Archive for August, 2009


The news has degenerated into conversation. This conversation is held in salons, and there are clubs anyone can join, just like the Catholic Church or, if you’re too lazy to go out, the Jehovah’s Witnesses. They will come with the good news, which is that you need to join with some other people like yourself and believe the same things together. You have to do some social testing to find find out who’s one of us and who’s one of them. I think that was the motive behind the Spanish Inquisition. So today a doctor social tested me during a skin exam. “What do you think of Obama?” she asked.
“I like him,” I said. (Of course I like him. He’s taking charge of a sinking ship and I’m on it.)

But she didn’t really want to heart that. “That’s not his real name you know,” she said. Can I remember what she said is his real name? No I cannot. But I remember her referring to Obama as his stage name, as if he suddenly arrived in Chicago from St. Louis, putting on airs, when he was wanted for cheating at cards up and down the river.

And I thought, “Uh oh, there’s somebody locked in the cellar and she gets fed through a slit in the door.”

Even now when I remember it, I feel a little crazy. Funny how far an empathetic person will listen, politely, to drivel when it comes from somebody you really, really need to believe is on top of their game. You can almost watch the rats turn on each other as the cage shrinks. She dispatched Obama as a fraud and then began on the horror stories of Canadian health care. As if this wasn’t enough sideshow, she said that cholesterol doesn’t hurt anyone and no matter how high the numbers, not to worry.

I watched her without getting involved in her logic. It all grows very neatly from the source, which is generally some perceived authority figure, often as not crazy as bat shit. Some of them even have radio and television shows. Some of them are on the internet. Some of them are coming to a venue near you.

The first time I met her was at Cuppers coffee shop. I had looked on Craigslist to see if there were any groups here, so I could try to find some social connections. There was something listed having to do withWilhelm Reich. I thought that might be interesting because he was the dark child of Freud. As Jung moved to archetypes and Adler to power, Reich looked at sexual energy as a source of neurosis, or rather the blockage of it, and he located the source of the problem in the sacral muscles. It is adhesions in these muscles that creates neurosis, he believed, and full orgasm releases the sacrum and resets the system.

As it turned out the meeting was a search for investors in a rain making apparatus. When an investment opportunity requires the suspension of disbelief, I will pass.

Of course, there was a part of me that said, why not? It may be true. He’s about four, maybe five, I guess.

>I do not believe that anybody could get to be President of the United States and secretly be an illegal alien under an assumed name. I do not believe we can get more rain in town if we set up an orgone acccumulator, I don’t think cholesterol levels should be ignored, and I don’t think Dr. Deagle is good source material.

The lies and crazy talk picked up on cable television and the internet are proliferating viruses. They infect people and as a virus must they come to a stasis with the host so as to feed on it but not kill it. The ideas came out from a certainty that defines the anima possession. Jung famously described the animus possessed woman as saying, “I am, unfortunately, always right.” What appears to a woman in this state of possession as undisputed truth actually can have no foundation at all. It is just constructed in the air, of opinions mistaken for facts. (The corresponding state in a man is one in which he is defined by moods, inexplicable and often changing without any apparent outside cause. “He turned on me, just like that.” Finger snap.)

I recall reading a dream Joseph Henderson had, in Germany before the war. He was in a large hall, and there were only men. Women were not allowed in. On a stage there was a female figure who wore a triangular costume, split horizontally between red and black, as I recall. She moved in an oddly mechanical way, but the men loved it, and cheered wildly for her dance. The dream showed the collective in the possession of a pattern. They were essentially aligned to this negative anima, which would be dispelled by any actual femininity to expose the excitement it generates as based on nothing.

I recall when I was young interviewing a psychiatrist at what was then the Arizona State Hospital. My focus was on sociopathy, but we were also talking about schizophrenia, and he said one of the hardest things for people to realize is how easy it is to get caught up in a schizophrenic’s constructed reality. He said it was hard for him, and he’s trained to deal with it. The story line can pull you right in, and after awhile, you’re proof that crazy is contagious.

>My theory is that when Reagan closed all the public asylums and put the crazy people on the streets, it started an epidemic that has now reached critical mass. Soon we’ll all be rhinoceroses.

