Skip navigation

Category Archives: Dreams

 

 

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.

A Short Story

The Voice Of The Turtleneck

from the

Boulevard Of Broken Dreams Collection

by

R.E. Prindle

 

     Dewey whizzed South on the Nimitz down to the Santa Clara Valley in the bright shining California sunshine down around Milpitas.  On this day he was working the West side of the Valley.  The City of Santa Clara itself.  One of the ritzier areas of the West side but still in the flats not yet up in the hills or the class of Saratoga.  Leaving the Nimitz near Tropicana Village he crossed over under the morning fog banks hovering over the West Valley.  The sun came later on the West side of the Bay; either that or the fog was stronger than the sun over there.

     In the San Francisco Bay area a fog creeps in every night that mitigates the terrific heat during the day.  Usually it dissipated by noon or one.  In the Santa Clara Valley it was never strong enough to reach the dry barren toast colored East side.  The contrast between East and West was quite striking.

     Dewey muttered his line a few times as he drove past Santa Clara University on the way to call on Thom Nelson Turner.  ‘Hi, Lowell, Smith and Evers.  I’m making a courtesy call to remind you that your mortgage payment is two months overdue.  If it’s not in by the end of the month the house will go into automatic foreclosure proceedings at the end of the third month.  It’s in the computer, I don’t have anything to do with it.’

     He delivered his line in a cold metallic way that was more impersonal than the machine he referred to.  Although his line and manner were dictated by his extreme shyness and fear he had hit upon a most effective approach.  He had been on the job less than six months.  Delinquencies had plummeted by seventy percent.

     He found his street which led into an unusual cul-de-sac.  A block down the street he entered a square about two blocks long.  There was even a median about twenty feet wide with a street on either side.  Trees embowered the median and the house fronts.  There was only one entry.  Dewey who had become somewhat of an expert on streets, roads and highways had never seen anything quite like it and never would again.  Under the dreary overcast the wooded square took on a paranoic defensive cast.

     In fact sullen eyes peered out at him from windows and even from behind a bush.  In the few months he had been covering the Valley his legend had spread.  The white ’63 Chevy he drove had become known as the  White Spook.  Dewey had no idea that he was known so well.  He was just doing his job.  As far as he was concerned all anyone had to do to avoid his call was keep the mortgage payment current.  A mortgage payment was better than rent and it was one or the other.  You couldn’t avoid it; you had to live somewhere.

     The psychology of the homeowners was different.  They all thought he could do them a favor, not come by.  They didn’t want to be embarrassed before their neighbors by having the Spook call on them.  Lowell, Smith and Evers couldn’t wait for their money on the whims of their debtors.  They were quite pleased with Dewey’s performance.

     In comparison with Tropicana Village on the East side where the houses sold for ten thousand dollars, on the square in Santa Clara the houses went for thirty or forty thousand dollars.  Unbeknownst to any of the residents as well as to any pundit or seer within ten short years these same houses would be selling for a half million dollars.  All these people had to do to become rich was to hold on.

     Holding on was their greatest fear, their sincerest hope.  They had fought their way into one of the finer neighborhoods.  As they were all jobholders their continued success depended on the whims of other men.  The fear lurked in their minds that they might be looking for another job at any time just as Thom Turner was now.  While they denigrated each other on the square a shudder had gone down their collective spine when Turner’s misfortune reached them.  Now the visible evidence of Turner’s fate was cruising slowly down their street.  A wave of fear and loathing washed over them.

     Unconsciously Dewey had a sinister way of locating his addresses.  When  he entered a street he cruised slowly looking left and right leaning at an angle so that he could see the numbers through the passenger’s side.  He appeared to be peering in windows as though he were a burglar casing the neighborhood.

     Darby Ramme who had instructed Dewey drove smartly up to the address stopping with a seeming purpose.  Turner’s house was on the corner lot at the far end of the street.  Dewey turned and backed into a space in front of the house.  Getting out he stepped around to the passenger’s side to adjust his clipboard while surveying the house.  The place had been well maintained, easy maintenance style.  The yard was ablaze with pink iceplant as ground cover rather than lawn.  There was a large wooden plaque at the top of the yard facing the blaze of the iceplant that read Thom Nelson Turner.  The three initials were very large in red while the rest was smaller in white, blue background.  ‘TNT’ thought Dewey.  ‘Dynamite.  I must be dealing with a powerful explosive personality here.’

     Inside Thom Nelson Turner stood behind a curtain studying Trueman, making his own evaluation.  Turner had been raised by the women of his family to think of himself as a leader of men.  His family had been lower middle class with a blue collar background.  They thought of themselves as some of Nature’s elite.  Thom had been a big fairly good looking kid.  His family had elevated him to handsome deciding that while other richer families had a greater claim to prominence Thom was a ‘natural’ leader.  The whole family had assiduously promoted him throughout childhood as a leader of men.  They had had moderate success.

     Thom himself had had difficulties assuming the role.  He had felt uncomfortable in it.  He was not, in fact, a leader.  As he grew older the notion that he was fixed itself in his mind.  As a young teenager when his womenfolk were trying to build him up there had been one boy from a still lower social level who had jeered at his pretensions refusing to accept his claims as a ‘natural’ leader.  The boy had refused to take his place causing Thom to doubt himself.  As Turner studied Dewey there was either something about him that reminded Thom of this earlier boy or else in his dejected frame of mind he projected his needs unto Dewey.

     Turner had never had the qualities of a leader.  True he was big and goodlooking but his was not a commanding presence.  His stance lacked a certain stolidity, there was that which was tentative in his manner.  His confidence which had never been supreme had been cracked in college.  His mother had pampered her darling excessively.  Turner had never had to do anything for himself.  His mother insisted that he didn’t, as she adored picking up after him.  She had even flushed the toilet after him.  Turner had never learned to flush.

     This was the cause of his first embarrassment in college when his brothers at the Theta Upsilon Gamma took offense at the unflushed toilet.  Turner was tracked down and severely reprimanded.  He also found it more difficult to command in college causing some self doubt.  He married in the summer before his Junior year so that he would have someone to pick up after him.  Audrey, his wife, also learned to flush the toilet after him.

     After all Thom was big and handsome; he had a lot of big talk about his future success.  Audrey bought into his program revering him almost as much as his mother.

     If Thom found it difficult to command at school he could compensate at home thereby maintaining his self image.

     Turner graduated from Arizona State, Tempe to find a job with the bluest of the blue chips, Big Blue itself.  His job was in the Bay Area.  Turner had neither the intelligence or the drive to play  the role his mother had assigned him.  There were bigger bulls at IBM than Thom.  His behavior as he sought to affirm his role against the competition was seen as aggressive and boorish.  It was not easy to get rid of him but now five years later he had been eased out in the classic manner.

     A recruiter had approached him saying that Thom’s reputation had reached him, the recruiter was authorized to offer him a job at another firm, smaller but growing more rapidly offering more opportunity for rapid advancement.  The salary was significantly better.  Thom took the bait.  Whereas IBM would probably never have fired him his new firm which felt no obligation to him dumped him within a month.  Thom never was sharp enough to understand the ploy.

     Thom Nelson Turner had been devastated.  His facade cracked but he was now unable to let go of the notion that he was a natural born leader of men.  He had been silly enough to go back to IBM for ‘his job.’  Rebuffed there he signed on with various employment agencies.  They knew how to read the signs better than Turner.  He had been searching for five months not yet realizing that he had been declassed.  He would now have to accept a lesser position.

     He had not reduced his standard of living when he was released as he, unaware of the ruse used on him, expected to be reemployed immediately at an even higher wage.  He had gone through his savings.  The painful result was that Dewey Trueman was now at his door.

     Thom Nelson Turner now made the mistake of his life.  He decided to try to humiliate Trueman; to vent his spleen on him.  Had he merely responded by saying, ‘OK, I’ll take care of it.’ which was all he had to do his life would have been much different.

     Dewey rang the bell poising his pen to check off the name and leave.  ‘Lowell, Smith and…’  he began as Turner presented himself at the door.

     ‘Yes, yes, I know who you are.  Step inside.’  He commanded imperiously.

     Thom had been informed by the grapevine what to expect.  Word had already gotten around which days Dewey would be where in the Valley.  Turner had been expecting him.

     Dewey was surprised.  On the one hand he mainly dealt with the woman of the house and only rarely made any kind of personal contact.  There was no need for it; there was nothing at his discretion to do for anybody.  Still Dewey always had a curiosity about how people lived; when he was asked in he enjoyed looking at the different life styles.

     Dewey stepped into the house of TNT closing the door behind him.  At work Thom wore his tie and white starched shirt.  At home he liked to be what he called casual.  This meant he substituted a white turtle neck shirt for the tie and starcher.  He wore a blue sport coat with grey pants.  His aging wing tips contrasted inconguously with the turtle neck shirt.  He took up a stance a few feet from Dewey assuming a pose somewhat like Charles De Gaulle in all his majesty.

     The living room and dining room occupied the front of the house; the kitchen and the living quarters were behind the two rooms.  Dewey could see Audrey and the two kids cautiously watching from behind a bedroom door.

     The living room was sparsely furnished.  A green overstuffed corduroy couch was faced by two overstuffed green corduroy chairs.  A medium sized rectangular walnut stained wooden table separated the two units of furniture.  The table rested on a beige throw rug which covered a hardwood floor.  A nondescript floor lamp was between the two chairs; another was behind the couch.  There were no pictures on the walls, but arranged in staggered suspended shelves against the back wall were several bound sets of books.  Dewey smiled when he saw them.  A set of Collier’s Encyclopedia reminded him of when he had responded to an ad seeking men with executive talents.  Selling those things wasn’t easy; he wondered who the lucky guy had been.  There was also a set of Great Books, more door to door stuff.

     Dewey stared in wonderment at the last set.  It was a complete set of the Oxford English Dictionary.  ‘For Chrissakes’ he thought, ‘this guy must think culture comes in look alike bindings.’  Still Dewey understood because he had a similar weakness.  If he’d had the money he might have had the same things, except for the Collier’s.

     Then Dewey looked at Turner.  He froze.  He recognized the persona at once.  As Turner had been bedeviled by a boy who wouldn’t accept his leadership so Dewey had had a ‘natural’ leader attempting to foist himself on him.  It was deja vu all over again, twice, both sides.  Dewey looked at the turtleneck.  He hated turtlenecks.  There was no more pretentious shirt in the world to him.  He despised men who wore turtlenecks.  He thought they were all pretentious nerds.  He noticed that a thick role of fat was developing around Turner’s waist.  Dewey who was himself pencil thin despised people who allowed themselves to get fat.  He noticed that Turner had been given a good haircut and his clothes fit properly.  Barbers wouldn’t give Dewey decent haircuts and clerks in men’s stores always seemed to botch his tailoring.  Things just didn’t fit him the way they should.  Dewey held this against Turner also.  They stood and bristled at each other. 

     ‘This time’ thought Dewey.  ‘I’ve got the Force with me.  I win.’

     ‘Your name?’  Turner said with insulting dryness.

     ‘What’s that?’  Dewey sparred.

     ‘Your name.’  Turner admonished as though to a child.

     ‘Oh, I’m from Lowell, Smith and Evers.’  Dewey said, mockingly avoiding answering the question.

     ‘Don’t try my patience, my man.  Give me your name.  I think you’re probably obligated to.’

     ‘What?  You mean my own name?  No, I’m not obligated to.  But, since you ask so politely, Dewey Trueman.  Why?  Do you think you know me?’

     ‘No, of course I wouldn’t know you.  I just like to know who your masters have sent.  Dewey Trueman?  Is that a real name?’

     ‘Sure.  Why not?’

     ‘Did your mother name you after the Dewey-Truman presidential race?’

     ‘Oh, I don’t think so.  That was in ’48.  I was born in ’38.  Our name is Trueman.  Can’t help that.  Perhaps she named me after that crime busting D.A.  I don’t know.  By the way, how do you pronounce your name T-om or Th-om?  Dewey said pronouncing the H.

     ‘I don’t think you’re in a position to taunt me, son.  I can report you to your masters.’

     ‘I don’t think you’re in a position to complain.  Another month and you’re out of here.  You haven’t made your mortgage payment two months running.  Naughty, naughty.’

     ‘I always wondered who would do work like this.’  TNT sneered.  ‘Now I know.  Do you enjoy betraying your fellow man?’

     ‘Oh well, I do have a job and my rent is paid which yours isn’t and you don’t appear to have any prospects for a job.  But don’t despair.  You know, I’m going to quit this job to go to college this fall.  I’ll put in a good word for you.  You can have this job.  At least you’ll be able to make your house payment.’

     ‘I want you to take a message back to your masters.’  Turner said imperiously.

     ‘I don’t have…’  Dewey began to add masters.

     Turner interrupted him.

     ‘Tell them that they have nothing to fear…’

     ‘Oh, I don’t have to tell them anything.’  Dewey interrupted in turn, riding over Turner’s upraised finger and twisted manhood.

     ‘What’s important here is that payment is two months delinquent.’  Turner stuttered a beginning.  Dewey raised his voice continuing.  ‘If we receive the payments by the end of the month the matter is closed.  No harm done.  Foreclosure proceedings will begin at the end of three months if payment is not received.  It’s all in the computer.  There’s nothing that can be done about it.  You will have an additional three months to make good all deliquencies, if that is not done you will be evicted.’

     ‘Now see here…’  Turner fumed wounded to the soul to be talked to, no, not even to, at by this seeming evil apparition from his childhood.  It seemed that that earlier boy’s hand had reached out from the past to grab Thom’s throat wreaking a decades long vengeance for the past insult.  Turner began coughing as though he were being choked.

     Dewey showed no outward emotion although glowing inwardly as though avenging that decade old insult to himself by a different Thom Nelson Turner who had gone by another name.  Dewey who had been badly hurt had also learned how to hurt.  He continued on in his finest mechanical drone trying to project the notion that he dealt with thousands of deadbeats and Turner was just one of them.

     ‘Of course you have the right at any up to eviction to remedy the default by paying it.  Lowell, Smith and Evers encourages it as they would much rather recover their loan than reclaim your house which is a nuisance to them unlike what you might think.  And I would too.’  Dewey added unctiously.

     ‘I am not used…’ Turner began to say, being treated this way.

     ‘I have said all that I am authorized to say.’  Dewey broke in.  I hope you’ll excuse me but I’ve got other dead…uh, people to call on.’  Dewey gave Turner his blandest look, reaching for the door.

     ‘I am not authorized to say this.’  Dewey said, thinking in his conscious mind to be helpful while his subconscious mind sought to twist the knife, ‘but if this house is too much for you, you might check to see if they would swap you one of our properties in Tropicana Village.  We foreclose on those all the time.’

     ‘Tropicana Village?’  Turner ejaculated, stung to the quick.  The distance between his notion of his dignity here in Santa Clara and Tropicana Village was more than a few miles.

     ‘Yeah.  Tropicana Village.  It’s over on the East Side.  Houses go for about ten thousand.  You should have enough in this one to maybe even just pay for one of those outright.  All you’d have to worry about is taxes.

     ‘Tropicana Village, indeed.’  Almost with tears in his voice.  He thought that Dewey might as well have asked him to pitch a tent in the county dump.  Tropicana Village wasn’t that bad, a definite comedown from Santa Clara, however.  But heck, even those houses would be selling for over a hundred thousand in the not too far distant future.  Nelson should have taken Dewey’s advice.  Things would have worked out.

     ‘I demand…’ Turner said tensing his whole body and shaking his finger at Dewey.  ‘I demand to talk to your superiors.  I’m going to report your insolence.’

     ‘I don’t have any superiors, Mr. Turner, I’m actually a free agent.’  Dewey replied.  ‘But here’s a card with the office number, ask for Bill Masters; although all you have to do is make your payment on time and you’ll never have to see me again.  I wasn’t insolent, I was just giving you good advice.  Just make your mortgage payments.’

     Turner couldn’t meet his obligation.  He couldn’t make the payment and he had foolishly allowed a person he considered beneath his contempt to exercise power over him.  His mother’s teaching had been his downfall.  He had nothing to gain by attempting to intimidate Trueman.  His ‘natural’ authority had not extended that far.  A man who hasn’t made his mortgage payment has no choice but to be humble.  It hadn’t even been necessary for him to have been humble.  All he had to do was say:  ‘I’ll take care of it.’ and shut the door.  At that point Dewey and done his job and the thing was over in his mind.

     Now Turner was completely humiliated.  His leadership over what he considered a very inferior person had been rebuked.  That role was forever gone from him.  He now learned it for the first time.  A new future arose before  his eyes.  He had been driven from the Garden as he had driven that boy from the Garden long ago.  Now TNT was an outcast.

     ‘You’ll have to flush the toilet for yourself from now on.’  Audrey said, coming from the bedroom to walk in front of him as he stood silently sobbing.  ‘Neither I nor my children will do it again.’

     Audrey had been watching.  So long as Thom had been her knight in shining armor she had been willing to be subservient to him.  She didn’t approve of it but she could understand his being unemployed.  She accepted his story that he had to be careful in accepting another job which, after all, was not only true but prudent.  She didn’t know where the mortgage payment was going to come from but she had faith that he would provide it.

     But she knew her husband and she understood something about symbols.

     She knew very well that Turner had not considered Trueman worthy.  It was as clear to her from her husband’s voice and bearing as it had been to Trueman.  While she herself had seen nothing objectionable in Dewey, she saw the signs of the lack of respect of other men for him.  Signs that Trueman was not even aware of.  His hair was his own idiosyncrasy but being long and unruly might have been because barbers refused to give him a good haircut.  She took it that way.  She also noticed that whoever had altered his suit had raised the buttons enough so that the bottom of his jacket swung open bumpkin style instead of hanging straight and svelt.  She also noticed that one or two buttons had been removed from the sleeves.  The two buttons that remained had been spaced apart to produce a foolish effect.

     She surmised that all that had been necessary to send Dewey on his way was some vague assertion.  Thom had displayed a serious lack of judgment.  Combined with the job and the rent she realized that Turner was not the man she had thought him to be.

     Thom’s daughter Joanie uncertain by her mother’s demeanor what to do came out and stood between her mother and father.  Thom’s five year old son, Thim, not knowing what was happening but afraid for and sympathetic with this father stood by his side and took his hand.  A fatal move on Thim’s part.

     Turner became immobilized.  It seemed to him as though Thim was pitying him.  Suddenly he realized that his son might become more of a man than he could now hope to be.  At some time in the not distant future his son would likely surpass him.  He couldn’t let that happen.  Thom’s subconscious began to well up into his conscious mind flooding and overwhelming it.  He passed into a fugue state.  Thom’s next actions were subconscious, committed in a dream state.  It wasn’t that he didn’t know what he was doing but he wasn’t conscious of it and would always deny, had he been asked, that he did it.  He didn’t consciously think this but in his totally subconscious state he feared that Thim would despose him when he reached manhood.  He couldn’t let that happen.

     He gave Audrey a sickly smile that begged her permission and forgiveness.  Audrey would never admit that she knew what happened.  She sure did but in commiseration for her husband’s misery from the depths of her unaware subconscious being she gave Turner permission.

     Joannie, who sensed the tension but had no idea what was happening ran to throw her arms around her mother.  She would be haunted all her life by a fear of impending disaster.

     ‘Come along, Son.  Forgive me, my child.’

     Taking Thim into his bedroom he lowered the child’s pants and sodomized him.  ‘I’m sorry, Son, but, you see, I had to do it.  Maybe you’ll undersand some day.  You’ll never be a better man than me now.’

      The entire episode passed into the subconscious of all the family.  The situation was mythologized differently in the dreams of each.  They would all be plagued by troubled sleep for the rest of their lives.

     While the two children would forget the Field of Action and even the Challenge to their consciousness their parents would be able to remember the Field and Challenge but they would be unable to associate their Response to it.  They would attach guilt to that mortgage guy and loath him accordingly.

     In terms of psychology Challenge and Response is what conditions our personality.  A weak Response to Challenges blights our life forever unless the conflict is resolved.

     Turner, his self-conception already under stress from his recent reverses, had pitted his manhood against that of Dewey Trueman.  The Force was with Trueman.  The only way Turner could have won was if he could have intimidated Trueman into not accessing the Force, thus abdicating his manhood and transferring it to Turner.  Trueman had used the Force, laughing at Turner in the process.  Turner could not stand the resulting belittlement.

     Totally defeated by the Challenge he had foolishly made, Turner had then to Respond to it.  He was old enough and he had, or should have had, enough education to intellectualize the defeat.  Failing that, since he considered himself Trueman’s better, he could have laughed it off, gone out and kicked some cans.  But as his manhood, his sense of being a ‘natural’ leader of men, was under siege by powerful forces he could not control, he capitulated his manhood.  He buckled, he surrendered to the Challenge.

     Nor did he ever develop the psychological resources to recover.  His wife who was then as dependent on him as he was on her did not leave him but toughed out all the years until Thim turned twenty-five.  At that time Thim confessed to his father that he was a homosexual.  His father, not conscious of the real reason why, accepted the confession without a murmur embracing his son.  Audrey who had extended her permission to Thom but not her forgiveness then exercised her reserved right to divorce Thom.

     Turner during those years unable to excercise leadership in his chosen arena relapsed into ‘leading’ all manner of charitable causes from the anti-nuclear movement to the spotted owl.

     Trueman, on his part, experienced a subconscious feeling of great triumph.  He wouldn’t have been able to explain his actions but once outside he lingered for perhaps a half an hour.  He took possession, as it were, of Turner’s path to the front door standing legs apart as though over a dead lion fiddling with his clipboard which it seemed for reasons of its own wouldn’t slip into place.

     Then he decided to survey the neighborhood which while attractive wouldn’t have had the same charms for him under other circumstances.  He paraded up and down in front of Turner’s house so as to advertise his triumph over Turner to an imaginary assembled mankind.  The neighbors, who were the only spectators reacted accordingly although Trueman had no idea how he had antagonized them.

     Dewey was the product of weak Responses to overwhelming Challenges.  The Challenges had come as a child when there were as yet no support systems developed to allow him to deal successfully or strongly to the Challenges.  To say that we are responsible for our character is ridiculous.  If one survives destructive Challenges as a child then one is responsible for making right decisions subsequently.  Surviving one’s childhood is a matter of luck.  Be not too critical of one’s fellow man, unless you’re a novelist, then, as Old Harry said:  Give ’em hell.

     Before considering Trueman’s background let us consider the cases of two others- Jacques Casanova and William S. Burroughs.  Casanova devoted five thousand pages to a discussion of his problem without even attempting to understand its cause.  Casanova was an eldest child.  For some reason his mother chose to put him and only him of her children in a foster home.  As will be seen with Trueman this was an impossibly difficult Challenge for Casanova.  He was a good boy.  Put into an intolerable home he was able to implore his mother to find him a better place and she did.  Being a good boy Casanova did not respond to the Challenge by becoming a serial killer.  But the injury entered his subconscious.  Just as Casanova’s innocence had been violated and destroyed by a mother who should have been loving so Casanova turned to his efforts to destroying the happiness of young female virgins by betraying their love.

     Casanova’s memoirs are phenomenal.  All five thousand pages are dedicated solely to relating his adventures with women.  No other aspect of his life is related or examined.  Sometimes in a masochistic mood he allows women to take advantage of him in repetition of his mother’s act.  Significantly these women are the basest of prostitutes.

      Just as Casanova never discovered the cause of his actions which was in fact so subtle and well hidden that it would have been a miracle if he had  so, curiously, William S. Burroughs never found his cure.  Burroughs, the American Beat writer, was born in 1913 and as of 1996 was still alive.  He wrote ‘Naked Lunch’ and similar tripe.     

     Burroughs was aware at once of his Field, the Challenge and his Response but was unable to intellectualize it.  As a homosexual he was unusual in that he sought female sex from time to time.  His betrayal and violation was also unusual which explains his Response.  Burroughs grew up in St. Louis where he had a nanny.  As frequently happens with this type of employee she was an evil woman.  Burroughs loved and trusted her a great deal.  One day she took him to visit her boyfriend.  She asked Burroughs to do her boyfriend a favor.  Here Burroughs blacks out.  He thrusts the next few moments into his subconscious where he absolutely refuses to acknowledge it.  Release was so near and yet he could never grasp it even under extensive psychoanalysis.  As Burroughs cannot remember what happened next one can only conjecture.  It is, or should be, clear that Burroughs was sexually violated. His mouth was forced over the penis of the boy friend.  As in later life he chose to sodomize young boys but had an abhorrence of oral sex despising homosexuals who were ‘cocksuckers’ it is clear what he blocked out.

     The event turned Burroughs queer and eventually made him a junky but left him with ambivalent feelings toward women and strong desires for boys such as had been.  On the one hand he loved the nurse and found it impossible to let that love go, on the other hand she had basely betrayed his trust so that he transferred that hatred to all women.

     Burroughs says that he can’t understand the things he has done.  There is little reason to doubt him.  In the forties he took up with a woman who, signficantly was a floozie and hence not respectable.  She became his common law wife.  With her Burroughs led a life of total degradation.  Finally in the early fifties he blew her brains out.  He insists it was an accident.  It is certain that it was not his conscious intent to kill her.

     Burroughs loved guns.  He had a reputation for being an excellent marksman.  During a drinking bout with friends he suggested that she and he do a William Tell number.  At a distance of six feet he missed the whiskey glass she had placed on her head and drilled her between the eyes.  Given a conscious choice between hitting the glass or killing his wife he certainly would have hit the glass as he had done many times before but he subconscious paid back the nanny in the person of his wife.

     Burroughs had nothing to do with women after that although he thought he should.  In keeping with his emasculation by the boyfriend he remained homosexual.  Thus although Burroughs understood all the elements of his problem his pain and degradation were such that he couldn’t face or resolve them.  His response was homosexuality on the one hand and the subconscious murder of the nurse surrogate on the other.  Nor should he have been held responsible.  As a five year old child he had no means of intellectualizing his nanny’s deed thus the symbolism passed into his subconscious where its forms emerged years later much as Zeus swallowing the goddess Metis who he found indigestible had her emerge from his forehead in the altered form of Athene.

     The character of Dewey Trueman was the result of a combination of events combining elements of the situations of both Casanova and Burroughs.

     Elements of heterosexuality and homosexuality were warring in his mind.  His subconscious was the dominant element of his mind at this time although a very powerful remnant of a conscious mind kept him from insanity and on a productive course.

     Trueman had had a very difficult childhood.  the whole is described in Far Gresham:  Childhood and Youth. As a very young boy, less than three, he had been sodomized by a next door neighbor.  The man had taken him on the dirt under his porch.  Now, in the right circumstances, a boy can only take such attention as an act of love.  Having no experience or knowledge of such things, properly persuaded there is no reason to say no.  Unable to evaluate the act there is no reason for guilt.  The fixing of shame comes when the lover reacts.

      In Trueman’s case there was no shaming immediately after the deed.  But, evil is the heart of man, the neighbor had done it to depress Trueman’s chances in life and elevate those of his own son.  A short time later, these were primitive times in 1940 on the poor side of town, both he and his neighbor’s son were at the neighbor’s house.  The neighbor had a galvanized tub in the basement that he used for a toilet.  Both boys were urinating in it.  Now, among homosexuals the penis is the big thing.  Having been introduced to homosexual sex Dewey was remarking on the appearance of his friend’s penis.  At that point the neighbor, who had apparently been waiting for just such a moment, said:  ‘Son, I don’t want you to associate with that little queer again.’

     An apporpriate response was impossible for the undeveloped intellect of Trueman.  Dewey took the statement as an act of betrayal comparable to that of Burrough’s nanny.  He suppressed the memory of the seduction but never forgot the betrayal.  Thus two forces contended in his mind.  There were grounds for homosexuality on the one hand but such a strong hatred of men that Dewey swore they would never get him again.

      A little later his mother would treat him in much the same manner as Casanova’s mother had treated him.  Mrs. Trueman divorced her husband.  Unwilling to let her offspring interfere with her social life she put them in a foster home.  Dewey had a brother by then.  Dewey was able to handle the first abandonment and even a second in another foster home.  But then Mrs. Trueman placed he and his brother in the Municipal Orphanage.  This abandonment created so subtle a reaction in Dewey’s subconscious that no one knows what his response to women might have been.

     As it was Mrs. Trueman’s deed was unwittingly repeated by Dewey’s first girl friend.  Dewey was fifteen when his sweet Ange implored him for his love.  Ange was young, only thirteen, but she knew she wanted Dewey.  What she demanded of him was in essence marriage.  She demanded all his future from him.  He was a young boy and very reluctant but he agreed.

     Ange was a young girl, she was not in control of her destiny.  She lived with her grandmother, her family being in Waterloo, Iowa.  It was just after Thanksgiving she asked for his love.  Dewey thought this would mean no separation.  He looked forward to the Christmas holidays with Ange in anticipation.  But then, having given his heart, Ange informed him that she had forgotten to tell him that she had to go back to Waterloo for Christmas vacation.  Dewey’s heart turned cold.  this was the same thing his mother had done to him, although he did not realize it on a conscious level.  He concluded subconsciously that all women were alike.

     His response to the challenge caused both he and Ange untold anguish.  His subconscious retaliation against both his mother and Ange was to cut Ange cold.  He kissed her goodnight after a date and never spoke to her again.

     Ambivalent about men, Dewey now responded by becoming abivalent toward women.  Just as Casanova responded to his Challenge by taking the virginity of women, Dewey was to develop a manner of treating all women as totally desirable.  He wooed all women.  When, as it might chance, they responded to his overtures he coldly turned his back on them leaving them in the lurch.  Just as Casanova sought to deflower his victims Trueman denied them his favors.  Of course it was necessary for him to make exceptions as his self respect, bred in the fifites, required him to have his own woman at all times.  Dewey and Anges’s story is described in the Angeline Constellation.  

     As these events entered Dewey’s subconscious and never resurfaced he was aware of his attitude but able neither to control nor understand it.  His treatment of Ange was a complete mystery to him.  He was aware of the Field with his mother and Ange but unaware of the Challenge.  His Response was beyond his understanding and beyond good and evil.

     His sexual makeup was further complicated by certain events which controlled both his consciousness and subconsciousness.  These events completely terrorized him preventing any effective social intercourse, hence he was shy and awkward.

     As recounted in Far Gresham David Hirsh and his son Michael developed a hatred for him on specious grounds.  They harassed him trying to force submission to them.  Unable to do so Michael and some friends raped Dewey in the fourth grade.  The complex of acts by the Hirshes was completely suppressed, Filed, Challenge and Response.  But what is in the subconscious must be expressed in one’s actions much the same as Zeus and Metis.

     In Dewey’s case he acted with a dark foreboding that constrasted with a chipper optimistic nature.  This coupled with the fact that the torments which continued all his youth left him with a guilty, furtive manner and an overanxious desire to please presented a strange persona to the world.

     Dewey was aware of his mental problems as, even though he knew the right way to act and wanted to, his subconscious sabotaged all his efforts much as when the delivery of fuel cuts off in a car when you step on the pedal too sharply.

     Dewey  was seeking very had to understand himself.  The brutality of his youth had been such, he had been pushed down so far, that he had already gone far to master his subconscious with no apparent results.  The distance to go was still enormous and would eventuate in the complete disintegration of his existing persona.  He would, in effect, have to die and be reborn.  Fortunately he would be able to create and impose on himself an entirely new persona successfully.

      His encounter with Thom Nelson Turner was a small turning point in his effort to understand himself.  The understanding was not on the conscious level but subconsciously the overtaut pressure on the springs and cogs of his mind was released a little.  He had at least subjugated or gotten back his own from the ‘natural’ leader of his youth.  Such is life.  Pyschic debts are always being repaid by people who didn’t incur them.  Thom Turner’s loss was Dewey’s gain.  Of course Turner was himself only repaying an earlier offense.  A certain justice had been obtained.

     As Dewey got back in his car there was a complacent psychic satisfaction that he had got back some of his and Turner had paid the price.  The situation had fit perfectly into Dewey’s scheme of things.  He had done nothing to Turner, the consequences were all the result of Turner’s own actions.  Thom Nelson had punished himself.  Dewey Trueman remained an innocent man.

     As Dewey looked down the square he could sense the hostility of the neighbors.  His strutting about before Turner’s house had convinced the neighbors that he really enjoyed his job.  Even though they spent all their time devising ways to humiliate each other so that none might gain an ascendancy they resented and feared an outsider with power.

     Dewey eased the Chevy along the other side of the square studying the houses as was his wont.  As he rounded the corner to enter the egress street a tomato skidded across his hood.  At the same time an egg smashed against the window behind him sliding down the door.  There was no one visible, there never is, never will be; there was no reason to stop.

     As he approached the corner to turn left up Sunnyvale a school bus blocked his exit.  This was fortuitous for Dewey as he had the bad habit of running stop signs when the way was clear.  Now that he had been on the job so long people were devising ways to get back at him for what they considered intolerable humiliation.  Someone always knew someone on the police force.  They were learning Dewey’s driving habits.  When Dewey showed up at Thom’s a cop was called who had stationed himself where Dewey could be given a ticket.  They were moving violations and Dewey already had too many of them.

