Some Thoughts Concerning The Astrological Summer

Or:

Global Warming As A Natural Process

by

R.E. Prindle

 Great Year

 

Since we seem to need something to be hysterical about Algore has fixated us on Global Warming for the last decade or so. In fact, Algore seems to have started a religious crusade. It is heretical not to accept his version of reality. Just exactly what can be done about warming isn’t clear; oh, that’s right, electric cars.

Unfortunately, nothing can be done about global warming as it is a totally natural phenomenon that will continue for at least two thousand years. Our mathematicians should be able to calibrate exactly how many degrees the process will take.

Early astronomy then going by the name of Astrology had the problem worked out. If they had known what the problem was they could have provided us with the solution.

The problem is with the Great Year and it can’t be corrected; it can only be endured. Looking at the first diagram above you will notice a tipped over globe. That tip is known as the Plane of the Ecliptic. It amounts to 23 ½ or 24 degrees and produces a wobble in the orbit of the globe. Each wobble takes about 25K years to complete.

Sphinx2

As with the terrestrial year of months the Great Year was divided into 12 units called Ages. So the Zodiac is one monstrously huge timepiece. As the globe wobbles seasons, as above so below, are created. There are Astrological winters, or ice ages, as we call them, and summers, or Global Warming, as Algore calls them.

If you look at diagram one you will notice that the ice age occurred when the pole star was Vega. So Vega is the winter marker while Polaris is the Summer marker.

At Vega the Northern Hemisphere was angled as far away from the sun as it can get; hence North America toward the pole was covered with a humongous ice sheet which over roughly twelve thousand years became thousands of feet thick. Instead of rising the ocean levels dropped exposing millions of square miles of new land.

Then, as the Astrological year progressed Spring arrived during the Ages of Virgo and Leo and ‘global warming’ began. The ice cap collapsed sending out huge flood waves that raised ocean levels to nearly what they are today. All settlements and/or cities located on the ocean’s marge were inundated under hundreds of feet of water. Oops, there went Atlantis.

Since the Mediterranean was occupied the residents fled the Great Flood for higher ground on all sides of the Mediterranean. The priestly class, obviously, headed for the Nile Delta probably settling at its apex near Memphis as it was called. It was there they built their memorial to what was- the three great pyramids setting these astrological clocks at the Age of Leo soon after the disaster occurred. All the astronomical sights are set for that Age. We are now five Ages past Leo in the midst of the Astrological summer. Spring has been passed.

The Age of Aquarius will likely be the equivalent of the terrestrial month of August; hence Aquarius should be an age of continuing warming leading to the Age of Capricorn cooling and hence to a new ice age or winter when Vega once again becomes the pole star.

Thus, as is happening now, for the next two thousand years at least the Northwest Passage will open and remain open; a couple thousand feet of ice or more will melt from Greenland. If as with the North Amrican ice sheet the ice of Greenland collapses then the water level of the oceans might rise a number of feet within a year.

Electric cars will not change the Astrological reality. We are talking science here, if you didn’t recognize it. The Great Year and its consequences are real. Live, love, laugh and be happy, don’t be hysterical. If you don’t want to move to higher ground now, I live at a thousand feet above sea level well prepared to withstand the Astrological judgment day, then be prepared to be flooded out, if you live long enough.

Just some thoughts.

 

Diagrams borrowed from: http://www.revealer.com/review.htm

La Maison de la Derniere Cartouche

Maison

A Contribution To The ERB

Library Project

A Review: Atlantida

By Pierre Benoit

Review by R.E. Prindle

Pierre Benoit’s excellent novel Atlantida: The Queen Of Atlantis was first published in 1919. Written in French it was translated in 1920 so it is possible that Burroughs read it. There is a possible reference to the book in Tarzan the Invincible, I’ll get to that later. Benoit himself was accused of ‘plagiarizing’ H. Rider Haggard but he defended himself by saying he neither read nor spoke English while Haggard was not translated into French as of 1919.

It matters little as Benoit, Haggard and Burroughs all knew their Greek mythical heritage and all seem to be addressing the male-female conflict from the same intellectual approach derived from that mythology. And they all placed their stories in Africa, a burning question of the day.

The heroine of Benoit’s novel, Antinea, is an irresistible woman along the lines of Haggards She and Homer’s Circe, and Burroughs’ La. All three women rule over lost lands. Antinea lures Aryan men to her to her palace carved from a mountain of the Ahaggar range.

The Ahaggar range, Ahagger is Taureg, the Arabic is Hoggar, is located almost in the middle of the Sahara at what is now the Southern extremity of Algeria. Its highest peak is nearly 10,000 feet in elevation, the whole massif of a half million square kilometers being at the same elavation as Denver, a mile high. Boiling summers and freezing winters and fair moisture.

Antinea having lured the men entrances them and when they no longer amuse her she embalms them alive in a unique metal called Orichalch. Thus, they are preserved forever as they were in life. An advance on all other methods. The question is why does she do this?

The answer is explained by Benoit’s character Mesge:

“Now you know,” he repeated. “You know, but you do not understand.”

Then, very slowly, he said:

“You are as they have been the prisoners of Antinea. And vengeance is due Antinea.”

“Vengeance?” said Morhange…For what, I beg to ask? What have the lieutenant and I done to Atlantis? How have we incurred her hatred?”

It is an old quarrel, a very old quarrel.” The Professor replied gravely. “A quarrel which long antedates you, M. Morhange.”

“Explain yourself, I beg of you, Professor.”

“You are a Man. She is a Woman…the whole matter lies there.”

“Really, sir, I do not see…we do not see.”

“You are going to understand. Have you really forgotten to what an extent the beautiful queens of antiquity had just cause to complain of strangers whom fortune brought to their borders? The poet, Victor Hugo, pictured their detestable acts well enough in his colonial poem called la Fille d’ Otaiti. Wherever we look we see similar examples of fraud and ingratitude. These gentlemen made free use of the beauty and the riches of the lady.   Then, one fine morning, they disappeared. She was indeed lucky if her lover, having observed the position carefully did not return with ships and troops of occupation….Think of the cavalier fashion in which Ulysses treated Calypso, Diomedes Callirrhoe. What should I say of Theseus and Ariadne? Jason treated Medea with inconceivable lightness…”

And so on. Thus on page 114 of 229 Benoit explains the nature of his story. Bear in mind that of Circe and Ulysses in which Circe enslaves all the men who approach her and turns them into swine by lust while Ulysses with a pocket full of mole to defend himself resists her charms, maintains his manhood, rescues his sailors and sails away. So, while there are great similarities between Benoit’s, Haggard’s and Burrough’s stories they could easily derive from the same sources; variations on a theme. Of course, Burrough’s La is derived from Haggard’s She. But La is closer to Antinea in method than She. La’s job in Opar is to sacrifice men on the bloody altar. La is also from Atlantis. And all three share the glorious tradition of being too beautiful to resist.

Benoit himself the son of a French diplomat grew up in Tunisia and Algeria where he became acquainted with the desert and its legends. Thus, his story is an authentic addition to the great stories of the African explorers and the fictions of Haggard, Burroughs, Edgar Wallace, Mrs. Hull, P.C. Wren and others.

Benoit charmingly writes his story as current history rather than fiction without any framing story. He includes the Emperor Louis Napoleon and others as well as showing himself familiar with the latest Parisian designers and bon ton retail establishments. He mentions a painting titled La Maison Des Derniers Cartouches which can be found on internet and with which I have headed the review. Translated it means The House of the Last Bullet. I’m sure all his Parisian references are real but they have slipped through the crack of time had have not found a place on the internet.

In this case there is a Captain Avis who is believed to have murdered his fellow, Capt. Morhange and hence is in bad odor. This is the mystery that holds the story together. We learn later how Morhange died. Avit is transferred to a desert post, indeed demanded the transfer, managed by Lieutenant Ferrieres who is about to embark on a mission passing the Ahaggar massif.

