining Mountain.
If, like Burroughs, I were writing a story I would provide a plausible story line for my escape but I’m not. I’m merely transcribing a dream.
The reason the mountain shone was because it was covered by snow several hundreds of feet, possibly thousands, thick. As previously the water in the stream was too salty to drink now it was frozen. The sun shone brightly, not only brightly, but brilliantly, as I began my climb. I had left the subconscious for the conscious as I strove for the light. The climb was long from the back of the brain to the forebrain but not tiring. Apart from the barrenness of the snow I was enjoying myself. Would it be too offensive a pun if I said I enjoyed being high? After a long climb I came to a precipice past which I could go no further. Nor could I go back.
As I studied my position I looked down this sheer precipice to the desert thousands of feet below. There was snow all the way to the desert floor. Down there, way down there, I could see the tiny ant-like people in the barren sands doing obeisance to the moutain which they apparently treated as a god.
Looking down the sheer face of snow I could dimly perceive the outlines of a great face carved in the snow. This god, then, retained all the water behind his visage that could make the desert bloom. Just as I had used water to escape the prison of my subconscious I conceived the notion that I could release the water and make the desert bloom freeing the people from their bondage.
Now, this was hard snow. I had no trouble walking the surface without breaking through while if the snow didn’t give way as I jumped on it to destroy the snow god I would plummet several feet into the desert. Neverthless I leaped up landing on my bottom. The snow gave way as I rode the avalanche several thousand feet down the mountain side to land on the desert floor while I destroyed the god who had been impounding the water.
Many streams now flowed out from the mountain. The desert bloomed turning green and bursting with flowers. Now that we have a comparison let us examine Burroughs’ great dream of Opar.
Opar first found expression way back at the end of 1912 and the beginning of 1913. Appearing at the end of The Return Of Tarzan the story was included in Burroughs’ fourth published story and fifth written story, the Outlaw Of Torn had been written but not published yet.
As with Invincible the story of The Return was not the story. The story was what Burroughs hung the details of what appeared to be the story on. Hence Return was rejected by Metcalf Burroughs’ first editor at Munsey’s who undoubtedly couldn’t understand it. This is the novel in which Tarzan makes his first raid on the fabulous treasure vaults of Opar. Burroughs will continue his wonder stories of Opar through three more books. Each return occurs at a crucial point in his life.
That Opar is a dream location is proven by the topography of the location. It is not too dissimilar to any dream. The jungle grows right up to the base of towering mountains behind which Opar is hidden. On the other side of these it is a dry dusty desert exemplifying Burroughs’ life as the twenty year desert in my dream did mine. Entry into the valley in this story is through a narrow defile apparently several thousands of feet high above which the peaks of the surrounding mountain range tower several thousand feet more. This entry also closely resembles that of Haggard in King Solomon’s Mines. Haggard is never far from Burroughs’ mind as he writes his stuff.
Working your way down into the dreamscape is considerably more easy than climbing it. And then off in the distance rose the shining red and gold domes and turrets of Opar. A dream city if there ever was one. One is reminded of the two great literary and psychological influences on Burroughs, H. Rider Haggard and L. Frank Baum. Of Haggard’s work beyond King Solomon’s Mines I have Heart Of The World and People Of The Mist most readily called to mind. It might be appropriate to mention that Freud also read some Haggard. He specifically mentions Heart Of The World and She but I suspect he probably read others as well. Opar might be a ruined version of Baum’s Emerald City of Oz. Opar is red and gold while from a distance its ruination is not obvious. Mine was a shining white mountain. Burroughs probably tinkered with his to make a good story better.
Now, the fabled Thebes of Greek mythology had seven gates. Cities Of The Sun had up to a hundred. Opar doesn’t have any. The entrance is a narrow cleft in the wall on which on entering this narrow 20″ gap for which Tarzan had to turn his massively broad shoulders sideways and then immediatley climb a flight of ancient stairs. This appears to be a reverse birth story in which Tarzan is reentering the womb, an impossible feat, but then, Tarzan goes where even devils fear to tread. Try some of the books of the psychologist Stanislav Grof. There’s definitely a sexual image that requires a little thought to understand. Hmm. No gates but a narrow cleft too narrow for the shoulders and a flight of steps leading back into the what, womb? Whose cleft? ERB mother’s, Emma’s, possibly Florence’s by this time, or that of his Anima figure? Well, the last is waiting for him inside the domed inner chamber of this sacred city who is aptly named La, which is French for She. ‘She’ was Ayesha the heroine of Haggard’s novel She. I’m sure Burroughs is not writing consciously here.
At this point Tarzan is accompanied by fifty of his brave and faithful but superstitious Waziri. In fact, in this story as Tarzan goes through his incarnation of a Black savage he is Chief Waziri, eponymous head of the Waziri. P. 42:
As the ape man and his companions stood gazing in varying degrees of wonderment at this ancient city in the midst of savage Africa, several of them became aware of movement within the structure at which they were looking. There was nothing tangible that the eye could grasp- only an uncanny suggestion of life where it seemed that there should be no life, for living things seemed out of place in this weird, dead city of the long dead past.