     As Dewey stopped he spotted the cop off to his left.  The bus pulled away.  Dewey pulled into the opposite lane watching the cop anxiously.  He knew that law and order meant nothing to the cops.  Just because he hadn’t run the stop sign didn’t mean that the cop wouldn’t give him a ticket anyway.  The cop’s word was taken at court every time.

     The cop stayed in place as Dewey drove by.  Dewey noted that the cloud cover, pardon me, high fog was retreating West.  Up ahead to the North patches of sunshine were dissipating the fog behind the lead line.  He drove toward Sunnyvale with a red streak on his hood, egg dripping down the side of his car and a warm spot in his heart.

                                          End.

 

A Novel

Our Lady Of The Blues

Part VII

The Heart Of The Matter

Back In The USSA

 

     At any rate Tyrone broke a few handy double edged Gillette razor blades in two fixing them so they projected an eighth inch beyond the toe of each shoe.

     ‘Hey man, whatcha doin’ with those blades in you shoes?’

     ‘We bein’ transferred now, we don’t be havin’ nothin’ mo’ to do with this ship.  This where that motherfuckerin’ peckerwood who insulted the Black race pays his debt to our society.’

     ‘Tyrone, Tyrone, let it pass, man.  It ain’t no nevermind what no dumb Honky says ’bout nothin’.  Man, they goin’ lock you up and throw away the key.  That’s one Honky you goin’ to have to listen to. Forget it, man.’

     ‘How they gon’ do that?  We be transferred.  We don’t have nothin’ to do with this motherfuckin’ ship no mo’.’

     Other Black voices joined in:  ‘Hey man, you right but Distell right too.  Let it pass, no peckerwood worth goin’ to jail for.’

     ‘I tol’ we bein’ transferred.  We beyond their jurisdiction.  Can’t be nothin’ done to me now.’

     So saying Tyrone checked the security of the razor blades once again then making sure his clothes were squared away so he looked sharp, and all the Blacks wore their clothes more squared away than the Whites, he began the walk back to First where he expected to find Trueman.  He intended to cut him down before all the other Whites.

     The foregoing discussion had been conducted in tones well above the confidential level usually employed by Blacks so the whole of Supply heard it.  Standing with the Supply sailors at the time had been Teal Kanary.  Never one to lose an opportunity he said he would go back and warn Trueman by which he meant to say that he intended to enjoy watching the slaughter.

page 1331.

     News travels like a tsuname aboard ship.  Before the word had gotten out of Tyrone’s mouth everyone aboard ship with the exception of Trueman knew what was about to go down.  the decks were cleared in anticipation.

     Kanary went back to speak to Trueman.

     ‘Hey Trueman, Chief Dieter wants to see you on the fo’c’sle.’  Kanary had correctly divined that Jackson would take the port side to avoid possible detection by the Quarterdeck.

     Tyrone was a little disconcerted to find Trueman approaching him midships.  As he had expected the encounter to take place in First where Trueman would be humiliated before the White Race his resolve was not quite at the right pitch as he was still in process of working himself up to it.  Nevertheless, he got down.

     ‘Alright, you motherfucker, you goin’ hafta fight me now.  You can’t insult theBlack Race and get away with it.’

     Kanary emerged from the toilet to stand on Trueman’s right to egg him on.

     ‘I don’t have to fight you for any reason.’  Trueman said stoutly unwilling to get inv0lved in a fight he might lose.  Even though taller than Tyrone with a longer reach Trueman had never had a fight in his life.  Tyrone’s razor blades would have made short work of Trueman’s Marquis of Queensberry offense.

page 1332.

    ‘Don’t be chicken, Trueman.’  Kanary drilled into Dewey’s right ear.  ‘Let him have it.’

     Fearful for the safety of his friend who he knew would be prison bound, Distell Washington left right behind Jackson in search of either Pardon or Dieter.  He found Pardon first.

     ‘Man, Tyrone done flipped out.  He’s got some razor blades in his shoe and he’s gon’ cut up that Dewey Trueman guy pretty bad, maybe kill him if you don’t stop it.’

     ‘Where is he?’  Pardon asked in alarm.

     ‘He goin’ down the port side to First.  Stop my fren’ but don’t tell him I said it.’

     Pardon had come down from the fo’c’sle just behind Jackson.  By the time he walked up, Trueman who had no choice but to fight or lose status forever, was squaring away.

     Two intellects were in collision.  Trueman had been raised on Arthurian rules of a fair fight.  He followed Marquis of Queensberry rules naively thinking those rules were the norm.  He didn’t even look at Jackson’s feet because kicking was illegal.

     Tyrone, raised in the Chicago Stockade had only ghetto rules:  anyway fair or foul.

     He was stepping back to take a kick when Pardon standing well back and leaning forward grabbed Tyrone’s right arm.  It wasn’t the safest or smoothest move but Tyrone had at least learned to respect authority.

     ‘Let me give you some good advice, Sailor, don’t do this or you will go to the brig.’

page 1333.

     ‘Shit, man, I been transferred.  you can’t do nothin’ to me now.’

     Trueman had gotten into the classic stance as seen in every boxing ring although his boxing skills were squat.  Even though he had his long thin dangerous looking Japanese stileto in his pocket it never occurred to him to brandish it.

     ‘OK, let’s go man.’  He said to Kanary’s joy.

     ‘Trueman, for Christ’s sake look at his shoes; he’s got razor blades in his toes.’

      ‘Razor blades!’ Trueman said astounded at such foul play looking down at the gleaming Gillette steel protruding beyond the toe of the sole.  He stepped back.

     ‘Just because you’re being transferred to another duty doesn’t mean you can get away with cutting a man up.  If use those blades on him you’re going to cut him up pretty badly, maybe kill him.  If you do the only place you’ll be transferred to will be the brig while all your friends go to other duty stations.’

     ‘Bullshit, man.  Once I’m gone the Captain can’t do nothin’ to me.’

     ‘But you aren’t gone.  If you cut him we aren’t going to let you leave this ship except to go to the brig.  Your transfer will be canceled.  You are under Captain Ratches jurisdiction until you cross that gangway.  Then you are still under the Navy’s jurisdiction and the Navy will send you to the brig.’

     Doubt having been cast on his invulnerability Tyrone’s mind slowly grasped that there might be consequences he hadn’t counted on.

page 1334.

     ‘You one lucky motherfucker, peckerwood.’  Tyrone said jabbing his forefinger in Trueman’s direction as he turned to walk back to supply.

     ‘Oh no, man, you did the right thing.  Nobody thinks bad of you, man.  You just saved yourself a heap of trouble.’  Tyrone’s friends reassured him as they trooped up to the Quarterdeck to leave ship.

     Trueman and a number of other sailors were assembled to watch them go.

     Tyrone gave him a toss of the head and a derogatory snort as he passed across the gangway.

     Trueman was only too happy to see him go.

Does Anyone Know The Way To Long Beach?

     Dewey had had no idea why Tyrone was so antagonistic toward him.  He could only attribute Tyrone’s statement that he had insulted the Black race to what others may have told him.  He had by no means referred the statement to the incident in the laundry room.  Suffice it to say that his little Black nemesis was gone.

     With Tyrone Jackson gone Trueman’s attention was taken by Tory Torbrick.  Trueman had been doing his best to avoid Torbrick since his singular introduction.  But the ship was small, Torbrick was a Seaman who bunked in the same compartment.  He wouldn’t be repelled; he couldn’t be avoided.  Torbrick simply forced himself on Trueman; he would not take no for an answer.  Unable to get away from him Trueman had to accept his presence.

page 1335.

     Despite the coolness shown him by Trueman Torbrick asked Trueman to spend a weekend at his parent’s home.  Torbrick lived in Long Beach which was eighty miles up the coast on the seashore in that little bulge of land jutting into the Pacific.

     When he asked Dewey gave him a long cool look.  Unable to understand the man’s intentions Dewey declined.  Besides his mind was set on Oakland.  He had already committed himself to Roque Da Costa who, Dewey felt, might take offence at an apparent shift or splitting in loyalty.  Dewey was very reluctant to jeopardize that relationship by seeming to spurn Da Costa for a ‘better’ deal with Torbrick.

     As Torbric importuned him unashamedly Trueman finally gave in.  He agreed to see Long Beach which, after all, he had never seen before.  He couldn’t imagine what harm could come to him.

     Half the ship was Californian.  Lucky they were because they had the security of escaping the Navy on weekends.  Many, including Torbrick could go home at night if they desired.

     Torbrick had his own car so how much more perfect could it be?  Once on the road North Torbrick’s attitude quickly changed.  No longer begging Trueman he assumed the role of handler dealing with a very unusual specimen.  Although Torbrick was no homosexual the conversation took on a sex laden air.

     Torbrick believed the stories his father had passed on to him from Our Lady Of The Blues.  Thus he had to conceal his real purpose from Trueman but to hopefully get him to speak of the stories Torbrick had been told.  Hopefully Trueman would confess to murdering Michael Hirsh.  So the minds of these people went.

page 1336.

     As the car sped along 101 by the mouthof the bay across from North Island Naval  Air Torbrick began a discussion of a girl he knew.

     ‘Yeah.  We have this girl in town, sad case, no one knows why she does it, some say an unhappy home life but my pop and me think it’s just the way she naturally is.  Kind of genetic you know, she was just born that way, you know.’

     ‘You mean inherited and unavoidable, like, right?’  Trueman became uneasy and suspicious at the notion of heredity.  He had long been plagued by the notion of hereditary insanity because of the injustice done his father by, among others, Yisraeli.

     ‘Well, yeah, I…we…I mean me and pop, think it’s just the way she is and has to be.’

     ‘Hmm.  Well, I don’t believe personality or mental traits are genetically transmitted.  I believe they are the results of training and environment.  How does she have to be?’  quizzed Dewey, who felt that somehow this girl’s story would apply to him.

     ‘Well, when she was about fourteen she just started screwing everybody.  I mean everybody in sight.  Super loose.  Drove her mother crazy.  It got to the point where no one respectable would screw her anymore so she just sat out by the side of the road and offered herself to anyone who would pick her up.’

     ‘Wow!  So did you ever screw her?’

     ‘Me?  Gosh, no.  We’re too high class for that.  She’s real low.’

page 1337.

     There was the crux of the thing that Dewey thought appertained to himself although he couldn’t figure out how.  He sensed Torbrick’s manner toward him that he was considered as low as this girl hence beneath Torbrick’s dignity.  This reflection only made Torbrick’s interest in him less explicable.

     ‘So what happened to her?’

     ‘Nothing.  She’s still there.  Her mom tried to help her.  She sent her to psychiatrists for over a year.  Cost a lot, too.  We  know one, Beverly Warnack, so we got the whole scoop.  For a while it seemed like it was doing her good but then they thought they had her cured so she didn’t have to go anymore.  But once the heredity comes out, me and pop think, it’s a form of insanity, you have to go on being your natural self.  You can’t really fight it, it’s your destiny, your fate, you can’t avoid it so you might just as well lie back and enjoy it.  Ha. Ha.  You’ll be happier that way.’

     The mention of insanity brought the story home to Trueman.  He didn’t know where Torbrick got his stories but the hereditary insanity was a familiar refrain.

     ‘Well, Torbrick, let’s see if I’ve got this straight.  What you’re saying is that you inherit all your proclivities, upbringing has nothing to do with it.  For instance, a criminal is a criminal, a sneak is a sneak and cheat is so because it’s in his genes.  He has inherited his disposition from his parents who must therefore also be criminals, or sneaks and cheats.  Given that criminality is his natural disposition he will be much happier spending his life in prison, which is the natural consequence of crime, rather than fighting his inclinations and living unhappily on the outside.  Do I have it?’

page 1338.

     ‘Well, yes.  No matter how hard you try to suppress your real nature…’  Torbrick gave Trueman’s face a searching glance. ‘…sooner or later the real you will emerge.  Even as bad as it sounds, yes, you will find more satisfaction with your kind in prison than with us decent folks.’

     The way Torbrick said ‘us decent folks’ had the chilling effect on Trueman of being excluded.  He had no idea why Torbrick had so assiduously cultivated his friendship since he appreared to think Trueman was insane, criminal, or both but he put his finger to his lips in a moment of thoughtful silence.

     Torbrick broke the silence.  ‘By the way, Dewey, why do you always call me Torbrick?  Call me by my first name, Tory.’

     ‘It’s just that in the Navy we all go by last names.  It’s just natural to call you Torbrick.  I mean, you know, it’s the name stenciled on all your clothes.’

     ‘Speaking of that.  You sure have your name big enough.  TRUEMAN goes from shoulder to shoulder on your shirt.  In white too.  Everyone else’s is small and black.  People wonder about that.  I do too although, you know, I don’t care if it’s weird because we’re friends.’

     Most of the crew who’d been aboard when Dewey arrived were gone now.  The new men had no knowledge of how things had evolved.  So whereas Trueman’s eccentricities had been accepted the new men saw his lettering as standout peculiar.  That and bad mouthing by his enemies edged Trueman increasingly out of the ruck.

page 1339.

     ‘Yes, well, it’s genetic.  No, that’s a joke Torbrick.  When I first went aboard the ship had just come back from Westpac and all those guys had old gear or, rather no gear at all.  For some reason both ship and crew were real rundown.  It wasn’t neat and orderly like when you came aboard.  We had to spend weeks to make it ship shape.

     Rather than buy gear a lot of them stole it from us new guys.  Everyone of them was walking around with blacked out blotches and their name re-inked.  I lost a pair of pants which were returned because they were too small for anybody else and a couple shirts.’

     ‘How’d you lose them?’

     ‘Whadya mean how did I lose them?  They just don’t make it back from the laundry.  How else?  So, if you ink over black the name can’t be seen.  Black over white can be detected if you hold it to the light in reverse.  It’s easier to ink over a small area than a large one.  So, if anybody steals anything of mine I’ve got ’em dead to rights.’

     ‘Still seems pretty eccentric.’

     ‘Have you ever noticed there’s about four guys who don’t have anything that isn’t inked over?’

     ‘Oh well, at least one of those guys bought gear from guys on the way out.  That’s how they got their stuff.’

page 1340.

     ‘Oh yeah?  Have you ever had anybody offer you clothes because they were being discharged?’

     ‘No.’

     ‘Me neither.  anyway I haven’t had anything stolen since then no matter how eccentric it looks and you have.’

     ‘No, I haven’t.’

     ‘Didn’t you till me that a pair of your pants was missing?’

     ‘Sure, but nobody stole them.  They just didn’t come back from the laundry.  They got lost somehow.’

     ‘Oh, say, did you ever notice that you and Laddybuck Ifrit are the same size and he’s one of those guys whose clothes are all inked over?  Not to change the subject but what’s Tory short for, Torbrick?’

     ‘No. It’s short for Torrance.’

     ‘Torrance?’

     ‘Yes.’

     ‘You mean like the town of Torrance up by LA where Ifrit’s from?’

     ‘Uh huh.  My father named me after it.’

     ‘No kidding?  Good thing he didn’t name you Gardenia.  ‘Course, Gar’s not too bad.’

     ‘No.  I could call myself Gary, too.’  Torbrick chuckled as he guided the car off the freeway onto the overpass leading over to the coast and Long Beach.

     ‘Wow, this is a lot further from 101 than it looks on the map.’  Dewey remarked after an hour of driving.

     ‘California’s a big state.’  Torbrick replied as they passed through a picturesque quarry with a quaint loading tower for gravel.

page 1341.

     Trueman was disappointed with Long Beach. It was a dreary little town without the life and exuberance of LA or the golden climate of San Diego.  There was even less there there than in Oakland.  That was only the aspect Dewey saw because Long Beach was and is a good sized city.  Built on oil and shipping including the Naval Station along with Terminal Island prison it seemed to be a prosperous city.

     Dewey was further disappointed when Torbrick drove down a dreary street of little houses the residents called bungalows.  From Torbrick’s conversation Dewey had expected something a little more grand.  They entered the little thousand square foot house to be greeted by Torbrick’s whole family, father, mother, brother and sister.

     Dewey gave them his warm and fuzzy best only to be greeted by a cold studied curiosity not hostile but not friendly either.

     Bert Trobric was two inches taller than his six-two son.  He was much bigger and more heavily built than his son.  Given the task before him he could hardly be friendly to Trueman.  It is a rare individual who befriends his victim.  Bert had to have contempt for him.  Indeed, given the stories of Our Lady there would have been little to like about Trueman.

     What Trueman saw in his turn was one of that legion of losers who curse life for slighting their genius rather than exerting themselves to solve life’s problems and succeed.  He projected an aura of failure that required Trueman to conceal the revulsion he felt.

page 1342.

     Torbrick’s mother was a mousy beaten down woman who had never had any merit to her.  The house showed no understanding of homemaking, no taste, nothing that proclaimed a superior genetic makeup.

     Bert began by belittling and criticizing Dewey in a direct manner that couldn’t help but offend.  Still, brought up to a semblance of manners, Dewey tried to turn Bert aside with no success.  Finally Dewey looked about him and in an obvious manner asked Bert what he did for a living.

     Bert, perpetually on the make but seldom employed, evaded the question by telling what he used to do.

     ‘I used to a musician.  I was with a couple local California bands you probably never heard of.’

     Dewey prided himself on at least knowing names.  He had heard of Ernie Hecksher before he’d gotten to San Francisco so he was confident Bert couldn’t stump him:  ‘Oh yeah, which ones.’

     ‘Well, I was with Harry James for a while.’  Bert said in an offhand manner as though he thought Dewey would not have heard of this ‘California’ band.

     ‘Oh wow!  Harry James!  Gee, he’s a pretty famous trumpet player.  What did you play?’

     ‘I didn’t say I was in the band, I said I was with it.’  Bert had been a roadie with the band.

     ‘Oh.  What did you do?’

     Bert changed directions again rather than admit he had been the band boy.

page 1343.

     ‘I’ve done some composing.’

     Dewey, beginning to see through his man, noted that Bert didn’t say he had composed for Harry James nor that he had been successful at composing, only that he had done some composing.

     ‘Oh yeah?  Did you write anything I’ve ever heard of?’

     ‘Umm.  I had a hand in ‘Melancholy Baby.’

     ‘Sure.  Good song.’  Dewey said figuring that if Bert could write ‘Melancholy Baby’ he must  have written other songs too.  If so, where was the money?

     ‘Well, if you’ve made all that money what are you doing living in a place like this?’  He said, with seeming ingenuousness.  Dewey had heard of royalties.  In legend those ‘pennies from heaven’ added up.

     Bert flinched giving him a sharp look.  ‘I was only oneof the three who got rights so I had to share it.  I still get a royalty check every now and then.’

     ‘How much?’  Dewey kept burrowing.

     ‘Ten or fifteen dollars maybe a couple times a year.’

     Ten or fifteen dollars was much more than Bert deserved.  He had actually no hand in the composition of ‘Melancholy Baby’ or any other published song; he had merely chanced to be there when the song was written.  The composers hadn’t been able to get rid of him but rather than lose the idea while it was fresh they went ahead anyway.

page 1344.

     Having suggested a slightly more felicitous turn of phrase, he suggested ‘cuddle up’ rather than ‘snuggle up’, he had demanded from the real composers a third of the copyright.  In the circumstances it had been difficult to refuse him.

     That was more or less how Bert made it through life.  Now, as he looked contemptuously at Dewey, as a man must look at one he hopes to vicitmize, he saw only twelve hundred-fifty dollars on the hoof.

     He never did answer Trueman’s question of what he did for a living.

     After a dinner of undercooked hotdogs, Torbrick’s mother was a gourmet chef, Trueman was given a blanket and a dusty pillow from the couch and a spot on the kitchen floor to pass the night.  He was offered no breakfast in the morning.  Torbrick didn’t offer to introduceTrueman to his friends because he had none.  The genetically superior Torbricks were not well thought of.

     Part of the charm of bringing Trueman home with him was that plans were made to make Trueman seem less popular than Torbrick himself.  Our Lady had been mystified because there was no indication that Trueman was following the homosexual practices which had been attributed to him.  He thought that by replicating the original conditions Trueman could be invoked to return to his reputed ways.  It never occurred to Our Lady that his informants could be wrong.

     Thus he had set up a situation that he thought came close to replicating what he had heard.  After sitting around all morning Torbrick suggested they drive down to a teen hangout on the beachfront road.  Trueman geared his manners to meet a polite crowd rather than the tough guys of Da Costa’s acquaintance.

page 1345.

     There was a mile and a half drive to the long beach that gave the city its name.  The aspect of the city improved somewhat.  There was a certain glee of anticipation on Torbrick’s face which gave Dewey pause to reflect but he had no choice but to trust in Tory’s good will.

     Leaving the car parked across the street they began the walk to the entrance.  When they were halfway across the street twenty teens or older erupted from the hangout shaking their fists and yelling and screaming at Dewey:  ‘Get out of here, Trueman, go away.  We don’t want your kind around here.’

     Dewey stopped in his tracks his mouth open.  Torbrick hung back a couple steps to conceal a pleased smile.  There was no need to go on so amidst the hoots and catcalls, Dewey turned around to head back to the car.  A snickering Torbrick followed him.

     The scene did replicate almost exactly the situation at the skating rink in the Valley.  Torbrick took the place of the guy who had driven him out to the rink.  As he had stepped out of the car in the Valley the crowd awaiting his arrival had behaved in the exact same way.

     Our Lady hoped that the replication woud compel Trueman to begin fellatio behavior, as he thought, again.  Our Lady never questioned his assumptions.  No matter how many times he was disappointed by results he merely thought that Trueman was repressing his true nature.

page 1346.

     And on the other hand using defamation skills that only Judaism knows how to so artfully employ Trueman was now forever defamed in Long Beach as Our Lady would defame him throughout the Southland.  The Anti-Defamation League should rightfully call itself the Defamation League.

     Driving back to Torbrick’s  house Dewey asked:  ‘What was that all about, Torbrick?’

     ‘It looks like they don’t like you at all.’  Torbrick said with smug satisfaction.

     ‘They don’t even know me, Torbrick.  How did they get my name in the first place.  You’re the only one who knows I’m here?’

     ‘They didn’t use your name.’  Torbrick lied straight faced.

     ‘They certainly did.  They said:  Get out of here, Trueman.’

     ‘I didn’t hear that.  They didn’t say that.  You’re just projecting your guilt, that’s all.’

     ‘Guilt for what?’

     Another maxim of the ADL is always deny and countercharge.  No matter how clear the facts, have the chutzpah to deny them.  Thus when Franklin Roosevelt told the people of Pittsburgh one year that he would never send their sons to war he had to appear before them a year later to say he was sending their boys to war, his Jewish advisor, Samuel Rosenman, told him with a straight face, no irony intended:  ‘Just tell them you’ve never been in Pittsburgh in your life.’

     Tory had been tutored by Bert who had been tutored by Yehouda; Tory stoutly denied hearing Trueman mentioned by the crowd or any previous knowledge of what happened.  Trueman was not satisfied to have Tory deny what was in fact true.

     ‘You’ll notice they didn’t boo me.’  Torbrick said with smug satisfaction.  ‘They liked me.’

     ‘They didn’t even acknowledge your presence.’  Trueman said in derision.  ‘Let’s go back to the ship now.’

     ‘We’ve got till tomorrow.’

     ‘I want to go back now, Torbrick.’

     ‘Well, if you’re going to be a spoil sport and insist.  OK.  But my mother’s making macaroni and cheese tonight and her’s is really good.’

     ‘I can live without macaroni and cheese.  I want to go back.’

     Dewey was fuming as Tory’s car raced down the access lane to 101.  He had repressed his anger all the way from Long Beach.

     He decided to try again:  ‘What the hell was going on back there, Torbrick?’

     ‘I don’t know what you mean.’  Tory continued in his ridiculous dissimulation.

     ‘What?  You take me downtown to some back door dive and before we even enter the hoodlum punks come out on the sidewalk shaking their fists at me and you don’t even know who they were, who put them up to it?  They’d never seen me before.’

     ‘Did you notice that?’  Torbrick stonewalled innocently.  ‘They seemed to like me OK.  Did you notice that?’

      Trueman shut up.  He could see he was going to get nowhere.  He thought back to Torbrick’s arrival on ship unable to reconcile his self-introduction to this.  Tory pulled the car into the parking space at their arrival back at the Naval Station.  Dewey jumped out before the car stopped.  He left Tory in the car threading his way through the traveling derricks back to the Teufelsdreck alone.

page 1348.

     He was finished with Torbrick, but Torbrick wasn’t finished with him or, rather, Bert wasn’t.  There was the small matter of twelve hundred-fifty dollars still on the table.

Second Verse, Same As The First

      I guess we won’t be seeing you around anymore, Trueman.’  Laddybuck Ifrit sneered.

     ‘Yeah?  Your transfer come through, I hope, Ifrit?’

     ‘No.  Yours did.’

     ‘Mine?  How’s that?’

     ‘You haven’t heard?’

     ‘Obviously not.’

     ‘The Navy’s decided  to get rid of no good bums like you.’

     ‘I’m for it.  How does it work?’

     ‘There’s a new program.  Anybody with a GI quotient of 30 or less can apply for a medical discharge.’

     ‘Really, Ifrit?  They’re going to let everybody out with scores from 25 to 30?’  A score of at least twenty-five was necessary for enlistment.  The General Intelligence test was designed so that no one could fail.  If you marked box A on each of the multiple choice question test you achieved a 25.  If you lacked confidence the recruiters would tell you how to do it too.

page 1349.

     ‘I guess it’s back to Torrance for you, hey Ifrit?’

      ‘Hardly Trueman.  I scored a lot higher than that, but you’re what a 26-27.’

     ‘Hate to disappoint you Ifrit but my score is probably twice that of your kind.’

     ‘Hah.  They don’t go as high as seventy-eight.’

     ‘Oh.  I see you’ve got a thirty-nine, Ifrit.  Well over the line but a heck of a lot less than my sixty-two.

     Ifrit was stung by having tricked himself into revealing his score.  He was equally astonished at Trueman’s score.

     ‘Bullshit, Trueman.  You ain’t got no sixty-two.

     ‘Really?  Check up with your very close buddy, I mean very close buddy, Kanary.  He’ll tell you.’

     ‘What’s very close buddy supposed to mean?’

     Trueman crossed his two first fingers.  ‘Just like that, Ifrit, Kanary’s on top.  Ha, ha.’

     ‘If that means what I think it means, if I get up your ass is grass and I’m the lawnmower.’

     ‘If you find the energy to get up Ifrit you sure as hell won’t find the energy to push that mower.  Use that mighty thirty-nine GI score and see if you can figure out what I mean.  Let’s see, thirty-nine?  Thirty-nine?  Is that above the level of moron?’

     ‘Hey, Dewey.  It seems like you’ve been avoiding me.  My parents want me to invite you back for another visit.  I want you to come too.’

     ‘I’m goin’ up to San Francisco, Torbric.  Thanks for the offer.’

page 1350.

     Torbrick would not take no for an answer but harrassed Trueman continually until he gave in.

     You could ask for early liberty on Fridays to give you a few extra hours on the weekend.  Torbrick wanted to do that but Trueman declined hoping Tory would leave without him.  He had disappointed hopes.  At five-thirty they were leaving the parking lot for 101.

     On the drive Torbrick once again related the story of the girl who was screwing everybody adding new details and elaborating the old.  It was difficult for Trueman not to think that he was being compared to her in some inexplicable manner.

     The sailors arrived late enough so there was only time for a bit to eat, small talk and bed.

     Our Lady and Bert believed that the episode on the beach had been enough to jog Trueman’s memory.  Their scheme was thus to abandon Trueman to his own devices on Saturday.  They believed he would find his way to a skating rink or perhaps sit on a streetcorner to resume what they thought was his former habit.

     Consequently at noon Tory informed Trueman that his family was going to a gathering to which Trueman was not invited.

     ‘Well, what am I supposed to do, Torbrick?’

     ‘I don’t know.  You’ll just have to amuse yourself until tonight when we’ll be back.  There’s a roller skating rink down on the beach.  Maybe you can pass the time there.’

     Yah, maybe.  Thanks for nothing, Torbrick.’

     ‘I’m sorry but that’s just the way it is.  The house is locked up so you can’t stay here.’

page 1351.

     ‘What’s the matter?  ‘Fraid I’ll steal the copyright to ‘Melancholy Baby’?  Dewey said sarcastically.

     Trueman was stunned and infuriated at being abandoned.  Had he been closer to 101 he would have caught a bus back to San Diego but Long Beach is fairly out of the way to the main stem of California so Dewey thought he would be just as far ahead to wait it out.

     Among the many conversations he had had with Southlanders aboard ship he had heard the Redcars mentioned.  Dewey was intrigued by the name.  Even though LA was fully committed to cars and freeways there still existed at that time an interurban trolley system known as the Redcars.  Today it would be known as a mass transit system.  Same function but I guess the latter name sounds more scientific.  The rails were soon to be torn up only to be relaid thirty years later.

     Dewey decided to spend the day riding the Redcars much to the disappointment of Yehouda Yisraeli, who you may be sure, was watching.

     The day would stir deep memories and trauma from Dewey’s youth but not as Our Lady expected.  Dewey had left the Valley in what can only be described as the deepest of depressions.  In its own way the Navy had been Trueman’s salvation.  Back in the Valley after graduation he had been reduced to a non functioning capacity unable even to get up in the morning.  The Navy provided a framework within which Trueman could function with minimal effort.   The Navy was the crutch of crutches for the walking wounded of the nation.  Had Dewey remained at home he would probably have been unable to function at all sinking slowly into an inert mass.

page 1352.

     Even now Dewey was very discouraged.  While he would have objected to a description of a feeling of inadequacy every attitude, every movement of his body was shaped to cover up just such a feeling.  His high voice and deferential, reticent manner betrayed just such a feeling.  Under stress he invariably fell back on a defensive clownish manner that removed him from any conflict while being contemptuously dismissed by his opponents.  Such contempt was immediately transformed in his subconscious into an acceptable correction so that he never showed any irritation at being so treated.  Still, he fought manfully to overcome his feeling of inadequacy.  Such a feat is not a matter of will but of the rearrangement of the intellect to expel the causes and replace them with positive motivations.  Dewey did not yet understand this but believed he could will himself into character.

     Mental images are always an important indication of where we are if we pay attention to them and are willing to understand their meaning.  Dewey, who did not understand the following image except in the obvious sense, compared his life to a tiny compressed bubble rising from the bottom of a very deep sea.  As the bubble wobbled upward the pressure decreased allowing the bubble to expand realizing its potential as it rose.

     Dewey’s fear for this bubble, he would never have been able to explaine why he feared for the bubble, was that it might become trapped beneath some sort of overhang or projection of a shipwreck and be forever arrested in its ascent.

page 1353.

     The psychological implications should be clear to all.  In another image Dewey dreamed that he stood beside an empty manhole with the cover still quivering.  It was not clear but it was still obvious that he had just emerged from the sewer.  Both images aptly described his psychological interpretation of his origins.

     Since it is axiomatic that one can never learn what one does not already know it is clear that Dewey knew what he did not yet comprehend.  As these images accompanied him constantly it may be assumed that his subconscious was unceasingly worrying him and prodding him forward and upward.  He had only to grasp the meaning and the symptom would disappear.

     He had made tremendous progress in the year and a half since he left the Valley and under the most adverse of circumstances.  A ship full of strangers in the Navy is no place to dwell on your psychology.  Fortunately for Dewey most of the damage had already been done.  The fodder for his dreams and nightmares for the rest of his life until he succeeded in integrating his personality had already been received.  Some fine mental line had been crossed on the return from the Pacific.  Prior to the return his psyche had been unable to handle its input.  His mind had been overwhelmed by the data.  From now on no matter how devastating his experiences he would be able to incorporate then into his experience and understand them to deal with them on a rational basis.  His very difficult task would be to clear his mental landscape of its trash heaps.

page 1344.

     With the elimination of the roar of the Niagara in his ears the foundation of his depression, so great was the distance on his road to recovery, had been passed.  In the journey of a thousand miles only the first step had been taken.  While the bubble would rise it would only rise slowly because of the intense pressure from above.  Dodging projections like Our Lady Of The Blues aggravated Dewey’s anxiety.

     Such was his mental state as he waited for the mass transit system.

     Now, it’s a good long way from Long Beach to LA.  The Redcar was a trolley but in any other state in America it would have been a trainride.  In Michigan the ride would have the equivalent of from the Valley to Detroit.

     An engine with three or four cars would not have been inappropriate.  Thus when a single Redcar showed up at the stop, not station, but stop, Dewey was not prepared for a most surrealistic experience.  Such a simple thing as a trolley ride would be a major life changing experience.  Why life changing?  As the author I don’t really know.  Perhaps the reader will be more perceptive.  Dewey was certainly not aware of it.

     As the trolley moved through the Long Beach stops there was no difference than being on a bus with steel wheels.  But then the Redcar burst through the city limits and began rolling through open countryside.  I do not report the actual scenes but only as they appeared through Dewey’s subjective reality on his road to psychic transformation.

     It seemed to him as though he was physically in the car but psychically perched on one of the long thin strands of coulds that streaked the immense gray-blue sky.  At that time the area was not completely built up but was open land.  Oil was the business of Long Beach.  Strewn across this near desert landscape of bare soil interspersed with hardy tufts of grass innumerable oil pumps slowly rotated rising and falling in slow motion now in unison now to the beat of an unseen solitary drummer.  Silently working, now the shiny piston fully exposed now plunged back into the sheath, working, pumping laboriously but effortlessly drawing up to the surface its p0ison that once released on the land must lay it waste unless genius turn it into something useful.

page 1355.