Algeria. Sahara Desert. Ahaggar Mountains. Atakor Massif.

Ahaggar Plateau

At the post Saint Avis tells Ferrieres of his strange adventure in the Ahaggar Mountains with Capt. Morhange during which Morhange perishes. The African scenery is different than any of the authors mentioned and the setting is quite spectacular.

Morhange and Avit are caught in a freak storm on the slopes of the Ahaggar, and apparently these are not uncommon on the massif, where they rescued a Taureg from drowning who happens to be the procurer of European men for Antinea. The two soldiers are procured and delivered to the Atlantian Queen.

Somewhat very similar to scenes from Haggard’s She they are conducted to a great room or hall where fifty some embalmed former lovers stand in niches. The truth descends on our sexual warriors.

Morhange who, being the more handsome and impressive of the two, finds favor with the Queen of Atlantis also, not unlike Ulysses and Circe, is proof to her blandishments and beauty. What he had is his pocket isn’t mentioned. His refusal eventually enrages Antinea. Without going into details, Antinea hypnotizes Avit into taking her large silver hammer with which she bangs her gong and giving Morhange such a good bash it cracks the man’s skull to pieces. Thus she solves her problem of being rejected by Morhange.

A digression here. Benoit here shows off is knowledge. Amazingly I was able to get it. In Paris at the time there was a theatre called The Grand Guignol. It was a place of horrors, a sadists delight, at which all kinds of gruesome murders, mutilations and disfigurations were enacted. Apparently the scenes were so realistic that the faint hearted actually fainted and a doctor was kept on the premises to deal with these frequent occurrences. Now, a guignol is something like a puppets booth. Benoit has Avit climb into a guignol in Antinea’s boudoir where he watches the horror of Morhange being dismissed after which Antinea calls his down, hypnotizes him, hands him the silver hammer, directs him to Morhange’s room and watches as Avit cracks his friend’s skull. The horror, the horror. So Benoit demonstrates he is au courant with Paris’ entertainments.

Avit then turns to thoughts of escape. Here Benoit displays a certain genius in moving his story along.

Antinea had a slave girl named Tanit Zerga who became enamored of Avit and also wishes to escape to return to her people. She organizes the escape attempt. As it turns out she is a princess also, of the Trarzan Moors on the North side of the Senegal River. Bear in mind that everything mentioned in the story is real except the story itself. The Trarzan Moors exist to this day and of course the Senegal is one of the great rivers of Africa. The history is within the realm of fact. Only the story and its leading characters are fiction. Benoit does not spare the reader his knowledge. The man has been around.

The pair are assisted by the procurer rescued by Avit in the storm. He is quite willing to help because he tells Avit he will be back, no one who has ever known Antinea can escape her charms. All the victims in the hall had died of love.

Here’s a Burroughs connection indicating he may have read the book. Tanit Zerga resembles Nao, the fourteen year old girl who rescues Wayne Colt in Tarzan the Invincible only to be discarded coldly as were the heroines mentioned. It would be pushing it too far to claim Burroughs did read the book but he often got his scenes and incidents from other authors so I’m about three fourths convinced.

At any rate Tanit Zerga dies in the desert carrying on Benoit’s theme of women making sacrifices for ungrateful men.

The story then returns to the Foreign Legion camp of Ferrieres as he and Saint Avit are to make a trip across the desert passing the Ahaggar massif. As prophesied, to know Antinea is to love her forever, and her lovers all died from love, so he intends to return to the Ahaggar’s and his certain death. Whether Ferrieres will accompany him is left open.

The book was a slow starter but one is gradually swept along almost as a participant as the storm increases. A very exciting conclusion. Benoit’s is a very worthy book for Bibliophiles. If it wasn’t in Burroughs’ library it must have been through neglect or loss. Highly recommended.

Pierre Benoit 1932

300px-Pierre_Benoit_1932

A Poetic Pas De Deux Between

Frank and plainmama

by

Frank Solanki

An edited version from

Frank’s blog.

I gave birth to a lie and it gave birth to many more.

I watched it multiply till I could stop it no more.

It was all fine until truth decided to come out

And draw a thin line

Between truth and doubt.

The lies were spread, the truth washed them away.

Soon, they were all dead but the scars came to stay.

Now, the lies are gone the truth never picked a side.

Scars are reborn

The mother has died.

 

These words spoke to plainmama and she replied:

plainmama:

 

Truth has healing power.

It might feel raw right now,

Like ripping off a band aid,

But wounds heal faster

When exposed to the air of truth.

They only fester when covered with lies.

Take care of yourself, my friend.

Give yourself of grace and love

In tough times.

Much love.

 

Frank:

 

Thanks a lot.

 

plainmama:

 

Of course.

And if you need a friend

I’m always here.

 

Frank:

 

I know that.

Hope you are doing good

Too.

 

plainmama:

Trying not to get sick

In a house of illness.

It’s a tough task.

 

Frank:

 

Oh, it is.

 

Plainmama:

 

Yes!

When you are the day care,

Cook and night nurse

Exposure and Exhaustion

Makes the statistics of my

Contracting said illness

Fairly high.

Maybe wine will help?

Is that one of the old remedies?

Just say yes.

 

Frank:

 

Yes.

So who’s the one running sick?

 

plainmama:

 

3 of 4 boys.

Eldest has held out.

I’m sure he will be barfing tomorrow.

 

Frank:

 

Oh, that’s a tough situation.

 

plainmama:

 

Par for the parenting course.

 

Frank:

 

Haha. Yes, but I guess it’s worth the memories.

 

plainmama:

 

Puke does not equal memories.

For Puker or puke cleaner,

Or puke watcher

Or puke smeller

Or in regards to

Puke, barf or vomit.

 

Frank:

 

Oh, I feel your pain.

 

plainmama:

 

Disgust would be a better word.

There is not much grosser than vomit.

 

Frank:

I’ll talk to you later.

‘Bye.

 

 

Is There An Anti-Democratic

Movement In The US?

by

R.E. Prindle

https://newrepublic.com/article/138019/right-giving-democracy

 

My attention was drawn to the above linked article by a Facebook colleague, Michael Sellers. Michael is a Liberal and viewed the article differently than myself who am a historical researcher and hence have no interest in political labels as such. I try to rise above current disputes to put them into a larger or macro historical context. As President Obama says of himself: when they go low I go high.

Thus the article of 10/24/16 by one Jeet Heer entitled The Right Is Giving Up On Democracy seemed to me to be analyzable in a macro context; that is Global rather than parochial. That involves the current problem of the transfers of populations from one area of the globe to another. This usually means from outside Euroamerica to European and North American countries.

As Euroamerica is the gold standard for advanced cultures the migrants come from less developed countries and often from medieval or even primitive cultures centuries behind in modern knowledges. While these migrants appear to adapt to the advanced culture of Euroamerica it is but doubtful they can understand it.

Such is the case with Jeet Heer who wrote the article under consideration. While biographical information is difficult to obtain about Mr. Heer he came from Southern India. He now resides in the Canadian Province of Manitoba, Canada. Whether Mr. Heet was born in Canada or arrived in North America as a young child isn’t clear. At any rate his parents are native to India. Why they chose to leave that beautiful warm country for cold and desolate Canada seems inscrutable but apparently they were dissatisfied with that ancient and lovely culture. Perhaps India wasn’t diverse enough, so they chose to live in the multi-cultural West.

As any trans-national migrant knows, or should know, the transition from being an Indian to an English speaking Canadian would be difficult. However as India was tutored by England over a period of centuries that has melded to some extent Indian and English mores and customs perhaps the Heet family foresaw fewer problems than they experienced. In any event as Mr. Heet says they brought the whole extended Heet family after them.