Dead city of the long dead past. That’s what dreams are all about, one’s own long dead past. Thus the ridge separating the lush live jungle from this dry, dusty plain eight years wide was Burroughs own dead past. I suggest the mountain range, perhaps sixteen thousand feet high, represented ERB’s confrontation with John the Bully when he was eight or nine. On the jungle side was his early life as a Little Prince while on the dry dusty side was his blighted, blasted life after John. Opar represents his ruined mind inhabited by the suggestion of life and the Queen of his dreams the beautiful High Priestess of the Flaming God, the woman of indescribable beauty, La of Opar.
La is obviously a combination of Haggard’s She and L. Frank Baum’s Ozma Of Oz.
Tarzan is seized by the Frightful Men, bound and gagged and left lying in a courtyard at high noon. The rays of the Flaming God bear down on him. Whether this is merely part of an ancient Oparian religious rite or whether Tarzan becomes the chosen Son of theSun a god among men, isn’t clear to the reader. The Oparians have their own ideas.
Burroughs describes this rite in a really masterful way. The maddened murderous Oparian who disturbs the ceremony just before Tarzan is to be sacrificed is nicely handled. Believe me, I feel like I am there. As La looks down on Tarzan’s form on the altar she recognizes the One, the Son of the Sun, the One for which she is destined. Once again, Haggard’s She.
Freed in the melee caused by the crazed Oparian Tarzan is taken down to the Chamber of the Dead by La where she hides him. As she said nobody would look for him in the Chamber of the Dead. This Chamber answers very well to the laundry room of my dream. Tarzan/Burroughs is in a stone dungeon with walls fifteen feet thick, fourteen in Invincible, in total darkness while I was in a steel room with no exit but bright light. These locations answer to the rigid confines of one’s owned damaged psyche. There is no way out but there is, there has to be. While palpating this stony prison at the back of the cell Tarzan discerns a flow of air coming through. This scene is a replication of one in Haggard’s King Solomon’s Mines while becoming a B movie staple. The big Bwana discovers some loose stones. He is able to dislodge these creating an exit through the fifteen foot depth of stones of the fortress wall. Somehow Burroughs has worked his psyche to give himself a chance. Once beyond the foundation walls, free of the Chamber of the Dead (I once dreamed I was looking for my soul in the House of the Distraught) but act among the living, Tarzan feels his way down this long dark corridor. One can’t be certain of ERB’s age when he achieved this escape. As it takes place just before Tarzan marries Jane the time might have been 1898-99. Perhaps when he was in the stationery business in Idaho. Perhaps something he read acted as a lever. Apart from Darwin’s Origin Of Species I would venture to say he read Eugene Sue’s Mysteries Of Paris a copy of which is in his library while traces of it are here in his earliest work.
Sue’s rare mentality permeates every page of this first visit while Sue’s extraordinary consciousness is everywhere apparent throughout ERB’s entire corpus. Burroughs himself is absolutely incredible in the manner he associates with numerous other writer’s intellects, seemingly simultaneously within a given passage or even sentence. Myself, Adams, Hillman, Broadhurst, Burger and others have written extensively on these influences. Hillman even goes so far as to virtually twin Burroughs with some of his major literary influences. Burroughs does make all these writers his virtual doubles.
I have stressed Sue’s influence in several earlier essays. I can only urge you to read Sue’s Mysteries Of Paris- a big three-volume work and too short at that- which Burroughs in his own reading found a life changing experience. Possibly he did read it in 1898-99. I found it a life changing experience; I’ve never been able to free myself of its influence, while it appears that Burroughs couldn’t either. A lot of the late nineteenth century writers make reference to Eugene Sue. H.G. Wells based the beginning of an early novel on Sue. The remnant remains only as a short story.
Sue wrote from outside the bounds of sanity. Privately I consider him insane but so brilliantly rational as to transcend the very meaning of insanity. He’s a dangerous writer. His last work was confiscated by the French authorities. It undoubtedly had such a private personal sense of morality that I am sure it would have undone society much as the pornography from Hollywood has undone ours. DeSade and Restif De La Bretonne, who in some ways Sue resembles, were mere unbalanced pornographers who disturb only the disturbed. Sue’s vision of morality is coldly clear, it forms the basis of Tarzan’s but is always on the side of reason and virtue. This fact makes it no less dangerous to a weak mind or that of the obsessive-compulsive Liberal. Still, only the strong survive. I heartily recommend you take your chance.
Tarzan freed from the prison of the psyche, was he insane? was I? or were we merely trapped by a device of other’s making? I can’t say but ERB’s sanity after he escaped was conditioned by that of Eugene Sue. I, of course, rise above all influences.
Progressing down the corridor Tarzan comes to the First Censor. He finds a gap in the floor into which he might have fallen had he not been careful. He would have fallen into the unknown but he would have been alright. He would have fallen into water which in his condition would have been life-giving water rather than dangerous or perhaps he might have drowned in the waters of the subcoscious or Oblivion.
In high school I had a teacher who used to chalk a half dozen slogans on the black board, one each morning. The only one I remember is ‘when you reach the end of your rope tie a knot and hang on.’ I did this for a couple decades then one day I let go. The joke was on me. There was nowhere to fall. I was only a fraction of an inch from a solid surface. However Tarzan culdn’t have known this since he didn’t fall in, this time. He would three years later.
By chance he looked up where he saw some light entering to discover he was at the edge of a well. Yes, you see, the water of life. He dimly descried the other side fifteen feet away which was child’s play for him to leap. Thus he passed the First Censor. Mine was at the elevators which I apparently merely disregarded.