     Even so there was no splash of oil upon the ground or even into visible storage tanks.  the unseen subterranean bile was drawn from hidden recesses in the subconscious memory of the earth where without seeing the light of day it was mysteriously transported to processing refineries where the useless evil smelling bile was transformed into a myriad of useful products some of which were capable of transforming the Stygian dooms of night into the bright warming light like sunshine.  It could be done in Dewey’s mind; it must be done.

     The thick steel connecting rods, like drivers on a locomotive drew the heavy balance at the other end of the traveling beam to earh while the still heavier counter balance reared it back into the sky.  Over and over and over, silently, with no visible source of power.  The bile flowed and flowed and flowed ceaselessly in an endless unseen stream from the sewer of the earth like a bubble rising to be recreated into light.

1356.

     Care was necessary.  Planning.  There was a price for the release of pressure.  So much oil had been pumped from beneath the warm California sun that a greater depression occurred.  The earth sank into the created abyss.  The great concrete seawall at Terminal Island had cracked and broken as the earth sank beneath the foundations.  In places the bay washed over the sunken seawall.  Care must be taken lest one drown in one’s own tears.  Genius had learned its lesson.  Other pumps silently filled the depleted subterranean spaces with sea water to shore up the sinking surface.  All the while pumps rose and fell and Dewey’s bubble struggled upward to his seat in the clouds.

     For the first time in California he noticed that the grass was green.  True, this was after the spring rainy season so the grass was still growing; it wasn’t the dull straw color that characterizes California nine months of the year.  Still Dewey’s mental state had been such that all he had ever seen was sere desert.  What greens he had acknowledged were dull and lifeless.  The green grass came as a revelation like a flicker of light in inspissating gloom.

     His astral being high on its cloud watched himself rolling through the green desert of black oil in the little Redcar.  He could see the stops strung out along the line; stops out in the middle of the desert from the dwellings.  and yet people got on and off.  The lone tiny Redcar trundling through this strange delusive immensity slowed to a stop.

     As Dewey watched breathlessly, tense and anxious for unknown reasons, a girl, perhaps a woman in years, but with all the dazzling freshness of a young girl, mounted the steps to enter the car.

page 1357.

     Dewey gave an audible gasp.  He was entranced by the vision.  The gasp had been so loud that everyone in the Redcar had turned to look at him.  The girl herself, lonely as a poppy on the green hills of earth, fixed a steady inquiring glance on him.  Someone considerately changed seats so that when the girl sat down there was a space beside her for Dewey.  A space for Dewey?  Yes, a space for Dewey.

     Dewey was transfixed but he was also immobilized.  Like the stationary pumps outside the windows the black bile of his past was distributed from one point to another for processing purification.  Dewey’s mind was as crude oil.  The beauties it contained were enclosed in the thick viscosity of an undifferentiated past.  Old memories of Ange collided with his recent desires to render him incapable of action.

     He sat breathlessly clutching the steel bar atop the seat in front of him.  The tiny Redcar rolled through the immensity until the girl’s destination had been reached.  The girl got up.  People looked to see Dewey’s reaction.  Perhaps he would make his move now.  The girl fixed a receptive look on Dewey.  Perhaps on this enchanted evening the stranger who would redeem her life had arrived.  She got off but not hurrying away she stood on the dock looking at Dewey waiting and hoping for his move.

     The Redcar driver who had been watching the little drama had seen and approved.  All the world loves a lover.  He held the door open an extra moment longer, two, to give Dewey time to go to her.

page 1358.

     The pumps in Dewey’s mind moved resolutely up and down; the heavy counter weight falling with emphasis.  The black bile of Dewey’s past was drawn up and shunted away.  He sat frozen, humiliated by his own inaction.

     A myriad of thoughts passed through his mind.  There was only one type of woman he responded to.  She was a replica of the girl, the only girl, who had fixated him oh so long ago when he was fifteen.  Fifteen to nineteen.  What do you think?  Is it only a matter of four years?  No, no my friends, out across the Betelgeuse Bridge time is an irrelevant concept, in space time is frozen.  ‘The’ girl had lived in his heart forever.  The second that it took to put her there had never passed away.

     And here ‘she’ was again.  And she would accept him.  Dewey thought that to go to her would provide a balm for his remaining time in the Navy.  He could see himself taking up with her.  He would go to her every weekend to refresh his soul.  She would renew his life after a weekend of tortures.  Ah, but, Dewey reflected, he was in the Navy.  His desires were but the desires of desperation.  He had only the need to take; he had nothing to give.  His intentions were not honorable.  When his time was up he would lose interest in her and have led her astray for nothing.  The Navy was no place for two people in love.  And so he eased back in his seat while the driver moved out of the stop shaking his head in wonder.

page 1359.

     The spell of the journey was broken.  Whatever adventure was to have been achieved had been achieved.  Dewey got off at the next stop to take the desolate ride back to Long Beach.  He no longer noticed that the grass was green.  He was down from the cloud, body and soul being within the Redcar.

     He had nothing to say to Tory Torbric on the ride back to the Naval Station.

Waiting For Lefty Or Someone Just Like Him

     When McCarthy had been destroyed the pressure on the Reds had been  completely removed.  The counterrevolution had been completely emasculated.   The next counter offensive came from the ineffectual John Birch Society.  Conservatives were now known as lunatic warhawks.  The movie Dr. Strangelove released in the mid-sixties caught perfectly the Red vision of the conservatives of the period.  The effect was so complete that Dewey believed he had seen Dr. Strangelove in 1958.

     The Reds themselves were in the ascendant but disorganized by the McCarthy onslaught.  The Reds were still a threat to anyone who incurred their displeasure.  The threat, When the Revolution comes, watch out. was frequently heard.  Dewey in his simplicity thought it was a joke but it wasn’t; it was an actual threat from covert Reds.

     Yisraeli had been active consolidating his sources and means throughout the San Diego fleet.  He had a very substantial homosexual network.  He knew of ship movements almost before the Navy knew them itself.  Homosexuals were standard bearers of the Revolution.  They expected that the New Order would put them on top.

page 1360

     A key factor in the success of the Bolshevik Revolution had been the revolt of the sailors of the great Kronstadt shipyards near St. Petersburg.  They had actually been a Soviet all by themselves.  The Space Cadets of the Revolution in America believed that if the sailors of San Diego revolted seizing the fleet that the Revolution would succeed in America.  This was openly discussed.

     Disregarding the fact that there was no groundswell of support for Redism in the fleet the Red segment walked around in a quiver of anticipation.

     Teal Kanary had high hopes tempered with a growing sense of internal desperation.  Going back to the Th. Crapper warehouse escapade in Brisbane his sense of purity had all but been destroyed.  His Captain’s Masts and Court Martial had worked their way into his subconscious.  He had worked out conscious defenses but the mind is controlled from the subconscious.  Just as Dewey’s dreamwork for the next thirty years was formed so the basis of Kanary’s dreamwork and character had been irrevocably formed.

     Now lacking the confidence that had characterized his pre-Brisbane days he was called upon by Captain Ratches to betray the foundation of his existence.  Ratches, who understood the wellsprings of power was capable of taking direct action but only when direct action might appear inculpable.  While Erect had paid the price for his criminal activity on the equator the instigator, Paul Duber, had not.

page 1361.

     Ratches’ informers had kept him well appraised of the obvious characters of men aboard ship.  Thus he knew of the gatherings in After Steering while overseas, what they did and who attended.  He knew that both Duber and Kanary were queers.  Thus he proposed to set one to expose the other in a rather diabolical move.

     Jim Kanary, Teal’s father, while talking to Ratches on the dock when the ship returned had extolled his son’s virtues.  Foremost among Teal’s supposed virtues was a highly developed sense of loyalty.  The Captain had been informed that he could always count on Teal’s honesty and support.

     Ratches had taken it wryly at the time but now he thought to turn the Yeoman to good use.

     If anything, Duber, counting on the imminent arrival of the Revolution, had been more flagrant than ever.  He was very close to being queenly.  With a sly smile Ratches proposed through Bifrons Morford, although Ratches was present at the interview, that Kanary invite Duber up to the Yeoman’s shack to entrap him in an amorous vice.

     Kanary was shocked and dismayed at the clash of his values but as Morford let the word ‘loyalty’ drop a few times Jim Kanary had entrapped his son into a position where he could not say no.  His errors overseas had been unthinking errors which, though their effect was profound, could still be treated consciously as genuine mistakes.  Kanary was now called to premeditate the betrayal of his innermost secret character.

page 1362.

     He had some very painful moments of deliberation after Bifrons and Ratches left him alone.  That evening he called his pop.  Jim Kanary listened patiently as his son explained things in terms that included his own homosexuality.  Teal placed it more in the context of a McCartyite naming of names.  The American Communists had elevated the crime of naming names into the ne plus ultra of criminality.  They somehow managed to overlook the fact that they approved of Stalin’s forcing the naming of associates and accomplices during the Great Purge Trials of the mid-thirties.  They would also be able to overlook the same fault in Mao during the Cultural Revolution.  But then, for Reds integrity is a matter of whose foot the shoe is on.

     Jim Kanary pointed out that a good Communist must always be willing to seem to betray his convictions for the good of the Party but that a temporal betrayal without spiritual implications had no mundane effect on the purity of one’s intentions.  It was the same with the Stalin-Hitler pact.  One day you were an anti-Fascist the next day you were in bed with them and then the next day you weren’t.  It all worked out in the wash.  Right?

     That was easy enough for Teal to comprehend so he said:  ‘Sure, Dad.’  and hung up.  Temporal rationalization was an easy matter.  Teal’s conscious mind, his intelligence, had no difficulty with that but the heart, the subconscious, is a different matter.  Already drowning in a sea of doubts about himself Teal Kanary now went down for the third time.  He passed through the plane of existence into a different entity.  He was now a double agent and acquired a doppelganger.

page 1363.

     The entrapment of Duber went off without a hitch.  A kick on the door at the right moment had exposed Duber’s dual nature for Ratches and Morford to see.

     Then the problem arose as to who would press charges.  The homosexual community was a secret society, a fifth  column.  Retribution against the prosecutor could come from any direction in any number of clandestine ways.  Ratches was no fool, he quailed before the prospect.  While Duber had been exposed before all, that is, his proclivities were made incontestable, manifest and obvious there was no one to denounce him.

     Ratches, who thought Trueman had sufficient reason to hate Duber, made it clear to him that he could take vengeance on the Store Keeper.  But Trueman was less a fool than he used to be.  Time had been teaching him that it was unnecessary to be vocal about his feelings about homosexuality.  Neither Ratches nor Trueman would have admitted fear of the homosexual community but both chose discretion as the better part of valor.

     However as Duber had been exposed no practicing homosexual could be tolerated in an all male community.  Not even other queers wanted to be seen with him.  Duber became isolated.  He could no longer stand at the head of the shower line ogling the sailors and smacking his gravid lips.

     The Revolution was too slow in coming for Paul Duber.  Unable to endure isolation he turned inward alone and confused.  When his enlistment was up he chucked in his twelve years to return to civilian life.  A few years later he could be found on the streets of LA hanging around the bus station.

page 1364.

Three Strikes And Out

     Tory Torbrick had enough sense not to push Trueman too hard for the next few days.  Nevertheless when he had informed his father that Trueman had told Tory that he no longer wished to go to Long Beach Bert realized that the time to move was now, or he could kiss twelve hundred-fifty smackers goodbye.  He instructed Tory on what to say and not to take no for an answer.

      Thus Trobrick approached Trueman:  ‘Got any plans for the weekend?’

     ‘Yes.’

     ‘You could probably change them though.  Yu won’t get a chance like this for a while.’

     ‘Chance for what?’

     ‘Well, you know how you like to always see new things, go new places, well, my pop’s going up to Atascadero to visit an old school chum.  We thought you might enjoy going along.’

     ‘Where’s Atascadero?’

     ‘Oh, it’s up in the Bay Area around San Jose.’  Tory lied as he had been instructed.  Atascadero is above San Luis Obispo and below Paso Robles on 101 a long way from San Jose.  But, as Bert had no doubt his friend, Doctor Godwin, would admit Trueman it was thought best to keep his location as secret as possible from him so that if he did get word out he would direct his people to the wrong area.

page 1365.

      Little did they know that Trueman’s mother was of the mind to say:  Like father like son and let her son rot as his father was.

     ‘Oh yeah?  What do you do, just go up ninety-nine?

     ‘Uh, well, you can but it’s a lot easier to go up one o one.’

     ‘One o one?  Really?  All the way?’

     ‘Yeah.  Straight shot.’

      Well, Dewey thought,  What could happen?  He did like to go to new places.  True, he didn’t like or trust the Torbricks but this was the Navy.  He didn’t really like any of the people he had to associate with so it wasn’t so much a choice between good and evil as the lesser evil.  Besides it would be a weekend when he wouldn’t have to spend much money.  He could conserve his resources.

     ‘Yeah, Torbrick, alright.’

     Saturday moring found the entire Torbrick family and Trueman out on fabled Highway 101.  The highway was much less traveled than 99 and much more picturesque.  Up through the bizarrely named town of Oxnard to Santa Barbara and out through San Luis Obispo into the wild and gorgeous canyons that go all the way to San Jose.

     As they approached the town of Atascadero Dewey asked where the Bay was as Tory had told him that Atascadero was just above San Jose on the Bay.  There was nothing too subtle about Bert Torbrick.  He didn’t yet know what chutzpah was but he had it in spades.  He merely waved a hand and said:  ‘Just up ahead there.’  He rolled past the long green hedges of the Atascadero State Hospital For The Criminally Insane and up to the gate.

page 1366.

     Because of his father Dewey had often been taunted about being placed in an insane asylum.  He was familiar with numerous stories about persons being unjustly  committed by family, friends or even strangers who then had to plead to be let out.  It was a fate that haunted him from the depths of his mind.

     ‘Atascadero State Hospital For The Criminally Insane?  What are we doing here?’

     Tory who was riding in the back with Trueman made an involuntary move to restrain Trueman lest he leap from the car.  As it appeared that his worst fears might be realized Trueman was too paralyzed to even think such a thought.

     The guard telephoned Dr. Godwin to clear Torbrick then opened the gate to allow him in.  An immense expanse of the most vivid green, almost chartreuse, lawn spread away like the ocean.  The huge forbidding asylum lay far back across the lawn.  Dewey looked at it and swallowed hard.  He was already in, the gate had closed behind him.  Even though he’d heard of this sort of thing he had never believed it could be done.  You never do until it happens to you but, my friends, whatever you have heard has happened somewhere, sometime to someone.

     Dewey relaxed his apprehension somewhat when they didn’t drive up to the big house but turned into a semi-circular driveway before a neat little white house that glistened like a little island in the sea of chartreuse.  Dr. Godwin opened the door with the air of one braving danger which was in no way misplaced.

page 1367.

     ‘Hello, Bert.’  He said in as affable a manner as his jittery nerves would allow motioning them to hurry.

     ‘You’ve met my wife Isadora?’  Bert said.

     ‘No, I don’t believe I have.’  Dr. Godwin replied quickly introducing his wife, Anne.  ‘Hurry now, hurry.’  Doctor Godwin insisted as the others straggled out of the car.

     ‘This is my daughter Margaret, my son Hawthorne and my eldest boy Torrance that I told you about.’  Bert introduced once inside.

     Dr. Godwin motioned Dewey to a seat on the bench of an upright piano that sat against the wall as the rest sat around him in a semi-circle staring at him anxiously but quietly.

     ‘And this is the…this is the…uh, young man I told you about.’  Bert stammered searching for the least offensive, least reviling term.

     Dr. Godwin turned his eyes on Dewey and studied him attentively.

     Dewey put it all together in an instant.  He was there to be committed.  Tory was staring at him with starting eyes as the excitement of his perfidy overwhelmed him but in the sincere conviction that Dewey was ‘criminally’ insane.

     Bert stared at him as though he were twelve hundred-fifty dollars under the middle shell of a shell game.  He didn’t want to lose that money.  Bert’s wife and daughter and other son sat tensely awed by such a legendary place.  Mrs. Godwin stood to Dewey’s right looking at him fearfully lest he explode in a murderous paroxysm.

page 1368.

     Dewey aware of his danger went limp, relaxing more than he would have done in ordinary circumstances to as to preclude any gestures that could be construed as ‘wild.’  He knew that any animation could be construed as proof of violence.  He looked deep into the jittery eyes of Dr. Godwin.  That man had been dealing with dangerous types far too long.

     ‘Yes.’  Dewey said to himself, looking into him.  ‘You’ve been on the job too long.’

     Godwin’s mental agitation showed in his extreme nervousness, ever alert to jump out of the way or restrain yet attempting to look calm and in control.  He was never in as much danger as one might think; a simple touch to a pressure point in the neck would lay out the most ferocious man.  Of course, you did have to find the pressure point first.

     Looking past Godwin out the window to the left Trueman could see the two guards at the gate watching for signs of danger.  To the right Dewey saw an inmate standing on a small ladder in the bright California sun above the bright chartreuse lawn with a pair of hedge clippers furiously hacking into the dark green hedge.  There was no doubt by the man’s attitude that he was insane.  In his hands as he hacked violently at the hedge the shears seemed a lethal weapon.

     Dewey looked at the tense apprehensive wife of the doctor to ask:  ‘Do you really live in this house?’

     ‘Oh, yes.  Why?’

     ‘How can you stand it?  Aren’t you terrified?’

     ‘No.’  The woman lied.  ‘Why should I be?’

     ‘Well, there’s one reason right there.’  Dewey said motioning casually at the lunatic just outside the neat little house in the middle of the chartreuse lawn with his eyes.  ‘Don’t you worry he might try to kill you?  Look how he’s handling those shears.’

     The lunatic slashed at the hedge his lenses meeting Dewey’s eyes as he assumed they were talking about him.  In his wild delusions he thought since Dewey was talking about him it must be love.

     ‘Oh, there’s nothing to worry about.  We keep the doors and windows locked at all times, all I would have to do is call the guards.  The State gives us air conditioning so we’re comfortable.  Unlike many we don’t have to mind the heat.’

     ‘Well, yeah, but those are glass windows and he has steel shears in his hands.  Put those through a window and he’d have plenty of time before the guards got here.  Has he ever killed anyone?’

     ‘Him?  He eviscerated his mother and father but that only makes him dangerous to them.  That doesn’t make him dangeous to anyone else.  Anyone he doesn’t love for instance.  He just looks wild.’  Dr. Godwin said.  ‘How about you?’

     ‘How about me what?  Both my parents are living and I don’t look violent.’

     ‘Have you ever hurt anybody?’

     ‘No.’  Dewey said truthfully and quietly.  Then he said perhaps imprudently:  ‘Don’t you think you’ve been on this job too long, Doctor?  Don’t you feel like you should take a long vacation.’

page 1370.

      ‘Why do you say that?’  Godwin asked.

     ‘Well.’  Dewey said still looking deep inside Godwin.  ‘You’re real nervous, jittery even, tension all over your face and body.  ‘I mean.’  Dewey said shifting his gaze to the lunatic just outside without moving his eyes, even then the lunatic, perhaps a paranoid delusive, sensing Dewey was talking about him, gnashed his teeth while shearing the same spot in the hedge wildly.  ‘If you look at that guy’s eyes out there you can see that his brain is disconnected from them, I mean, he can see things so he doesn’t trip over them but he’s entirely disconnected from reality.  The objective world means nothing to him because he projects his subjective delusion on it.  When the world doesn’t respond as he thinks it should he blames the world; doesn’t even examine his own understanding.  I mean, like, he’s been trimming that exact same spot since I’ve been sitting here.  I bet if you accuse him of mutilating the hedge he’d turn the shears on you.

     I mean, his mind is so tangled up that it’s not connected to his eyes.  It’s kind of like if he were a deckhand on a ship trying to dock he had his lead line connected to the hawser and had the monkey fist in his hand but his lead line was so tangled that there was no slack between the hawser and the monkey fist.  Every time he tried to throw the monkey fist at the dock to connect with the dock, or in another word, reality, his tangled line would just fall to the deck.  He would have to stand out to sea forever because it will never occur to him to untangle his lead line.  If he ever did he would be sane but still guilty of murder.

page 1371

     But, you, you’re different.’  Dewey was dangerously naive.  ‘I mean, your face looks just as distracted as his but by your eyes I can see that you are still connected to your brain.’  A gasp went up from everyone but Dewey didn’t notice as he was staring acutely into Godwin’s soul.  ‘So you can deal with real things in a real way.  I mean, you know, you’ve got some idea of where it’s at but you’ve been dealing with lunatics so long that the connection is stretching thin.  And you don’t have to be sane to know where that’s at.  Do you dig me, Daddyo?’

     ‘Yes, Dewey, yes.  I think I do dig you.  But you?  Where are you at?’

     It might be construed that Godwin was mocking Dewey by his repetition of the hip jargon but he wasn’t.  He was in the habit of adapting his speech patterns to those of his patients.  Dewey just assumed that Godwin knew his brain was connected to his eyes, so to speak, as indeed Godwin was looking deep into his eyes and making connection.

     ‘Me?  Where am I at?  Well, you know, I’m waiting for ships that never come in.  I’m kind of standing at the end of a long pier looking lonely out to sea.  A long pier, way out over the water.  I’m way out at the end with the toes of my shoes over the edge, standing, looking, standing, stretching, looking, looking out to sea.  Staring way out at the horizon watching for sails or the trail of smoke from a stack.  I’m watching and waiting for ships, for ships that never come in.  I wonder where they can be?’

page 1372

     ‘Maybe your ships will never come in, Dewey.  What then?’

     ‘What then?  I don’t know but I know they’re out there and I know I will at least get my chance.  If I get hungry I can just walk back up the pier and get a hamburg at a hamburg shop…with mustard and onions, fries, lots of salt, no catsup.  If I leave even for a second though I might miss my ship.  Even though I’m surrounded by water I’m still connected to land.  In a way I’ve not only got the water but the land.  I’ve got my bucket and it doesn’t have a hole in it.  God bless the child that’s got his own.  Can you dig where that’s at, Doc?’

     Godwin broke ocular contact starting back in his seat at the question.  He could dig where that it was at.  He thought it was quite normal; he didn’t think it was too dissimilar from his own situation.  Seldom had he heard such an understanding articulated so well.

     Shrugging his shoulders at Bert he said quietly with a well controlled sense of revulsion:  ‘You can go now.’

     ‘Dr. Godwin, aren’t you going to…going to…keep him?’

     ‘Bert.  This is an asylum for the criminally, the violently insane.  As you can plainly see.’  He said, indicating Trueman.  ‘This man isn’t violent.  We can’t take up our valuable beds with harmless types like this.  Besides he criticized me and no insane person criticizes a doctor.  He tries to manipulate him.’

     Sensing that Trueman was to be dismissed the lunatic just outside the window threw his shears down violently driving the points six inches into the ground.   He stomped about wildly in a tight circle for a few seconds then snatching up his shears he violently stalked away shaking his shears at Dewey through the panes of glass.

page 1373.

     Paranoid delusive?  Or just tuned to a different wavelength.  How could he have possible known that Dewey had just escaped confinement?  Did Dewey imperceptively relax his features?  Change his posture thus telegraphing Godwin’s decision?  Did the others make some barely perceptible motion of disappointment or was he so attuned to Godwin that he read him like a book?  Paranoid or hyper-sensitive?  Or did he just distort the implications of what he did see?  After all that is what insanity is.

     Dewey in his turn had seen the lunatic’s fierce clipping as hostility to himself; some sort of jealousy perhaps because Godwin was giving attention to someone else.  This was not the case.  The lunatic had fallen in love with Dewey at first sight.  As a murderer of those he did love, he was quite obviously incapable of expressing affection in a normal manner.  Dewey conversely had been ill-treated so long that he interpreted interest in him as hostility as that was the only kind of interest he had ever known.  Truly there would have been a tremendous clash of personalities had Godwin accepted Trueman.

     The lunatic stomped off as Dewey saw but then either reconsidering or attempting to outfox the guards who were watching he doubled back around the little white house in the sward of chartreuse to get closer to Trueman.  As the party filed out of the door of this fantastic setting the lunatic slipped out from beside the house appearing to be brandishing his shears.

     There was a slight hitch in the fabric of space-time as all members present oriented themselves to the situation.  The Torbricks hurriedly got into their car while Dewey coldly studied the lunatic as though standing at the end of his pier he watched the man trying desperately to reach him with his tangled line.  He was just some poor desperate seaman who could not be rescued, who could not be saved.  Dr. Godwin for as jittery as he appeared had the quiet confidence of a circus lion tamer in the cage with his beasts.

     ‘Albert.  They’re leaving, Albert.  This has nothing to do with you.  We weren’t talking about you.  This is something else completely.  Go back to your room now.  Go back, Albert.  Go.’

     Then turning to Bert he said coldly:  ‘And Bert, you won’t ever have a reason to contact me again.’

     Albert cocked his head at Dr. Godwin as if he was spoken to like a cat looking at his owner but otherwise immobile holding his shears up before him.  Godwin was now between Albert and Dewey so Dewey quickly slipped around the car gettin in on the far side as Tory gave no indication of letting him in on the near.

     Once Trueman was in the car Bert threw out a hasty goodbye quickly swinging the car around in the drive heading toward the gate.  ‘I wonder why he said please don’t contact him again?’  Bert mused to his wife.  Dewey looked back to see hurt and disappointment in Albert’s eyes.  The iron gate swung open as they approached.  Passing through they entered the street as the massive steel gate swung slowly shut behind them.

     Dewey remained immobile for a couple hundred yards not daring  to look back until he felt safely delivered.  He knew how his father must have felt, deserted and betrayed by his loved ones as they led him into the labyrinth without his Aridane’s thread for a safe return.

page 1375.

     Then he swung around to cast a last look at the Atascadero State Hospital For The Criminally Insane.  The enormity of the attempt on his life and happiness hit him.  He realized that had Dr. Godwin had had less integrity he would never have seen the light of day again.  The Navy would never have been able to locate him if they tried.  Nor would they have tried.  In AWOL cases they just figured you’d turn up sooner or later.

     Decades later if he survived the massive doses of drugs and electric shock therapy and other brutal so-called therapies applied by people nuttier than the inmates he would still be listed as AWOL.

     Trueman heaved a sigh of relief.

     Tory Torbric who had been turned toward him silently watching him said with a suppressed giggle:  ‘That was a real close one, wasn’t it?’

     ‘Maybe you’re right Torbric; maybe criminality is hereditary.  Can be passed from father to son.’

     Tory’s comment hit Dewey like a taunt.  Dewey’s subconscious desires assumed the ascendance for a moment.  It is possible he might have done what his subconscious desire directed.  He drew the the knife with the pearl handle and thin six inch blade he had bought in Japan from his pocket.   The pin of the cheap knife was already so worn that Dewey just flipped the blade from its scabbard.  The effect was electrifying.

     Tory’s eyes went  as wide as they ever would as he shrank guiltily back against the side of the car.  Bert who had been keeping a guilt ridden eye on him through the rear view mirror emitted a fearful gasp.

page 1366.

     ‘That would be a silly thing to do, Dewey.  If you cut my throat you’d be killed too when the car crashes into those trees.’  He said pointing to a row of closely set eucalyptus.

     ‘Naw.  We aren’t going fast enough and besides God protects the insane.  You know that, don’t you Mr. Torbrick?’

     Bert involuntarily drove the pedal into the floor so that they would be going fast enough if they hit the trees.

     ‘Oh now, Dewey…’

     ‘Bert, you heard what your ex-friend in there said.  You can see I’m not violent.  I’m not crazy either and I’m not a sneaky criminal like you and Tory either.’

     Neither Bert nor Tory had any inclination to muddy the waters by denying the accusation so they said nothing more.  Dewey sat and pondered who could be behind the Torbricks as he corrected figured they weren’t acting on their own initiative.  The true reason was beyond his knowledge so he could only assume it was someone aboard ship.  He couldn’t imagine that Kanary had the influence nor did he think Morford had the power.  He was therefore at a loss to explain it.  He was now aware that he had more than a direct frontal assault like that of Tyrone to fear.  His apprehension would estrange him even further from the crew.

     Once in Long Beach Dewey ordered Tory to take him back to the Naval Station immediately.  Guilt caused Torbrick to comply without demur.  Nothing more was said on the way back to the Naval Station.

page 1377

Un Homme Declasse

     Just as Kanary’s betrayal of his leader, Paul Duber, had combined with his past transgressions to darken his mind altering his personality for good so the fear of incarceration in an insane asylum intensified all the anxieties afflicting Trueman.  He too became darker and more wary.  With slightly over a year before discharge the duration actually became a race to retain his sanity.  He began to undergo subtle changes of behavior of which while conscious of them they yet seemed to make sense.  Fortunately for Dewey they were reactions to these specific events.  They would disappear when the causes did unlike Kanary’s psychic situation.  Still, Dewey would always be amazed that he had done without reflection that which was in fact the product of a distressed and distracted mind.

     He was now thoroughly disgusted with Torbrick.  He meant to have nothing to do with him.  He now realized the foolishness of succumbing to Torbrick’s request to visit him in Long Beach as his relationship with Roque Da Costa was irreparably damaged.  Da Costa quite rightly believed his friendship had been betrayed or compromised.

     It now appeared that Trueman would have to shift for himself if he wished to return to Oakland so Our Lady had accomplished something.  As he knew no one in Oakland but Da Costa a cloud was cast over his future plans.  But as he intended to enroll in the Thought Management System called Oakland City College he had to resolve his dilemma.

page 1378.

     Kerry Maclen or Joe McLean, as he was now known, had developed a vengeful hatred for Trueman after Dewey had refused to share his guilt in Guam when McLean stupidly tried to smuggle beer on board.

     McLean was of a devious criminal disposition.  Had he been Trueman he would simply have had nothing more to do with him but as a criminal he meant to make Dewey pay.  He knew he would have more opportunities as a friend than as an enemy.  If he could he would implicate Trueman in criminal activities and then see that he was caught.  If not he would sponge off Dewey sabotaging the man and his efforts.  Thus he readily fell in with Dewey’s palaver about attending Oakland City College.

     When Dewey made his Long Beach trips Joe seeing his opportunity stepped into his shoes with Da Costa.  While Dewey was occupied in Long Beach McLean had been traveling to Oakland with Da Costa.  Being of an opportunistic nature he had no qualms about dating Da Costa’s sister Terry.  Through her he fell into a circle of Juniors and Seniors from Castlemont High School.  As he was of a congenial manner he quickly made other friends abandoning Terry for dates with various girls in the Castlemont circle.

     Naturally he boasted of his success to Trueman.  This was the break Trueman needed.  McLean as his ostensible buddy had no choice but to acquiesce.  McLean had also ran into his old confederate in crime, Jim Chance, in Oakland.  Chance was working daytime as a warehouseman on Airport Way, which is a great job for a thief, and burgling warehouses at night using the information obtained on the job.  When he and McLean and Kreskin got together again the basis of the East Bay distribution network for Kayo and Soter Kreskin’s dope smuggling business came into existence.

page 1379

     Dewey had crossed Tory off.  Bert however still had his eyes on that twelve-fifty which Our Lady had refused to pay because of his failure to place Dewey in Atascadero.  Secure in his h0me and recovered from guilt he had the chutzpah to have Tory ask Dewey back for another weekend.

     Dewey was preparing for the trip to Oakland.  He was trying to get a good spit shine.  Just as Torbrick was approaching him a cry of holloa went up from the Deck hands.  Cracker Jack Driscoll stepped through the hatch back from the hospital.

     The doctors had saved his finger.  They’d stitched it back in place.  Now holding his bandage swathed hand against his chest middle finger sticking straight up a shy smile wreathed the sailor’s handsome face.

     ‘My god.’  Thought Dewey.  ‘He’s actually glad to be back.’

     ‘Good news.’  Cracker Jack said almost timidly.  ‘I can stay in the Navy; they’re not going to discharge me.’

     ‘Congratulations, great, yowsah’, came from all sides including Dewey.

     ‘Isn’t that great, Dewey?’  Cracker Jack asked.

     ‘If that’s what you want, Driscoll.  Personally I would have taken the discharge but then we all have different tastes.  Welcome back aboard.’

page 1180.

   

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

The Sonderman Constellation

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Foreword

 

A dream. A recollection. Dreams and thoughts. Dreams and thoughts expressed as symbols. The individual human mind being a part of society and an historical continuum seeks symbols to express an unutterable reality, thus a common set of symbols expresses the common problems that humans have. Isn’t that what Jung’s collective unconscious really is, just a common dreamscape where everything is commuted into universal symbolism? I think so.

What is the greatest repository of psychological symbolism in the world? Don’t you think it’s Greek mythology? There is certainly no lack of interest in the Greek myths. Greek mythology is one of the most active topics on the internet; not only are there many sites but many active sites, sites constructed with loving and reverent care. And why not? Greek mythology is the largest repository of psychological symbolism in the world and by far the most profound. The significance of the Bible pales in comparison.