As the Americas were settled by peoples from outside the continent a certain attitude developed toward immigrants that favors new migrants over older migrants; that is new migrants are allowed to dispossess older migrants in much the same way that the exogenous peoples originally dispossessed the indigenous peoples.

It is no surprise then that Mr. Heet was been made senior editor of the US Communist magazine The New Republic while older migrants perhaps more qualified were passed over. While, from reading Mr. Heet’s work, I am sure there must be more qualified people from an earlier wave of migrants who understand that strange beast, the American psyche, better. I must believe that Mr. Heet is unqualified for the position he enjoys, I don’t see the necessary acumen.

Mr. Heet titles his article: The Right Is Giving Up On Democracy. He does this without realizing the Left’s definition of democracy. He apparently thinks theirs is the only definition while there are many others. In mid-twentieth century US democracy was understood to mean that class distinctions had a minimal effect on any and individual’s right to achieve whatever his abilities permitted. At the three quarter point of the century the Liberal reinterpretation of democracy began to replace the traditional idea.

Democracy since that point has been interpreted to mean that collectives have rights to extort whatever they can to dominate society disregarding individual rights. Each collective is supposed to have a right to a proportional representation regardless of individual ability that displaces merit. Thus the lesser able or qualified displace the meritorious. For instance, since women constitute roughly 50% of the population it is thought right that 50% of all, say, executives must be women regardless of merit if they are not then democracy is being violated.   Racially it is thought that executives must ‘look like’ the population. That is the colored should displace whites regardless of merit. No tests of ability are permitted because that might be discriminatory.   Thus the best will be shunted aside to satisfy ideology. That seems to be how Mr. Heet got his job.

So, he says the right is giving up on democracy, but the Left abandoned democracy long ago. Apparently Mr. Heet cannot recognize that the Leftist president, Barack Obama created an authoritarian dictatorship eight years ago. Obama has rigged the system. He assumes the roles of the executive, legislative and judicial in himself. He was in the process of appointing stooges to the Supreme Court who wouldn’t challenge his preemption of Congress by issuing executive orders because the ‘emergency’ of the moment required it. The Left calls this democracy.

It is no wonder then that the Right realizing that democracy had been aborted began searching for an alternative. Catching this sets Mr. Heet off on his rant. He follows the Leftist rhetoric. Naturally he builds his case on a rejection of his scapegoat Trump. Because in the Third Debate in a provocative question from the Jewish moderator, Chris Wallace, who demanded irrelevantly of Trump whether, as I understood it, Trump would contest the count if it went against him. Trump’s answer was a reasonable, we’ll wait and see. Mr. Heet interpreted the question and answer to mean Trump would lead an armed uprising, hence giving up on democracy.

It was of course a set up question as Hillary answered decidedly Yes. But, of course, if your party were rigging the election in your favor who wouldn’t.

Trump’s answer then prompted Mr. Heet to come to the startling conclusion: ‘As always with Trump the temptation is to interpret this apostasy through the lens of individual psychology.’ [By ‘apostasy’ I presume Mr. Heet means from democracy as though democracy were a religion.]

Heet continues: This diagnosis is easy enough: By discounting the election results beforehand, Trump was preemptively assuming the role of a sore loser, exhibiting an irresponsible peevishness all too characteristic of his runaway narcissism and his sexism….

Whew! He’s got the words but not the rhythm. Sexism? What’s that? Aren’t homosexuals and lesbians sexist by their very nature? Isn’t feminism sexist for the same reason? Aren’t those groups aggressive in their sexism? Are not they narcissistic by definition? You see how Mr. Heet undermines his own argument.

And then…Mr. Heet slams half the country, dividing it into two camps …’and bringing the yahoos of the Republican base along with him.’ The left has a lot of defamatory names for those who disagree with them. Defamation is their mode of argument. Obama called us Domestic Terrorists among many others, racists. Knuckle draggers, that is, I presume, gorillas (gorilla is a racist word in the US, ape, monkey) but the Left don’t pay no mind unless it is used against them.

Then comes another unwarranted assumption: ‘Yet such a personalized account of Trump’s behavior has the effect of letting his political party and supporters off the hook. Not just for supporting him but for sharing his grim view of American democracy.’

Can Mr. Heet support such inflammatory opinions, for that is all they are. I don’t think he has accurately represented me in his blanket condemnation of Trump supporters. But Mr. Heet is just getting started. I’m just hitting the high spots now. Nearly every sentence is wildly wide of the mark.

After excoriating Trump in his first couple pages or four or five hundred words Mr. Heet then turns to the matter of his article’s title, that of the right giving up on democracy. Which of many versions of democracy he doesn’t say but one presumes all democracy but more especially the ‘our’ democracy of the Left.

He does however provide a reason for the Right’s giving up on democracy, he says: ‘Beyond this election, beyond even the fate of the Republican Party, there is a significant minority of Americans who are giving up on democracy because it doesn’t serve their purpose of upholding a white Christian patriarchy.’

If one dissects this sentence one quickly discerns that what we have here is a religious fear. Mr. Heet isolates the religious fear of democracy as a White Christian matter. This begs the question of the fear of democracy of other religions. How exclusive is this fear to Christianity? Certainly the Semitic religions are consumed by fear of democracy they being in essence authoritarian in nature. Does Mr. Heet think that Moslemism is democratic in its beliefs? Surely, he jests. There is no more authoritarian patriarchal religion and government than Moslemism. Has Mr. Heet never heard of ISIS? Need I say more? Nor is the Judaic religion any more democratic than Moslemism. Judaism is the father of Moslemism.

We have no way of knowing whether Mr. Heet is Moslem or Hindu but need I remind Mr. Heet that Hinduism is a caste society where neither equality or democracy has been known for millennia. Mr. Heet must know all this so that isolating Christianity as paternalistic and undemocratic is sheer and total bigotry. Therefore we are right to treat Mr. Heet himself as an unbalanced bigot.

How then ae we to treat Mr. Heet’s ridiculous statement: ‘Trump’s anti-democratic rhetoric- and the eagerness of so many good white patriotic Americans to cheer it and believe it- as a symptom of the larger trend on the political right toward doubting the legitimacy of the American system. The question that we need to be asking isn’t, “Why is Trump being such a jerk?” It’s why is the American Right giving up on democracy?’

Why indeed? Could it be that anti-democratic forces such as the Moslems, the Jews and Negroes have very nearly subverted democracy itself making its maintenance impossible in a multi-cultural environment in which so many of those cultures have no tradition of democracy, don’t understand it and see no reason to maintain it.

While fashionably inveighing against authoritarian government that is the very form of government they wish to impose making themselves the supreme law giving culture. Thus we have the Moslem wish to impose Sharia law in the West, the Jewish wish to impose Jewish law, the Negro wish to impose African supremacy and so on. The chorus of all is that Whites have to submit to their particular mores, laws and culture. Whites simply cannot exist.

Mr. Heet must know this and our Mike Sellers ought to know this. Please abandon the hypocrisy. Democracy is over, murdered by the very people appearing to laud it. Today it is culture against culture, all against one and one against all.

Whites should bloc vote for Trump; it is every culture for itself.   Vote Trump or get on your knees.

 

 

A Beatles Fantasia:

John Lennon In Leather

  R. E. Prindle

 

December 1961: Singer, guitarist and songwriter John Lennon (1940 - 1980) of the British group The Beatles live on stage at the Cavern Club in Matthew Street, Liverpool. (Photo by Evening Standard/Getty Images)

December 1961: Singer, guitarist and songwriter John Lennon (1940 – 1980) of the British group The Beatles live on stage at the Cavern Club in Matthew Street, Liverpool. (Photo by Evening Standard/Getty Images)

Dizzy Dez, a fellow Beatles researcher and internet friend, recently wrote a piece ( https://thenumbernineblog.wordpress.com/2016/09/22/taking-the-world-by-hurricane/   ) about the strange story of Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. Rory Storm led the most popular Liverpool band of the period. He was more important in Liverpool and Frankfurt than the Beatles. Yet, as Diz points out, when all the shouting was over and the dust had settled, the Beatles went unto worldwide fame pulling the best of the Liverpool bands after them, Rory Storm was left out in the cold. He never knew other than Liverpool success.