Continuing on for some time in total darkness, so far that he believes himself outside the walls of Opar he enters the treasure vaults. These vaults are filled with what appears to be forty pound barbells of solid gold. Now, this gold is old. So old that no Oparian knows that it is there nor do any old legends even mention it. This is an intriguing part. The gold was mined millennia in the past after the sinking of Atlantis. This raises the question of what did Burroughs know of Atlantis and did he believe in it? I can’t answer the sources of the former but I’m betting on Ignatius Donnelly as one of them. As to the latter I believe he did. He mentions Atlantis in Invincible with a confidence and familiarity that convinces me that over the eighteen years since Return he has read and thought enough to convince himself of the reality of the lost continent. He appears to accept a mid-Atlantic location.
The gold represents the income he’s receiving for his stories. The stories spring from his dead past. That the vaults are outside Opar indicates he freed his mind from its prison or that the money comes from outside the prison, i.e. his publishers. That the gold is Atlantean indicates that his stories are based on his own ancient experience. In other words he is mining his past already completed as ingots or accomplished facts.
What experience then catalyzed his ability to write? I believe that from 1908-10 when he read L. Frank Baum’s Ozma of Oz, Dorothy And The Wizard Of Oz and The Emerald City Of Oz he found a means to express himself. These books bypassed his last censor allowing him to write Minidoka. That book was not suitable for publication but it freed his genius so that he immediately followed it with A Princess Of Mars.
Now, outside the gates of the Emerald City/Opar in the midst of the equivalent of Baum’s Great Sandy Desert he found the handle on his own destiny.
Tarzan locates the fifty faithful but superstitious Waziri loading them up with two forty pound ingots each and points them toward the coast.
At the same time Fifty Frightful Men from Opar who are tracking him discover Jane instead. Dreamy enough for you? Given a choice between Tarzan and Jane I’d take Jane and so did the Fifty Frightful Men.
So now Jane’s on the altar under the sacrifical knife of La. Skipping the irrelevant details La discovers Jane is Tarzan’s beloved. Interesting confrontation between Tarzan/Burroughs real life woman and his Anima. La is shattered as Tarzan rejects her for Jane.
This is a key point in the oeuvre. This is what makes the novels so repulsive to the literary mind. The story is not the story; the issue is not the issue. Opar is the story within the story that will be told in four short parts over eighteen years. So we have part one here without any indication the story will be continued. A segment of the story is just plopped down into The Return Of Tarzan, sort of irrelevantly.
Weird style actually. I’m not even sure it works, but it nevertheless must be effective else why would the stuff still be in print a century on. You’re on your own, Jack, I can’t even attempt to solve that one. Not today anyway.
The next novel examining this psychological is the 5th novel of the oeuvre, Tarzan And The Jewels Of Opar of 1915.
At this point Tarzan, a profligate if there ever was one, has run through the two tons of gold the fifty faithful Waziri brought out and is broke. Two tons of gold in three years. Think about it. He needs to make another run on Opar.
The character of the series changes with Jewels Of Opar from the character of the Russian Quartet, the first four novels. They not only have an Oz influence but they become Ozlike. Burroughs apparently drew on The Beasts Of Tarzan as the foundation for what is essentially a new series.
After writing five Oz stories, in the sixth, The Emerald City Of Oz, Baum attempted to abandon the series. He closed the series off with the news that there will be no more communication from the fairy kingdom. Because Oz has been invaded three times now, what with the advent of airplanes that will be able to spot Oz from the air Ozma is making the kingdom invisible. Is it coincidence that Opar disappears from the oeuvre after the third invasion?
Baum’s Emerald City Of Oz appeared in 1910. It was the last of the stories to be datelined Coronado in his prefaces. When he was forced to begin writing Oz stories again in 1913 they were datelined Ozcot in Hollywood. In 1910 Hollywood was just a pleasant Los Angeles suburb. The movies didn’t begin to make Hollywood the center of the world porn industry until 1914.
Whether Burroughs knew that Baum left Coronado in 1911 isn’t known but I find it signficant that when he went to California in 1913 his first choice of residence was Coronado where he perhaps thought he would be close to Baum who afer all had a close connection with Chicago. Baum wasn’t in Coronado so Burroughs moved across the bay to San Diego.
The question then is: did Burroughs make a pilgrimage to Ozcot to see Baum in 1913? I have to believe he did. Tarzan was one heck of an entree such that Baum could hardly refuse to see ERB. How long or how often the men met then is conjectural but I think it was long enough for Baum to give Burroughs some tips on fantasy writing. Already an ardent admirer of the Oz books Burroughs would have had no trouble accepting advice from this master.
Thus when Burroughs returned to LA and Ozcot in 1916 it is certain that they met while they were probably already familiar with each other. In 1919, when Burroughs moved to LA permanently, Baum was on his deathbed so there was no chance to renew the acquaintance. I also believe that Baum’s Ozcot influenced Burroughs in naming his own estate Tarzana.
In any event Tarzan returns to Opar in 1915. Except for the first visit when Tarzan following the directions of the old Waziri, chief of the Waziri, visited Opar to take the gold, in the rest of the visits he is battling interlopers who wish to steal the gold from him. It might pay to look at the nature of the intrusions and the intruders.