The Sonderman Constellation is placed within the framework of that body of profound thought. The ordinary events in a boy’s life take on cosmic significance.

The construction of the Sonderman is somewhat unusual. As the novel is meant to present a reality from within the mental workings of one mind and one mind only the logic it follows is personal but intelligible. The narrator has an identity only in his own mind. In that state he is trying to make contact with yours. That is what a good novel does; flow from one mind to another. Cast in the form of a memoir the story is valid even though decades and even generations separate the story from the present.

The Unknown Narrator gropes for a way to make his life make sense to himself and you. You are he- he is you. Hence the prefatory motto ‘The unexamined life is not worth living.’ The Delphic credo: Know thyself. The two quotes delineate the story.

The second chapter- The Pyschonautica- is the most significant of the book. It is through the Greek foundations of psychology that the actions of the protagonists the Sondermans and the Hirshes become intelligible. It is through mythological symbolism that their minds are explored. Perhaps that is what Jung means by his term the collective unconscious.

Regardless of what the reader may think the author is not the Unknown Narrator. No matter how much the author envisions the past through his own lens he is not the Unknown Narrator, he who narrates things not exactly as they were but as they may have been. The persistence of memory is strong but it is impossible to recreate the reality. One might bear in mind the song: ‘Gee, ain’t it funny how time slips away.’

Things suffer sea changes and become distorted by memory and yet it is still the sea and still memory. The narrator is narrating universal symbols and not specifics although specifics form the content of the symbols. This is a story of the collective unconscious.

The story elements are meaningful only in that context. The narrator in the first chapter attempts to give the story a setting within the framework of personal psychology and the manner in which the personal psychology relates to and incorporates the external world into his own mind; hence the chapter title: The Psychogenesis. The beginning of the psychosis.

The narrator is not the protagonist. His antagonists the Hirshes and Sondermans are. The narrator is just driftwood on the river buffeted by currents that he cannot resist.

The story will progress through to the full blown psychotic reactions of both the Narrator and Sonderman. No matter what crimes or nonsense are going on in the outside world the action is in the mind of the narrator and hence yours since he is carrying on a dialogue with you.

The second chapter- The Psychonautica- places the story within the context of the mythos, the collective unconscious. This is the key chapter of the book and the most popular as evidenced by the hits to my website: reprindle.wordpress.com.

Once the first two chapters provide the necessary background for the reader to properly evaluate the action, the last two chapters narrate the consequences, the development of the psychoses.

The story is played out in detail in Chapters III and IV. Chapter III -The Psychodramatica- tells of the Narrator’s preposterous journey through Junior High, the absurd adventures with Sonderman that end up with their apparent estrangement mid ninth grade.

The last chapter- The Psychoses- details the mad adventures in High School during which as the narrator develops intellectually he separates the external from the internal reality.

While the story takes place during 1950-56 the memories of the unconscious range back into the distant past and into the recent past that also shape the development of the Narrator’s mind while incorporating future events that show how his indoctrination finds expression. Dream waiting to be dreamt having been ordained by the psychological traumas of the past, present and future of both the Narrator and the collective.  There is nothing but memory within the collective unconscious.

The good news is that the story has as happy an ending as was possible; the bad news is that it was hell getting there.

When reading just let your mind drift through the story. Let the details add up until they form one continuum. By the second or third reading you will be learning the song and the tune.

As a musical reference, as I was writing, as a model for the story, I bore Pauline Olivero’s electronic piece titled I of IV in mind. It’s early electronic. I don’t recommend it; it’s not for everyone, but you can try it if you want. Steve Reich’s ‘Let the Bruise Blood Come Out’ is on the same record. Might have been an influence on the story too. We’ll never know.

Go to Chapter One of The Sonderman Constellation

 

A Short Story

Angeline Gower

by

R.E. Prindle

     As I have told you I have never had the blues.  But, as with the weather systems, tropical low pressure systems are of the most intense low pressure systems, so while I have never had the blues, I have flirted with the blues.  So it was on the evening in question.  A Pacific low pressure system was passing through bringing with it the steady splash and drips of its persistent rains.  The drops hit the skylight and roof with two distinct tones, answered by the drops pelting the windows and the gurgle of the runoff down the drainpipe.

     I stood in the dark looking out the windows at my own reflection suspended like a phantom on the glass.  The vision of myself stirred up memories from my past that haunted my mind just below the limes separated from conscious memory by an invisible but impenetrable barrier.  There lay those troubling ghosts that I had spent my life trying to exhume.  The suppressed memories, those most painful episodes in a troubled life, that dominated my consciousness from the beyond and directed my energies into unfruitful  channels.

     Loosing the spectres of the past was my preocupation.  I had long studied Freud and De Sade, self-analysis of my psyche had often nearly driven me mad, but how could I, how can I desist.  Our minds are on the beam of the same wavelength so I can tell you this without overt shame or embarrassment.

page 1.

     Reading, my usual refuge and solace, had failed me on this particular evening.  I had replaced on their shelves Athenian Propertied Families 600-300 B.C., Mackay’s Extraordinary Popular Delusions And The Madness Of Crowds as well as Robertson Smith’s Religion Of The Semites.

     I opted for a bottle of scotch and some old phonograph records.  Now I’m not what you would call a drinker, and you know I’m not, but this night as I saw the Blues sitting on my couch batting her eyelids at me, I though I’d fortify myself with some protection and possibly open a door on one of those troublesome memories.  Aiming for lighter hearted frivolity I got out some old Louis Prima records and tried to lift my spirits.  Oh, of course I was amused by Josephina Please No Leana On Da Bell and Prima’s other amusing frivolities but as I sipped away at my scotch I found a need for more ineffable sadness.  Thus just as Louis was swinging into Bongo, Bongo, Bongo, I don’t Want To Leave The Congo, I levered the tone arm up and began digging through my collection for someone giving voice to their hurt.  I passed up Hank Snow and Webb Pierce because they don’t reach the area I was reaching for, although both are great singers of sad songs.

     Reaching down into the section labeled ‘Moaners’ I pulled up Jesse Winchester’s first LP and Mickey Newbury’s It Looks Like Rain.  Mick and Jesse knew enough about rain and pain to satisfy my desires.

     My bottle was half empty as my brain fogged up and the notion of lying down occurred to me.  The rain was still descending as I weaved toward the bedroom with the lyrics of Winchester’s Yankee Lady and Newbury’s pleas for his Angeline dancing around in my brain.  I had hopes, even in my sodden state, that my memories would be jostled around and one might come up.  One did.  I wish now that it never had.

page 2.

     I stood for a moment clutching the door jamb while trying to relocate my balance.  I had wanted to connect links with suffering humanity and I had.  I was feeling lower than a catfish on the bottom of the mouth of the Mississippi way down South in New Orleans.  I oriented myself in the direction of my bed and gave a shove.  With a deftness unplanned and of which I would not have thought myself capable I caught the covers up and in my fall actually slid between them.  I didn’t have to wait for sleep for Sleep took my head and slammed it into the pillow.  I disappeared into the abyss of oblivion.

      Sometimes, most of the time, sleep is never so deep that you’re unaware of your blood circulating or your hair growing or anyone of a number of physiological matters, but this night, probably because of the alcohol or possibly because of psychic exhaustion I slipped below the level in the abyss of oblivion where the sun had never penetrated.  If there had not been a bottom I would probably be falling yet.

     My exhaustion was psychic rather than physical.  After a couple of hours of total amnesia, my body sated with rest, the alcohol in my blood stream diminished but not yet dissipated set off discharges in my mind that lifted me from the pleasure of oblivion to the threshold of pain.  I lay there flickering in and out of consciousness until I reached a state that was half waking, half dozing.

page 3.

     I didn’t dream, but my liberated sub-conscious sent up images and images from my subliminal reservoirs faster than I could grasp them.  Just as I was about to recognize an image it fled before my mental grasping.  And then, I can’t explain it, it’s only happened twice in my life, my inner being, my doppel-ganger, my alter ego, that image of myself in the rain splattered window, that phantom who may be more real than myself, perhaps he is the guardian of my sanity, he who suppresses and hides my most painful memories; puts them in a place where they can’t harm me, transweaves the unpleasantnesses of life into a fabric that makes my life presentable, who didn’t, can’t make himself known, seemed to say, athough nothing could be heard:  ‘All right, you want to see?  Look!’

     Then, somewhere along the limes where my conscious and unconscious meet, a hatch, a skylight opened and I was shown, I don’t say I remember, but I was shown the worst moment of shame and sorrow I have ever known.  The guilt of a thoughtless and callous man rose up and took possession of me.  I let out a low moan.  It was too late to turn away.

     Don’t think badly of me.  It was my fault but I wasn’t entirely responsible, there were mitigating circumstances.  I’m sure you’ll agree once you know.  Let me tell you the story.  I’m sure you will find mitigation to soften your censure into a compassionate pity, empathy, or even sympathy.  Never judge a person until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes.

     I was eighteen, no, nineteen, when I committed that despicable act.  But let me begin the story much earlier so that you can understand much better.  No man can be understood without a knowledge of his childhood.  My own was not imbued with the vibrant and cheerful colors of happiness.  No, my friends, it was quite the reverse.  Nor do I seek your pity although I will not reject your sympathetic attention.  I have always been of the opinion that one must accept the situation in which one finds oneself and try to convert that dross into gold.  To shed our past like a caterpillar sheds his skin and emerge transformed into a newer better creation.  I hope when my life is over I will not have failed in this task.

page 4.

     I am not an orphan but I was abandoned by my mother when I was seven.  She left me on the steps of the Municipal Orphanage and I never saw her again.  My life in the orphanage is not germane to my story, but you must know the hardships which orphans must endure.  Orphans are social outcasts.  Just as a man without a country has no place to rest, so the child without a parent is an outcast of society.  An orphan child has no protector.  He is a wanderer in a desert with no boundaries.  He is despised  and victimized by adult and child alike.  He is compelled to wear the badge of inferiority just as the Jews in medieval times were required to display their yellow Star of David.  He wears his as the Negro wears his skin.

     In our case we were dressed in oversized or undersized clothes.  We were compelled at various times to wear mismatched socks or shoes.  Oversized shoes and socks that were more hole than sock.  Shirts so large that the sleeves had to be cut back to expose our hands, the ragged edges flapping at our wrists. Our hair was cut with cowlicks sprouting every which way.  We were made to look ridiculous, so that others might appear normal.  We did look ridiculous and we were sent to public school that way.  I have often envied Blacks and Jews their solidarity.  Despised though they may have been they could find solace together, or at least as much as humankind will allow from each other.  At school we were not allowed to win, and were denied any success.  The gates of charity were closed to us although the ‘decent folk’; gave us small conscience offerings at Christmas.  It was demanded that we be hewers of wood and carriers of water for our masters with the parents.  But the worst was yet to come.

page 5.

     When a child turned ten he was no longer welcome at the Children’s Home.  Orphaned or abandoned he was even rejected by the custodians of the damned.  The Angels of Charity arrived to claim their due.  Our foster parents arrived to pick up a means of livelihood and a slave for the house.  I was either selected by or assigned to, I don’t know which, the Wardens.  The Wardens did not really want the money they were sent for my care each month, or, that was not their prime motivation, although precious little of the money was ever spent on me.  What they wanted was a clown.

     The Wardens were much less than successful people.  Jack Warden, or Mr. Warden as I was compelled to call him, had delusions of grandeur based  on some sort of imagined connection to the royalty or nobility of ancient England.  He even kept a collection of coats of arms on the wall.  He would point to this particular one and say, ‘Yeh, that’s the one right there.  That’s the one all right.’  just like it was his, but I knew it wasn’t.  He was white collar over at Malleable Iron so that he could maintain his dignity over the blue collar workers.

     The Wardens lived in a decent house on Bay Street which was OK, but beneath his supposed diginity.  Geli Warden, Angelica, his wife, affected manners which she thought the immaculate reflection of the ‘Well born.’  But, I shouldn’t complain because those manners have stood me in good stead.  They had two sons, Skippy and Cappy.  Cappy was two years older than I and Skippy was four.  Neither boy was amounting to anything.  The townsfolks’ opinion of the Wardens was much less exalted than their own.  The status of Skippy and Cappy consequently was not the highest.  The Warden’s were not totally oblivious to reality.  While they were masters of delusion they were also acutely aware of the disparity between their illusions and reality.  They could not levitate their sons over the children of more affluent and successful people.  They could invent innummerable reasons for themselves but the neighbors rebuked them when they made exorbitant claims for the lads.

page 6.

     I was the solution to their problems.  On the one hand they could demand credit for their charity from the neighbors and on the other society paid them to keep a fool for them and their boys.  What radio beam I followed to keep me on track I’ll never know.  I suppose religion had something to do with it.  I had been compelled to attend church since a small boy.  I knew the Baptists, the Methodists and non-sectarians , whatever their fantasy may be, now, as the Wardens were very sanctimonious I found the Presbyterians.  I was always revolted by both the Bible and its devotees, but as the Bible is the dream story of a despised and ineffectual people whose lives are irradiated only by an irrational hope, I identified with that strange peoples’ desperate situation and seized the only life raft that fate had to offer me.  I embraced a vain hope as a fat man embraces a full refrigerator.  I made it my own.  It was all there was between myself and psychic desolation.  For the Wardens drove me further and further into a mental zone that was very far from normal.  As my childhood progressed I became aware of two existences.  The one, the despicable clown that I was compelled to be and the other, the real me, that stood aside and watched and doled out encouragement and hope to the wretch that walked in my shoes. 

     As society would not honor Skippy and Cappy in the manner they thought was their due, I was to give them that status in their eyes.  I was denied and ridiculed.  I was made to mow the lawn with a dull mower and compelled to watch in silence and mortification while Skippy ‘did the job right’ with a sharpened mower.  But it’s more important that you see what I was forced to become.

     While the boys dressed well I was made to look shabby and unkempt.  Just as at the orphanage my clothes never fit.  I had to wear Skippy’s worn out shoes.  Cappy’s old clothes, although I actually outgrew him.  By high school I was flopping around in oversize shoes and a pair of too small grey gabardine pants.  High in the leg and the crotch pulled up tight between my legs.  The pocket openings were all frayed and the pockets were all worn out.  Girls wouldn’t even look at me.

page 6.

     Then after Skippy and Cappy graduated it was even worse.  Neither went to college as was expected.  Both just kind of bummed around.  The Wardens turned on me savagely in their disappointment.  They wanted me to be even more ridiculous as they now thought their sons had failed them and I had been a bad influence.  I don’t like to drink because sometimes the memory of it seems to drive railway spikes through my brain.

     I don’t know when it started but I know that it was the result of the accumulated opprobrium, ridicule and denial that I had endured all my life.  It became an especial burden as I became old enough to understand, even if in primitive outline, what was being done to me.  I rejected all accusations of unworthiness and knew in my heart and grasped intellectually that I was as good as my detractors.  Nevertheless the weight of their scorn and hatred, which they of course denied, bore down heavily on me.  As my various neuroses and eccentricities developed in relation to this ostracization I began to hear a sound in my ears, a roar as mighty as Niagara.  It stood as a barrier between myself and the world.  I had to listen to people around it, with an especially attentive ear.  I was afraid.

     I held myself together through high school but upon graduation, abandoned by everyone, ridiculed and laughed at by the Wardens, I fell apart.  I became ineffective.  I had difficulty tying my clown shoes.  I often had to make two, three or four attempts before I could succeed at that simple task.  Once while receiving change from the paper boy I turned my hand sideways just as he released the change which clattered to the floor.  I was mad with anguish and self-criticism.  The hope that had sustained me fled and I was hopeless.

     Throughout the summer I knew not what to do.  When the days began to shorten and daylight began to flee I, by association, thought that I too must flee.  I had some few dollars that I had managed to save and putting on my clown shoes my shabby grey pants with the short legs and high crotch, an old white T-shirt and a too small denim jacket that I had inherited from Cappy, I walked out of theWarden’s house for the last time.

page 7.

     I wanted to get far away.  As I had never been far away before I thought in short distances.  Primary to my mind was to leave the Valley.  I rejected Detroit and the South because I knew I couldn’t deal with that many people.  I thought of going out into the Thumb but the Wardens had relatives in Caro and I didn’t want to be close to them at all.  For probably psychological reasons I decided to head up North to the Grand Traverse, The Great Crossing.  A divide that once crossed would divide me forever from a hated and hateful childhood.  As my mother had abandoned me I would symbolically abandon her.  Not that she cared.  I had never heard from her.

     Blinded by my desperate urgency I walked out of that house of the distraught and just kept walking.  I wouldn’t have spent the money anyway but it never occurred to me to take a bus.  It never occurred to me to put out my thumb; I just walked along listening to the roar in my ears which seemed to be intensifying; to be getting louder, it seemed to be engulfing my brain.  I don’t remember much of my flight.  I remember passing the multitudinous churches of Midland.  The chemical stench of the place corresponded exactly in my mind with my opinion of the parishioners of those churches.  No love had I ever known from those sanctimonious hypocrites of God.

     After Midland the roar seemed to affect my vision.  I saw but registered nothing.  The tears repressed for eighteen years began to flow and I walked and walked sobbing and sobbing.

     I don’t even know whether I stopped to rest or not.  I just kept picking those big clown shoes up and laying them down.  Because of the size of the shoes I had to lift my knees high to bring my foot forward.  I was oblivious to the catcalls of passing drivers appalled by the sight of the strange apparition that I was.  At night, local boys drove by and threw beer cans at me.  One reached out the window and tried to hit me with his fist.  I grabbed at his arm and pulled it back.  I escaped their wrath for playing ‘unfair.’

page 8.

     As I say I walked on an on until my woes engulfed me completely, until my body and mind separated and we existed in two different worlds.  As my body trudged on my mind descended by stages into a hell of despair.  Oblivion overwhelmed me, nothingness became my reality.  I don’t know what happened.

     When my senses returned, when the terrible fog lifted and dissipated and became a mere haze I found that I must have left hell and gone directly to heaven.  My overall impression was white but I was surrounded by the most heavenly colors.  White, a delicate pink and the palest of blues.  My head was resting in billows of soft clean pillows, the cases of which I never seen the like.  My body was covered by the sheets, pink and blue and a downy blue comforter.  Above, the white underside of a blue canopy glowed cheerily back at me.  It was daylight but still semi-dazed I lay there drifting in and out of consciousness.  Then just as the sun was going down I heard the door open and shut.  I looked up to find her smiling down at me.  It was Angeline, my redemptress.

     A feeling of security warmed my heart and saying nothing I slipped off into unconsciousness for the night.  When I awoke, sometime before dawn she was laying there beside me, sleeping peacefully.  Not daring to move I lay there quietly studying her.  She began to stir.  I pretended to be asleep  and she, solicitous for my welfare, dressed quietly and left for work.  As I tried to rise I found I couldn’t and spent the morning fitting my mind back into my body.  The reunion was difficult and imperfect.  I would spend decades trying to match the edges.

     I found myself weak and lethargic, unable to concentrate or even to grasp my situation.  Sometime in that morning, feeling the pangs of hunger, I compelled myself to rise and seek nourishment.  During the process of alimentation I surveyed my surroundings.  My shelter, and it was little more than that, was a one room shack.  It was small and mean but immaculate.  The lovely bed, although bed is an inadequate description of the little paradise in which Angeline reposed for her slumbers, was in one corner.  A bathtub was adjacent to it.  On the other side of the room, where I now sat, were her kitchen facilities.  Dressers and a table with chairs occupied the front of the room.  In the middle of the front wall was the door.

page 8.

     After eating, still exhausted, I lay down again to rest.

     It was as though I had received a great injury, suffered a debilitating illness for as the fall turned into winter I remained faint and listless.  As the approach of spring became imminent my mind began to regain some of its sharpness and my body its vitality.

     Angeline was very patient with me, neither pressing me nor hurrying me.  In those few months, even in my depressed state I came to appreciate and love her.  She was twenty-five and had also had a difficult childhood; which fact I only surmise as she never talked about her past nor complained about her present.  She sought complete self-sufficiency and within reason did everything for herself.  She eschewed radio and television and even never bought magazines and newspapers.  She wanted to create her own perfect world without obtrusions from an unsympathetic and hostile reality.  In the time I knew her I never saw her with another person.

      My own laughable wardrobe had disappeared and she had tailored new clothes for me.  She knew how to do everything.  Where she learned I don’t know.  Even my oversize shoes were gone, replaced by a pair of moccasins Angeline had sewn.  For the first time in my life I was dressed in clothes that fit.  Clothes that were meant to dignify me and not ridicule me.  Clothes that signified manhood and not foolhood.

     Angeline worked as a waitress in town.  What town I can’t remember except that it was on the Lake Michigan side of the Grand Traverse.  It was a small town.  Angeline’s cabin was on the rise looking out over the cool blue waters of Lake Michigan, over the Grand Traverse separating the Upper and Lower Peninsulas.  the place where Lake Michigan without any discontinuity or break changed its name to Lake Huron.

     On those cold winter days I often sat on a stump looking out over the Great Crossing, The Grand Traverse, that might someday separate me from my past, that might lead to a new and better life on the other side.

page 9.

     Angeline was always cheery, what cheeriness I know I learned from her.  Much cheerier she than I.  I was not the best of company that winter and I often wondered why she didn’t turn me out.  She didn’t.  Angeline had the capacity to make the best of everything.  She could warm up the coldest night and cool off the hottest day.  She could make the darkest corner bright.  She was able to nurse me back to health.

     So my winter of recuperation passed in the heaven created by Angeline.  Recovering by day, fed by a divine cook and passing my nights beside the loveliest incarnation of woman ever made.  Angeline would have been no-ones cover girl but there was no woman more beautiful than she.

      As Spring came on my strength and energy returned.  My psyche repaired itself and I attempted to recover my balance or perhaps I began to seek a balance I had always been denied.  As the days grew longer and daylight appeared between Angeline’s return and nightfall we began to take long walks through the woods and down to the lake shore.  There were delightful little streams in the woods, there was an abundance of wild flowers.  The air was fresh and sweet.  The skies were clear and blue.  There was nothing more a man could want-except escape from a hateful past that lay too close behind.

     As I began my slow recovery I felt the need to tell the world of the way it really was, to save it from doing to others what it had done to me.  I began to write about my pain in little stories.  I sent them to magazines but they all came back.  the world was not interested in my pain, or perhaps, my pain was so new and fresh that the jagged edges terrified whoever my readers were.  Angeline encouraged me and urged me on so that I never quit trying.

page 10.

     The roaring in my ears had continued and continually distracted me.  I was compelled to be patient with it for there was no way to avoid it.  But then one night that summer during my sleep that mighty Niagara ceased to flow.  When I awoke that morning I was aware that something was different but I didn’t know what.  Something was missing. It was so quiet.  And then when Angeline spoke to me it was as though I could hear her voice clearly for the first time.  It was then that I realized that the roaring had stopped.  The very worst part of the pain must have been dissipated.  My joy suffused my body and the look of love and gratitude with which I embathed Angeline brought a flush of pleasure to her cheeks.  Whatever happiness I was able to give her she enjoyed it then.  I could never understand what pleasure Angeline could find in me.  I wanted to be pleasant and charming for her and I tried very hard to be so but I know that my injuries were so grievous, my self-absorption so complete that I couldn’t have been.

     But we spent the summer and fall roaming over our little paradise, dipping our feet in the cool streams and exploring the lake side.  And then came the winter once again.  We still walked in the woods on Angeline’s days off and it was there on that cold January day that we came on our portent of disaster.  We discovered a deer that had been injured by a bow hunter.  The arrowhead and the broken shaft of the arrow were still lodged in the deer’s foreleg.  the wound had festered and the deer was in great pain, limping badly.  If it had been healthy it would have run away before Angeline could have charmed it.  Perhaps Angeline could have charmed it anyway; she was that spontaneous and wonderful.  The deer, with the trust and docility of one bereft of hope, subordinating his fear out of desperation in his pain submitted to Angeline’s graces and the two of us guided it to Angeline’s little cabin in the woods.

page 11.

     She lavished attention on the deer and with all the care of a loving and open heart began to nurse it back to health.

     I am ashamed.  It wasn’t jealousy.  It wasn’t envy.  I too had enough compassion to want to help the deer.  It was a feeling of foreboding.  My own pain had been so great, indeed its dissolution had only a year earlier just begun, that I had been unable, it had not occurred to me till then, to ask Angeline how it was that she had found and brought me to her home to mend.  I wish I had not thought to ask myself that terrible question then.  I certainly could not have been a prize.  My face must have mirrored the distraction of my mind.  I was wearing those ridiculous clothes, dirty from I don’t know how many days of tramping along the highway.  I was grateful to Angeline then, I’m even more grateful today, but I couldn’t help comparing myself to that deer on which she lavished as much love and attention as she lavished on me.

      I didn’t really think about it, I didn’t consciously dwell on it but my past, just behind me, began nipping at my heels.  As I stood outside her door and gazed out toward the Grand Traverse, escape from that past seemed possible and necessary.  Without really thinking about the notion of flight, or leaving, leaving Angeline behind, the notion began to take shape in my mind.

     As winter passed once more and the beauties of April and May arrived, the deer, now healed, nodded a goodbye one morning and disappeared into the woods.  I stood by Angeline and watched him leave saying nothing.  That April and May I enjoyed Angeline’s company as never before while I, myself, grew more sad and morose.

page 12.

      On a day in May Angeline and I were out walking through the woods.  I had my head down my mind dwelling on myself, Angeline and the deer.  Thinking me sad, in an effort to cheer me Angeline exclaimed:  ‘Oh, Greshie, look up, look at the sky, isn’t it beautiful?’  And it was.

     It was a sky such as I’ve only seen in Michigan.  The clouds were drifting in majestic rows from the Northwest.  Each wisp seemed no bigger than a cream puff.  Each was separated from its neighbors by an equal distance; each row separated from the others equally.  These serried battalions of fluffy white clouds marched on in endless succession with absolute precision across the blue of a fading day.

     Each cloud was tinted with overtones of pink.  Pink, white and blue.  Angeline’s colors.  The colors of happiness with which she surrounded herself, surrounded us, me too, each night in her arbor of bliss.  She pointed this out to me glowing and joyous.  Of couse I shared her joy but I also noticed a dark grey band forming behind each of the thousands of clouds.  I said nothing.  An answering ominous shade formed in my own mind.

     When we returned to the cabin the deep blue of the Grand Traverse was still visible in the fading light of a perfect day.  It was then I think that I first saw the path across the water.  I didn’t think any of this out at the time and perhaps I’m only making excuses for myself now, but Angeline was on this side of the Grand Traverse at childhood’s end. 

     Perhaps if I had made the crossing and she had found me on the other side things could have been different.  There was no hope on this side and there was on the other.  As part of my future rather than my past I might, I might never had had to leave her.  Perhaps.  I can’t be sure.

     How could I tell her; How could I explain?  How could I possibly find the words to say it?  What right did I have to leave the savior of my life?  There were no answers that came to my mind.  There were no answers.

     And this is my shame.  That deer had more compassion for Angeline than I had.  He had a deeper sense of gratitude.  He at least gave Angeline a nod good-bye.  With me Angeline just came home to an empty cabin and an empty bed.  Oh god!  I am so ashamed of myself.  How could I be so cruel and heartless?  I who knew what cruelty and heartlessness was.  How could I…

     As the ferry pulled from the slip leading across the Grand Traverse toward St. Ignace and the Upper Peninsula I was on it.  Across the water lay escape and freedom or so I thought.

     Once across the Traverse I had no idea what to do.  So I just started walking down the highway toward Sault Ste. Marie.  I had walked for a day and night; I was out there somewhere when I was overwhelmed by despair again but not so bad as last time.  I threw myself down on my back in the middle of the road spreadeagled.  I don’t know how long I lay there, perhaps five minutes, perhaps a couple hours.  Maybe I thought a truck would run over me and my problems.  None did.  There wasn’t even a car came by, either way. 

     I had no choice but to get up, I couldn’t lay there forever.  Once on my feet I looked off to the West over a mile of cutover ground.  Away in the distance the forest began again.  With shaking steps that slowly grew firmer I walked off to the woods into which I disappeared…

Finis.

The Sonderman Constellation

by

R.E. Prindle

Chapter IV-2

Continued from Chap. IV-1

     Sonderman, who now had the most authority in our club began to undermine my authority as soon as he was selected.  Ever the dupe he followed Hirsh’s directions.  Sonderman was a nothing himself.  Trapped in his father’s box he didn’t have and never could have initiative.  He was a neuter.

     I had started, built up and maintained the club.  Sonderman wore the shirt I had selected one day a week.  He wore it proudly too.  The shirt gave him status and prestige he could never have attained on his own.  Sonderman was and is actually in debt to me for the best times of his youth.  In what form did he show his gratitude?

     Once in the club he began slandering and belittling me constantly on the old ‘bore from within’ principle.  Whereas before we had always had friendly dinners I now became the butt of ridicule.  Everything I said and did was belittled.  I became the victim of practical jokes.

     Sonderman and Hirsh’s first intent was to drive me out but failing that to lower me in the estimation of my fellows to a walking joke, a subhuman who had come to the defense of the Negroes.  Probably Sonderman’s own thinking was that with me out of the way he could claim he had originated the club reducing me to the role of jealous imitator; perhaps he could have represented me as someone who wanted into his club but couldn’t make it.

page 1.

     He demanded the first dinner after he became a member which was in January just before they moved.  The dinner was a studied insult to me.  I was denied a place at the table while the abominable little was seated at it.  He shouldn’t even have been allowed to be there.  I was given a plate and told to sit in the living room by myself.  So, as you see Law and Order has nothing to do with right or wrong or justice; it is a question of police power.

     I stared bemusedly at the torn up rug which Mrs. Sonderman had seen fit to leave on the floor.  What strange people.  Did they walk over it every day picking their feet way up to get over the bumps while cursing me?  What queer notions prompted them to leave that threadbare rug on the floor?

     I would have walked out but I knew what the gig was.  I had to keep the club together till the end of the year.  I couldn’t let the Hirshes humiliate me in that manner.

     It became less and less possible to enjoy myself during the February and March dinners.  Even that dolt, Denny Demwitter, who owed me everything, turned against me.  Now that I think about it maybe my attitude toward Ed Phlatoe had something to do with that.

     Unable to garner the votes to have me ejected Hirsh had his tool Dirk Klutz, who was to host the April dinner, cancel the dinner.  As May coincided with graduation Sonderman determined to void the dinner for that month.

     That was alright with me, an honorable way out.  Given another couple months and they would have defeated me but in their eyes I had been already.  The club disintegrated after the aborted April dinner.  We began to look to the future beyond high school.  Sonderman had already been accepted as a cadet at West Point which accounted for a lot of his prestige in the club at the end.  Some of the others were destined for colleges while half of us including me had less distinguished prospects.  Time would tell who had risen and who had fallen but the future couldn’t be seen by our high school eyes.

page 2.

     Klutz did not escape criticism for reneging on his obligation.  In their single minded pursuit to hurt me they didn’t think of the others they were injuring.  The social status of every member of the club depended on its continuance.  In order to deflect justified condemnation Klutz gave a graduation party to which all the club members but me were invited.  So, in a way Hirsh would have gotten me expelled from the club but giving in to complaints from some other members Klutz said that I could come if I really wanted to.  Well, it was a difficult choice but the end result if I hadn’t gone would have been that I was booted out of my own club so I swallowed my pride and went. 

     As it turned out Klutz, it seemed to me at the time that if not a member of the Hirshes, was in with them because they were all there, the whole bunch.  Symbolically they subsumed our club to them by transferring the dinner meeting to this party under their auspices allowing them to still feel superior.  To heighten their triumph my club members were all shuttled into a game room off the front door while they were escorted past us into the living room and main party.

     When I saw Consuelo and Meggy Malone and Michael Hirsh enter casting disdainful glances in my direction I knew I had been had.  Well, it was a push; I had been invited to the same party they had. Still left a sour taste in my mouth.

page 3.

     If I had been had, strangely so, as I learned later, was David Hirsh.  Hirsh had given egregious offence to his wife’s family who were not the forgiving kind.  They had been nursing this grudge for three years.  On this night they collected the debt.  Michael Hirsh had knock out drops placed in his bourbon and coke.  Then before the drops took effect he was challenged to a drag race.  The drugs hit him just at peak acceleration.  He veered off the road into the ditch hitting a concrete culvert at the intersection.  He didn’t feel a thing. 

     So the querolous Hirsh even though he had defeated me suffered a defeat from which he would never recover.  Ain’t life funny that way?

3.

     Michael Hirsh’s death on graduation night created shock waves in the community.  However as life is for the living and the dead are soon forgotten Michael Hirsh being no longer with the living was no longer of any consequence.

I was still there.

     Judaeo-Christian mores say that the penalty must fit the crime.  Although I had committed no crime I think that surely the imagined insult to the dignity of David Hirsh should have been satisfied long before this.  However graduation was not the end but only the end of the beginning.  A second phase began that lasted for at least another ten years with ramifications that are still going on.

    Not content with having ruined my life through the school years, Hirsh began a program to extend into the future.  As usual he enstooged Sonderman.

page 4.

     I can only guess at the terrible repercussion to Sonderman’s psychology from his failed attempts to injure me and the actual murder of Shardel Wilson.  As people do in such situations he blamed me for his own actions.  I ‘made’ him do it.