Just an inconsequential odd fact (except to Rory) that I found interesting but also significant. It was good of Diz to dig this story up, but then, Diz left me with a thought: What if the Beatles’ success had nothing to do with their talent; what if the only reason they found success was a fact that had nothing to do with their musical skills; what if their success depended on a queer’s fascination with one John Lennon?

Consider that Liverpool was an English backwater, a tough , gritty town with little sophistication and small hopes. If you have ever been in the Liverpool/Bristol area you really know what depression is. I was never so happy to leave an area since. I had become acquainted with a bottom surpassing Philadelphia and that is saying a lot.

So, in 1960-62 what you had was a city full of louts, what the English call Yobboes, desperately trying to find some distinction for their lives by playing in rock bands. In 1960 that was a desperate hope indeed. The hope was so desperate that the bands ended up playing before a bunch of rowdies and prostitutes, the underbelly of civilization, in Hamburg’s red light district on the Reeperbahn. Not the place for refined cultured manners. More like changing you from a lout or Yobbo into a super Yobbo. The indications are that the Beatles became very rough.   What the homosexuals call ‘rough trade.’

In any event the Beatles went to Hamburg where they refined their rock n’ roll skills coming back to Liverpool to take their place in the hierarchy of Liverpool bands where they were a sensation although lower in the hierarchy than Rory Storm and his Hurricanes. Still in their locality and in their age and social set they were prominent.

Now, the local record store, NEMS, was managed for the family firm by a young homosexual Jew, Brian Epstein. At the time it was a punishable offence to public morals to be a homosexual so Brian Epstein was quite repressed. Raised on all the Jewish holocaust nonsense he felt like a powerless oppressed Jew. Therefore as a homosexual Jew he favored the rough trade.

Probably having heard the Beatles talked about along their outrageous leader John Lennon, dressed all in black leather, Brian made it down to the local rock emporium, the Cavern, to have a look.

What he saw made his dick throb. There on stage was God’s own Yobbo, John Lennon resplendent in his leather while projecting confidence and totally outrageous. Rough trade on a stick. Gimme dat ding. So, totally smitten Brian has to figure out a way to realize his dream.

It is clear that Brian wasn’t on the make to find a band to promote; for Christ’s sake he had a city full of rock bands to choose from including Liverpool’s number one, Rory Storm and the Hurricanes and he made no effort to sign any. But, suppose he heard of Lennon’s desire to be the toppermost of the poppermost. Perhaps, Brian thought, I’m in the record business, I know execs at the London labels, perhaps if I gave John what he wants he would let me make him mine. Sounded good.

Now, let’s be clear, when Brian approached the London labels there was no interest in the Beatles or any other Liverpool band. There was no reason for any exec to ever even visit Liverpool and perhaps none ever had. Regardless of any talent, that had not yet been demonstrated, the Beatles were not going anywhere. The execs even considered the name stupid; what in the hell does beatle mean? Can’t even spell it right. Brian persisted and if he hadn’t the Beatles would never have had a shot at the bigtime. They would have disappeared the way they came in, unnoticed. The Beatles were going nowhere.

But, and this is the important fact here, Brian had a hard on for John. Bear this in mind, Brian had a tin ear, he could have cared less about the Beatles as a band; he had a hard on for John. And hopefully by making John the toppermost of the poppermost, and this meant only the small market of England, it was inconceivable that any band, let alone an English band, could become a worldwide phenomenon. Whatever happened next was totally serendipitous. Who could have dreamed of worldwide fame and hundreds of millions of dollars.

So Brian signed his Boys, as they say in the managerial parlance, and left for London to put them in a recording contract. Of course NEMS was a major account in the retail record world so Brian got a polite hearing but no real enthusiasm. Probably to get rid of a pest who wouldn’t quit he was allowed an audition. But this was only after making the rounds.

The Beatle’s ended up at EMI’s sub-label Parlophone and had George Martin assigned to them as a producer. While the Beatles had been all the rage on the Reeperbahn of ill fame and the backwater burg of Liverpool, what set the four aflame in those two locations was not so evident in the London recording studio. It was like someone from Poughkeepsie showing up on the Great White Way. George Martin found their musicianship flimsy but something apparently appealed to him about them. Everything about them was off, they still had the aroma of the Reeperbahn, but, the story goes, George was a technical wizard, so somewhat in the way David Seville created Alvin and the Chipmunks George’s wizardry created the Beatles. This is the legend.

The label thought they were hopeless so perhaps as a joke they allowed the Beatles to make ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand’ as a first record. And as with Alvin and the Chipmunks they probably viewed the disc as a novelty record; something along the lines of Mrs. Miller the off key virtuoso.

They were surprised when the record took off. No less surprised than I was when the record was a success in the US. Why the hell does anyone like that I wondered. But I and we were witnessing several seemingly unrelated things: First the song was the first true teenybopper, bubble gum song that soon inspired groups like the Ohio Express and the Lemon Pipers. ‘Yummy, yummy, yummy, I’ve got love in my tummy.’ Remember that inspired tune? A step up from, I Want To Hold Your Hand.

The social conditions were right for the Beatles innocent, probably tongue in cheek, song. The Fifties had been tense what with the Cold War and the Bomb and things were getting more tense. Nerves were frayed. Perhaps a return to innocent pleasures of the young were in order. At any rate after becoming the rage in England Brian had actually jockeyed the Beatles and John into the toppermost of the poppermost in that small sceptered island but after a terrific promo campaign in the US when their plane landed, they hit exactly the right insouciant note at the exact right psychological moment in time. You can’t plan this. Nobody, nobody, could have forecast that. Brian and the Beatle’s ship had come in.

John Lennon had realized his dream in a Spade Royal Flush. The Beatles, words fail me, were on top of the world. The planet’s first globally successful band. They were bigger than Jesus. Oops, when John said that all hell broke loose. Abashed, John announced they would tour no more. When it came to business sense John was lacking but he and the band were only musicians, a ‘hot little band’ as McCartney recently characterized them.

But what about Brian?’ What about Brians’s reward. He had little business sense too and hadn’t been working for the success that came or was prepared for it. Of course John and the rest knew Brian was a poof. Who didn’t except for those who chose not to see. Brian had always been attentive to John in that peculiar way, certainly that hadn’t escaped he leader of the band. He joked about how Brian and the whole record industry was Jewish and queer.

According to Peter Brown in his ‘The Love You Make: An Insider’s Story Of The Beatles’, Brian did get his reward. Brown says that Brian invited John on a holiday in Spain and there John gave him the reward he wanted.

What if the story of the Beatles success had nothing to do with their musicianship, their songwriting, their personalities or anything else but Brian Epstein getting a hard on for a bit of rough trade: John Lennon in leather.

Wouldn’t that make a fabulous movie? Wouldn’t that be as ironical as all get out? It might not be literally true but it can’t be too far from the truth. Forget about poor old Rory Storm and the Hurricanes, history’s forgotten band. Once again, what a movie.

 

 

Opening A Case For The Reexamination

Of  The History Of The Twenties And Thirties

by

R.E. Prindle

 

No period of US history, or world history for that matter, is more misunderstood than the nineteen twenties and thirties. Some reevaluation is beginning to appear but much remains to be done.