In 1911-12 Burroughs had for the first time in his life come into more money than he could spend, only for a brief moment of course. Thus Tarzan removes the gold more on a whim not really knowing what to do with it. One might think this a strange attitude for one who had tasted the night life of Paris; but a foolish conisistency is the bugbear of small minds as one of those venerated old timers once said. I don’t wish to be thought of as small minded so we’ll let the observation pass.
By 1915 having lost his two tons of gold in some bad investments Tarzan has better learned the value of money or, at least, the absence of it. And so, perhaps, has Edgar Rice Burroughs. One can see the ghost of old George T. shaking his head muttering: ‘When will that boy ever learn?” Well, George, it would take more time than allotted to him.
After 1912 Burroughs had created something of value. That value could be stolen or at least exploited. In 1914 McClurg’s offered him a publishing contract. Nicely crafted it gve all the advantages to McClurg’s and none to Burroughs. Burroughs undoubtedly did not understand the legal implications of what he signed. I can’t explain this but McClurg’s made no effort to merchandise a sure fire hit. They didn’t even publish the full fifteen thousand copies called for in the contract. They released the book to reprint publisher A.L. Burt after p;rinting only ten thousand copies themselves. Explain it how you will but there was a guaranteed huge absolutely visible market waiting for book publication. Syndication in newspapers had guaranteed the book’s success. So why did McClurg’s willfully refuse to take advantage of such a deal?
Burroughs probably had stars in his eyes at the prospect of 10-15% royalties on hundreds of thousands if not millions of books. Instead he got comparatively nothing. The royalties from Burt were miniscule and to be shared 50/50 with McClurg’s. You can imagine Burroughs’ disappointment as a golden future became brass before his eyes.
Back to Opar. Tarzan entered the vaults before his faithful Waziri who were warriors and would act as bearers for no other man. Alone Tarzan made six trips from the vaults to the top of the tor bringing up forty-eight forty-pound ingots. That’s 320 lbs. per carry for a total of 1920 lbs or nearly a ton. According to Freud, and I believe him, all numbers are significant, although I don’t have enough information to delve completely into the meaning of these numbers. The Waziri then brought up fifty-two ingots. some two of the fifty got stuck with carrying two ingots or two went back for one more. That made slightly over a standard of 2000 lbs.
Tarzan’s forty-eight ingots are roughly half of the total that undoubtedly represents the fifty-fifty split with McClurg’s. At the time Ogden McClurg, the son of the father who built the company, Alexander McClurg, was the nominal head of the company. The firm was actually owned by the employees since about 1902, which Burroughs probably didn’t know. The man he dealt with, Joseph Bray, was probably the real head of the company. Actually Ogden was away from the company for long stretches on adventures in Central America and WWI so that he would have been unfamiliar with the day-to-day workings of the company. Burroughs, however, formed a grudge against Ogden McClurg. I suspect that the Belgian villain Albert Werper is based partly on Ogden McClurg while also being an alter ego of Burroughs. So, a story behind the story is how Ogden McClurg stole ERB’s royalties.
At the same time Tarzan spurns La for a second time so the Anima-Animus story of Tarzan, Jane and La continues. La has Tarzan within her power but in the life and death situation love triumphs over her hurt so she spares the The Big Guy. Not without consequences. The Fifty Frightful Men, or what’s left of them after the maddened Tantor tramples a few, led by Cadj, who now makes his appearance, feel betrayed repudiating La. Thus is begun the conspiracy to replace La which will be the focal point of the next two visits. You know, love or hate, I don’t know which is to be feared the most.
In the next visit in Tarzan And The Golden Lion Tarzan has gone through his second two tons of gold. That is four tons of gold in roughly ten years plus the Jewels of Opar that our spendthrift hero has managed to go through. Four tons of gold! That’s 128,000 ounces of gold. At today’s price of over a thousand dollars an ouce it works out to 128 billion dollars and change. My friends, that is prodigality. Good thing there was more where that came from, hey?
Of course a lot of the loss came from loans to the British Empire to float the Great War. But like certain other borrowings, to which Burroughs may be making an allusion, the Empire had no intention of repaying.
Once again this sort of excess had brought Tarzan to the edge of bankruptcy not unlike ERB in 1922. Just as creditors were besieging ERB for money so some private individuals led by a former employee, Flora Hawkes, attempt to extract the gold from Opar. Tarzan first fails, then recovers not only the gold but the bag of diamonds. The significance of the jewels is explained in the Tarzan and Esteban Miranda story contained in Tarzan And The Ant Men. That story is a duplicate Jewels Of Opar with different details. The history of the Jewels Of Opar also duplicates the history of Tarzan’s locket in Ant Men. If you’ve found something good don’t hesitate to use it more than once.
Fifteen years after the visit in Jewels Of Opar and eight years after the Golden Lion/Ant Men the scene returns to Opar, where once again others are to make a run on Tarzan’s private bank at Opar. Apparently Tarzan has them baffled from the start as, although they know there are treasure vaults at Opar, they have no idea where they are. It appears the Communists have read the earlier books, but not with close attention, nor did they bring their copies along with them to bone up during all those idle moments in camp. Playing cards is alright after reading, but time better spent before. You can see why these dodos failed.