     Probably he was brought low in his own estimation by his crimes.  It was necessary for him then to reduce me to a level beneath his opinion of himself.  As he had emotionally emasculated himself he sought to physically emasculate me.  Thus he bent all his efforts toward sodomizing me.

     Hirsh wanted to isolate me, to cast me on the dung heap of society.  He had messed up my club at the end; stung by his son’s death he now wanted to destroy my friendship with Denny Demwitter, to isolate me completely.

     Although a member of our club Sonderman had made no effort to befriend the members.  If he had he would have expected them to visit him; he never visited anyone else.  The summer of ’56, the greatest summer in the history of the world, there is no feeling like being eighteen, was a time of deep recession in the Valley.  Cars weren’t selling so there just weren’t any jobs; we all had time on our hands.  I began the summer spending most of my time at Demwitter’s.

     Sonderman had never voluntarily left his porch in my memory.  Now, violating all his lifelong habits he began to call on Denny.  Demwitter had been putty in my hands but I wasn’t going to  spend all my life trying to shape him.  Sonderman’s influence became more effective than mine after the Blockbusters won the championship.  Demwitter now deferred to Sonderman’s influence.

page 5.

     Except for the football groping under the influence of Sonderman Denny and I had always had a chaste relationship.  We had always respected each other’s person; no punching, wrestling or grabass of any kind.  We had never even discussed girls or sex.

     Now, with Sonderman present the two of them started pushing and shoving, groping in the most obvious fashion; not just a pat on the ass which would have been offensive enough, but grabbing a whole cheek in the hand.  They started goosing, not just lightly, but trying to hook a thumb or finger into the rectum.  Real queer stuff.  Makes me wonder about Ed Phaltoe and Demwitter now.

     Sonderman, who had never left his porch, now began to show up at Demwitter’s shortly after I did.  Obviously someone was watching me and reporting my movements.  Sonderman no longer lived across from me so he couldn’t have seen me leave my house from his perch on the porch.  Sonderman’s style at his house had been to hold court in his bedroom.  I never appreciated that aspect of his behavior as bedrooms were always private with me.  I preferred living room or porches.  Denny and I had always used his living room in winter and his porch in summer.  With Sonderman there everything was moved upstairs to Denny’s bedroom.  Sonderman insisted that all the shades be drawn so we were practically sitting in the dark.

     Now that I think about it  Old S was such a devotee of his hero Roosevelt that it is quite probable that Old S thaught his son to hold court in his bedroom a la FDR.  Sonderman always used to sit on the bed while I stood talking to him.  Roosevelt while president used to hold court in bed in his silk pajamas.  As Dean Acheson said the only thing he could compare it to was the court of Louis XIV.  King’s men aftershave and emulating Louis XIV, it’s not hard to see what Roosevelt was up to.

page 6.

     So the Old Sod was probably training his heir and successor to the manner of command and royalty.

     At Demwitter’s the conversation got more smutty and faggy as time passed.  I read the handwriting on the wall trying to discourage Sonderman’s visits.  Sonderman was intent on his purpose.

     One day I was visiting Demwitter.  He was slouched against the wall sitting on the floor as we talked.  Sitting on the floor was another of Sonderman’s innovations.  Probably because he couldn’t command Demwitter’s bed himself he didn’t want anyone to use it and be in command.  Especially me.

     I was lying belly down on the bed with my chin resting of the footboard.  As Sonderman always showed up twenty minutes after I did it must be true that someone watching me phoned him.  He bounded up the stairway, entered the room and seeing me lying prone on the bed he jumped on my back.  Grabbing me around the neck as he had at the Y he began dry humping me.  I threw him off with great indignation but neither he nor Demwitter seemed to take any notice.

     It was clear that I would have to abandon my visits or become a ‘consenting’ adult.  This direction was made clear shortly thereafter when I went to visit Demwitter.  Some guy I had never seen before was there and then Sonderman came traipsing in.  We sat around talking until Sonderman had a bright idea.  He suggested we turn out the light and masturbate together.  I was still completely innocent sexually.  Even if I hadn’t been, for me sex was something between a boy and his girl not to be discussed with anyone else.

page 7.

     I don’t know whether I had heard the trick discussed or whether I knew enough of Hirsh’s style to divine the trick.  It really wasn’t hard to figure out.  I knew then that this would be the last time I visited Demwitter.  Sonderman and the Hirshes had won the round.  I was isolated.  Demwitter betrayed the best friend he would ever have.

     Sonderman flicked off the lights.  They were so stupid.  Even with the shades drawn there was enough light so that I could see.  Apparently they couldn’t.  I went along with the joke to a point.  I huffed and puffed and slapped the bedspread in rhythm.  Sonderman leaped up to turn on the light expecting me to be the only one masturbating.  I sat looking at him with my most sardonic smile.

     I wouldn’t put up with anymore.  That terminated my friendship with Demwitter.  Once I was gone Sonderman stopped calling on the boob too.  I suppose Sonderman’s version was that Denny was his old friend and I tried to horn in.

     Denny owed me everything.  That he had attained prominence in high shool was due solely to me.  I introduced him to a higher quality of friends.  The other guys he knew were thugs or slugs.  If it hadn’t been for Sonderman’s hope for vengeance on me there wouldn’t have been any Blockbusters for Demwitter to quarterback.

page 8.

     That he should have sacrificed our longstanding honorable friendship for a temporary alliance with Sonderman was incredible to me.  Denny never was smart.  Now that he had betrayed our friendship he was no longer of any use to me and I have never given him a second thought.

4.

     I had been taking a psychological battering all my life.  One personality lay dead on the second grade playing field.  I had never been able to build a viable alternate personality or even persona.  I lacked all male force which is to say my Animus was completely beaten down.  In Freudian terms I had a weak Ego.  Now that the support of the camaraderie of school was gone the prop it had given to my deteriorating mental state was removed.  I collapsed into an inert pile.

     Everyone had their plans.  Some had seemingly glittering prospects at college; some were even lucky enough to find jobs.  I had nothing.  My mother had signed me up to go into the Navy.  She apparently thought that the Navy would be my last foster home.

     My mother! There was a source of information for the Hirshes I never even considered.  She babbled things to anyone who would listen.  Who knows who she talked to, but she had been telling unknown hordes that I was going to make the Navy my career.  She told others but not me that I was going to be a Chief Petty Officer and be back in twenty years.  She never talked to me about it but the story came back to me from some girl I hardly knew and didn’t like.  When I said I wasn’t going to make a career of the Navy the girl grew angry with me saying I was wrong because my mother said I would, just like my mother would know more about it than I would.

page 9.

     The fault lies within?  In the sense that conditioning determines conduct but once the die is cast it is all preordained, only the variables can be manipulated.

     My mind at this point turned to stone.  I was capable of only the slightest exertion as I inertly waited to be called up.  The only friend who stood by me was Larry Dubcek.  He had also enlisted and was waiting to be called up.  As for Sonderman the last two stars in the Constellation were placed just before he left for West Point.

     Our relationship ended on a tragi-comic note.  Although I had sworn I would never speak to Sonderman again after the the incident in Demwitter’s room it chanced that I met this really swinging girl.  She wasn’t my type but she was a total knockout.  I just couldn’t resist her.  She was one of those hot little numbers that you want to meet because you think you know what to do with them but then find out they know a heck of a lot more than you do.

     For a while we were really flaming.  I was even introduced into her family circle as a sort of suitor.  Her hotness was in reaction to a very traumatic experience.  I don’t really understand what I represented to her because I wasn’t her type either.  Her father owned a wholesale janitorial supply business.  I was shown the premises.  Mr. Fotheringay had had the misfortune to call the attention of the Outfit to himself.  The Outfit was the Chicago Mob.

page 10.

     He sold to hotels and restaurants so it was natural that the Mafia should annex his business.  Strangely he was quite open about it with me.  When I, in my ignorance of social realities, reproached him for being involved with the Mafia he gave me a painful snarl and a look that showed both his impotence against the Outfit and his disdain for such a dolt as myself.  He had already suffered unbearable ignominy at their hands and he was to suffer more.

     Terrorism in the United States is treated as a recent importation from the Moslem countries but terrorism has been practiced by the Mafiosi since the turn of the last century.  The Mafia had terrorized Jack Fotheringay in a particularly effective way.

     Briony or Brie Fotheringay when I met her was entering her Senior year.  She was just seventeen.  She was more flashy than beautiful but then it’s a fine line between flash and beauty, I suppose.  At any rate a couple days before her birthday, which was two days before mine, she caught the eye of her father’s Mafia handler, Two Ton Tony Lardo.

     Two Ton Tony was an underboss from the Chicago Outfit assigned several areas in the State including our county the county to the South of us and the county to the North.  He was your typical Mafioso- ignorant and uncouth.  He was six-five and three hundred twenty-five pounds.  Foul mouthed, vulgar and intrinsically obscene.  All he had to do was show up to fill a place with obscenity.  He announced to Jack Fotheringay that his daughter was a good looking piece.  Fotheringay had only been annexed for a few months so he told Lardo that she was none of his business.

page 11.

     The details are unimportant; you can devise them anyway.  Jack personally delivered Brie to Rocco’s Pizzeria down on Thelema then was told to wait in the car.  They had a basement storage room into which this uncouth behemoth carried the terrified Brie by one arm.

     She was about five-four, a mere slip of a girl.  This Mafioso sewer rat literally tore her clothes off.  Without any preliminaries he just rammed it home standing up as she lay back across a chopping block with her head hanging over the edge backward.  Then he grabbed both her ears pulling her up of the table onto her knees and pulled her mouth over his dick.

     Finished with her he gave her a kick in the ass to help her up the stairs as she ran half naked out the back door into the parking lot where her totally devastated father waited for her.  Two Ton Tony followed her out lighting an enormous cigar with one hand while with the other he slowly zipped his pants in Fotheringay’s face.

     Then with a knowing sneer he took his cigar and tapped a picture drawn on the wall by the door.  The picture was of the man with the big nose hanging over a fence with the legend ‘Kilroy Was Here.’  It is hard to tell which hurt Fotheringay the most, but he knew he was powerless, thoroughly emasculated, to resist.  He was a mere cipher.  There was no need to go to the cops; no need to tell you where the cops got that extra little augmentation to the pay envelope.

      As everyone at the time knew, the picture and legend ‘Kilroy Was Here’ was a symbol plastered all over Europe by the troops of the Arsenal Of Democracy as they rolled up those nasty Nazi armies.  Lardo and Fatheringay had talked about the matter previously.  While Fotheringay had been terrorized by the thundering ‘Arsenal Of Freedom’ fighting in the ranks at the Battle Of The Bulge Lardo had been sitting pretty back home with plenty of forged gas rations, stolen food rations, hijacked new tires for his late ’41 Roadster, he was important enough to get one of the few ’42s, and plenty of money in his pocket to spend on the bevy of women without men and fewer morals.

page 12.

     He got so much nooky he laughed to Fotheringay that for all he knew Brie was his own daughter conceived while Fotheringay was stupid enough to be off fighting people he didn’t even know in Europe.

     Fotheringay watched Lardo tap Kilroy with rueful eyes.  Had he fought a war to make the world safe for criminals?  Had he defeated Hitler just so he could become enslaved to a despicable Mafioso?  It seems so.  It was true.  The Fotheringays of the world had the power to defeat the Nazis but not the power to rule out and out criminals in their own homeland.  Zeus is one tricky fellow.

     It was one of those moments from which you never recover.  Never did a man feel more helpless and ashamed as his lovely sweet sixteen Brie shivered and cried beside him.  What could he do about it?

     The Mafia was very nearly protected by the Law.  Even though we had watched breathlessly in 1951 when Senator Kefauver confirmed and revealed the existence and influence of the Mafia the top cop in the country, J. Edgar Hoover of the fabled Federal Bureau Of Investigation, denied their existence.  He refused to move against them.

page 13.

     Hoover was the guy who stood gloating over the dead body of the folk hero John Dillinger while ignoring the activities of Al Capone who led the Outfit in Chicago.  Hoover let those creeps dominate the business activity of the Central States and the West.  At this very moment he was abetting a psychopath like Sam Giancana in terrorizing my hometown.

     Even when I was ten years old I knew organized crime existed.  I read comic books.  I went to the movies.  I knew that Hoover had murdered John Dillenger while he allowed Valentines Day Massacres to go uninvestigated and unpunished; he couldn’t even find the guys who did it, nearly a century later the killers are still unproven.

     I am unable to describe my reaction when I saw criminals defy the Kefauver Committee with impunity.  My faith in the masculinity of the government was shattered when I watched Frank Costello get up and walk out of the courtroom saying he didn’t feel like answering any more questions.  Goddamn the cops.

     If any Anglo, if I, had done the same the police would have grabbed us and thrown us back in his seat but the police, the same cops that told me that I, and only I had to walk my bike through intersections, watched as Frank Costello ambled out of the courtroom.

     I saw plenty of Mafia activity in town while decent citizens suffered helplessly with no recourse, slaves to this vile criminal group.

page 14.

     It reached into my family circle.  While not directly involved with the Mafia my uncle Sammy was a goon for the Mob.  Uncle Sammy was a truck driver.  You don’t think of these things at the time but I guess Sammy thought the ends justified the means.  He thought Jimmy Hoffa was a great man.  Hoffa was another fearsome persona from my youth.  Hoffa aligned himself with the Mob, both New York and Chicago.   You know, he had a foot in both camps.  He adopted the terroristic tactics of the Mafia.

     In the early and mid-fifties these guys bombed and killed in a wild frenzy.  My Uncle Sammy was one of the bombers and hit men.  I don’t know who all knew.  I’m sure he didn’t think I did although I took him to task about Hoffa once.  Sammy was a real labor type so he defended Hoffa vigorously.

     Uncle Sammy was real nervous the day after the simultaneous bombing of the Trans-Central States terminal and the killing of its owner.  I stood looking at him accusingly.  He shoved me away angrily saying something about the bastards wouldn’t listen to reason.  He and my Aunt Jo moved across town shortly thereafter.  He never came around to visit, I never saw him again.

     So this was the environment in which Fotheringay suffered and had somehow to endure with no chance of extricating himself.  The cops and judges were under the thumb of the Outfit.  The FBI would have no time for him.  He had gone to fight in the Big One for this.  Was Hitler a bigger villain than Sam Giancana? 

     These illiterate criminal Sicilians owned America. How had the Greatest Generation allowed this to come to pass?

page 15.

     My youth was the transition from the hopes of the ‘Melting Pot’ to what we at the beginning of the twenty-first century call ‘celebrating our multi-cultural diversity.’  This is no longer the beginning of  the twentieth century when these national groups were new requiring ‘tolerance.’  If we are to celebrate our diversity then we are not only free to do so but must analyze what those differences are if the country is to succeed as a political entity.

     Psychologically the Sicilian mentality can be typed.  Their characteristic way of viewing society can be easily described.  There is no mystery.  All you have to do is celebrate this particular diversity.

      Prior to 1950 movie makers felt compelled to celebrate the Anglo Saxon origins of the country.  After 1950 the emphasis changed.  People with ‘foreign’ sounding names had formerly changed them to ‘American’ or Anglo Saxon names. As Monsieur Arouet who became a gentleman by the name of Voltaire said:  The name’s the thing.  So I don’t quarrel with any actor who wishes to change his name to something that may lead to greater success.  John Saxon whole Italian name I forget was the last person who changed his name for immigrant reasons along about 1957-58 or so.  His putdown of the process probably cost him his career as the Anglo-Saxons resented his sardonic use of Saxon.

     Also the emphasis shifted from doing mainstream movies to presenting ethnic movies that celebrated a particular diversity while denigrating the Anglo-Saxons.  Reacting against the sense of inferiority caused by immigrating these always placed the dominant culture in a bad light.  In the manner of immigrant cultures they especially belittled the virtues of the dominant culture.

page 16.

     As we have seen the movies are a powerful medium for conditioning the thought and actions of viewers.  Anglo-Saxon women are always depicted as nymphomaniac bimbos while all other women are depicted as women of high virtue.

     It was thus that Lardo took great pleasure in violating Brie Fotheringay.  He wasn’t really interested in sex per se but he wanted to violate the image the smartass Anglos had of themselves.  They would do nothing to stop him.  He committed his crimes with impunity.  The rules that governed their lives had no restraints for a ‘wise guy.’  If a non-Mafioso had violated Brie in that manner you may be sure he wouldn’t escape the vengeance of Fotheringay and the Law.  Two Ton Tony had a good laugh at America as he sucked on his big Cuban cigar tapping the image of Kilroy.

     The Sicilian ethos was, I must use the word, brilliantly portrayed in the Godfather trilogy of 1972-74 and ’90.  As the movie was co-written by Mario Puzo and Francis Coppola, two Sicilians, it is to be presumed that they knew whereof they spoke.  While the Sicilian psychosis is brilliantly portrayed the analysis limps along behind it but it is there.

     The saga was lovingly executed in epic fashion covering an incredible nine hours.  All of the villainy is done under the cover of sacred ceremonies.  It is necessary for the Mafia to violate everything anyone else respects.  Platoons of wise guys are murdered while the Godfather is attending weddings, baptisms or symbolically in Part III the crucifixion of Christ on stage.  This attitude may hark back to the Sicilian Vespers when the Norman conquerors were locked in churches and burnt, apparently a fixative event.

page 17.

     The basic Sicilian Mafia premise is that they are entitled to all the most prestigious things in life because they entitle themselves to take them.  There is no pretense of earning anything.  They are parasites; they create nothing.

     You get guns and an organization and you terrorize everyone out of what you want.  There is no need to waste effort on education or social niceties.  You merely get ‘respect’ by terrorizing others into submission.  ‘Respect’ means that anyone who shows independence is blown away.  ‘Respect’ means that everyone is servile in your presence.  ‘Honor’ means that if you say you’ll kill a man, you do it.

     As parasites the Mafia makes no contribution to society, they merely consume what others make.

     Just as their transportation in 586 BC destroyed Jewish self-confidence and gave them an apocalyptic vision of history so did Sicilian history fixated the Sicilian mind.  The theme of the Godfather movies seems to be that the winner is the last guy standing when the carnage is over.  That is also what the Mafioso Santos Trafficante of Miami, once said.

page 18.

     The denouement of Part III in a dream sequence stunningly portrays this vision.  The Mafiosi involved themselves with the Vatican in the most intermingling way.  This part was apparently true. The Papacy thinks it is in control but as usual the Mafia uses violence to dominate the Papacy.  The Pope himself is involved in their sewer machinations.  The criminal Mafia has captured the citadel of the Sacred.  Evil rules.

     As the hero Michael Corleone’s son wants to be an opera singer he is placed on the stage.  To a Mafioso to want is to have.  There can be no denial.  Obstacles such as training and talent are not allowed to get in the way.

     The opera is Cavalleria Rusticana which concerns the crucifixiion of Christ.  There, as Christ is being crucified, the murder machine goes into full operation.  In dream like fashion an apocalyse of bodies is falling everywhere.  One in an evocation of the fall of Lucifer descends from the crown of the cupola.  The poisoned Pope dies in bed with a smile on his face.  Corleone’s enemies are falling in carloads as he stands untouched in their midst while tremendous operatic music is being performed.  He’s the man with the most ‘respect.’

     The assassin designated to dispose of Corleone fires off a couple rounds point blank but he somehow misses Corleone and hits his daughter instead.  Sicilian girls count, Anglo girls like Brie don’t.

     The final scene shows an aged Michael Corleone (translated the name means Lion or Stouthearted) sitting alone in a cemetary like a sole surviving anti-Christ where he stares mournfully at the tombstone of the only thing he ever loved in his life, his beloved daughter.  He’s won the battle but the only price is sorrow.  Nice view of life.

page 19.

     Well, if he wasn’t an ignorant moron who caused his own troubles one might feel for him.  As to his daughter what made her more valuable than Briony Fotheringay and all the Anglo women abused by stouthearted Mafiosi?

     Hoover might not have acknowledged the problem but the TV movie ‘The Borgia Stick’ of the early sixties did.  A variation on Jack Fotheringay’s predicament was accurately portrayed in the movie.  In the movie an Anglo is coopted into serving the Mafia where his life becomes a living hell.  He himself is a virtual slave while he is compelled to give his wife as a prostitute.  You might not believe it could happen but believe me it does.  Briony is only one example.

     When I met her she was just emerging from her shock or depression or whatever you wish to call it.  Perhaps she was attracted to me because my name represented a secure English past.  If so she was to be disappointed in me as she was in her father.  It never came to that exactly but our date at Hillbilly Heaven convinced her I wasn’t the man.

     Wherever she was to turn she could find no man who could stand up to the Mob.  Disappointed by her own men, in later life she was attracted to the apparent male superiority of the Mafia.  She became one of their party dolls and prostitutes.

     But all I knew at the time was that she was one hot number ready to go.  I had to make some kind of splash as a spry young fellow.  If you noticed you have never seen me behind the wheel.  That’s because Tuistad and my mother were adamant in not allowing me to drive.  They were terrified I might have a good time or become a normal young man.  So I had this hot little number who was ready to go and no way to get her there.

page 20.

    My only choice was to double date.  I sure couldn’t ask Tuistad to drive.  Graduation had completely disrupted my social patterns so I knew no one but Dubcek, Demwitter and Sonderman to ask.  I was completely disgusted with Demwitter, Dubcek was out of town courting his girl and that left only Sonderman.  So I asked him.

     After the scene at Demwitter’s he thought he was rid of me.  I saw the haughty sneer on his face as he prepared to crush me by refusal but showing some strategical sense for the first time he asked me where I wanted to go.  My heart sank.

     I was a fan of Country and Western music.  This guy named Freddie Hart had a record out that I liked entitled:  Drink Up And Go Home.  It went something like this:

You sit there a cryin’,

Right in your beer.

You think you got troubles?

My friend listen here:

Now, there stands a blind man-

A man who can’t see-

He’s not complainin’

Why should you or me?

Don’t tell me your troubles,

I got enough of my own.

Be thankful you’re livin’

Drink up and go home.

 page 21.

     I was sailing on a sea of troubles that I knew no one wanted to hear or would sympathize with me if they did listen so Freddie’s advice was pretty timely for me.  I took his sentiment to heart.  I have never complained since but just soldiered on.  I thought I would like to hear Freddie sing his song.

     The guy wasn’t appearing in town.  There was a hillbilly bar over by the time line in the central part of the state called Hillbilly Heaven.  It was about fifty miles away.  I had never been there but I knew from the radio announcer that the building was divided into two halves by a floor to ceiling chain link fence.  You could drink on one side while the other side was for underage kids.

     Freddie Hart was playing that weekend.

     Most people despised C&W; Sonderman was no exception which was why I quailed at asking him.  I could see his lip curl in contempt as he prepared his rejection but then a light went off in his head while his lip uncurled and he broke into a wide grin.  I was giving him a better chance than the railroad trestle.  He asked for two bucks for gas and said he’d pick me up.

     I didn’t like the idea of paying two bucks for gas especially as it only cost fifteen cents a gallon and we wouldn’t use more than three or four gallons but I considered myself lucky to get a driver.

page 22.

     I had never seen Sonderman with a girl before so when he picked me up he had a very ordinary looking girl by his side.  She had that cousiny kind of look.  I could never figure out my group; none of them ever dated girls I’d seen before.  They always came from somewhere else as was the case with Sonderman’s date.

     Brie came from a fairly affluent family.  Not rich, but Jack bought one of those new houses in a development; a pretty nice house.  It was three times my house and double the Sonderman’s new bungalow.  You could see the anxiety on Sonderman’s face when we drove up.

     When I escorted Brie back to the car you could see that she knocked Sonderman’s socks off.  I don’t remember Brie as being actually that beautiful but she had this blonde, sophisticated Audrey Hepburn movie star quality that just thrilled you into instant excitement.  It was that quality that Two Ton Tony Lardo wanted to sully.

     We set out for mid-state with Sonderman in a flush.  Hillbilly Heaven was just across the line that divided Eastern Standard from Central Standard.  At the time the dividing line ran through the middle of the State so we left at eight and got there at eight.  I impressed Brie with that one.

     Brie had had some sexual experience before Two Ton banged her.  Now recovering from the trauma she was fixated fast and loose.  She was hot on making out.  She didn’t care whether the sun was up or not.  She threw herself across my lap, flung her arms around my neck and got down to it.  Lardo had taught her that niceties didn’t count so rather than wait for me to get up the courage she guided my hand straight to her breast.  I could have made her right there but I was a little too backward.  Sonderman was stunned at what seemed to be my sexual virtuosity; he spent as much time watching the rear view mirror as he did the road.  There wasn’t that much traffic back in those days.

page 23.

     If you’ve never been to a hillbilly bar it’s quite a shock.  They’re a pretty rowdy bunch.  They let loose like a bunch of Holy Rollers in a frenzy.  Each one is trying to out have a good time the others.  One talks loud the other talks louder, one acts proud the other acts prouder.  Men and women alike.  Man, they call that setting the woods on fire.  The place was packed on both sides.

     Freddie, still a young guy, bounced on stage to do his thing.  They had the stage behind mesh wire fencing too.  On a good night they used to shower the band with beer bottles whether the drummer was on time or not so they put up this fencing so band members wouldn’t have to pluck beer bottles from between their bleeding gums.

     The crowd wasn’t that rowdy this particular night but I was the only one listening to Freddie Hart, or trying to, as everyone was into a noisy something else.  Sonderman got up.  While I watched he went to speak to some long tall raw looking cowboy type.  The guy was six-five and lean as a rail but he still weighed in at two-forty.

     When Sonderman came back he stood over me and pointed down so the cowboy couldn’t make a mistake.  The thirty year old cowboy type came over by us on the other side of the fence where he began making  provocative comments to me.

page 24.

     Sonderman sat smugly so I guess it’s clear why the light went off in his head.  His dad and Hirsh took care of the details.  Hirsh was nearly in a state of shock because of his son’s death.  He considered my survival a gross miscarriage of justice so now he gave up any pretext of Law and Order.  The cowboy was hired strictly on the basis of Mafia Criminality.

     Freddie sang his song.  Since that was what I mentioned I wanted to hear, after the song was over, Sonderman curtly said we were leaving.  He had to try to look powerful in front of Brie, who he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off, by cutting the evening short.  It was his car and I had an hours worth of smoldering makeout time with Briony so I didn’t put up too much of an objection which wouldn’t have done me any good anyway.

     I saw Sonderman motion to the cowboy so he was waiting for me outside the door in the parking lot with a couple other guys.  Those rowdy bars don’t like to have the police come around because sober citizens are always trying to shut the places down so I don’t know whether the bartender put these guys on Cowboy to slow him down or not but they were trying hard to dissuade him.

     The guy was obviously a hired slugger, as I look back on it now, because he raised his great big ham fist not like he wanted to punch me but like he was trying to knock my eye out and fracture my skull.  I could see this guy was a brawler with plenty of experience; I was only eighteen with no fights to my credit but I felt like a virtual midget in front of this towering behemoth.  I mean, I had to tilt my head up to look at that huge fist hovering over me.  There was no doubt in my young mind that he would stomp me to dust.  Something smaller than that if possible.

page 25.

     Boy, I sure didn’t want to fight this guy but I didn’t want to look bad in front of Brie either.  I thought the Cowboy was jealous because I had this hot looking chick.  Fortunately Sonderman got anxious to leave me to my fate.  I guess this was a reenactment of the State game when they tried to drive off without me.  Laughing with satisfaction he grabbed both girls making a run for the car.

     The Cowboy’s friends or bartender’s agents who looked like dogs jumping at an elephant were trying to pull him back telling him to leave the kid alone which cleared the way for me.  I knew Sonderman intended to drive away without me. With bowels quaking I scooted after him grabbing the door as he backed out of the space.  Brie threw it open.  I tried not to look like I was loading my pants.

     Yeah, well, he had humiliated me in front of my hot number.  My manhood was really shaken.  It took me weeks to rationalize the affair and even at that I wasn’t too successful.  It was almost like Brie and Two Ton Tony although hers was much worse than mine.  She seemed to understand, wanting to get back into it hot and heavy, but I was so shaken I was less than satisfactory.

     Sonderman wasn’t finished.  Even though he and Hirsh had failed to have my eye knocked out and my head broken into pieces the effect of Brie on Sonderman was incredible.  He was in love.  His date had been totally outclassed by mine, if his wasn’t his cousin.  Sonderman felt inferior to me which was something he couldn’t tolerate.

page 26.

     When I got out of the car to escort Brie to the door Sonderman put the pedal to the metal peeling rubber for half a block in his haste to leave me cold.  I made some comment to Brie about how jealous he was, kissed her goodnight, then began the long walk home.

     I had plenty of time to think about Hillbilly Heaven as I walked along.  The Cowboy seemed fishy but I was shaken to my socks by him.  I felt that I had really failed a test of manhood but at the time I didn’t see why I should have hung around to get pulverized.  I could have had a readier repartee in avoiding him but I was certainly under no obligation to fight a guy twice my age and three times my size.  Good rationalizing but it didn’t change my feeling of failure.

     Just as today I eat my food standing up as a result of Sonderman so decades later I wore a lot of suits with the pinch waisted Western jacket.  Just like the outfit the Cowboy wore although I have always detested cowboy boots.

     Sonderman had been thrown a loop by Brie.  Even her name, Briony Fotheringay, had an exotic but soundly English tone.  Aristocratic.  In the early fifties English names still carried a lot of weight.  The name itself was a reason for Two Ton Tony to want to dishonor her and through her the detested Anglo-Saxon culture.

     Briony was so much more than Sonderman had ever imagined for himself, let alone me, that he was thrown into a terrified jealousy.  He had to  find a woman to outdo me.  He had to do it quick, too; he only had a couple weeks before he left for West Point.  The pressure was on.

p. 27.

     He suddenly appeared with a girl named Donna on his arm.  She was a real knockout too in a conventional sort of way.   She didn’t have the flair that Brie had but she had a terrific full figure with a really impressive bust line.  That was one thing Brie lacked.  Big ones.

     He and she stood at a distance while he glared at me as though to say:  Check this out.  He didn’t greet me; he just stood there with an arrogant look on his face.  I signed to him.

     That’s one thing about Law and Order guys, they don’t care who they hurt to get what they want.  Once he located her he must have really come on to her.  He had obviously diddled her as he believed I had gotten it from Brie.  Donna stood there clutching his right hand with both of hers like she thought she was betrothed.  Sonderman must really have deceived her in the hope of shafting me.

     He must have talked to her about me a lot because she seemed eager to meet me.  Sonderman pulled her away with a shrug saying I wasn’t worth the bother.

     Sonderman may have thought that he won Donna with his own manly attributes but Donna had been attracted to him by the prospect of being an officer’s wife.  Some women are attracted by the uniform, taking the symbol for the man.  Their desire for the male draws them to the outer symbol as young girls are drawn to horses.  When the true man separates from the symbol they are often disappointed, turning in chagrin to drink or other men or both.

page 28.

     Sonderman cruelly disabused Donna of the notion of being an officer’s wife.  He cut her dead a few days later when he left for the Point.  She had served his purpose when he tried to put me down.  Now useless, she could be discarded without a thought.  Makes me wonder why I was so concerned about Ange when I cut her dead in the same manner.  It must be some shortcoming in my ‘breeding.’

     Sonderman west East to West Point.  I just went West in the Navy.  We parted company forever.  I had no idea that he was the most important male figure of my life.  He had become my Animus.  I judged all men through that lens.  It wasn’t pretty.

     Sonderman did not leave town with the healthiest of minds.  The past weighed as heavily on him as it did on me.  He was able to function better than I but you’ve seen the psychosis he acquired in his childhood and youth.

     The last get together with him at Hillbilly Heaven had left an indelible impression on my mind.  The Cowboy slugger had entered my subconscious attached to a cluster of memories that formed a dream element that persisted for decades which I call the Brown Spot.

     The dream was a simple image of a pulstating brown spot like a round bog in the middle of an open field.  The sight of it roused tremendous terror in my mind.  This was a very tough image to crack especially as it conflated disparate and widely spaced incidents in my life.  I’m still not sure how they are parallel.

page 29.

     I had always been able to remember all these incidents clearly but their combined significance was suppressed and incomprehensible.  In  the strange way that the mind works the trail led backwards from the Cowboy slugger.  Stranger still is that it was not until I understood why Sonderman showed Donna to me that the whole thing cleared up.  I am not clear how Donna and Brie lead back to the initial incident of the Brown Spot.

     However the path from the Slugger led back to an incident between the fourth and fifth grades when for some reason I decided to visit the Junior High I would be attending from the orphanage, but two full years later.

     The fourth grade had just ended.  I thought school would be empty.  I entered the building to look around.  The school was empty except for eight Black boys who were lurking around.  These fourteen year olds spotted a ten year old White boy they could terrorize and they did.  They chased me back and forth through the halls saying all the horrible things they were going to do to me when they caught me.

     They had no intention of catching me but I was so terrified that I ran past the entrance doors several times without seeing them.  That’s how my mother’s breast fixation worked.  Finally I identified the doors and ran out into the sunshine.