In the following two essays I attempt a more accurate understanding of the squabble between the Jews and Henry Ford. You may be shocked, yes, shocked to find that Ford was not in the wrong nor was he an anti-Semitic demon. This is really interesting stuff.

 

https://idynamo.wordpress.com/2013/09/12/henry-ford-and-the-international-jewish-conspiracy/

 

http://reuprindle.blogspot.com/2013/11/henry-ford-and-aaron-sapiro-case.htm

 

https://contemporarynotes.wordpress.com/2013/11/02/part-ii-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case/

 

https://idynamo.wordpress.com/2013/11/24/part-iii-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case/

 

https://contemporarynotes.wordpress.com/2014/01/18/part-iv-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case

 

 

https://idynamo.wordpress.com/2014/02/03/part-v-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case/

 

https://idynamo.wordpress.com/2014/02/19/part-vi-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case/

 

https://idynamo.wordpress.com/2014/07/22/part-viii-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case/

 

 

The Vampyres Of New York

Clip 10

A Novel

by

R.E. Prindle

 

I sat comfortably in my chair with a glass of excellent Cabernet looking benignly at Lessing, Giusti, Barron Cammell and in the speaker’s seat, Max Savings. There was some uneasiness as the Chicago insurrection was still raging, other disturbances were taking place in cities with majority Negro populations. While cause for concern, the concentration of Negroes in urban centers localized the disturbances rather than making them general.

In many other majority Negro areas most of the Negroes had found it expedient to head for the big cities. Thus the Negro-White situation was rather cleanly divided. Of course Manhattan was a different situation. The Negro population had halved over the past three years so while seven and a half percent was still a large population on Manhattan Island their minority status quietened them somewhat while having been expelled from the Aryan areas even those are untouched directly by the gathering storm. The news today had announced the formation of a New Islamic Republic in lower Manhattan so hostilities were imminent from that part of the city.

I think it struck all of us as odd that we were to discuss events that occurred a hundred years ago having little or no reference to today. It seemed rather eerie. Nevertheless Max began:

Max: All of us are old enough for the Bolshevic Revolution to have influenced our lives. Those born in the year 2000, now turning eighteen, may not have even heard of it, or if they have, its irrelevance to them leaves the mention of it forgotten.

Those born after, say, nineteen-eighty are old enough for more to have heard of it and perhaps taken cognizance of it but except for the few more scholarly the Revolution lacks meaning. The names of the participants save Lenin and Stalin have no true meaning to the majority of Americans living. Even the term American now has little real meaning. It is good to have some company tonight who share my interest. Sometimes walking down the street I feel like a time traveler visiting the future or perhaps a transient from a parallel universe, a man from Mars.

So, the greatest heist in History has gone down the memory hole. The theft of the wealth of a great and extensive nation.

The seizure of the government of Russia by the Bolshevics was accomplished by men who had never know power, men who had no experience or notion of governing, no background in economics nor did they ever have any idea of what money is. Thus when they gained power they were astonished to find that civilization was based on money, and they had no idea where money came from. They immediately destroyed the economy, that is the taxation base so that the only liquid wealth they had was the gold reserves and they were running through those fast.

Knowing nothing of relative value they valued the accumulated wealth of centuries at face value not realizing you could flood the market on things of extrinsic value such as jewels and art works but thing of intrinsic value such furs were only used goods that sold at fire sale prices.

Nevertheless they plowed ahead. Since they were murdering the aristocracy the aristocrats grabbed whatever of value was portable and fled the country. Thus, not only were these confiscated goods a drug on the market but for decades they were a drug on the market. The emigres growing more impoverished by the year they sold their jewels and other portable wares while becoming a laughing stock.

Imagine having been the equals in the highest society then walking around in worn out outdated clothes, no money, while being mocked as ‘Count’ if you dared to say who you had been. And then as former autocrats of Russia they were despised and hated as much as the Germans have been since the last quarter of the nineteenth century.

As they walked the streets, warehouses in the new Soviet Union, the name Russia having been obliterated from the maps, were packed with long rows of stolen or ‘appropriated’ fur coats, furniture, painting and any removables of value. Not only did the Soviets steal from the aristocrats but in an anti-Christian frenzy fabulous churches were invaded, priestly vestments, irreplaceable icons, gold and silver vessels, anything, anything of value was removed. The Soviets themselves were then on the same level as the displaced aristocrats. They had miles of stolen goods but no money.

The Money Trust, both gois and Jews, was willing to make loans to them but the amount of money required to maintain the old Russian Empire couldn’t be obtained through loans; loans were just stop gap measures and since the Soviets had no income they couldn’t pay the loans back anyway let alone the interest.

In desperation they took like some Jewish old clothes peddlers to trying to hawk old fur coats, paintings, used furniture. The Soviet Union in many ways was founded on vengeance. As has been said of the Russian Revolution- Where are the Russians? In fact there were few of them. Mostly they came from the subject peoples of the Russians- Letts, Poles, Jews, Georgians, from everywhere but mostly Jews.

As Dostoyevsky sagely remarked in the nineteenth century: The Jews would kill us all if they had us in their power. Well, now the Jews had the Russians in their power and, in fact, they were killing them; those that hadn’t the opportunity or wisdom to flee.

Barron Cammell: Hold It! Hold it! This isn’t going to some anti-Semitic Jew bashing like that one’s over there is it? The Jews! The Jews! Always the Jews! The first to be blamed and last to be forgiven. Show me some proof that even one Jews was involved.

Me: Leon Trotsky.

Barron: Trotsky was a secular Jew; he wasn’t religious. An atheist.

Me: OK. So he was an unreligious, secular, atheist Jew. What does it take to be a Jew in your eyes Barron?

Lessing: Barron! Barron! Let’s not have any outbursts. This is a fraternal society. We can express ourselves freely without rancor.

Max: It’s just history. The fact are easily ascertained.

Me: Barron, it is no more clear than in Russia that the Jews work as a national unit and secondarily as an international people working together in their own interest against all other interests in battle for supremacy. Why then are you offended that Max is placing them in the place and time?

Barron: Oh, shut up, you.

Lessing: Barron, no rudeness now.

Barron: I don’t know why you brought that guy here Lessing. Everything was fine until he showed up.

Hodding Giusti: No, Barron, things were about the same. It was just that no one had investigated anything where the Jews played as prominent a role.

Barron: They certainly did in my report on the Rothschild’s yet I didn’t accuse them of any crimes. I praised their economic acumen.

Hodding: Well, you were very generous to the Rothschilds. You barely touched on how they got their money or how they bent the rules.

Barron: You mean innovated, how they changed the way things were done.

Hodding: Merely another way of saying the same thing although laudatory instead of critical; after all theft is theft and everyone at the time knew it was theft. Time and an eraser have just altered the reality in the mainstream consciousness. A legend or myth has replaced the reality. Such altering of the past was nearly a cottage industry by the time I retired. But, let Max go on.

Lessing: Yes, Barron, after all Max puts a lot of time and effort into his presentations.

Barron: So do we all. Except for him (indicating me) obviously.

Max: I may resume then? Nevertheless, the largest faction of revolutionaries was Jewish or of Jewish origin, since Barron insists that Trotsky wasn’t Jewish for various reasons, hoping to distance them from the mass, as it were. I won’t call it recent research since the obvious has been known since the Tribe arrived at the Finland Station, however only recently, that is a few years ago, have the Jews admitted publicly that they were the engine of the revolution. I hope we can consider that settled.

It can be no coincidence that while thousands of Christian churches were looted or destroyed not one synagogue was touched so that only Russians were expropriated. Needing money and having little except the accumulated things stolen from the nobility and churches, the Soviets determined to convert the stolen things to cash. This was an incredible stash. Whatever the Nazis are said to have appropriated from the Jews was miniscule in proportion while a large part of their wealth was probably fenced goods from the revolution.