Burroughs had read his Oz stories. One can’t be sure whether he ever reread the stories or whether he was working from twenty year old memories. There are similarities here with the Emerald City Of Oz of 1910. In that book Baum attempts to end the series. He says that it will be the last communication from Oz. It too involves an invasion of Oz by the Nome King and his horrid allies. In Baum’s story Ozma refused to defend her Communist State, predating Russia by seven years, but arranges it so that the invaders who are tunneling beneath the Great Sandy Desert emerge in front of the fountain of the Waters of Oblivion. The fountain has apparently been spiked with LSD as the drinkers get lost in a world of their own returning through the tunnel without a fight. Perhaps the first military use of drugs in history. An excellent fairy tale, hey?
Burroughs’ Communists make two attempts to enter Opar. Circling the city unable to find any gates to Burroughs dreamworld they do find the narrow cleft in the wall. Spooky sounds and happenings disconcert the Blacks and Arabs of this multi-cultural coalition so that any concerted action is frustrated. Although the Russians and the Mexican, Romero, enter, only Romero has the courage to penetrate beyond the courtyard. The Russians are arrant cowards who flee at the sound of the first Oparian shriek.
Returning to base camp they find that Wayne Colt, having tramped the breadth of Africa, has joined the group.
A second attempt is made. The superstitious Arabs refuse to return being also disgusted by Zveri’s lack of leadership and cowardice. Taking the six Communists and the Blacks Zveri returns to Opar for a second attempt. While absent from the base camp the coalition begins to come apart as the Arabs desert the cause, looting and burning the camp while taking the two White women with them. La has joined Zora but more on that in the next section.
The second expedition fares no better than the first for the same reasons. On this attempt both Wayne Colt and Romero enter the sanctuary where they are engaged in a serious battle with the Frightful Men. Colt is felled by a thrown bludgeon that knocks him down but doesn’t crush his skull. Romero retreats, Colt is dropped unconscious before the high priestess, now Oah and Dooth. Cadj was destroyed by Jad-Bal-Ja in Golden Lion so Dooth has taken his place.
If La is the good mother aspect of the male psyche, Oah is the bad or wicked mother. Still beautiful but not quite as much so as La.
She orders Colt taken to a dungeon to await the full moon or some other propitious moment to sacrifice him.
Oah’s plans will be foiled because among those present is a nubile young maiden named Nao who falls head over heels for Wayne at first sight. Burroughs describes Nao as having entered the first bloom of womanhood. To me that represents a fourteen-year old girl. Indeed, Nao is fresh as a flower.
One remembers Uhha who accompanied Esteban Mirands in Ant Men was specifically mentioned as being fourteen. So the ages fourteen, nineteen and twenty have special female connotations in Burroughs’ stories. As Freud rightly says people should only be held responsible for their actions and not their thoughts. Certainly there is no mention of Miranda having relations with Uhha while Nao had to be content with watching Colt disappear into the night after she released him from prison, murdering a man, be it noted, to do it. All that Priestess sacrificial training with knives comes in handy.
It will be remembered that ERB is said to have begun proposing to Emma when she was in the first bloom of womanhood at fourteen. So it is probable that the memory is associated with Uhha and Nao.
Colt as Burroughs alter ego thus allows Burroughs to visit Opar and have his fling with Nao as Colt while Tarzan has his with La. there’s a sort of joining of the two aspects of Burroughs’ Animus much as there was with Esteban Miranda and Tarzan in Golden Lion/Ant Men as well as Werper and Tarzan in Jewels Of Opar.
Tarzan himself returns to Opar before the first expedition of the Communists.
It has been eight years and four novels since Tarzan visited the fabled red and gold city of Burroughs’ dreams. Tarzan has a number of misconceptions of his relationship with the Oparians. The high priest Cadj who had become a problem in Jewels Of Opar was killed by Jad-Bal-Ja in Golden Lion. La had been replaced on her throne with the Bolgani of the Valley of Diamonds as her body guard and the Gomangani, who had no thin veneer of civilization at all, as her slaves, I guess. Tarzan then sees himself as an Oparian benefactor, not unlike the US in today’s Iraq, who will be received as a friend. Our hero shows himself a poor psychologist.
With a light springing step he turns sideways to enter the cleft, bounds up the stairs to enter the inner sanctum where the howling Frightful Men bash him over the head yet again. Tarzan could have been tagged Skull Of Steel to survive all these bashings with very heavy clubs and grazing by full metal jacket bullets. I tell you, man, I’d reather read of adventures like this than live them.
Coming to, Tarzan is surprised to find Oah as High Priestess with Dooth as her High Priest.
‘Where is La?’ Tarzan asks.
‘Dead.’ Replies Oah. ‘Throw him in the dungeon.’
Back to the pits of Opar for the Big Bwana where one imagines his sensitive nostrils will be grossly offended.
Once again Tarzan escapes his prison. Seeking a way out he is spotted by some hairy bandy-legged men. Fleeing down an endless corridor flanked by doors he chooses one and enters. Whew! What an aroma assails his sensitive nostrils. He is face to face with a half starved lion. The Big Guy hears the hairy men rushing down the corridor just as the lion springs. The door opens inward, unlike most prisons but apparently commonly in dreamscapes, so Tarzan opens it and steps behind it. As the lion springs past him he slams the door which was not too swift a move as the bar falls locking him in. He has the comfort of hearing the lion tearing up the Frightful Men but the stench of the lion’s den for once is so powerful it disguises the aroma of a White woman at the back of the cell. Surprise! La isn’t dead she’s been palling around with this lion for a while. Fortunately as in Ant Men there is a door between her inner cell and that of the lion that she can open. They built prisons differently back then.