     Now, I had risked life, limb and mental health in the kindergarten to defend some Black kids.  I took the harassment of these kids as a betrayal of that deed.  I wouldn’t say I hated Negroes after that but I thought them undependable and untrustworthy.  I would not rely on them for any purpose.

page 30.

     In my liberating or explanatory dream of this incident as I ran through the halls the walls collapsed covering me with brown horse dung.  Evidently I found my conduct with the Black boys as cowardly as I found myself before the Cowboy slugger.

     When nearly buried a path led down to the bottom of the pit to the initial incident when I was in kindergarten.  This memory was the source of the terror associated with the Brown Spot.  This occurred after the Black kids left me to hang out to dry  which leads back to the Black boys at the Junior High.

     When my mother filed for divorce she began to revile my father to me, terrifying me of him and turning me against him.  Thus when my father came to visit me the last time I was too terrified to go to him as he begged me to do.  He accused my mother of turning me against him which she denied with a straight faced lie.  Don’t think I didn’t notice.

     My father left me this really neat dark green corduroy outfit with a spiffy traffic light aplique on the front pocket then he walked out head hung low crying softly and never came back.  I never saw him again, however for a period of years in my thirties I wore nothing but corduroy pants and jackets including a spiffy dark green one.

     Thus the theme of cowardice connected all three shaming incidents creating a brown spot like a big bruise on an apple.  Psychologically the reference to the bruise on an apple has a reference also.

page 31.

     During the war, about 1942, the country was terrified that the Nazis were capable of bombing the whole Midwest to pieces all the way from Berlin; or so Roosevelt let on.  We were said to be a prime target with our auto, now defense, plants.  Even as a little child of four I found this notion ridiculous but my elders had set up a system of air raid drills for our protection.

     My mother and I were on a bus going down Main downtown one night when the sirens went off.  We were all herded out of the bus to stand in storefronts for protection from the bombs.  Even then, as I stood in front of those plate glass windows, I thought we would be cut to shreds if they shattered all over us.

     For some reason I can’t imagine now I was terrified and set up a wail equal to those of the air raid sirens.  As may be imagined this annoyed the other bus riders considerably.  In an act of desperation which I sensed and didn’t appreciate and reacted to a woman reached into her grocery bag and pulled out a nice large apple and handed it to me.

     I examined the apple carefully noting that it had a large bruise or brown spot.  I handed the apple back to her cooly saying:  ‘It’s bruised.’

     She dropped it back in the bag in a huff but she still had her apple and stopped me from crying.

     The relationship between my mother, Brie and Donna is not clear to me although my mother and Brie were both hard women.  I don’t know the meaning of Donna unless it was that she was well built like my mother thus creating an association or, perhaps I associated Sonderman’s treatment of her with my mother’s treatment of my father.  All incidents in personal psychology are related.

page 32.

     The result of all the images was that my father was buried deep in my subconcious under a heap of horse pucky.

5.

…O Zeus and Athena and Apollo

If only death would take every Trojan

And all the Achaeans except us two,

So we alone might win that Sacred City.

–Homer

     Hirsh had succeeded in degrading me but I had avoided his desire that I debase myself.  However as a result of the persecution I had been put into a certain mind set which stigmatized me until I integrated my personality.  You know, psychology is so much more complex than Freud imagined.  He thought that his Oedipus Complex solved everything whereas in fact it is practically meaningless.  If such a complex exists in the universal psyche, which it doesn’t, it would only be a minor and passing part of a man’s psychology.

     Freud had a pretty shallow understanding of Greek mythology.  He wasn’t very well read in it at all.  He seized upon the Oedipus story in an unwarranted manner completely ignoring the reaction of Oedipus when he discovered that he had married his mother.  With a deeper understanding of Greek mythology he might have noticed the myth of Io, the Holy Cow.  Rather than having a desire to copulate with his mother which is beyond a young boy’s ability to imagine it is more likely that he views this woman who has not only fed him from her own body like a cow but has tended to his every need willingly, lovingly and with self-abnegation as his personal milk cow.  At a certain point when the child perceives that this woman is dividing her concern between himself and his father he may fear losing the economic privilege he enjoys.  Thus he may believe temporarily that he is in competition with his dad.  If so, the feeling passes within a couple years as he realizes the true situation.

page 33.

      I can say that I never had a desire for an old used woman from whose womb I had emerged when there were plenty of fresh young heifers around who could do me more economic good in the future than my mother.

     But then Freud was a pioneer and not a developer.

     There are only so many visions of reality that a human can hold.  The uniqueness of the individual is mainly illusory.  Or at least that uniqueness exists only as an individual is representative of a mind set.  I had my own Responses in dealing with the Challenges from the Field but the Field remains paramount in my own and everyone else’s personal psychology.  Then as I began to understand to which psychic fraternity I belonged I recognized some of my fellows.  Over the years I came to realize that I was akin to others in the same mind set.  We all pursued the same goal and our objectives and methods were not all that different.

     Certainly Tim Leary and I were psychic brothers as well as Dr. Petiot, Moses, Richard Speck, Charlie Whitman, Sonderman and the most prominent member of our septum, Adolf Hitler, not to mention Brave Achilles.

page 34.

     The stimuli for each of us was undoubtedly somewhat different but our Responses were also somewhat of the same character if not the same degree.  If we’d all been as capable of Hitler you may be sure we would have acted the same as he did although our personal objectives may have been different.  We wished mass destruction on all our tormentors.  We had our eyes on the gates of that Sacred City and it mattered little who died so long as we passed through those pearly gates, preferably alone.  We sat and sulked in our tents waiting to be called to save humanity.  When that didn’t happen, like Nero we wished that they all had one neck so we could strangle them all at the same time.

     Of the group I am the only one to break on through to the other side and freedom.  The rest remained trapped in their pasts.

     It is not to be assumed from the cast of characters that our mind set among the others is particularly vile.  After all Mao Tse Tung, Joseph Stalin, Pol Pot, Idi Amin, Charlie Starkweather, Ted Bundy, Lord Strafford, Hirsh and host of great destroyers belong to other mind sets.  Your is one of them.  Saints and Sinners abound in any of the mind sets.

     But I know my brothers.

     Each of my brothers here mentioned responded to his Challenges from the Field in different ways.  Each chose to resolve his dilemma in his own individual way as his circumstances dictated.

page 35.

     The most conscious or willed Responses were by Dr. Tim of the Ozone Space Patrol and myself.  We both are or were psychologists.  Tim of course was certified by society and I am not.  However I succeeded where Leary failed.  Tim left behind him a fairly extensive body of writing, the most finished of which is of a very high literary quality.  His autobiography ‘Flashbacks’ is very innovative in the first half while his most literary production ‘High Priest’ is, shall we say, unique in format and style.  Very avant garde.  Timmy had it, but he blew it.

     The problem with Tim is that when he realized that the key would be hard to find he gave up; he turned to drugs, no stamina.  The guy really needed instant gratification.

     Tim’s central problem which he inexplicably failed to recognize was his abandonment by his father.  His father’s leaving muddied his waters for all time.  As a psychologist his fixation was staring him in the face but in the peculiar way of fixations it remained invisible to him.  Such is the fear that one is prevented from seeing what is before one’s eyes.

     Like many befuddled people he became a psychologist in the hopes of discovering his problem.  Instead he found that psychologists were impotent before their own and their patients’ illness.  With or without help a third got better, one third got worse and one third stayed the same.  Tim was of the group that slowly got worse.  He accordingly gave up on psychology.  No staying power.  Tim was a sad case.

     Before he gave up he made a fateful contribution to psychological literature while employed at Kaiser.  Interestingly he never mentions Kaiser in his autobiography.  Slides right over it.  He realized he had been manipulated into his psychological disorder.  As Judaeo-Christian thought decrees that the punishment fit the crime he set about to divise the tools for the psychological manipulation of the whole world.  He want everybody else to get screwed up too.  He did this at Kaiser when he devised the personality tests that are still in wide use.

page 36.

    Once the tests were devised Tim had no sense of direction.  The pernicious use of his personality researches remained fallow for the time being except that as Tim sank over the deep end he turned to psychedelic drugs.

     When his LSD researches began he drew into his circle the most pernicious of post-war movements, that of the Beats, the stage was set for his merry pranks.  The so-called Beats, can be summed up by Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs with Ginsberg as the most important member.  Actually the roster of important Beat writers can be rounded out with Leary himself, Bob Dylan and Ken Kesey although the last three are sort of an after Beat.

     Their novo literary plans were lauched and were being propagated by Ginsberg’s ‘poem’: Howl.  Once through the publishing door Ginsberg helped bring out Kerouac’s ‘On The Road’ and Burroughs’ ‘Naked Lunch.’  The three works were slim fare to get and keep their ‘rucksack’ revolution rolling, but boy, did they have an effect.  Thus Ginsberg, who knew the main chance when he saw it, searched out Tim Leary as soon as his psychedelic researches reached his ears.

page 37.

     Ever ingratiating and insinuating Ginsberg’s seed fell on Leary’s fertile mind.  The two men had the same goal but for different reasons.  Leary in effect became the fourth Beat and its Pied Piper.

     Tim had no intellectual content beyond some vague notion of some ‘politics of ecstasy’ but he became a master showman and clown.  When the mind of a generation was blasted apart by LSD which has absolutely no content but opens the mind to immediate reconditioning Ginsberg and the Beats provided the intellectual attitude grafting it onto the blown minds of the generation by using the substance of Leary’s brilliantly manipulative personality theories.

     It must be noted that Leary himself seemed unable to penetrate to anyone’s ulterior motives.  He calls it naivete but such simplicity is almost impossible to believe in one so intelligent.

     Ginsberg’s trained agents infiltrated every Beatnik or Hippie group to graft his value system unto their blown and receptive minds.  This was the brainwashing technique that Leary believed the CIA was probing him for although Doctor Timmy blithely claimed to know nothing of any such technique.  It should be noted that Leary was quite as capable as the CIA of lieing to protect his own.  As an instance, in his autobiography he spectacularly shifts attention away from the crimes of Charles Manson who he defends to direct attention to a similar crime for which the ‘establishment’ Army officer Jeffrey MacDonald  was convicted.  Although the crimes were quite dissimilar in some way he thought the latter crime somehow absolved the drug culture.  Tim was not an honest man.

page 38.

     So as Ginsberg appropriated Tim’s research to further Semitist and homosexual goals, Leary in his frustration contributed to the befuddlement of society just as he had been befuddled by his own central childhood fixation.  As he was naive he considered himself innocent.

     Freud believed that morality was of no consequence.  His belief has been embraced by psychologists subsequently.  Psychology has no concern with morality.  Freud believed that anyone who knew certain ‘truths’ about themselves was incapable of committing an immoral act.  Tim Leary disproves his theory.

     If anyone cares to apply my psychological approach my only fear is that they will liberate themselves without having good morality.  Thus, if criminals, they will only be more effective criminals.  A clear mind and vile methods can never create good.

     So Tim and I differ in methods and goals.  I want to correct and eliminate the evils practiced on me while Tim merely wanted to pass his monkey on.

     Nevertheless his researches are valuable and useful for understanding who you are.  At the very least such an understanding will prevent your being easily manipulated by pernicious people.

     Tim gave vent to his fixation in his way as I have in mine.

page 39,

     Tim never mentions a fear of the law.  In point of fact at the time he was arrested in Laredo he had broken no laws.  Psychedelic drugs had been legal to that time.  So the man was actually railroaded into prison merely because he had made himself unpopular with certain governmental officials.  Still, he must known he was barefoot on a barbed high wire so he should have taken extreme precautions.

     I too have never done anything illegal but I learned very early that laws for me were different than the laws for my enemies.  You’ll remember the cop who said only I had to walk my bike through intersections, so, you see, you don’t have to do anything to end up on the wrong side of the law.  I have always known that innocence is no defense so my ‘paranoia’ has kept me vigilant and alert.  I have never wanted to gratify the hopes of my enemies by spending my life in prison.  Nor did I ever have any intention of killing myself.

     Dick Speck and Charlie Whitman were not of my mind.  Dick was not reflective enough to know what he was doing.  He and Charlie committed their outrages within a couple months of each other in 1966 at a time when I was passing the crisis in my own mental development.  Becoming a serial killer was no longer possible for me but I immediately recognized my kinship to both men.  I too had considered both crimes although Dick Speck’s was not one that would gratify my own malaise.  Speck’s crime was directed against his mother who formed his Anima, thus in his own way he was murdering his Anima which had betrayed him, while mine like Charlie’s was directed against males and, indeed, the whole of society as was Addie Hitler’s and that of Achilles.

page 40.

     Dick Speck, as I imagine is still well known, actually murered six nurses in Chicago one hot summer night.  That his conflict centered on his mother is attested by the fact that he killed young women, so-called Angels Of Mercy.  In attempting to exorcise his central childhood fixation he delivered himself into his enemies hands spending the rest of his life in prison in conditions too horrible to discuss at this time.  Suffice it to say he became his mother.  Society didn’t have the decency to execute him.

     Charlie Whitman took a different approach.  He was the man who barricaded himself in the tower at the University Of Texas.  From there he took pot shots at anyone who fell within his sights.  It was a most futile attempt at exorcising his fixation  with no chance of escape, a mere act of desperate frustration.  At best he killed or wounded a few people but he at least had the self-respect to kill himself when the authorities broke through his barricade.

     I knew that my enemies wanted me to commit some such act which would discredit me while confirming their opinion of me to the world.  By graduation they had formed me and placed  me at the crossroads.  I was programmed for just such crimes; it was up to me to avoid the destiny prepared for me. 

     I had no interest in killing women because I cherished Ange who was my Anima but Dick’s crime thrilled me to the core as I recognized a fraternal brother who had attempted to purify himself of his fixation.  Speck’s act should not be seen as an act of senselessness or revenge but purification.  It failed as I knew that it must.  Purification comes from within rather than without.  No drug, no crime can purify the mind.

page 41.

     A couple years before Charlie climbed the tower I had considered barricading myself at Stanford University, a symbol of social acceptance and my rightful place in society to me.  In my waking fantasy or daydream I commanded a small army to take on the world.  When asked to surrender it was my intent to offer my brain as a scientific specimen to study the working of the mind of the mass or serial killer much as Ted Bundy was to do in an attempt to escape the electric chair.

     Among the reasons I didn’t perform this absurdity was that I didn’t know of a small army that would accept my leadership.  I didn’t even have any friends.  Also I suspected that there was nothing so abnormal about the serial killer’s mind except his exaggerated Response to a Challange that most people would find normal and not remarkable.

     Interestingly enough, in my most desperate moments I thought up an act of desperation that had been considered by the top strategists of the Nazis.  At this time I was living in the Bay Area.  The water supply of the Bay Area is impounded behind a number of massive dams that ring the San Joaquin Valley.  The mighty Shasta Dam had also just been completed which impounded a small ocean.

     During the war the Nazis had formed a plan to bomb the dams surrounding the Bay so that the waters rushed down at the same time would inundate the low areas and disrupt shipping.  The idea occurred to me too.  With the addition of Shasta the effect would have been terrific.  In my plan the waters reached the Bay as the highest tide of the year was coming in.  The enormous flood would have reached into Merced and inundated Sacramento.  The resulting malarial swamp would have got millions.  I probably wouldn’t have entered that Sacred City alone but the devastation would have been a balm to my wounded soul.  But remember, your immoral society had created me.  Responsibility begins at home.

page 42.

     The problem with that one was getting enough plastique and knowing how to use it.  Always something.  I just didn’t have the necessary determination.  Wisely I decided not to try.

     Shortly thereafter I began to organize my baggage better.

     The baggage is important.  For, like Dr. Petiot we all take our baggage with us.  That’s why Tim’s notion of changing consciousness with drugs is so impossible; the baggage remains the same.  The question is do we let it overwhelm us or do we learn to arrange it into manageable units?  Like Tim Leary said only a third learn to do so.  A third just sit on the baggage and a third like Dr. Petiot sink beneath the weight.

     When our attitude is combined with great political skill and determination it becomes most dangerous.  Of the politicians I recognize as being of the same mind set Moses holds the least sympathy for me.  There is a great resemblance between Mighty Mo’ and the most famous representative of our mind set, Addie Hitler.  Both believed that they represented an elect group of people; both were willing to exterminate all other people for the benefit of the elect.  Both ruthlessly eliminated groups of dissidents within their parties.  Both suffered devastating defeats of their programs.

page 43.

     As I say I have scant sympathy for Mo’ but I also find similarities between Hitler and Sonderman.  You may laugh or object to the audacity of comparing myself and Sonderman to important figures like Leary and Hitler and Moses but this is not an exercise in comparing apples and oranges but oranges and oranges.  No matter how influential or inconsequential  the exemplars, these are comparisons within one mind set.  For instance to compare Hitler with Napoleon which has been done is to compare an apple to an orange.  They come from two entirely different mind sets with entirely different motives.  Although they may be similar politically we are dealing with psychology.

     Sonderman and Hitler are examples of Law and Order aspects of our mind set.  Myself, Tim, Mo’, Dick and Charlie are not Law and Order types.  We despise the Law and Order mentality.  Addie Hitler was a foremost example of the Law and Order approach which he combined in the end with our more characteristic chaotic approach.  Contrary to popular opinion he did nothing outside the laws of Germany even if he had the power to write them himself.  He was a Law and Order sort of guy.

     Everything he did was legal.  He resisted the temptation to seize power illegally which he could easily have done.  Once legally in power he legally assumed dictatorial powers and passed laws to suit his purposes but then he was legally empowered to do so acting no differently than other mind sets in the same situation.  That is Law and Order to a fault.

page 44.

     Nor was Addie a particularly innovative man.  He just brought political and historical trends to their logical conclusions.  Totalitarianism was the the order of the day; he perfected it.  In the thousand year war between the Slavs and Germans he merely extended the policty of the Teutonic Knights from piecemeal annexations of Slavic lands to a massive one time takeover effort.

     In the two thousand year old war between the Jews and Europeans Addie merely repeated the Roman solution in its war with the Jews that kicked off the Piscean Age.

     There was no break or discontinuity in historical tradition; Hitler merely brought the trends of the previous two thousand years to their logical conclusions.  Addie was quite conscious that he was creating a New Order.  As he said the Old Order ended with his death.  Unfortunately he committed suicide before he could see the spectacular introduction of the New Order over Hiroshima but, then, those are the breaks.  The guy knew what was happening whether you like him or not.

     Now, the means and methods he chose to end the Old Order were the result of the mind set he had been given as a youth.  He had a Brown Spot the size of a pumpkin.   I don’t know how the cluster was composed but he discusses the last element in his reminiscences or table talk while on the Eastern Front.  He had just graduated from high school.  He undoubtedly was not a popular person with his schoolmates because they got him roaringly drunk to humiliate him.  In an effort to amuse them he wiped his rear with his diploma.  In some manner the schoolmaster learned of this.  No longer drunk Addie was thoroughly ashamed of himself as he should have been.  Not for using his diploma as toilet paper but for allowing others to abuse his good will.

page 45.

     At any rate the incident affected him more than the Cowboy slugger affected me.  Enraged at his youthful treatment in the last and earlier elements of the Brown Spot and capable of killing any enemy he chose with impunity he tried to bundle their necks together and stangle them all ignoring all consequences so long as he might take that Sacred City of the soul just like Brave Achilles.  They both failed.  Hitler was not abnormal.  Far from it.

     Addie’s Animus had been severely blunted while his Anima while not exactly healthy was whole.  He transferred all the energies of his Animus to the Anima and became Matriarchal in intellect no doubt as a tribute to his mother.  A characteristic of the Matriarchal intellect is the belief in the fertility of nature; thus life becomes expendable and replaceable which, in fact, it is.  Compare Hitler with Mao Tse Tung for the Matriarchal effect.

     As a symbol of the attitude let look again to Greek mythology.  These myths are puzzling so I don’t hope to convince you of my interpretations but they are plausible.  In the myth of Demeter and her daughter Persephone, after Hades had abducted Persephone Demeter turns the world into a wasteland in grieving over the loss of her daughter.  In her wanderings she comes to Eleusis where she sits down on a rock to mourn.

page 46.

     There she is approached by a comic toothless old crone by the name of Baubo.  Baubo tries to cheer Demeter up but the goddess remains inconsolable.  Then with a toothless laugh Baubo who is squatting in the birth position lifts her skirts to reveal a baby emerging from the womb.  Demeter laughs and begins to recover.

    Why did Demeter laugh?  To quote the great Calypsonian and the Kingston Trio:  Back to back, belly to belly, I don’t give a damn because I’ve got another ready.  So Baubo’s lesson is what does it matter that you lost one child when you have the means to make many more.  Baubo exemplified the Matriarchal principle.  No matter how many die many times that number are still in the womb.  The individual life is unimportant.

     Hitler’s response to his fixation was to embrace the Matriarchal intellect.  He applied it exactly.  Not only was he indiscriminate in destroying human life, who he killed is irrelevant, but in his frustrated rage at losing the war he was willing to destroy his entire civilization just like Brave Achilles.  Cracow was leveled to the ground.  He gave orders to explode the former jewel of civilization, Paris, in its totality.  It is a miracle that Paris was not leveled like Cracow.  Thank God, Addie, didn’t have the means to reach Chicago.  It is a miracle that Paris was not leveled like Cracow.  Of course, the Allies flattened Berlin and the rest of Germany, so I guess he had some reason to be sore.

page 47.

     When his world had been completely destroyed Hitler put a bullet through his own brain next to Eva Braun who may possibly have been an exemplar of his Anima while ordering his body to be completely destroyed.  My friends, that is complete self-negation.  Thus as I say, Hitler was the perfect exemplar of our mind set.  We’ll never see his like again.

     Speaking of embracing an opportunity, Tim Leary’s death provides an interesting variation.  When he died he had his body put into orbit around the earth.  At some future time when the orbit degrades the missile will enter the atmosphere as a shooting star disappearing in a blaze of glory.

     But wait, that’s not all.  I don’t know if it happened but Leary wanted to have his head removed and frozen with the expectation that at some time science will be able to transplant his brain onto another’s body.  Thus it is possible that he may come back to life in time for his brain to see his body plummet into the sea.  That then would be a headless comet, the first of its kind.  Leary may have been crazy but he didn’t lack imagination.

     Sonderman completly lacked the chutzpah to either sink to the depts of Hitler or rise to the heights of Leary.  In the turmoil of his mind he completed his studies at West Point.  From which institution Tim Leary was expelled, by the way, and then went to his duty station to await his call from home.  When it came he buried his hopes as completely as Hitler or Leary to heed his father’s call.  What biological clock he was responding to I cannot tell.

     Trained by Law and Order he returned home.  Now, interpreted rightly Sonderman was already a serial killer before he left Junior High.  He had offed Wilson while trying repeatedly to kill me.  Unlike Dick Speck with his lawless murders Sonderman was a Law and Order type guy.

page 48.

     I don’t know if having assumed his role in the social structure of the Valley he participated in other murders but as the Valley is known as the murder capitol of the State I wouldn’t be surprised if he has.

     As I sat talking to him during the Reunion I was closing in on my own delivery from the psychology.  The integration of my personality was not far away.  Had I not turned to psychology for deliverance it is not impossible that in an orgy of self-pity I might have gone on a murderous rampage and killed as many of my classmates as I could.  Not of the Law and Order mentality, I would have been chaotic ending my days in prison as a ‘monster.’  To my shame I wouldn’t have had the integrity to kill myself afterwards.

     As that was what my ‘monster’ enemies wanted I was determined not to give it to them.

     I know that most people think their personality is innate and immutable.  Most people think that they are what they are and that they could never have been any other way.  The fact is that our personalities are shaped and not created.  We become what we are by a system of Challenge and Response from the Field.  What has been done can not be undone but one can escape from its onerous burden.  One can use one’s intelligence.

     As far as morality goes the Challenge of Correct Behavior is given us.  Contrary to Freud morality is more important than psychoanalysis.

page 49.

     The psyche breaks on the rock of morality.  Even a Mafioso like the fictional Michael Corleone broke on the rock of morality.  He felt guilt.  While people applaud the notion of morality most people are incapable of embracing the whole system.  They think they can pick and choose which elements are useful to them disregarding the rest.  People have a public morality as they give lip service to Correct Behavior and a private morality in which they indulge all their whims and hatreds.

     My morality both public and private was purer than that of either Sonderman or Hirsh yet both had better reputations than I did.  Whereas they exuded a certain confidence and unwarranted self-esteem I had been robbed of nearly all my self-respect.  I lacked confidence and assurance.  I was tentative and uncertain which translated into a species of guilt and effeminacy.  I was incapable of projecting the person I felt I was inside.

     While trying so hard to injure me my enemies had done injury to their own psyches.  Remarkably, they were to deteriorate as years passed while I would be able finally to cast off the personality they had imposed on my while returning myself to myself.  I have often wondered who the little Grey One that ensheathed me in my dream might be.  Quite possibly she was the personality killed on the playing field in the second grade.  If so she had been residing in the House of Death.  Perhaps she had been released to reclaim me from my psychic prison.

     Now, here, twenty-five years later, unaware of my true relationship with Sonderman I was sitting across from him.  The old resentment still glowed in his eyes; if I was unaware of our true relationship he wasn’t.  Still thinking we had been friends I was hopeful to reconnect with him so I could join my present, my fractured past and my hopeful future into a whole.

page 50.

     If Sonderman had been initially glad to see me it must have been that he had been waiting twenty-five years to tell me he had always disliked me because I copied him.  Once done I presume that he no longer had any use for my presence.

     The ancient traumas had locked him into a state of arrested adolescence.  It was as though he had never left ninth grade.  Except for the addition of the miles he looked just as he had way back then.  He was still slender and square.  He had the same elfin head.  He still had all his hair combed in exactly the same way.  His style of dressing hadn’t even changed from Junior High.  He wore the same Wrangler jeans, although now that his wife had a washing machine they were clean.  He never had and still didn’t have the cool to wear Levi’s.

     It was appropriate, I think, that the jeans were called Wranglers, obviously chosen to fill some deep psychological need.  His shirt might have come out of his teenage closet.  His shirts had always been cut square across the bottom and worn outside his pants.  He was still in the box in which his father had placed him except now he was running the chemical plant.  He hadn’t busted the block.

     Sonderman wouldn’t know and I can only speculate about the subliminal influence of his mother.  I found it of interest that his first and only child was a girl.  It might be thought that having pleased his mother with a grand daughter he didn’t want to run the risk of antagonizing her by having a son.  What did Sonderman know subliminally?

page 51.

     In contrast, my wife and I had no children.

     His role in the destruction of my eating club was uppermost in his mind.  He looked me square in the eyes in an intended insult to say that he had never once in twenty-five years ever seen a member of the club except for a chance meeting with one whose name he couldn’t recall in an airport.

     If he meant to hurt me, he did.  It also brought to mind a chance encounter with me that he had in the Chicago Greyhound station in the summer of ’57 when I was coming back on leave while he was returning to West Point.

     He fled my presence thinking I hadn’t seen him.  Ever vengeful and mean  he went into the reading room to tell the bartender that I was a Communist.  Then he had someone direct me into the room.  Lest I not order a coke I was directed to the bar.  There out of the blue the bartender told me they didn’t serve people like me in there.  Well, you know, I was pretty darn high class for a Greyhound station.

     When I asked why he told me to just keep my political opinions to myself.  When asked what that meant he told me to look at my shirt.  I was wearing a pink shirt.  I guess he meant that I was a Pinko.

     As Sonderman had been in his cadet uniform he commanded a great deal of respect so everyone was glad to do it for him.

     I was lost in a reverie for a moment.  When I came around Sonderman was staring at me with a hopeful smile on his face.  I guess he was saying that he thought he had taken my club from merely as a lark; neither it nor its members had any relevance for him.

page 52.

     He was clearly in a state of arrested emotional development.  I came to the conclusion that he was daily haunted by myself and the memory of those years.  His mind must have been obsessed with the attempts on my life and his murder of Shardel Wilson.

     The vehemence and finality with which he said I copied his every move must have concealed the guilt he felt but couldn’t acknowledge.  He was the result of the training of his people.  I have no doubt that he had absorbed all the rules of Law and Order.  I have no doubt he was capable of cooperating with his fellow trainees to eliminate anyone he or they wanted either physically or socially.  He was paying the price of that immorality.  Breeding will out.

     His wife was a woman named Donna.  She puzzled me because if this was the same Donna I had seen back then her physical attributes had shrunken considerably.  In fact she looked more like Brie than that earlier Donna.  I could find no discreet way to ask so I was forced to assume that after having been cashiered from the Army Sonderman came home took over the reins of his dad’s business then began to look for a wife.  Apparently fixated by me he didn’t go looking for the full figured Donna but a replica of Brie.  It may be coincidence that his Brie lookalike had the name of Donna but then maybe that had been the attraction.  He had gotten the best of both of them in one woman.  Needless to say all those years later they were still together.

page 53.

     I quickly sensed that Sonderman was extremely distraught, sunk within himself.  His voice came as though from the depths of some tank, with each succeeding drink it became moreso.

     Once the novelty of my appearance wore off he seemed to increasingly resent my presence until he blurted out in searing pain that I had stayed long enough; it was time for me to go.

     I was shaken by the outburst but saw no reason to plead to stay.  It was clear he had achieved his purpose when he said I copied him.  The car I had been loaned had been reclaimed so I was without wheels.  I had to ask him to drive me to my cousin’s house.  He was gracious enough to comply.

     On the way I was surprised to learn that he and Wink Costello were still friends and golfing buddies.  I also learned that Wink was a year younger than us which explained some things.   I sensed his dissociation from reality when he showed surprise that I had known Costello.  I knew why he seemed to be unaware of my relationship to himself, Costello and Little.  It was clear that he had converted the killing of Wilson into something else.  He had somehow conflated my copying him with Wilson’s death, probably thinking that he generously concealed the secret of my murder of Wilson to protect me.

     My family had programmed me to get as far away from the family as possible.  They always did that to one member.  They actually intended me to flee to Australia as Uncle Louie had done.  I just wanted to flee.

     Mr. Sonderman had apparently programmed Little to move away also, probably so as not to interfere with Sonderman’s management of the company.  Little had graduated from the University as a nuclear physicist.  I can tell you I was bowled over, I respected nothing more than nuclear physics.  Then I had the pins kicked out from under me when I was told he was abandoning nuclear physics to become a psychiatrist.

     I very nearly laughed out loud.  What a psychological load of baggage both Sonderman and Little were carrying.  It would take more than psychoanalysis to purge them.  Both Sondermans had a great deal of penance to do.

     Sonderman thought he had slipped when he told me that Little was living on the West Coast fairly close to me.  I could see him make a mental note to call Little to tell him that I might try to contact him.  Before his psychoanalytic training Little was already a more astute psychologist than his brother.  He told him that there was no chance I would contact him.  He was right.  Just the thought of Little makes my skin crawl; he really was an evil guy.

     So my wife and I got out of his car.  Sonderman gave her a last lookover with a wistful eye.  I think he thought that I had topped him again but I’d give it a draw with a shade on my side.  I’m a very generous guy.

      I was unaware I was closing the door on my Animus.  This guy was the image of manhood through which all other males were filtered.  In psychological terms he was the image of the Terrible Father.  My Animus was not clothed with a counter balancing image of the Good Father.  All men were insane as far as I was concerned.

page 54.

     I evaluated all men in comparison to this despicable model.  As I perceived Sonderman he was a homosexual, liar, sneak, cheat and thief.  Now, by his own admission he was a willful failure.

     My public persona had been formed in reaction to him and through him the Hirshes.  While I projected Sonderman’s image on all men I also subconsciously  presented an abject figure to them with which I telegraphed my past.  Thus a cycle of mutual repulsion was perpetuated.  The moving finger had written; the stars were in control.

     I was vaguely aware of projecting the abject image but not knowing where it came from I was powerless to change it.  In order to change my image of myself It would be necessary to change the image of the Sonderman Constellation.

     My life was effectively over.  Regardless of whether I could change myself and the Constellation the baggage as Dr. Petiot realized was still in my hands.  The moving finger had writ.  My education was complete.  Nothing could change that.  Even if the men I knew should show me a new countenance I knew the truth behind any seeming fairness.  I knew who they really were.  And having written the finger moves on.

     Nor, even if I changed, would that change be noticeable to those who already knew me.  They would continue to react to me as they always had.  They might not get the same response but their education as regards me was complete too.

     Like Sonderman’s when he met me their minds were made up so that I would be able to present this new persona to new acquaintances who would be apprised of my old persona by my old acquaintances.  A vicious circle.  I was doomed to be a loner.  It was written in the stars.  The Field dominated.  The Challenges had been made; the Responses had been offered.

page 55.

     The question was: Could I realign the Sonderman Constellation from the brooding theatening image reflected on my face or convert it into one which would be more constructive for myself.  The truth seems to be that like Medusa’s sisters the Anima and Animus are immortal.

     I was given a glimpse behind the Constellation.  It was worse than I imagined.  I had a dream of a house.  I was both inside and outside, above it looking down on it.  The house was being assaulted by myriads of bugs trying to break in.  I fought this image for several days until I came to the conclusion that the house represented my mind and the bugs millions of memories that were trying to destroy my mind.

     I retreated back a bit to the other side of the Constellation but then I realized that as I was both inside and outside the house I was in control of my own mind.  I was the proud possessor of my own mind.  I was one of Leary’s third that healed.