I use as my main source Sean McMeekin’s History’s Greatest Heist: The Looting of Russia by the Bolsheviks published in 2009.

As the Jews primarily were responsible for accumulating these trinkets they naturally had the networks in Europe and the US to dispose of the stuff.

Barron: Stop it! Stop it!

Lessing: Barron, please! Have some respect.

Max: Of course as all the stuff was in a legal sense stolen, the Soviet Union itself was acting as the fence. There was opposition in the West to becoming receivers of this stolen merchandise. There certainly were protests from Russian emigres when they could identify items that had belonged to them.

Curiously their claims were disregarded unlike with the Jews after WWII during which claims without a shred of evidence were awarded from items appropriated from the Nazis, different in no way from the Jewish Soviets.

Barron: There is a great deal of difference, somewhere between six and ten million Jews were murdered by Nazi thugs in the Holocaust.

Me: Six to ten? It keeps going up. Let me point out though that the Jews, as a national group, atheist or religious, were complicit in the murder of millions and millions, using your method, Barron, tens of millions of Russian aristocrats and kulaks, simple folks, and whoever didn’t keep their heads down or make it to the border.

Barron: I believe we can lay the blame for that at Stalin’s feet.

Hodding: I don’t believe we can.

Barron: Well, that’s certainly as it is in the historians I read.

Lessing: There are other histories.

Max: May I go on? Thank you. The attempt, as I say, to sell the stuff ran into opposition so that it was necessary to operate underhandedly in which the main operatives were what Henry Ford called the international Jews.

Barron: Name one.

Me: Armand Hammer.

Max: Yes, he was certainly one of the biggest. And what Jews were big buyers, especially for jewels and paintings? This leads us on to wonder how many paintings Jews were reclaiming as theirs had formerly belonged to Russian aristocrats or came from the Hermitage, that is the Czar’s personal stash.

Certainly these selling activities during the twenties were well known to the Nazis so that one might say they had an immediate example perhaps making them believe they were reappropriating Aryan treasures, to use the term. In any event theirs was not a unique crime. Nazi crimes may be considered as an extenuation of Soviet crimes.

Barron: Oh my god!

Lessing: Hush!

Max: One of the main conduits to the US, if not the main conduit was the Jew Armand Hammer. He was quite notorious at the time being resented and hated on a fairly wide scale. While it was forbidden to attack him as a Jew, anti-Semitic, he could be attacked as a Communist or tool of the Communists, which he denied on both counts. Needless to say he denied he was a Communist although his fortune was made by the Soviets.

Even his name, Arm and Hammer, bespoke his father’s politics. Hammer’s fortune was made in the Soviet Union and then he was chosen as the chief conduit to dispose of the aristocrats’ treasures in the United States. Can it be any wonder then that Hammer acquired one of the great art collections in the world for himself. How many other art works were funneled into Jewish art collections such as that of the movie star Edward G. Robinson’s?

Barron: Can you prove that Robinson bought from Hammer?

Max: Not at this time but it does make sense. For instance, David Bazelon who was the Alien Properties Custodian during WWII made Chicago’s Jews, he was a Jew from Chicago, wealthy after the war when he sold whole industries confiscated from the Germans cheap thereby making fortunes, giving Chicago’s Jews great economic power.

Barron: Can you prove that?

Max: Certainly. Those sales are public knowledge and above board.   The government records exist. Hammer’s sales may have been more clandestine although Andrew Mellon’s collection can be traced to Hammer. Mellon’s paintings were eventually given to the US National Gallery where they reside today, unclaimed by any Russian although had they belonged to Jews you can believe they would have been ‘restored’ by now.

Barron: You sound embittered by that.

Max: Indeed I am for crime anywhere is a reflection on me if I hold my silence. Heard that one before Barron? Or, all that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing?

The point is that Hammer’s collection was composed of stolen merchandise of which he was both a fence and receiver that could be traced to the original Russian owners, but neither Hammer nor any of the Jewish buyers who knowingly and gloatingly bought stolen merchandise ever returned it to the rightful owners. All legal actions taken by the rightful owners were thrown out.

Yet, when artworks were taken by the Nazis the Jews demanded that such, under very tenuous evidence of the former ownership, were given to them. Many probably obtained from the Russian hoards.

Even though the Jewish population losses were horrendous, six million are claimed to have fallen in the holocaust alone while other massacres such as Babi Yar and what we might call natural wartime attrition may have claimed a million or two which should have nearly exterminated the whole European Jewish population but miraculously didn’t. Thus, perhaps, using figures wildly eight million or more Jews perished out a possible ten million yet claimants sometimes multiple claimants after 1945 were there to claim anything that might possibly have been owned by Jews.

Barron: Do you depreciate Jewish suffering to concentrate on a few dollars. How heartless.

Max: You can be exasperating Barron. I don’t denigrate anything, both Whites and Jews have been known to kill for a few dollars more. The point I’m trying to make is that the Jews are not long suffering innocents and that on the one hand they conducted according to McMeekin the greatest heist, that is theft, in history and on the other hand play innocent victims. The end I’m trying for, I suppose, is that neither the Germans nor anyone else need feel guilty for causing Jewish suffering anymore than the Jews feel guilty for causing the untold suffering of the European Holocaust endured through two world wars. If Freud and the members of the B’nai B’rith wanted to see Europeans and Europe dead then between two world wars they nearly did. They sought the destruction of Russia and achieved it when Russia was wiped off the map becoming the USSR. As a Union of Republics, the Jews being one, they on paper, at least, achieved autonomy. When it became time to murder the much despised Czar and his family Jews did it.

It seems to me the height of obtuseness to believe the Jews are a holy and innocent people.

Barron: It seems to me that you and that over there lack compassion. I think you’re being heartless and are despicable.

Me: Compassionate? Compassionate? There’s no one more compassionate than me. My heart bleeds for the whole of suffering humanity. All of it not just an infinitesimal part called Jews. I see the suffering of one as representative of the whole. How can anyone be happy knowing that some poor individual somewhere is unhappy, to quote Liberal dogma. What is going on outside our windows as we sit comfortably sipping fine wine is equal to any suffering in the history of the world. I feel their pain but, still, this is excellent wine and they will have to pry my cold dead hands from the stem of this glass before I give it up. There Barron, was that passionate enough for you?

Lessing: Hear, hear! If I feel guilt I’m sure it isn’t too obvious.

Hodding: History shows that the suffering is not evenly distributed over the entire population. Even in the worst suffering some suffer more and some suffer less. I choose to suffer less. Pass that bottle over here.

Lessing: I found your presentation interesting Max. I really wasn’t aware of the confiscation of the material wealth of Russians by the Bolsheviki.

Max: Who said I was finished, but if I am, I suppose I am. It is quite a story. I was driven off my prepared remarks to a large degree by Barron’s vociferations.

Me: You made your point anyway. I rather enjoyed the controversy but then I am a child of controversies. Barron, what’s the problem here? Since you speak of Jews you know there is a collectivity that calls itself Jewish or it would be useless to speak of Jews. If there is such a collectivity then that collectivity must have some identity, some standards of conduct that it acts on. Since the collectivity functions in the external world it must be observable. Right?

Barron: Yes, of course, but that is no reason for Jew bashing.

Me: Well, analyzing those activities, whether the analysis is correct or not doesn’t constitute bashing does it?

Barron: It’s the intent that makes the difference. You are…you are…

Me: Ok, I’ll finish for you: You are an anti-Semite. Right?

Barron: Not me, you are.

Me: Right. I was just finishing the sentence for you. But Max didn’t say anything that wasn’t true did he?

Barron: That’s not the point. The truth is irrelevant. Some things just shouldn’t be said.

Me: The truth is irrelevant? I give up then. When true things can’t be said there is no hope. Civilization falls to the ground.

Lessing: A good report none the less. Let’s call it a night.