So, the Animus and Anima are reunited but in prison once again. As in all dream sequnces there is a way out.
There’s a lot of shuffling about; this one is fairly complicated. In order to bring food to La at the back of the cell it is necessary to first feed the lion. There is a corridor across the front of the cell. a barred gate separates it from the lion’s den while La’s cell with its unlocked door is at the back. The corridor leads to a little chamber that is open from above. The lion’s food is thrown down after the gate has been lifted and closed somehow. While the lion is feeding in this corridor the attendant picks his way among the lion piles and puddles to take the food back to La. The chow must be tasteless in this overpowering stench.
Tarzan investigates then raising the gate for La when she advises him that the Oparians are coming back with the lion. This is very fast work by the Oparians so you can see the stuff is dreamwork. Tarzan raises La into the opening following her.
They follow the winding staircase until they enter a chamber that is the highest point in Opar. Thus they have ascended from the subconscious to the conscious. Here La once again confesses her love for the Beast of Beasts. The Big Guy is still not interested.
As they are plotting a way to get down from the tower they hear someone ascending a ladder. As the fellow pops his head above floor level Tarzan seizes the guy by the neck. My first reaction was to think that this was the Old Stowaway from Tarzan And The Golden Lion who would now be sixty-eight. Apparently not although Burroughs makes him sound different from one of the Frightful Men.
The old boy assures Tarzan and La that he is faithful as he as wellas most of the Oparians pine for the return of La. Plans are made for La to return to her throne. The Old Boy was a master of deceit however. Oah, Dooth and the Frightful Men who are still very angry with La and Tarzan are waiting for the pair when they enter from behind the curtain. A little Wizard of Oz touch. Humor, I think.
Tarzan might well have voiced the words of Marty Robbins in El Paso:
Many thoughts ran through my mind
As I stood there.
I had but one chance
And that was to run.
And run the Big Bwana did in a scene that was almost as comical as when he ran from the Alalus women in Tarzan And The Ant Men.
Breaking through the ring of Frightful Men Tarzan tosses the slower La over a shoulder and rapidly puts one of his clean limbs before the other. The bandy little legs of the Frightful Men are no match for the Big Bwana. Shouting epithets like: Good riddance of bad rubbish and Don’t come back again if you know what’s good for you. they snarlingly turned back to the City of Red and Gold.
Far across the dusty plain Tarzan and La climbed the ridge separating Opar from the outside world. First outside the gates of Opar in 1915s Jewels Of Opar chasing after Tarzan, once again in Tarzan And The Golden Lion to rescue Tarzan, La now makes her longest and most hazardous stay in the great wide world.
Part Seven follows.
Themes And Variations
The Tarzan Novels Of Edgar Rice Burroughs
#5 Tarzan And The Jewels Of Opar
Du Maurier, George: Peter Ibbetson
Dudgeon, Piers: Captivated: J.M. Barrie, The Du Mauriers & The Dark Side Of Neverland, 2008, Chatto And Windus
Hesse, Herman: The Bead Game
Neumann, Erich: The Origins and History Of Consciousness, 1951, Princeton/Bollingen
Vrettos, Athena: “Little Bags Of Remembrance: Du Maurier’s Peter Ibbetson And Victorian Theories Of Ancestral Memories” Erudit Magazine Fall 2009.
While it is today commonly believed that Sigmund Freud invented or discovered the Unconscious this is not true. As so happens a great cataclysm, The Great War of 1914-18, bent civilization in a different direction dissociating it from its recent past.
Studies in the earlier spirit of the unconscious continued to be carried on by C.G. Jung and his school but Freud successfully suppressed their influence until quite recently actually. Through the fifties of the last century Freud’s mistaken and harmful, one might say criminal, notion of the unconscious held the field. Thus there is quite a difference in the tone of Edgar Rice Burroughs writing before and after the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution.
There are those who argue that Burroughs was some kind of idiot savant who somehow knew how to write exciting stories. In fact he was a well and widely read man of varied interests who kept up on intellectual and scientific matters. He was what might be called an autodidact with none of the academic gloss. He was very interested in psychological matters from hypnotism to dream theory.
The scientific investigation of the unconscious may probably be dated to the appearance of Anton Mesmer and his interest in hypnotism also variously known as Mesmerism and Animal Magnetism. The full fledged investigation of the unconscious began with hypnotism. Slowly at first but by the last quarter of the nineteenth century in full flower with varied colors. Science per se was a recent development also flowering along with the discovery of the unconscious.
While Charles Darwin had brought the concept of evolution to scientific recognition in 1859 the key discipline of genetics to make sense of evolution was a missing component. It is true that Gregor Mendel discovered the concept of genetics shortly after Darwin’s Origin Of Species was issued but Mendel’s studies made no impression at the time. His theories were rediscovered in 1900 but they were probably not widely diffused until after the Great War. Burroughs knew of the earlier Lamarck, Darwin and Mendel by 1933 when he wrote Tarzan And The Lion Man. His character of ‘God’ is the result of genetic mutation.