     As I looked up the Sonderman Constellation had begun to change form.  The past after all, while not a jot of it can be washed away, is the past.  It can’t pysically hurt you nor can it reach out for you.  The baggage can be repacked so that it can be carried comfortably.

     All the stations of Sonderman’s stars realigned themselves while I watched apprehensively.  Then I broke out into a laugh.  I was engulfed by merriment.  In place of the threatening aspect the stars formed a portrait of Sonderman’s silly Alfred E. Neuman face grinning idiotically down at me.  There was no reason to fear that Animus.

     So in the end Sonderman assumed his true form.  If I wasn’t free from him at least he was always there for a good laugh.

    What, me worry?

The End Of The Sonderman Constellation,

 

    

The Sonderman Constellation

by

R.E. Prindle 

Chapter II.

The Psychonautica

The senate house of planets all did sit

To knit in her their best perfections.

–The Bard

     The human mind is incapable of imagining what it has not seen.  There is no such thing as human creativity; all is in explanation of what is.  Everything is understanding and extrapolation.

     Thus Man perceived his nature and explained the world according to his understanding.  There was sea, earth and sky.  Man assumed that what went on in heaven was a duplicate of what went on here on earth; thus the dictum: As above, so below.  It followed that if the  Earth dictated one’s physical existence then the stars in heaven dictated one’s spiritual existence.  When one’s soul left this earthly existence one became a star.

 page 1

     Most of the stars are perceived as fixed but there were five known stars that wandered across the skies.  The Greeks called them Planets or in other words, moving stars.  It made sense that one’s nature would be determined by the position of the planets at the time of one’s birth.  Thus personal astrology developed out of this general astrology.

     It must be remembered that in those days one’s social position was fixed at birth.  A blacksmith’s son was expected to become a blacksmith.  An aristocrat’s son due to breeding was irrevocably an aristocrat regardless of the whims of fate.  However there were changes in fortune, a blacksmith might become prominent while an aristocrat might become a slave.  All was preordained by the stars.  Everything could be predicted if you could read the meaning of the stars.  The stars where right up there where they couldn’t be missed.

     Man’s consciousness evolved.  As it did it sought desperately to explain character in more reliable terms. 

     The Bard appears to have been of at least two minds concerning astrology.  On the one hand in the quote prefacing this chapter he claims that the stars determine character while at another time he declares the fault lies not in the stars but in ourselves.

     A couple centuries later and a few miles down the road of consciousness Freud determined that the springs of action did indeed lie within while indicating a way to control and correct them.  Freud might have been able to relieve Hamlet of his most distressing symptoms with the ‘talking cure.’

page 2

     Antagonists of Freudian concepts of human behavior have returned to the Ancient Fathers bypassing the Bard and Freud and by utilizing modern science in a specious manner brought the fault down from the stars by placing it in our genes.  According to modern science Man is still not responsible for his actions, influences beyond his control compel him from which he has not the intellect or intelligence to resist.  To counteract these internal chemical imbalances, so they claim, some psychologists have developed a program of drug therapy not unlike Dr. Tim’s which is supposed to correct the chemical imbalances and while it still doesn’t cure the problem there is the appearance of a temporary cure by numbing the affected area.  Why the introduction of chemicals to redress the imbalance doesn’t cure the psychosis is never explained.  The conclusion is that Man is just a helpless wisp in the wind.

     No one of these explanations is wholly correct but allowing for the metaphors of the stars and genes there is some truth in each assertion.  This led the Ancients to Hermetic Science.  The Hermetics believed that one’s future could be affected by applying rules of Moral Virtue and Right Conduct.  Thus while the stars were influential one could change the quality of one’s life, if not one’s destiny, by one’s own efforts.  Of course, by the heyday of the Hermetics social conditions were somewhat more fluid.  Man changed his philosophy to suit his perceived conditions.

page 3

     In our own time one’s birth condition has less to do with one’s station in life.  With a little initiative a person born into the worst social circumstances can rise to the highest position in life such as President of the United States or Premier of the Soviet Union.  In which case the answer does lie within but only for those who have conquered their ‘inner demons’ or turned them to good use.  One would still rather be born a doctor’s son than a streetsweeper’s .  It’s a much easier road for the former regardless of mental condition.  But if one doesn’t rise does the fault truly lie within?  I don’t think so.

     I had a cat once who had a litter of kittens.  The mother was a sleek short haired black cat.  Of her litter five were copies of herself while the sixth was a long haired tortoise shell kitten.  Very beautiful, prettier than her mother or siblings.  The mother took an intense dislike to this beautiful kitten.  She refused to groom it like the others.

     One night we heard a kitten scream, then silence.  Upon rising we found this beautiful kitten dead.  She had been thrown out the nest having been pushed well away.  The mother was looking at it with the same dispassionate look that the Sondermans had given me when I hung suspended from the railroad ties as the great grinding steely wheels of the Diesel engine ground by my fingertips.  I mean, at the time I could have told you how many revolutions it took them to cross the trestle.

      Upon examining the kitten I discovered that it had not been able to void its feces.  Previous fecal matter had dried over the rectum forming a plug.  The mother had refused to clean it so that, unable to void, the kitten’s intestines had exploded, killing it.

page 4

     A scream and then silence.  The kitten had been murdered by its mother.

     We threw the dead kitten in the garbage and paid attention to the living kittens.  Life belongs to the living, doesn’t it?  Dead things tell no tales and thus have no rights.

     What had the dead kitten done to deserve the neglect of its mother.  Nothing.  The fault does not lie within.  The kitten was just unfortunate to have been born different and beautiful.  Not even malformed, just prettier, just not like the others.  The kitten was just born under a bad sign, no planets sitting for her benefit.  It was just written in the stars beyond the kitten’s control.  Unfortunate combination of genes.

     Consider the situation with my own and Sonderman’s relations with our mothers.  Nature has its flaws.  While it has provided all women with the physical capability to bring children into the world it has not provided all women with the intellectual capacity to function as mothers.  Some girls, as it has been noted, just want to have fun.  Some girls have been given unrealistic expectations as to the nature of life.  Some girls have very unrealistic notions as to the power of men.  Some girls remain ignorant of the nature of sex.

     Both Sonderman’s and my mother had psychological expectations that had disastrous results for their sons and husbands.  In the psychology of both women they wanted daughters not sons.  When their husbands disappointed them by giving them sons both experienced psychotic reactions,

5.

     In my mother’s case she first rejected her husband as a failure.  She no longer wanted him.  To save her own dignity she had to transfer the blame for a marital separation to him.  Using the wiles of women she induced him to beat her.  By his becoming a woman beater she was justified in divorcing him.  She was the innocent and injured party.

     While society recognizes the criminality of the brutality of the male it willfully refuses to recognize the criminality of the wiles of women.  Women’s wiles are only the female counterpart to man’s physical strength.  Even if society had recognized the concept, my father would have been unable to give a clinical explanation of why and how my mother had induced him to defame himself.

     She punished my father for failing to give her girls by defaming  and discarding him.  She next had to punish her boys for not being girls.  She spurned them from her, much as our cat did her kitten, by placing them in foster homes and the orphanage.  Murder by neglect  was out of the question in human society.

     To be sure her womanly wiles created a good reason for doing so, not wanting to appear reprehensible in the eyes of the world.  The wiles of women are clever but no less vicious than the brutality of men.

     In contrast Mrs. Sonderman as a silly girl thought that her husband could will the sex of her children.  She devoutly wanted girls because as she once told me girls are ‘sugar and spice and everything nice’ while boys are made of ‘snails and nails and puppy dog tails.’  The woman had taken a nursery rhyme heard as a small girl as actual fact.  Understand me, she believed it.

page 6.

     She eagerly submitted to old S’s embraces on their honeymoon in the expectation that he would grace her with a daughter.  She had been to college and knew as a scientific fact that the male sperm determines the sex of the child.  Therefore she believed old S could will the sex of the child and give her the daughter she desired.  Imagine her disappointment when young Sonderman popped out all malely and rasty as a puppy dog’s tail.  She was gracious; she thought her husband may have made a mistake, didn’t try hard enough.  Ignoring custom and medical advice she was impelled to immediately attempt another to get a daughter.  When, ten months after Sonderman was born Little crawled out into the light of day she knew that old S was betraying her willfully.  He was crossing her.  The selfish bastard had no intention of giving her daughters.  She crossed her legs and turned the lives of her sons and husband into a living hell.

     Our mothers didn’t let us die and then throw us out of the nest but that was perhaps only because social pressures prevented such a resolution.  Both of us had to bear our mothers’ hatred; a hatred which neither of them could understand and which neither of them would ever have admitted.  Their hatred was nevertheless a Challenge to which we had to Respond.

     When my father was rejected by my mother she created a different set of Challenges to which I would have to Respond.

     Sonderman’s rejection by his mother would become more evident to him in his adolescent years especially after I moved into the neighborhood.

page 7

      The women would do nothing openly that the world could censure as violent or criminal such as beating us which the womanly wiles of my mother caused my father to do to her.  Even if they had, men do not take the physical violence of woman seriously as they are the weaker sex.  On top of that a man assumes that a woman always has cause to strike a man or boy.

     Modern American society seems to have obscured the concept of the wiles of women.  Women are even thought to be without the vices common to humankind regardless of the abundant evidence to the contrary.  They present themselves as all virtue without faults.  The fantasy is that men through their basic indecency have completely fouled up the world while if women were in charge as in the good old days of the Matriarchy all would be sweetness and light.

      Well, ‘When ‘Omer smote his bloomin’ lyre’ he had a different tale to tell.  For him the wiles of women caused the most destructive war of all time.  The Iliad of the great Trojan Cycle centers on the basic conflict between the male and female of the species.  The inequality of the sexes is the number one unending problem of history.  Homer must be understood as the most detailed examination of the problem in literature.

     The Iliad is only one part of a massive ten part epic not unlike the Vulgate Arthur.  Of the parts, only the two parts of Homer have come down to us intact.  When the cycle was redacted probably only his work came from such a powerful mind that it merited survival.  The remainder exists only in epitomes and summaries.  The whole cycle concerned the war of the sexes or that of the Matriarchy and Patriarchy.

page 8.

     Homer knew the whole story.  The Iliad refers regularly to the other parts not only of the Trojan Cycle but the whole of the mythology of the Bronze Age.  Homer was obviously an initiate in the complete esoteric mysteries.  He is able to summarize the developed world outlook of the Bronze Age from the arrival of the Greeks to this own period.  The vast compendium of knowledge and outlook was organized just previously to the world dissolving into the succeeding psychological Piscean Age depending on a savior to rescue mankind from itself.

     But Homer understood perfectly the relationship between the male and the female.  The Trojan War was caused by female vanity and it was fought out to satisfy female spite.  Using the wiles of women three goddesses got mortal men to fight their battle for them.  So much for the notion that the world would be at peace if women ruled.

     The story begins at the equivalent of the annual Freaker’s Ball or Black and White Ball or whatever they chose to call it in those times that began with Once Upon A Time.  Mount Olympus was gaily decorated for the occasion.  For this gala all the gods and goddesses were invited but one.  Oh, those overlooked invitations.  The only immortal left out was the goddess of strife, Eris.  No one wants strife at their party but the lesson is it will enter wanted or not.

     Eris was the mistress of the wiles of women.  Rather than just crash the party as a man would do, she showed up bearing gifts.  The Greeks were clever at giving deceitful gifts; hence the saying:  Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.  With honeyed words she said it was not her intent to stay; even though uninvited she had brought a gift to demonstrate her good will.

     With a lovely smile Eris laid a beautiful golden apple on the gound.  Smiling brightly over her shoulder she tripped off.  There was something written on the apple.  Aphrodite, Hera and Athene drifted over their curiosity piqued.  As they stared at the apple the words became clear.  They simply said:  For the fairest.  You never heard of the wiles of women, hey?

     ‘Oh, look Girls.’  Aphrodite giggled.  ‘It has my name on it.’

     ‘Not so fast, Child.’  Hera said, holding up a cautionary hand.  ‘Fairest is my middle name.’

     ‘Oh, daddy.’  Athene cried to Zeus.  ‘Help me.  They’re trying to take my little golden apple from me.’

     The big sap came over to give his decision for his favorite daughter but neither his wife or older daughter would accept his decision.  And so, Eris, using her womanly wiles had destroyed the tranquillity of the Freaker’s Ball.  They were all freakin’ out.

     The gods could not agree or dared not to assert which they thought was the fairest so it was determined to offer the case to a mortal for adjudication.  That was a neat Law and Order decision.

     Far off across the water on the slopes of Mt. Ida near Troy a simple shepherd boy named Paris decided to take a nap in the warm afternoon sun.  Laying himself down in the high grass beneath a pine tree he brushed a spent pine cone out of his way and drifted off into a delicious sleep.  As Somnus, as Homer would say, received Paris in his arms the three godesses drifted into his slumbering consciousness.

page 9.

 

     ‘Hello, simple shepherd boy.’  Hera said.  ‘We gotta problem.  We need your help.’

    ‘Oh, you have a problem.’  Paris answered warily.  ‘Well, go down to Troy.  There are a number of soothsayers there; they will be glad to help.  It’s their business.’

     ‘You punk.  Your number’s up.  You’re the man of the hour.’  Hera rudely said, although she would have called it speaking imperiously.  ‘Here’s the gig.  See this apple, Sonny?  It says to the fairest.  OK.  Which one of us does it belong to?’

     ‘Hard to say.’  Paris evaded diplomatically.  ‘I’m only a simple shepherd boy as you noted.  Why ask me?’

     ‘Well, smarten up, Sonny.  This is an either or situation.  Either you give us an answer or we’ll shrivel your gonads to the size of peas.  Which is it, kid?  Me, her or her?’

     Life is like that sometimes, now, isn’t it?  This was one of those unsought times for the simple shepherd boy, Paris.  Even though his only chance was to go ahead and deliver what is known as the Judgment Of Paris he tried to be evasive again.

     ‘I couldn’t say when you have all those clothes on.’ he said hoping they would be modest and leave.

     ‘You don’t get off that easy, Sonny.’ Hera replied. ‘Two of us will retire so that you can examine us in detail one at a time.  I’m first.  Girls go behind that mountain until I call.’

page 10.

     Athene and Aphrodite floated away.  Hera dropped her robes saying:  ‘How do like them apples, Big Boy?’

     She was beautiful but in a matronly sort of way.  She could see it in his eyes, so she thought she had better sweeten the pot.

     ‘Listen, Punk.’  She intimidated. ‘Give me that apple and I will guarantee you Success and Power all the rest of your life and it will be a long, long life.  Think about it.  Athene, you’re next.’

     Athene tripped up giving the simple shepherd boy the seductive eye as she dropped her drawers.  ‘Check out them pomegranates.’  She smiled.  Paris did.  He took his time.  Stunningly beautiful but as a virgin still and a virgin forever she was insecure.  She could only offer Paris the fruits of Moral Virtue and Right Conduct.  In other words, virtue is its own reward.  The reward would be great in the end but the apparent pleasures few.

     Paris heard her out, nodded his head and said:  ‘Send in Aphrodite.’

     Aprhodite flitted up as only Aphrodite can engagingly and flirtatiously she slipped out of her raiment.  You knew she was hot; she wore raiment.  Man, she was a knockout.  ‘How do you like them melons, honey.  You look like a lusty young man.  How would you like to get laid by the most beautiful woman in the world anytime you wanted?’

      Well, Hera and Athene had been OK and made attractive offers but Paris was indeed a lusty eighteen year old with nothing but a six inch slash running through the middle of his brain as any of the ewes in the flock could have told you.

     ‘OK.  Let’s go.’ He gasped.

     ‘Not me, silly.  I’m a goddess; you’re a mortal.  But I know a hot little number in Sparta who’s got the hots for a stud like you.  You’ll like her.’

page 11.

     So saying she called Hera and Athene back.  ‘It’s all over Girls.’ She laughed.  ‘I told you it was my apple.  I don’t know why we had to go to all this trouble.’

     Athene and Hera threw those noses in the air sniffed and looked balefully at Paris.

     Thus began the great Trojan War over the vanity of woman.  The war had nothing to do with men in that far off blissful Matriarchy.

     Having promised Paris the woman, Helen, who just coincidentally was married to another man, Menelaus of Sparta, Aphrodite told this nitwit shepherd boy to go to Sparta to claim his prize.  Menelaus greeted Paris cordially offering the run of the house as was due a guest.

     ‘Oh, by the way.’ Menelaus added.  ‘I’ve got a business engagement in Egypt so I’ll be gone a few days but make yourself at home until I get back.’

     And so Paris did, and how.  He put Helen in his boat, loaded up all Menelaus’ possessions and sailed for a distant shore.

     The Greeks would not stand still for this rude treatment by someone calling himself a guest so they gathered all the tribes and nations together to sail for Troy to retrieve Helen and the possessions.  The girl was just a slave to love.

     Nine years of fighting later Homer begins the tale of his portion of the story.

     The Iliad is a very difficult book to understand.  Ostensibly a story of war and battles it is really the story of the wiles of women vs. the brute strength of men.  The inequality of the sexes caused by the ancient unequal division of the four chromosomes can never be rectified.  Freud with a certain prescience called women’s discontent penis envy.  Being intelligent creatures women find the unequal division of the chromosomes an egregious injustice.

page 12.

     The confusing presentation of Homer’s story is the result of having to interweave two parallel tales.  Now, Homer is not just telling a story but is demonstrating the functioning of the universe as it was understood by the most advanced consciousness of his time.  The man is really a genius, a mind of great power.

     The central difficulty as I see it is that Zeus has promised the Greeks victory but then seems to be advancing the cause of the Trojans.  Zeus, in this capacity, is the example of the Universal mind or the mind of absolute power.  Quite a concept.  He sees all and knows all; he knows the result of everything before it happens.  According to Homer once he has acceded to a request by nodding his head the thing must come to pass.  He has given the Greek commander, Agamemnon the nod so the Greeks are fated to win.  Yet Zeus proclaims that he favors the Trojans.  The contradiction must be resolved if one is the understand the story.

     A straight line is the shortest distance between two points, however in human affairs the only way between two points is the most convoluted line.  Zeus must contend with the wiles of his very resentful wife, Hera.  the Queen Of Heaven is suffering from one of the worst cases of penis envy ever.

     She had at one time led the gods in a revolt against Zeus.  He had been too strong for her and her allies.  As a punishment for Hera he had her hung out to dry in the sky with two golden manacles around her wrists and two golden anvils attached to her feet.  That must have taken the spring out of her step for a while.

p. 13.

     Hera’s complaint is that even though Zeus does have all the power, both physical and mental, she must have scope to exercise her own designs.  This is the central problem of womankind.  The only way she can have scope is if Zeus willingly accords it to her.  Now, if  Zeus wants peace and harmony in heaven as on earth he has to give Hera the appearance of free will.  He must use guile to defeat womanly wiles rather than manly force.  This is Homer’s lesson for all mankind for all time.

     So, Zeus has given his nod to the Greeks; the decision cannot be changed.  Thus opposing manly guile to womanly wiles he announces himself in favor of the Trojans.  Hera then automatically opposes him to favor the Greeks in order to thwart Zeus towards which goal she employs all her womanly wiles.

     The story like life can be read as a tragi-comedy.

     The esoteric key to Homer is very important for the characters are not only characters but symbolic forces.  As with all esoteric writing there is the exoteric or literal meaning of the story which is for the uninitiated vulgar consumption as well as three or four levels of meaning for the various degrees of initiation.  As there is no evidence of the meanings having been passed down it may well be that they have been lost.  They may even have been forgotten before Homer completed his tale.

page 14.

     Still, it is possible to relate the Iliad to other mystery systems such as the Indian, Egyptian and Mesopotamian.  I cannot claim to have penetrated very far but I have found a few things that apply here.  It seems clear that Aphrodite, Hera and Athene correspond with the Hindu concepts of Kama, Arthas and Kharma.  Kama being Lust or Love; Arthas being Success and Power (compare the career of the medieval Arthur=Arthas) and Kharma being Moral Virtue and Right Conduct.   Thus when Paris chose Kama he chose the least worthy of the three powers.  By choosing Kama he chose a past whose time was gone.  Arthas would have preserved the status quo while Kharma led to a better future.  When he chose Lust, Success and Power and Moral Virtue and Right Conduct sided with the Greeks.  The outcome was therefore obvious.

     I am convinced that the Ancients, meaning the educated Priesthoods, were aware of the effects of Man’s chromosomal identity.  Thus Homer opposes the XX of Hera and Athene with the X of Aprhodite and at various times the y of Ares, Apollo or Zeus.  Ares is raging, senseless slaughter; insensate rage coupled with unbridled lust.  I am unsure what Apollo represents except unwholesome natural forces such as plagues.  Zeus is in his character of Brute Force coupled with Aphrodite as Lust.

     Thus the war is fought by a marriage of an Xy and an XX and a trio of male Xys.

     The quarternity of a coupling of Patriarchal Xy and XX and the XX of Hera and Athene is victorious.

     Zeus is compelled to employ guile to achieve his true end of causing the Greeks to win.  But because of his softheadedness he creates problems for himself.  After Agamemnon takes Briseis from him Achilles asks his goddess mother Thetis to intervene with Zeus to bring a great disaster on the Greeks.  The big oaf, who can never resist girls, gives her the nod and so he is compelled to let the Trojans ravage the Greeks.  This is achieved when the Trojans breach the Greek ramparts while firing one of the boats.  Having fulfilled his nod to Thetis he allows the course of battle to change in favor of the Greeks.

p. 15.

     But by openly siding with the Trojans he forces those who will oppose whatever he projects to aid the Greeks.  Hera will do anything to defeat him while Zeus’ very powerful brother, Poseidon, can be counted on to oppose him also.  Both do.  Athene who is angry with Aphrodite for losing the apple unwittingly falls in with the plans of Zeus by opposing Aphrodite for female reasons.

     Thus the plan and outcome of the story is known before the story begins.  Only the details are of interest.  The two parallel stories of above and below are played out concurrently in the entire Universe as known to Homer.  Events take place in heaven, on earth, on and below the seas, references are made to Hades, the Lord of the Underworld, while even Tartarus which is thought of as being as far below Hades as Earth is below high heaven is brought into play.  The gods ascend and descend Olympus in order to aid or hinder their favorites.  There can be no doubt Troy is the ancient Armageddon.

     In heaven womanly wiles prevail.  When Athene guides Diomedes spear to wound Aprhrodite in the hand who is fighting for the Trojans, Aphrodites’s nurses threaten vengeance on Diomedes.  They do not threaten force but wiles.  They say they will cause Diomede’s wife to lay with his worst enemy.  They will hurt Diomedes with womanly wiles against which he cannot defend himself while if he resorts to beating his wife in retribution he will be discredited.  So, of course, he will be compelled to suffer his injury in silence.  Gall for the rest of his life.  Clever girls, and no will know.

page 16.

     I suppose that is what my father should have done but not yet wise to the wiles of women he chose force rather than resorting to male guile to achieve his ends.

     Zeus finally orders all the gods to desist from helping either side while he goes to help the Trojans.  Hector and his Ilions immediately threaten to drive the Greeks into the sea.

     Hera undertakes a desperate resolve to aid her favorite Greeks.  She borrows Aphrodite’s irresistable girdle of love to go off to Mt. Ida to seduce Zeus.  While they are in dalliance the tide turns with the Greeks turning back the Trojans.  Having satisfied his nod to Thetis he can now propitiate Hera by letting her seem to have her way.

     Hera believes that her womanly wiles have succeeded while it must be true that Zeus having had a little afternoon delight is laughing up his sleeve.

     Zeus’ temporary backing of the Trojans has the effect of bringing Achilles back into the fight so from that point on the interference of the gods is less significant although it is only through the aid of Athene that Achilles is able to kill Hector.

page 17.

     The focal point of the heavenly war between the sexes comes at the end of the general armed action on Earth in the story of Hera’s seeming greatest triumph over Zeus.  This is the birth of Heracles.  Now, Heracles means the Glory of Hera.  Mankind has always been mystified as to why this greatest son of Zeus should be called the Glory of Hera.  Thereby hangs the tale.

     The big goof Zeus is sitting around the dinner table this particular night when he makes the boastful announcement that a son of his lineage will be born that day who will be the most powerful mortal of all minkind.  As another Greek myth demonstrates there is ‘many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip.’  It is is important to remember that while Zeus’ decress cannot be changed they can be altered.

     Hera whose jealous eye spotted Zeus’ dalliance witht the mortal Alkmene knows that Zeus is talking about her and that her child is due that day.  Having universal prescience she also knows that a descendant of Perseus who was the son of Danae who some may remember was impregnated by Zeus in a shower of gold was carrying a son who was in the seventh month.

     Zeus had not said that the woman had been impregnated by him, only that a son of his lineage would be born.  Thus it is possible for Hera to thwart the big oaf without changing his decree.

     The wily woman hurries off to Eilythia, the goddess of child birth to implore a favor.  She want Eilythia to cause a premature birth for the seven month boy while crossing Alkmene’s legs so she won’t be able to deliver until the seven months’ child is born.  She does.  As a son of Zeus’ lineage is born usurping Heracle’s place as the greatest man alive, Hera trumps the hope of Zeus.

p. 19.

     As difficult as it is to understand the Iliad the story of Heracles is even more difficult.  Hera, having foiled Zeus’ design by having an earlier son delivered first, is not content.  She sends two huge snakes to end the life of the hours old infant, Heracles.

     While woman’s wiles can work wonders when clandestinely employed womanly force cannot stand up to manly force in direct confrontation.  Two snakes are the ancient symbol for the female XX chromosomes.  So the symbol is of an XX attacking an Xy.  The baby Heracles seizes a snake in each hand and throttles each.

     When Heracle’s father hears of the attack he rushes to his son’s aid only to find a laughing Heracles gaily waving the dead snakes in the air.

     Hera has been defeated by a baby boy in direct confrontation.

     When he grows up he will still be subject to Hera’s rejection.  Her choice, Eurystheus, is the most cowardly and abject man alive but as he is king in Argos, Hera’s chief seat, Heracles will be subject to him.  One of Hera’s good jokes- the strongest man alive is subject to the weakest.

     Zeus’ big mouth has defeated his intent.  He must resort to guile to defeat Hera.  Heracles is not yet immortal but Zeus tricks Hera into giving Heracles suck.  Her milk will make the baby a god when he shuffles off his mortal coil.  Hera discovers her mistake when Heracles sucks so hard he draws blood.  She tears the baby from her but he spews milk and blood all over her.

p. 19.

     And so the story goes in the never ending war between the sexes in heaven.

     As above, so below.  If the war in heaven was fought over women so was the war on earth.  But here Homer shows the limitations of force vs. guile also.

     The whole trojan war is fought to recover Helen.  As the Iliad opens another disaster is about to occur because of a woman.  During one of the Greek raids Agamemnon, the king of kings by the divine right of Zeus, had captured many many women.  He has an actual harem their on the beach.  But the father of one of these, a priest of Apollo, arrives on the field to request the return of his daughter.  He offers a double king’s ransom, more money than the whole fleet could spend on a weekend in Hong Kong.

     Acting against the advice of his counselors he hautily refuses, ordering the priest of Apollo out of the camp on the toe of his boot.

     The result of this misguided use of force is that the Apolline priest calls on his god to send the direst of plagues on the Greeks.  Apollo the Far Darter, complies.  Beasts and men fall like flies.  The army complains asking Agamemnon to give the girl back.  He does; the plague ends.

page 20.

     However this odd, short sighted man who has refused a Mt. Ida sized pile of goods which should have been the ransom of any woman alive decides he must take a female prize from another warrior in compensation.  There is only one man in the army who can kill Hector ensuring victory for the Greeks.  That man, Achilles, is incomparably greater than the next ten greatest Greeks.  Now, whose woman do you think Agamemnon takes?  Right.

     Achilles wrath is unbounded at this egregious misuse of power.  He refuses to fight any longer.  Thus the war is fought over Helen, brought to one disaster by another and an even greater disaster by a third.

     Agamemnon’s inept use of force is the real cause of the disaster.  His style is contrasted with that of the wily, guileful Odysseus.  The latter is not really a very admirable character but by what is actually deceit and trickery he repeatedly triumphs over true worth and merit.  Thus wiles and guile are show to be more powerful than brute force.

     Thus when my mother’s wiles of woman triumphed over my father she created a different set of Challenges to which I had to respond.

     Sonderman’s rejection by his mother would cause him increasing distress in later life.  But, preeminent in Sonderman’s psychology was the fixation given him by his father.  Did Sonderman deserve the fixation?  No.

     Sonderman’s consciousness had been too undeveloped to resist or interpret correctly the Challenge his father gave him.  Sonderman went into his box head over heels.  His Response entered his young mind as his father intended indoubtedly for the selfish reason of binding young Sonderman to him as his successor in managing his worthless chemical plant.  Sonderman’s will and happiness were destroyed.  His ability to choose his own destiny was deflected but not for any fault that lay within himself.  He had been fixated.

page 21.

     We were both given serious fixations.  Our ability to manage these fixations determined the course of our lives.  Unaware of why we Responded to these subjective Challenges all our own efforts could do was to deal as successfully as possible with the objective Challenges life handed us.  We both did relatively well but not as we might have chosen for ourselves.

     I was not imprinted by my parents but Sonderman was.  All is determined by the imprinting we receive.  Imprinting is not the same as conditioning.  I am not sure but that Dr. Timmy didn’t confuse the two.  Imprinting is something that occurs instantaneously and possibly can never be changed.  Conditioning is done by repetition a little at a time.

     I know who gave me my primary imprint and when.  There is a period of susceptibility during the ages of eight or nine when one assumes the direction of one’s life from one’s male archetype.  I was in the orphanage at this time.  Hirsh who understood a youth’s vulnerability at this age was desperately trying to imprint my mind with the notion that I was destined for prison.  I don’t know the name of the man who imprinted me or why he took an interest in me.  Perhaps he was watching the machinations of Hirsh and either wanted to defeat him or save an innocent child.

page 21.

     At any rate, Hirsh missed in his attempt and imprinted my companion by mistake.  He has spent his whole life in jail.  A few days later my imprinter called me to him under the shade of living trees across the street from the steel wire mesh fence of the Children’s Home.  He told me to listen carefully then advised me to always pursue the better things in life.  He told me to study the classics and literature and develop my mind.  Stay on the straight and narrow, he said.  Having slipped into a hypnoid state his words went straight into my mind without opposition.  If he were still around I might ask him how well I have done.

     Conditioning and conditioned responses are inculcated by repetition such as Pavlov used to condition his dogs.  Conditioned Responses can be eliminated and replaced by other conditioned responses.  Tim Leary understood this very well.  Thus my central childhood fixation was not an imprinting but a conditioning which Hirsh reinforced continually during my childhood.  Tim Leary mistook the conditioning of the psychedelic experience as imprinting.  His subjects were not imprinted but conditioned.

     Timmy was correct in his belief that the psychedelic experience could disrupt conditioning allowing new conditions to be implanted but the original conditioning remained intact.  His subjects applied their imprinting to directing the course of their new conditioning.  Thus under the influence of psychedelics a different set of conditions could be induced by aural and visual stimuli as provided by phonograph records and movies.  It is important to look at TV and movies as conditioning with or without the aid of psychedelics.  The psychedelics are not absolutely necessary but they lower resistance.  Dr. Tim called this brainwashing technique ‘expanding your consciousness.’  Real Orwellian doublespeak by someone who abhorred the concept.  Thus to refuse to expand your consciousness, which is to say, accept new conditioning, became a sort of sin during the psychedelic era.

page. 22

      I am aware of the kinds of conditioning I experienced which I have been able in large measure to shuck off for what I consider more reasonable alternatives.  I can also indentify several of my would be imprinters but their effect is negligible.  I thought I chose the moral path I have followed but it appears that I have been merely unable to deviate from my original imprinting.

     At the ages of twelve or eleven Sonderman and his brother were being conditioned or trained to execute their people’s will.  Put in the social sense they were being bred.  They were being bred into evil ways and breeding, as they say, will out.

     There were conflicts in their educations.  Their people bred evil while their churches tried to teach morality.  The Sondermans had learned right from wrong.  They knew better than to try to kill me.  Were the Sondermans wrong to execute the will of their elders.  Yes.  Were they capable of resisting?  No.  They were faced with the difficult choice of becoming criminals or becoming outcasts of their social stratum.  To choose to become an outcast is a difficult decision.  No one who truly understands the consequences would choose it.  They were too young to argue with the customs of their people.  Argument would have been difficult at any age.  Evil customs, once intrenched withing a group can never be changed from within; it takes an outsider to destroy them.

page 23.

     Their people were unaware of how twisted they were.  In training the Sondermans to evil practices these people turned the psychology of the Sondermans against themselves.  Had I actually died on the trestle they might have been able to justify their act to themselves.  After all, I would have been stupid enough to trust them; they thought that anyone who would take their word for anything would have to be a fool.  Having failed in their attempt to kill me the Sondermans had to reconcile their intent to kill with the moral teaching not to kill.

     Only the living have rights; mine were still in existence with me.  The frustration and rage fixated on Sonderman by his father was embittered very unnecessarily by a bad conscience.