When I left the office I felt like I was in one of those movies, in which people have been taken over by some alien pods which seal off faculties, occupy nervous systems, and reprogram logical functions, until the host has been consumed and replaced by the invading virus. In the end, at least in the movies, resistance is futile.

And now it’s time for an some advice from the toast of the Creek Nation, Chief Red Scare. The chief does in fact get toasted before giving out advice, though he abhors hor d’ourves the way dog nature abhors a vacuum cleaner. It’s a phobia and gets activated by the mention of toast, pate, finger sandwiches … that sort of thing. The Creeks had an abstract sense of humor when the white man arrived, but got depressed after a short while. They considered it rude to say anything without injecting humor, which means Red Scare combines in one personality what in Europe required both a King and a Fool. Ironically, his advice is generally worthless.
The question for Chief Red Scare today comes from Roxanne of the Gentle Cowherd, who, like many citizens of Northern California, is wondering how she can bring redneck relatives out of hypnosis. Slapping them doesn’t work because they’re heavily armed and royally pissed off. I sent some friends and clients a link to Bill Maher’s piece on “Smart President =/= Smart Country.” Roxanne wrote back and asked if I though her redneck cousin in Florida would “get it” if she sent it to him.
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I put the question to Red Scare. Actually I had to channel him. It is Northern California, after all. It’s what we do to keep from getting bored at the sweat lodge. My eyes roll back in my head and shift sockets so that the green one is where the brown one should be and the blue one moves into the middle of the forehead. Slowly another face emerges from mine, as multiple personality disorder goes upwardly mobile. Red Scare speaks:
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My feet are my understanding and so are his feet his understanding. The bigger a man’s feet, the more spread out, the less likely he is to fall over by accident. I have an uncle with such big feet you can knock him down and he pops right back up like a vinyl Mickey Mouse attached to a bag of sand. Every time he got in a fight he was nearly killed because he wouldn’t stop popping back up. He had too much understanding. I had a brother who married a Japanese girl with tiny cat feet and she was always walking alone, at night, in the fog.
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So, Red Scare … you’re saying that once you know how big the feet are you know if he’s an arch conservative?
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That’s one consideration of course. There are others. When he pisses in the Mohave, does he face toward Colorado or Mexico?
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He’s from Florida. I’m not sure that’s relevant. What seems more relevant is whether he is reality based, or faith based.
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That’s easy to observe. Does he mark the cards and load the dice? I doubt that he’s yearning to know what’s real and what’s not so much as he wants to get along with his friends, and not be sent away from the fire, into the dark to face the Boojum Snark. It will rip his face off and he knows it.
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A Snark is?
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A Snark is a Boojum, you see. The underlying consideration is motivation. Reality comes and goes. If you want freedom then you want to operate under as few laws as possible: the fewer laws the more freedom, but the more abstract the laws. If you want to be obedient this isn’t a motivation. You’ve heard the expression, dumb as a post, but a post from whom? Things are not so obvious once you obviate them.
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I see what you mean, Chief. Can you give an example of one of these abstract laws that replaces a lot of other laws?
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The golden rule comes to mind. It’s golden because if you use it you don’t need any other rules, but it requires mirror neurons. This cousin needs to consult his doctor and find out if these are missing. That could be the problem.
Another example of an abstract law is that the meaning of any communication is the response it gets, and there is no other meaning. The impression that there is other meaning is in your head and is not part of the communication.

When people have the same things in their heads, this is called cultural affinity on a large but on a small scale it’s shortened to cult. Cultural affinity can replace real communication and express a dark side. Actually it’s more coffee colored but that begs the question, which, in the end, is looking for a mark. Racism is like one of those monsters in the movies that is mortally wounded, and as it dies you see the evil and the trickery and the lust and the hate appear in the extended death agony, causing its tail to thrash around spasmodically. It can destroy entire movie sets before it finally collapses. In the horror genre that’s the money shot.
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And somewhere in the background there is Bill Maher nailed to a tree, and all around him there are sheep, and the shepherds are singing, “Bringing in the Sheep.” He rolls his eyes to heaven and writhes in pain. “Sheaths,” he whispers. “Not sheep. Why do you torment me?”
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Fade to black.

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