Lacking the more complete knowledge of certain processes that we have today these late nineteenth century speculators seem ludicrous and wide of the mark but one has to remember that comprehension was transitting the religious mind of the previous centuries to a scientific one, a science that wasn’t accepted by everyone then and still isn’t today. The Society For Psychical Research sounds humorous today but without the advantage of genetics, especially DNA such speculations made more sense except to the most hard nosed scientists and skeptics. The future poet laureate John Masefield was there. Looking back from the perspective of 1947 he is quoted by Piers Dudgeon, p. 102:
Men were seeking to discover what limitations there were to personal intellect; how far it could travel from its home personal brain; how deeply it could influence other minds at a distance from it or near it; what limits, if any, there might be to an intense mental sympathy. This enquiry occupied many doctors and scientists in various ways. It stirred George Du Maurier…to speculations which deeply delighted his generation.
Whether believer or skeptic Burroughs himself must have been delighted by these speculations as they stirred his own imagination deeply until after the pall of the Revolution and Freud’s triumph.
Burroughs was subjected to dreams and nightmares all his life. Often waking from bad dreams. He said that his stories were derived from his dreams but there are many Bibliophiles who scoff at this notion. The notion of ‘directed dreaming’ has disappeared from popular consideration but then it was a serious topic. Freud’s own dream book was issued at about this time. I have already reviewed George Du Maurier’s Peter Ibbetson on my blog, I, Dynamo and on ERBzine with Du Maurier’s notions of ‘Dreaming True’. It seems highly probable that Burroughs read Ibbetson and Du Maurier’s other two novels so that from sometime in the nineties he would have been familiar with dream notions from that source.
Auto-suggestion is concerned here and just as support that Burroughs was familiar with the concept let me quote from a recent collection of ERB’s letters with Metcalf as posted on ERBzine. This letter is dated December 12, 1912.
If they liked Tarzan, they will expect to like this story and this very self-suggestion will come to add to their interest in it.
Athena Vrettos whose article is noted above provides some interesting information from Robert Louis Stevenson who developed a system of ‘directed dreaming’ i.e. auto-suggestion. We know that Burroughs was highly influenced by Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde while he probably read other novels of Stevenson. How could he have missed Treasure Island? Whether he read any of Stevenson’s essays is open to guess but in an 1888 essay A Chapter On Dreams Stevenson explained his method. To Quote Vrettos:
Rather than experiencing dreams at random, fragmented images and events, Stevenson claims he has learned how to shape them into coherent, interconnected narratives, “to dream in sequences and thus to lead a double life- one of the day, one of the night- one that he had every reason to believe was the true one, another that he had no means of proving false.” Stevenson describes how he gains increasing control of his dream life by focusing his memory through autosuggestion, he sets his unconscious imagination to work assisting him in his profession of writer by creating “better tales than he could fashion for himself.” Becoming an enthusiastic audience to his own “nocturnal dreams”, Stevenson describes how he subsequently develops those dreams and memories into the basis for many of his published stories, most notably his 1886 Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde.
Now, directed dreaming and Dreaming True sound quite similar. One wonder if there was a connection between Stevenson and Du Maurier. It turns out that there was as well as with nearly the entire group of English investigators. Let us turn to Piers Dudgeon again, p. 102:
Shortly after they met, the novelist Walter Besant invited [Du Maurier] to join a club he was setting up, to be named ‘The Rabelais’ after the author of Gargantua and Pantagruel. Its name raised expectations of bawdiness, obscenity and reckless living, (which were not in fact delivered) as was noted at the time. Henry Ashbee, a successful city businessman with a passion for pornography, and reputed to be Robert Louis Stevenson’s model for the two sides of his creation, Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde, denounced its members as ‘very slow and un-Rabelaisian’, and there is a story that Thomas Hardy, a member for a time, objected to the attendance of Henry James on account of his lack of virility.
Virility was not the issue however. The members of the Rabelais were interested in other worlds. Charles Leland was an expert on fairy lore and voodoo. Robert Louis Stevenson was the author of The Strange Case Of Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde (1886) which epitomized the club’s psychological/occult speculations. Arthur Conan Doyle, who became a member of the British Society For Psychical Research, was a dedicated spiritualist from 1916. Henry James was probably more at home than Hardy, for both his private secretary Theodora Besanquet, and brother William, the philosopher, were members of the Psychical Society.
In many ways the Rabelais was a celebration that [Du Maurier’s] time had come. Parapsychological phenomena and the occult were becoming valid subjects for rigorous study. There was a strong feeling that the whole psychic scene would at any moment be authenticated by scientific explanation.
Du Maurier was obviously well informed of various psychical ideas when he wrote Ibbetson. In addition he had been practicing hypnosis since his art student days in the Paris of the late 1850s.
So this was the literary environment that Burroughs was growing up in. As Bill Hillman and myself have attempted to point out, ERB’s mental and physical horizons were considerably broadened by the Columbian Expo of 1893. Everything from the strong man, The Great Sandow, to Francis Galton’s psychological investigations were on display. The cutting edge of nineteenth century thought and technology was there for the interested. Burroughs was there for every day of the Fair. He had time to imbibe all and in detail. The Expo shaped his future life. That he was intensely interested in the intellectual and literary environment is evidenced by the fact that when he owned his stationery story in Idaho in 1898 he advertised that he could obtain any magazine or book from both England and America. You may be sure that he took full advantage of the opportunity for himself. As this stuff was all the rage there can be no chance that he wasn’t familiar with it all if he didn’t actually immerse himself in it. Remember his response to Kipling’s The White Man’s Burden was instantaneous. Thus you have this strange outpost of civilization in Pocatello, Idaho where any book or magazine could be obtained. Of course, few but Burroughs took advantage of this fabulous opportunity. It should also be noted that he sold the pulp magazines so that his interest in pulp literature went further back than 1910.