 

We all gave as jolly or cordial a good night as possible. Barron even bent a little although avoiding me in his gaze. As I was leaving Lessing asked for a meeting. I said I had to see about my suits from James Carter. I would give him a call after talking to Goldbladder. As I was leaving, my phone rang. It was Ange.

Ange: Partly, Merivale is at the door. I can see him.

Me: How does he look, Ange? Agitated, determined, worried, what?

Ange: Sort of angry, I can’t tell.

Me: Does he have his cell phone visible?

Ange: Yes.

Me: But he’s not trying to use the door speaker?

Ange: I, I, I don’t know

Me: OK. Hold on Ange, I’m going to speak to Lessing for a moment. Don’t hang up. Lessing, Steinberg’s at the condo trying to get Angeline to come to the door. You have his cell number, right? Can you give him a call and advise him he isn’t acting in his best interests?

Lessing: I think so. Ask Angeline to report on his reaction.

Me: Ange. Lessing is calling Steinberg now, keep your eye on the monitor and tell us his reaction.

Lessing: Merivale, Lessing here. We’d appreciate it if you ceased bothering Angeline.

Steinberg: I just want to talk to her Lessing.

Lessing: That isn’t possible Merivale. Angeline is no longer under your control. She is with Perry now. They consider themselves husband and wife. You have already damaged her enough. Be a good fellow and just leave. Go home.

Steinberg: Damn it, Farquhar, I’ve got rights. I…

Lessing: Rights are exactly what you don’t have Merivale. Rights are what you don’t have and actually never have had. I shouldn’t have to tell you that there are serious criminal acts here.

Steinberg: You’re not threatening me, Farquhar, because if you are…

Lessing: Call it what you will, I’m telling you we’ve got you by the shorthairs. Whatever happens you lose.

Steinberg: This is some sort of anti-Semitic trick isn’t it Farquhar?

Lessing: Good God, Steinberg, we’re talking crime, not religion.

Steinberg: Judaism isn’t a religion.

Lessing: Who cares what Judaism is Merivale. Be wise, turn around, get on the elevator and don’t come back.

Ange: He just looked into his phone, Partly. He looked at the elevator and then back at his phone.

Me: Tell him to leave again, Lessing, he’s ambivalent.

Lessing: Angeline doesn’t want to see you Merivale. She’s thinking of calling security; avoid a ruckus and get in the elevator.

Merivale: Fuck you Farquhar. Watch your step.

Ange: Oh, good, Partly, he’s walking back to the elevator. He’s leaving.

Me: Excellent Ange. Have a relaxing cup of tea. I’ll be there within the half hour. Good job, Lessing. I’ll pass a message through Goldbladder this Monday at my fitting.

Lessing: Will Merivale get it?

Me: Oh yeah. Goldbladder will have minutes of this meeting tomorrow. Steinberg within minutes of my fitting.

Lessing: And the minutes of the meeting will come from Barron, you think?

Me: Sure of it. Alright I’ll call you Monday evening to relay what happened. Great reading from Max. See you later.

 

Things are moving very fast now. My own present life has been one of stress that almost makes me dizzy. I have to make an effort to stay calm. On the home front managing Ange is demanding all my powers so that I have to develop a second personality to deal with external matters. My greatest pleasure, reading, has been shot to hell, no time, while squeezing in writing has forced me to reorganize my time usage.

Dealing with the New York situation has me, uh, ‘rising to greatness.’ I’m learning to delegate whatever can be delegated and hope for success.   Cooperating in an unprecedented emergency has been high. The ethnic cleansing of our area goes more smoothly than might be expected. The major problem is our people who have been conditioned to sacrifice their interests to others and who resist the expulsion of Negroes, Moslems and others. In order to discourage others some of these fanatics have been excommunicated , expelled North into Negroland or South into Moslemland. Tribeca being somewhere between is a mad confusion of peoples. Obviously the American Experiment has hit the rocks.

Saturday and Sunday morning then I spent working with Ragnar and his gym crew and delegations working out governmental problems within our community, maintaining Western Civilization as best we can. It’s sort of like the frontier of the nineteenth century. This is not easy. Afternoons I spent with Ange. While we consider ourselves married we still have to get to know each other.

Central Park is now safe so we spent Saturday strolling the lanes and exchanging confidences about ourselves to each other. Ange is more lovely than I could have hoped for, beautiful in mind and body.

Sunday we combined romancing with touring community neighborhoods to get some firsthand knowledge of how things are shaping up. Unsettled to say the least but people seemed to be concerned for themselves and each other. Transitioning from one state of being to another isn’t easy. So far, so good.

Then Monday was the day for my fitting. Everything going to hell but business as usual. Have to remain centered. Amazingly, amongst the growing chaos the stock market is holding up well. Instead of losing I’ve actually gained a few points in my investments. Of course I have to be nimble. Amidst all this nonsense I find myself plotting my investments. Well, life goes on, nothing stops for tea.

Our area was well below forty-fifth street so there was no problem getting from Tribeca to forty-fifth although I did have to cross the border from Tribeca into Whitelands. Our armed troops were patrolling the streets.

Me: Any problems getting gas, Ragnar?

Ragnar: No. All deliveries are flowing through without any problems. We are getting food shipments from Jersey both through the tunnels and across the Hudson. No interference through the Bronx as yet. Our membership has been growing which we have been able to accommodate so far through expulsion of others but as we’re prepared for trouble Bronxside we’re organized to invade if necessary. It would be nice to have Columbia in our fold.

Me: What does Lessing say about Obama?

Ragnar: So far DC is in a dither. Fires burning in too many places for them to wrap their heads around. Incredibly they were so confident in their agenda that they had no clue this was coming. You’ve probably noticed the jets and copters overhead but so far they’re only making noise. Lessing says they are calling in troops from NATO and other places as our troops are depleted here in the US, or what used to be the US, but where they will deploy first we don’t know.

Me: Yeah, well, I’ve got more important fish to fry just now. I’ve got suits to fit.

Ragnar: I sure hope you can handle it, Boss.

Me: Might not be the highest assignment but I’ll be better dressed for one now.

Ragnar: Especially in hot pink.

Me: You spying on me Ragnar?

Ragnar: Word gets around. Not everyone in town wears a hot pink suit with matching hat and shoes. People do talk.

Me: Yeah? Well I’m going to have a little pink mask too. Fantomas in splendor.

I hopped out of the limo, entered and mounted the staircase. Let’s see what Abe is up to.

Abe: You’re on time as usual, I see.

Me: I’m pretty consistent Abe. Time is money and all that.

Abe: According to Freud so is shit.

Me: Ah ha, ha. Well he’d know better about that than me. However I am willing to pay in kind if you like Abe.

Abe: That was just a bad joke. We’re sticking to your card.

Me: Great. So how close are we to getting the suits?

Abe: This might be the last fitting. Here let me show you something. Check out these shoes, this hat, and these gloves.

Me: I didn’t order gloves.

Abe: No, but I knew you’d want them. Look at this matching hot pink to go with the suiting.

Me: But they’re not fluorescent Abe.

Abe: Get out of here ungrateful One. Do you have any idea how much work this has been?

Me: No, but I have an idea what it’s going to cost. Remember I don’t have a first born.

Abe: We know. By the way how did it go at the whatchamaycallit club you belong to go.

Me: Something tells me you can tell me Abe.

Abe: Do you think we have the place wired or something?

Me: Something.

Abe: What would that something be?

Me: Not what Abe, who.

Abe: Oh, I see.

Me: Sure you do. So what did you boys think of Max’s presentation.

Abe: We thought it was anti-Semitic. We’re beginning to think you guys are Nazis as well.

Me: Paranoia becomes you Abe. Max is an historical researcher he simply reported what was true. We’re true historians Abe. We don’t distort the facts to fit an agenda. You have only yourselves to blame.