In addition ERB was enamored of the authors to the point of hero worship much as musical groups of the 1960s were idolized so he would have thirsted for any gossip he could find. It isn’t impossible that he knew of this Rabelais Club. At any rate his ties to psychology and the occult become more prominent the more one studies.
It seems to me that longing as he did to be part of this literary scene, that if one reads his output to 1920 with these influences in mind, the psychological and occult content of, say, the Mars series, becomes more obvious. He is later than these nineteenth century lights so influences not operating on them appear in his own work making it more modern.
At least through 1917 the unconscious was thought of as a source of creativity rather than the source of evil impulses. If one could access one’s unconscious incalculable treasures could be brought up. Thus gold or treasure is always depicted in Burroughs’ novels as buried. The gold represents his stories, or source of wealth, brought up form his unconscious. The main vaults at Opar are thus figured as a sort of brain rising above ground level. One scales the precipice to enter the brain cavity high up in the forehead or frontal lobe. One then removes the ‘odd shaped ingots’ to cash them in. Below the vaults are two levels leading back to Opar that apparently represent the unconscious. Oddly enough these passageways are configured along the line of Abbot’s scientific romance, Flatland.
In Tarzan And The Jewels Of Opar the gold is taken to the Estate and buried replicating the vaults. Once outside Opar and in circulation, so to speak, the ingots are accessible to anyone hence the duel of Zek and Mourak for them. The first gold we hear of in the Tarzan series is brought ashore and buried by the mutineers. This also sounds vaguely like Stevenson’s Treasure Island. The watching Tarzan then digs the gold up and reburies it elsewhere. In The Bandit Of Hell’s Bend the gold is stolen and buried beneath the floorboards of the Chicago Saloon. Thus gold in the entire corpus is always from or in a buried location. These are never natural veins of gold but the refined ingots.
Not only thought of as a source of treasure during this period the unconscious was thought to have incredible powers such as telekinesis, telepathy and telecommunication. One scoffs at these more or less supernatural powers brought down from ‘God’ and installed in the human mind. As they have been discredited scientifically Western man has discarded them.
On the other hand Western Man deludes himself into accepting the oriental Freud’s no less absurd assertion that the unconscious exists independently of the human body somewhat like the Egyptian notion of the ka and is inherently evil while controlling the conscious mind of the individual. This notion is purely a religious concept of Judaism identifying the unconscious as no less than the wrathful, destructive tribal deity of the old testament Yahweh. Further this strange Judaic concept of Freud was allowed to supersede all other visions of the unconscious while preventing further investigation until the writing of C.G. Jung were given some credence beginning in the sixties of the last century.
In point of fact there is no such unconscious. The supernatural powers given to the unconscious by both Europeans and Freud are preposterous on the face of it. For a broader survey of this subject see my Freud And His Vision Of The Unconscious on my blogsite, I, Dynamo.
This so-called unconscious is merely the result of being born with more or less a blank mind that needs to be programmed. The programming being called experience and education. The maturation and learning process are such that there is plenty of room for error. All learning is equivalent to hypnosis, the information being suggestion which is accepted and furthers the development of the individual. Learning the multiplication tables for instance is merely fixing them in your mind or, in other words, memorizing them. All learning is merely suggestion thus it is necessary that it be constructive or education and not indoctrination or conditioning although both are in effect. Inevitably some input will not be beneficial or it may be misunderstood. Thus through negative suggestion, that is bad or terrifying suggestions, fixations will result. A fixation is impressed as an obsession that controls one’s behavior against one’s conscious will, in the Freudian sense. The fixation seems to be placed deep in the mind, hence depth psychology. Thus when ERB was terrified and humiliated by John the Bully certain suggestions occurred to him about himself that became fixations or obsessions. These obsessions directed the content of his work.
To eliminate the fixations is imperative. This is what so-called depth psychology is all about. The subconscious, then, is now ‘seprarated’ from the conscious, in other words the personality or ego is disintegrated. The goal is to integrate the personality and restore control. Once, and if that is done the fixations disappear and the mind become unified, integrated or whole; the negative conception of the unconscious is gone and one is left with a functioning conscious and subconscious. The subconscious in sleep or dreams then reviews all the day’s events to inform the conscious of what it missed and organize it so that it can be acted on. No longer distorted by fixations, or obsessions, the individual can act in his own interests according to his abilities. The sense of living a dream life and a real life disappears.
That’s why experience and education are so important. What goes into the mind is all that can come out.
But, the investigation of the unconscious was blocked by Freudian theory and diverted from its true course to benefit the individual in order to benefit Freud’s special interests.
So, after the War ERB forgot or abandoned the wonderful notions of the unconscious and was forced to deal with and defend himself against Freudian concepts. The charactger of his writing begins to change in the twenties to meet the new challenges of aggressive Judaeo-Communism until by the thirties his work is entirely directed to this defense as I have shown in my reviews of his novels from 1928 to 1934.
Tarzan And The Jewels Of Opar then reflects this wonderful vision of the subconscious as portrayed by George Du Maurier and Robert Louis Stevenson
Then the grimmer reality sets in.
End Of Review.