Abe: Sometimes the truth doesn’t have to be revealed.

Me: The other night wasn’t one of them. So what else is bugging you Abe?

Abe: We know you’re Nazis because your goons are forcing we Jews out of Little America or whatever you call your enclave. That is anti-Semitism and it has to stop.

Me: Nobody is forcing anybody to leave Abe. Those Jews you referred to wanted to be in Brooklyn in your national colony there. You aren’t going to deny that Brooklyn is a Jewish colony are you?

Abe: How would you like it if we forced Whites out of Brooklyn?

Me: We’d love it Abe, almost pay you to do it but we’d still make a big noise about it, just to put you in a bad light. Times have changed Abe, national lines have been drawn. Anti-Semitism doesn’t have the meaning it did anymore.

Abe: A big noise hey? Wait till you see the new issue of New York magazine. By the way, I see you people have started a new magazine, the New York Beobachter, is that what it’s called?

Me: I’ve always like your sense of humor Abe. No, it’s the New York Intelligencer. We have two hundred and thirty-four subscribers already. We expect to double that shortly.

Abe: I suppose you write that crap?

Me: No, Abe. I haven’t contributed as yet. So far we’ve used stringers to report local events and analyses plus relying on letters to the editor. So far, so good. Want to take a bundle of a hundred back to Brooklyn?

Abe: I don’t live in Brooklyn; I live in Manhattan.

Me: Really? Where abouts?

Abe: Not too far from you I imagine in what we call the Tribeca Free State.

Me: Yucka, yucka, Tribeca Free State, that’s good Abe. Well then, it’s either Brooklyn or the Free State for your emigres but they will have to move; we’re not much on diversity from embedded elements, we have enough problems with our own of various backgrounds.

So, is this the last fitting before delivery Abe?

Abe: There will be a last touch up to make sure everything is true. That’s next for all your suits. Make an appointment.

 

I did. As I entered the apartment Angeline greeted me breathlessly to announce: Partly, I just got a call from Lady and they’re coming back now. All hell broke loose in Europe. They were lucky to catch the last plane out.

Me: Damn. I suppose that will bring the stock market down, at least temporarily. Well, where are they now?

Ange: She said they were a couple hours out. They should be here tonight.

Me: You’ve got everything spic and span, no problem there. Just a minute while I call Ragnar to let him know.

Ragnar, we just received news that Lady and Miles will be back in a couple hours.

Ragnar: I know, they called. I’m on my way now.

Me: Ragnar already knew. He’s on his way. We’re shipshape here. Cook something up in case they’re hungry.

Ange: Lady didn’t sound very happy I was here.

Me: I’m sure she was surprised. She had no reason to suspect I would marry.

Ange. It didn’t sound like that. There was a note of disapproval in her voice. Maybe she thinks I’m not worthy.

Me: Honey, nobody’s opinion but mine counts. I know your worth, I know the criminal acts that were committed on you. There is no better person in the world than you, however the career of Angeline II, of which you are still not totally aware is still out there; for many people that is the only Angeline Gower they know. We don’t know but perhaps Miles attended one of those parties and, well, who knows? Be prepared for the worst but we can’t let that affect us.

Ange: But Partly, I don’t want you to be hurt.

Me: Honey, nothing can hurt me. I am proof to the world. I know how things function. Let me call Lessing to see if he knows. Lessing…

Lessing: I’m on my way. Hold the fort.

Lessing is on the way Ange, everything is under control. We can only wait.

When the keys began turning in the locks Lessing, Ange and I were in our places and ready. The early return was obviously due to the eruption of the Moslems in France and the incursion from Germany to the East. We should soon have some details.

Lessing: There’s the keys. I’ll go open the inner door.

 

The Carmichaels literally burst through the door in high agitation.

Lady: You can’t believe the turmoil over there. France is in flames from Marseilles to the Belgian border; Belgium is in flames. They are looting, burning and killing on all sides. They are every where, everywhere, Notre Dame was blown sky high. Churches everywhere are being blown up or burned. The clergy are being murdered. The uprisings are in all parts of France. While the army has been mobilized to combat the invaders from Germany, the troops are ambushed from all sides.

Good God, never in my lifetime, never in my lifetime did I believe something like this could happen.

Me: (clearing my throat) Welcome back to the Tribeca Free State Miles and Lady.

I said nothing but I had written that this exact same thing would happen. At my age I didn’t know whether it would happen in my lifetime but anyone who followed EU policies could see it coming.

Miles: Tribeca Free State? What are you talking about?

Lessing: Well, Miles, things have been happening here too. Manhattan is now several different States. You have the Moslem Caliphate in Lower Manhattan, the Tribeca Free State here, the New American Republic in mid-Island both East and West, the African Chieftanship in Upper Manhattan and the Bronx. So things are different. And then there’s the Orthodox Hebrew Theocracy in Brooklyn, Queens isn’t clear and we haven’t heard much from Staten Island but it appears it might be Whiteland.

Miles: Egad! The Tribeca Free State! Why that?

Lessing: Nobody is so dominant that it can be claimed but we’re doing our best to get it into the New American Republic.

Lady: Well, at least the lights are still on.

Me: Yes, we were able to seize control of the grid. We’re using it to try to freeze out the Moslems. They have no power at all, of course, that has raised some havoc with Wall Street but they can always go back . Once we cut off their water they will have to vacate. That adds to the woes of Staten Island and Long Island, New Jersey but it’s unavoidable.

Miles: So war is going on here too?

Lessing: Yes, Miles, you might call it a phony war as so far there hasn’t been too much shooting; we’re all still sparring with each other, waiting to see what Obama will do. So far, we assume he’s ‘assessing the situation.’

Lady: My God, is it the end of the world?

Me: It is certainly the end of civilization as we’ve known it. But then that began back at 9/11, now we’re really into it. But, you said something about Merkel inciting it.

Lady: Yes. Over there they think Merkel had the plan when she admitted all those Moslems in ’15 and ’16. The French think it’s a continuation of the Nazis. They think Merkel is rearming Germany and once the Moslems are out of Germany with France in total turmoil Germany will attack Moslem France and begin the conquest of Europe.

Me: Far out! Crazy little Mama Merkel. Who would have believed it. I suppose the Moslems are smashing the wine stores.

Lady: Yes, of course, but what a thing to mention.

Me: Damn.

Lessing: Ata boy, Perry, first things first.

Lady: Now that you mention it Perry I’m afraid that you and that woman will have to vacate the apartment. We’re sorry our agreement isn’t viable. Force majeure. You do understand, don’t you?

Me: Of course, Lady. Angeline has her own condo so we’ll move over there. We’ll pack and leave tomorrow. I can assure you I have no objection and no regrets. I can’t thank you enough for a very wonderful experience. I’m sure Lessing can fill you in after you’ve recovered from your flight and as we are all fighting the good fight I hope we can be friends and associates.

Lady: I’m sure we can Perry. But, I’d prefer you spent the night at…her…apartment and pick up your things tomorrow.

Me: Certainly. I understand fully and as I say Lessing will fill you in later. We’ll take our leave then.

Lessing: give me a minute Perry and we can go uptown together if you like.

Me: Sounds good Lessing. Alright with you Ange?

Ange: (suppressing a sob) Yes. I’m yours Partly.

 

Proceed to Vol. I, Clip 11

Vol. I

The Vampyres Of New York

Clip 9

A Novel

By

R.E. Prindle

 

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

 

 

The Vampyres Of New York

Vol. I, Clip 8

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Story continues:

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?

Ange: No-o-o.

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.

 

 

The Vampyres Of New York

Vol.1, Clip 7

A Novel

by

R.E. Prindle

 

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?

‘Yes.’

‘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.’

‘Merivale Adelstein.’

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.