      Sonderman and I had been given different psychological Challenges.  Unless we could identify and slay our Gorgons our lives would be very unhappy.  A very good metaphor would be the favorite of the Depth Psychologists, Perseus And The Gorgons.

2.

     Depth psychology is a name given to the psychological regime founded by Freud and C.G. Jung.  The idea is that the sub- or unconscious is deep.  Contermporaries they lived and practiced at the psychological watershed between the Old Order and the New Order.  Their careers were intersected by the Great War of 1914.  Their ideas have directed the development of society from the Great War to the present.

page 24.

     Freud was not original; he merely stated the results of the earlier research of the eighteenth and nineteenth century psychologists Anton Mesmer, Charcot and Janet in Paris and the esoteric psychologists of the school of Nancy.

     The school at Nancy concentrated on hypnotism, suggestion and auto-suggestion.  Its most famous practitioner was Emile Coue of whom more later on.

     Freud then, incorporated the work of the Paris and Nancy schools along with the researches of his colleague Breuer to formulate his version of the personal psychology of the unconscious.  He called his approach psychoanalysis.

     C.G. Jung who also had an Esoteric background similar to the school at Nancy while accepting Freud’s general outlook on the nature of the mind made a radical departure toward developing a history of consciousness putting the individual psyche into a context with human consciousness.  Jung called his system analytical psychology.  The great Jungian scholars opened the door to the symbolic meaning of ancient mythology.

     The two approaches combined to form what has become known as Depth Psychology.  The name is slightly misleading; there is no depth to the psyche.  I accept the basic researches of both as the foundation of my approach.  I have no quarrel with either.

     Over against psycho-analysis and analytical psychology were the medical psychiatrists.  The record of psychiatry over the decades in effecting ‘cures’ is dismal.  Few, if any, found the way out of their mental afflictions.  Hence Dr. Timothy Leary’s sour view view of psychology and psychologists.

page 25.

     The difficulty of psychology is getting the patient or his afflicted mind to come to terms with his central childhood fixation.  No one really wants to face the truth.  Certainly Timmy with all his education and profound knowledge was unable to save his own mind.

     Instead he chose to crack and break, literally to go insane, rather than free himself.  His problem was not really psychological so much as the intelligent application of morality.  Freud set the tone of psychoanalysis when he declared morality was irrelevant.  As he said:  Anyone who knows certain truths about himself can never commit an immoral act.   Old Sonderman and his crowd were running with that one.  Psychologists since then have rejected any consideration of morality.  The world has become what it is.

     If you don’t like the reflection, look to yourself.

Guilt!

     The guilt Timmy gave to his moral nature was the rock on which he broke.

     Sound moral discipline would have prevented his mental dissolution while the avoidance of drugs might have given him space to find his central childhood fixation if he had chosen to look.  Merely finding the fixation is not enough.  One has to shed the fear that prevents one’s confronting it.

page 26.

     An example of one who should have recognized his fixation but refused to face it was Leary’s fellow conspirator in the drug revolution, William S. Burroughs.  His contribution to the revolution was an evil series of novels beginning with ‘Naked Lunch.’

     Burroughs underwent analysis for decades.  His psychiatrist led him up to the fixation, described it to him, showed it to him, got him to discuss it as an abstract problem but as Burroughs’ mind was fearfully intimidated by it he would not recognize it as his own.  Fear held him back.

     A discussion of Burroughs’ case requires the mention of several things that are anathema to the American psyche which has its own historical fixations.  Burroughs was the grandson of the man who invented the calculator.  He was not therefore from a wealthy background as one might expect because the Burroughs family was elbowed out of the company by subsequent management.  The family was given stock in the company with which it made the fatal mistake of selling in the crash of ’29.  Had they held it they would have been worth millions.  Nevertheless during Burroughs’ manhood they were well enough off to support him modestly.

     The Burroughs were of Protestant English extraction.  They hired a nurse for young William who was an Irish Catholic.  Following Irish Catholic prejudices she hated English Protestants.  Now, young William loved this nurse very much but she betrayed his love in the most foul way.  One day when he was seven or so she took him to visit her boyfriend.  With devilish glee she forced his mouth down on her boyfriend’s penis.  Young William was fixated.

page 27

     His psychiatrist could bring Burroughs to a discussion around the incident but he couldn’t get him to broach his fixation by visualizing the actual deed.  Probably confirmed Dr. Tim’s vision of the futility of psychoanalysis rather than prodding him to solve the problem.

     The consequences for young William were that he was turned homosexual but he couldn’t renounce his love for his nurse.  Thus he pursued men for anal sex.  His experience caused him to hate oral sex, but he found a wife of whom he made a drug addict.

     He had a real love/hate relationship with his wife/nurse.  In the murky depths of his subconscious he divised a revenge on his nurse/wife.  He neither could nor would acknowledge his intent consciously.  Like the rest of us he devised his plan from his subconscious.

     Burroughs became a pistol marksman.  He used to entertain his friends by having his wife/nurse place a whiskey glass on her head which he shot off.  Thus he was asking his wife/nurse to put absolute trust in him as she stared down the barrel of the gun.  Now, this is almost a duplicate of his fixation.  His nurse asked him to put absolute trust in her while he stared down the hole in the end of her boyfriend’s penis.

     Burroughs contrived to drug himself out of his mind.  One night in Mexico City drugs reduced his resistance or the time was right.  He had his wife/nurse place the whiskey glass on her head.  She must have seen that the elevation of the barrel of the pistol was slightly lower than usual just the before the bullet entered the middle of her forehead.  Three decades or so after his fixation was created Burroughs killed his surrogate fixation.  He was still a homosexual after.

page 28.

     The fate of his wife had been ordained by his nurse.  If he hadn’t shot the wrong person the killing would have been justifiable homocide.

     Had Burroughs been able to follow the lead of his psychologist to traverse that lonesome valley to find the lair of the Gorgons he might have been able to slay his fixated Medusa instead of his wife.

     The Jungians recognize the universal psychological implications of the Greek myths.  My studies of the Ancients leads me to believe that they knew a great deal which has been lost to subsequent millennia because of the inadequacy of their ability to express themselves for scientific psychological uses.

     The Greeks had serious motives in writing their important myths.  They are not to be construed as simple fairy tales or pretty but superfluous stories.  It is also a mistake to think that their consciousness was on the same level as modern man’s or that they had the linguistic apparatus to express themselves with the same scientific precision.  Human consciousness then was at the same stage Sonderman and I were passing through as young teenagers.  Do not confuse consciousness with intelligence.

page 29.

     Human consciousness in the Mediterranean world at the time of the myths was making the transition from the irrational, emotional, ecstatic state of the goddess culture to that of the rational, scientific state of the god.  The direction was from lustful Aphrodite or the Great Mother to Zeus or the Benevolent Father.

     The Greek Hero myths are based on historical fact.  The subject matter occurred nearly a thousand years before the myths were transcribed in writing.  It has been proven archaeologically that the sites of the myths existed in the locations the myths said they did.  The only thing that remains to do is unravel the facts behind the seemingly fanciful descriptions.  Precise detail may be impossible but the general outline should be clear.

     Psychologically a great advance in conciousness was occurring during this period.  This is one of the great watersheds in the history of consciousness.  The transition was from the Matriarchal consciousness to the Patriarchal.  I know that you women will jump up to claim that the Matriarchal period was the happiest of mankind but as Homer indicates, it was not.  The level of ignorance was appalling.  The destruction of human life was degrading.  The move to rationality had to happen.  There is no going back.

     Thus the myths record the struggle for the new and better psychology.  The Patriarchal is being succeeded by the even more advanced Scientific.

     The myth of Perseus and the Gorgons records an early episode in this warfare.  Without a scientific language the Greeks could only express themselves symbolically.  Besides the records of this momentous struggle  had to be transmitted verbally for centuries as there was no way to record it except one.  The stories were translated to the stars.  The great Greek astral constellations date from this period.  Once this mnemonic device was completed the priests had a visual means of transmitting this information.  A detailed story existed for each constellation.  A tale for the uninitiated was told while for the initiated each detail of the story had a deeper meaning behind it.  Miraculously in one way or another the meanings have either been transmitted or can be deduced in a scholarly manner.  Certainly no ancient writer seems to have had the key.

page 30.

     Perseus of course represents the Patriarchal Consciousness while Medusa and her Gorgon sisters represent the Matriarchy.

     Now, Homer calls Perseus the greatest of all men so his cycle of myths is not to be taken lightly.  The pity is that if Homer understood the meanings that he didn’t write a detailed story about them.

     Perseus takes it upon himself to slay the monstrous Medusa.  She is the only mortal member of a trio of Gorgon sisters.  All live in a cave deep in the Earth.  You see in a Jungian manner that could be interpreted as the Anima and Animus and the central fixation.  The fixation is termporary and can be eliminated while the Anima and Animus cannot.  The Matriarchal Great Mother is the Earth and all in it.

page 31.

     Medusa is extremely hideous having boars tusks for teeth, snakes for curly locks, bulging ecstatic eyes and a protruding tongue representing sexual abandonment.  She is absolutely fearful.  All men who look upon her turn to stone.  Whether intentional or not this is an exact description of the central childhood fixation.

     She is the Matriarchal figure Perseus has to slay her in order to release rationality into the world.  No easy task.  In fact, he can’t do it without a great deal of help.

     The entrance to the Gorgon’s cave is guarded by the three Grey Ones who never sleep.  They are women who were born old, have been old forever.  Just as your mind has been with you from birth.  Between them they have one eye and one tooth which they pass to each as they change the guard.

     Thus  as a child you are ill prepared to Respond to your Challenges so you have the equivalent of one eye and one tooth.  Inadequate Responses slip past your guard into your subconscious where they remain to haunt you.  However as an adult it is nearly impossible for you to slip past the Grey Ones to lay your ghosts to rest.

     The Grey Ones undoubtedly represent the phases of the moon.  The boar was sacred to the moon.  Probably because as one looks a boar in the face the tusks form the two crescents of the moon while the snout resembles the full moon.  Thus the single tusk facing left would be the first phase of the moon.  This lady would pass the eye and tooth to the representative of the full moon who would then pass them to the last phase of the moon which would be a crescent facing right.  The phases are followed by three nights of a dark moon.

page 32.

     The only way for Perseus to get by the Grey Ones is to snatch the tooth and eye as they are being passed from the old to the new moon.  Then he can force them to tell him the route to the Gorgon’s lair or he won’t return the tooth and eye.  The seeker is now enabled to penetrate his subconscious to clear his central fixation.

     Historically this may mean that the time to attach a Matriarchal citadel was during the dark phase of the moon.  Perseus would have been able to pass unobserved from the mainland to the island of Corcyra which was the center of the goddess cult he was challenging.

     So the seeker must catch the subconscious unawares to force it to reveal his fixation.  But, it takes great courage.

     It takes more than courage.  Perseus is not capable of fighting the Gorgons alone.  He must be aided by others.  He seeks the aid of the Olympians Athene and Hermes of the Father cult.  Thus they act as his Anima and Animus.

     Athene is the chaste maiden who has her emotions under control unlike the Medusa who runs down the road with her attribute, the bitch, under her left, or feminine side, arm, eyes bulging, tongue hanging out offering herself to whoever will.  In one legend Athene is said to have made the Medusa frightful because she boasted that she was more beautiful than Athene.  This is a way of saying that the Matriarchy was better than the Patriarchy until the Patriarchy condemned it to inferiority.  In the end Athene triumphed over Medusa.  When the Gorgon was killed Perseus gave Athene the head which she placed on her breast or shield to display her victory.

page 33.

     Hermes, after whom the Hermetic Science is named, is wisdom and intellegence personified.  These are the two attributes that both Perseus and Psychonaut will need:  Moral Virtue and Right Conduct combined with detached intelligence.

     Killing the Gorgon is not child’s play so Perseus needs the help of magic.  He applies to some other girls, the Stygian Nymphs, for the Cap of Invisibility so he can’t be seen, winged sandals to get him to the mysterious cave which is obviously not of the material world and a leather bag to contain Medusa’s head so that he won’t later be turned to stone by an accidental sight of it.  He also has the adamantine sickle with which Zeus castrated his father, Cronus and Cronus his father, Saturn.

     So abundantly armed, accompanied by Athene and Hermes in person Perseus lurks about the Grey One on duty until her relief arrives.  He snatches the eye and tooth as they are passed from Grey One to Grey One.  The Grey Ones are at his mercy.  They must indicate the labyrinth through the cave.

     To look upon Medusa is to turn to stone so Athene lends Perseus her shiny shield.  Working from the reflection which the myth of Narcissus indicates has no substance, his hand guided by Athene or Moral Virtue and Right Conduct, as he is working backward, he takes the adamantine sickle given him by Hermes or Science and Knowledge and cuts off the Medusa’s head.  Perseus deposits the head in the magical leather bag given him by the Stygian Nymphs.

page 34.

     Upon Medusa’s decapitation two incredible beings emerge from her neck:  The Golden Warrior Chrysaor and the Winged Horse, Pegasus.  When the Matriarchy was destroyed rationality became possible, or, in other words, evolved.  Thus the male and society received a new Anima and Animus when the Matriarchy was disabled.  Chrysaor the Golden or Pure, or Refined warrior is the ideal Animus while the soaring mare Pegasus is the ideal male Anima.  The Anima/Animus imagery is constant throughout the myths.

     Medusa’s two immortal sisters representing the Matriarchal Animus and Anima, the two snakes of Heracles,  who had been sleeping awake but concealed by his cap of Invisibility Perseus leaps upon the great white charger to escape.  He flipped the eye and tooth back to the Grey Ones as he winged past the cave entrance.

     There are variants of the myth in which Perseus despoils the Grey Ones of their tooth and eye but this is impossible because he would emasculate his own mind if he did so.  The Grey Ones are a very important part of the story.  They cannot be deprived of their limited power.

     The deed was done.

     As I said the mythographers were recording an historical event in mythological terms.  Whether they were aware of the psychological interpretation or merely unconsciously described their inner reality is open to question however the story is a perfect description of my own and Sonderman’s central fixation as well as yours.  To heal ourselves, to escape a debilitating consciousness we would have to find our Medusa and slay it.

page 35.

     3,

Nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so.

–Red saying of the Relatavistic period.

          From the time of Perseus c. 1500 BC to the Christian Era was a period of profound development in human consciousness.  At the beginning consciousness was still Matriarchal while at the end it had passed to the Patriarchal.  The transition was not easy.  The period of the Greek Hero myths from Io to Europa, Perseus, the Phoenician Cadmus of Thebes and through the Trojan Cycle emcompassed the most devastating religious war in the history of mankind.  The conservative forces of the Goddess fought bitterly to the end but the rationality of the God prevailed as it must, although the victory was far from complete as the Iliad shows.  By the end of the Homeric period the population had been so reduced that all civilized systems disintegrated producing a Dark Age in Greece.  Hundreds of years later civilization reemerged.  The great war was fought to replace the ecstatic, emotional, orgiastic religion of the Goddess or Great Mother with the disciplined rational religion of the God or Father.

page 36.

      Accompanying the religious changes were the great political and social changes.  Egypt had for millennia been the beacon of civilization and religion in the Eastern Mediterranean.  When the Persians overran Egypt near the close of the Arien Age they destroyed the cradle of religion.  Unable to sustain their ancient ritual the Egyptians in a defensive move allied themselves with the Greeks who under Alexander destroyed the Persian power.  The Greeks occupied Egypt becoming its Pharaohs.

     Emerging out of the ruins of the Greek Matriarchy was the system of thought we know as True Science.  Arising out of the fusion of the Greek and Egyptian systems was the system of thought which we know as Hermetic Science.

     True Science is based on materialism which says that a scientific experiment must be able to be replicated under the same conditions at all times to be true.  Hermetic Science is based on spirituality.  It believes that scientific experiments depend on supernatural intervention so that if an experiment fails it wasn’t because of a faulty method but because God wasn’t petitioned in the right manner.  Both systems were anathema to orthodox religious thought.  Thus the religion triumphing in the transition from the Arien Age to the Piscean Age, Catholicism, execrated and outlawed both scientific systems.

page 37.

     Man’s consciousness was not yet developed enough to move from mythopoeic to scientific thinking.  Still the conflict which arose during the Enlightenment is the next stage in the development of consciousness between the True and Hermetic Sciences.

     In that sense Freud represents the amoral materialism of True Science while Jung represents the tenets of Hermetic Science.  Freud renounced morality as irrelevant to his Science with extremely harmful consequences.  Jung’s system while not exactly proclaiming supernatural influences has elements that are just as irrational.

     The Ancient Fathers knew nothing of personal psychology in the Freudian or Jungian sense.  They attached all importance to the Field or the Stars as they called it which was unavoidable and unchangeable.

     Jesus of Nazareth was in reality a minor Jewish prophet.  The Jews have never accepted him as a Messiah, indeed, as he failed in their redemption he was ipso facto a failed Messiah.

     However as the Arien Age ended and the Piscean Age began the Greeks who had been developing a successor to the Arien god as Zeus had succeeded the Taurean Cronus, had devised a cult of Kyrios Christos which was designed to replace Zeus in the Piscean Age.  For whatever reasons, which I do not choose to go into here, the cult of Kyrios Christos was attached to the person of the Jewish Jesus of Nazareth and he became the universal Jesus the Christ, one of the religious archetypes of the Piscean Age.

     The whole code of morality that had been devised to temper man’s innate rascality was attached to the Christian religion.  Thus Jesus and Christ are two aspects of the same desire which accounts for the conflict between primitive and developed Christianity.

page 38.

     Now, even though Christianity arrogated orthodoxy to itself while declaring all other religious viewpoints heretical those other viewpoints continued to develop underground.

     Their approach to the means of obtaining human perfection varied from that of Catholicism.  One of the main rivals, Manicheism, which developed in the third century AD was physically obliterated in Europe in the thirteenth century when it became powerful enough to become a threat to orthodox Christianity.

     The Hermetic religion was more discreet bubbling along underground.  It survived to form the basis of the Esoteric or Occult religious current which formed the basis of early modern psychology eventually surfacing as the basis of Depth Psychology.

     As before mentioned Hermeticism evolved out of the wreck of Egyptian religion.  Hermeticists developed the modern concepts of suggestiblity and auto-suggestion.  These two concepts have formed the basis of magic since the first stirring of consciousness.

     Hermetic Science has always been disparaged by True Science because of its reliance on supernatural or spiritual causes.  While it is true that supernatural causes cannot affect material results it is not true that ‘spiritual’ yearnings do not affect our minds.  Materialism has no need of moral influences as scientific results cannot be affected by moral considerations.  However, it has been said quite correctly that Man does not live by bread alone.  Man requires morality to have a good and pure life.  Freud as a scientist rejected the concept of morality hence his reputation has fallen into disrepute as well it should.

page 39.

     The ancient view of morality as combined to the tenets of Christianity prevailed in Europe and America intil that great watershed, the Great War of 1914-18.  Morality which had formerly been viewed as absolute now began to be viewed as ‘relative.’  Relative to what?  Relative to one’s momentary desires, of course.  In later years the amoral phrase: If it feels good, do it came into currency.

     The fact is morality is a scientific absolute.  the ancient concept of morality came under attack by two Jewish ‘scientists’, Albert Einstein and Sigmund Freud.  It is difficult to say which was more influential in disrupting moral patterns but I believe the great ‘scientific’ reputation of Einstein has had the greatest effect.

     If True Science requires that if an experiment is to be true it must always replicate accurately then ‘relativity’ cannot refer to true science in any way.  It follows then that both Einstein and Freud must have practiced a kind of Hermetic or supernatural science and if fact this is true.

      As Jews both claimed to be Semiticists.  As followers of the non-scientific Semitist belief system they must of necessity have held that all other belief systems were false.  Any ‘ism’ is by definition True for its believers while all other belief systems are false or, at least, deal less adequately with reality.  Judaism was at war with all the other isms, as must be in a multi-cultural society, hence, relativism.

page 40.

     The roots of Semitist relativism can be found in the emergence of the Enlightenment in seventeenth century Europe.  True Science displaced the ancient religious systems such as Catholicism and Judaism as the standard of truth at that time.  Neither the Church nor Judaism had a valid counter argument for the scientific method.  The pretensions of Judaism to absolute truth suffered irreparable damage so that the faith went into a state of shock completely losing its sense of direction.

     As no supernatural belief system can compete with True Science the Semitists had to either create a higher science of their own or destroy the basis of True Science in order to reestablish the supremacy of Semitism.  As there is no higher truth than True Science it was necessary to undermine it.  Thus Einstein tried to establish the notion of relativity in True Science.  It follows that if True Science is relative than the basis of its authority was removed and the ‘truth’ of Judaism could be reestablished as supreme.

     It also follows that if what Europeans believed was false then Semitism had an obligation to destroy that and any other competing belief system.  Lacking the power of the Catholic Church to impose its system  Communism was created with the hope of assuming temporal power to eliminate dissenters.

     In terms familiar with Tim Leary they had first to decondition the peoples from their belief systems and recondition or brainwash them to their own Semitism.

page 41.

     It was therefore necessary to destroy the basis of the Euroamerican belief system.  Freud attacked on the moral level by saying that the individual was the sole determinant of morality as it suited him at any given moment.  Thus his dictum that anyone who knows a few truths about himself cannot commit an immoral act.  Freud’s relativity backfired on him when Adolf Hitler showed him how far the concept of morality had to be stretched to eliminate the concept of immorality.

     Thus as Freud never explained what truths a person had to know about himself one can only assume that in relativistic terms Hitler knew them and was incapable of an immoral act.  Hence, logically, Auschwitz was a moral undertaking.

     Hitler is an example of Freud’s dictum carried to its logical conclusion in the hands of a great man; in the hands of lesser men a general corruption spread throughout society.

     This was aided and abetted by the ‘science’ of Albert Einstein and his ‘Theory Of Relativity.’  Now, True Science can never be relative so the Theory of Relativity must be based on false premises.  Physics, terrestrial or extra-terrestrial cannot be relative and absolute at the same time.  In fact, waffling or ‘relativity’ was a characteristic of Einstein’s mental condition.  To mention only one instance, Einstein was an ardent pacifist when other people were being killed but he became a rabid militarist when Hitler exercised his moral relativity by killing Einstein’s own people.  Einstein even contributed to the development of the Atom bomb in the hope it would be used to exterminate the entire German people.  That’s what I call pacifism.

page 42.

     Thus Relativity was a great method to undermine the social structure of the dominant belief system but Relativity broke down on the rock of ethnic or group self-interest.  What was sauce for the goose was not sauce for the gander.  Auschwitz for the Semitists became not relative to Hitler’s personal needs at the given time but an absolute wrong for the Semitist belief system.  The Freudian and Einsteinian fabric of relativity was ripped to shreds by self-interest.  Of course, that’s relative.

     So also for other interested groups once they had undermined established beliefs and gained a position of strength they shed the notion of relativity in favor of the absolutism of their own views.  Thus the basis of intolerance once such a group is established.  It’ll just be Hitler all over again with different victims.

     The abandonment of relativity was nowhere more apparent at the beginning of the twenty-first century than in the Red ideology and homosexual psychosis.

     Homosexuality was not only banned until 1969 but was actually a criminal act by law.  During the sixties of the twentieth century the homosexual community first fought to legalize pornography as the opening move toward legalizing their psychosis.  Once pornography was legalized which showed heterosexuals performing unnatural sexual acts such as sodomy, which is still punishable by law, or fellatio then the next step to the societal endorsement of same sex sexual acts was automatic.  Thus the sixties opened the war in erotic matters for homosexuals which led to their stepping out of the closet with the Stonewall riot in New York City in 1969.

page 43.

     After 1969 the corrupting slogan: If it feels good, do it was added tothe earlier slogan of: Nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so.  But the latter slogan and relativity cut both ways.  If only thinking made homsexuality good then the reverse was equally true so it was relative.  If it was neither good nor bad relative to one’s viewpoint then one viewpoint was as valid as the other.  Homosexuals were left where they had been.

     This was nowhere more apparent than in the homosexuals’ favorite example of the Sacred Band of Thebes in the ‘Golden Age of Homosexuality.’  Thebes was the capitol city of Boeotia, a region of ancient Greece above Athens and East of Sparta.  The Thebans at one time created a separate division in their army composed entirely of homosexuals.  They called it the ‘sacred band.’

     Homosexuals point to this army division with great pride as though  it were a tribute to their valor rather than a segregated unit.  They imagine that the division was organized for them to show off their superior valor.  They say that the notion is that rather than be dishonored in front of their fellows the homosexuals fought twice as hard as the normal troops.  Such traditions have not been passed down historically.

     While the true facts cannot be known it is much more reasonable to assume that homosexuals caused so much trouble in the ranks with their antics that they were segragated into this unit to increase the efficiency of the army.

p. 44.

     The designation ‘sacred band’ rather than being complimentary can be construed to be sacred in the sense of taboo.  Just as only certain high priests were allowed to handle sacred objects so homosexuals became untouchables for the rest of the army.

     The Reds also, by whatever name you know them, began as a disruptive force in society.  Over the years they refined their methods until they infiltrated every liberal cause.   Having now associated themselves with every oddball method that challenges traditional ways they are in a position to legislate for the majority.

     Having obtained this position there is no more relativity.  If you are not with their program you are not only absolutely wrong but criminally so.

     So both Freud and Einstein contributed to a feeling that one way of doing a thing was as good as another.  Integrity as a form of morality, had no value.  Because lieing was considered a great social art or skill by some obsure people in some unheard of location at some distant time in history society concluded that lieing was not an immoral act but merely a matter of personal preference.

     Scientific objectivity was discarded in favor of relativistic subjectivity.

     The fact is that morality is a scientific absolute.   Psychoses are the direct result of immoral behavior.  Had I had the science to put my central childhood fixation into perspective on the spot I would not have committed the immoral act of murdering my own personality.  I would have chosed the correct response of giving battle to Michael Hirsh and his whole crowd.

page 45.

     Freud’s own studies lead to the same conclusion but he chose for relativistical ethnic considerations to ignore it.  Nevertheless one’s mental health is dependent on living the moral life.  Never forget it for one moment.

     Moral Virtue and Right Conduct form the basis of conduct for successful people.  The rules of Moral Virtue and Right conduct have always been built on the concepts of Suggestion and Auto-suggestion.  ‘As you think so shall you be.’ As the Kyrios Christos put it.  Thus in the philosophic tract, Poimander of the thrice great Hermes, the narrator asks for guidance.  Characteristically  he encounters Poimander in the subconscious state of dreaming:

     Quote:

     Once when I began to think about the things that are, and my mind soared exceedingly high and my bodily senses were held down by sleep like people weighed down by overeating and weariness, I thought I saw a being of vast and boundless magnitude coming toward me, who called me by name and said: ‘What do wish to hear and see, to learn and know?’

     ‘Who are you?’ I said.

     ‘I am Poimander.’  He said.  ‘The mind of absolute power.  I know what you want and I am with you everywhere.’

     ‘I want to know about the things that are, their nature, and to know god.’  I replied.

     ‘I know what you wish for I am with you everywhere.  Keep in mind what you want to know and I will teach you.’

     Unquote.

page 46.

     Here is the basis of auto-suggestion:  Keep in mind what you want to know and I will teach you.

     I wanted to find the reason for my mental discomfort and by applying that maxim that is how I found, recognized and eliminated my central childhood fixation.  The Hermetics took the concept and worked on it through the centuries.  The first great light to surface was Paracelsus in the Middle Ages; it was developed by Anton Mesmer in the eighteenth and perfected by Emile Coue in the twentieth.  Auto-suggestion is one of those things that have always been known but require reformulation every now and then.  Norman Vincent Peale provided the same message in the fifties in his ‘The Power Of Positive Thinking.’  All self help comes down to the same thing:  As ye think, so shall ye be.

     Suggestion and auto-suggestion work on the subconscious until the suggestion is brought to fruition, if realistic.  Suggestion which comes from others is actually all there is to magic- black or white.

     A malicious person can suggest a harmful course to you which if you do not reject it you will realize.  Thus someone may curse you saying your right arm will wither and become useless.  If you feel guilty or let the notion into your mind your perfectly good right arm may or will wither and become useless.

     There are still people who practice the ancient Black Art of sticking pins into effigies.  The pins in the effigies won’t harm you but the suggestion will if you take it seriously.

page 47.

     Thus Hirsh had been denying me all self respect, all self-dignity, all honors.  He was trying to make me accept the suggestion that I was worthless.  He wanted me to feel inferior in every way.  He wanted to destroy my confidence.  I was uable to completely reject his influence.  Even though I stubbornley tried to assert my self-worth consciously, Hirsh’s hopes for me had entered my subconscious  where they were strong enough to negate most of my conscious will.

     In magical terms his will or magic was stronger than mine.  In naturalistic terms ill treatment drove me toward psychological depression resulting in physical inertia.  By the summer of graduation Hirsh had nearly defeated me, he had nearly imposed his will on me.  I was like the remnant of a defeated army fleeting for the security of some safe place.

     Suggestion is very powerful.  So with auto-suggestion.  What you put into your mind will happen.  Once again I was saved, this time, ironically by Mrs. Sonderman.  As dotty as she was she was a devotee of Emile Coue.  He was a man from the psychological school of Nancy who popularized auto-suggestion in the twenties when he made a tour of America.  As there is very little to study in auto-suggestion he reduced his program to the formula:  I am getting better and better everyday in every way.

     To the uninformed mind the approach was laughable.  After his intitial success Coue was ridiculed into oblivion.  But Mrs. Sonderman was a true believer.  She initiated me into the concepts.  I don’t believe Coue’s maxim did anything for Mrs. Sonderman but his auto-suggestion saved my life.

page 48.

     Thus the injunction of Christ to be always pure in thought is not idle suggestion.  If you think evil you will be evil.  If you think well your conduct will be correct and proper, at least as far as your understanding of correct and proper.  But your mind must dwell on the concept you choose.  As God was considered pure good by the Ancients that was the reason they felt it necessary to be always thinking of God.  They hoped thereby to avoid committing evil.

     Hermetic Science has its limitations versus True Science as its tenets are based on a non-existent supernatural being but by combining the importance of the Field, Challenge and Response of Hermetic Science with the materialistic understanding of the mind of True Science one can learn what one wants to know about oneself.

     Contrary to Tim’s maxim that you have to use drugs to go out of your mind to use your head you have to stay securely in your mind while developing the courage to face your fixations so that you can save your head.  There is no better.  The baggage doesn’t change and it doesn’t go away; you have to learn how to carry it.

     It was through auto-suggestion that I uncovered my childhood fixation.  It wasn’t quick and it wasn’t easy.  The greatest impediment was the tremendous fear surrounding the fixation.  I had seen the Gorgon and my mind had turned to stone; it was paralyzed.

p. 49

     I knew the general location of the fixation.  I knew it had to do with something between the ages of five and ten.  That little cluster of years could not be put into perspective.  I began to overcome the fear when I decided to organize the flow of memories into lineal succession.  Thus I had to isolate the memories of kindergarten and first grade.  Then I was able to organize the memories of third and fourth grades.  The second grade was impenetrable.  There lay the central fixation.

     The fixation had nothing to do with any bad actions of my own, I knew that.  An overwhelming Challenge had been presented me from the Field.  Totally unable to Respond adequately to the Challenge my Response had redounded on myself.  I had killed my former personality which had failed me completely.  By so doing I condemned myself to a feeling of overaweing guilt.  The feeling of guilt came from within  because my Animus or Ego had been defeated.  A comparable effect would be when an ancient god failed to save his people from defeat.  As the god could not perform its function the defeated people turned their back on the god either embracing the seemingly more powerful god of the victors or entering the Wasteland while they sought another.

     I died of mortification and shame that day and entered the Wasteland.  The incident would have been trivial as an adult.  I would have easily dealt with the situation turning back the evil on my tormenters.  As the knights of the Medieval historian, Froissart, invariably said when met by force majeure as they retreated:  There was nothing for it.  We will meet another day under more propitious skies.

page 50.

     That event, nevertheless, fixated my future life.  It made me think I was unworthy to be successful.  The Field, or the Stars, is all important.  It is nonsense to blame oneself.

     Challenges are transmitted requiring a Response before the child has developed consciousness at all.  Thus life determining Challenges are presented in the cradle while the child is absolutely defenseless.  There is no reason to bemoan this, there is no other way.  Thus in the Perseus myth the Grey Ones were born ancient and have only one tooth and eye between them.  They are ill prepared to deal with any situation and yet they are guardians of the sanctuary.

     Human conditioning undoubtedly begins in the womb.  It is not conceivable that certain, shall I call them dispositions, are borne by the very sperm that fertilizes the egg.  In addition to carrying the genes the sperm must also have a degree of consciousness and possibly even intelligence to read the signs to find the way to the egg.  How does it know what to do?   One might ask the question are all sperm created equal?  Obviously not, some are X and some are y.

     Certainly conditioning begins at birth.  Timidity and aggression are transmitted, as it were, with the mother’s milk.  Thus the so-called Alpha male is really the image of the Alpha female.  It is only the Alpha mother who can create an Alpha male.  All men are Alphas until their mother gets hold of them.

     The mother’s role on the character of her son is determined by the character of the woman.  Remember Mother is not synonymous with Woman.  It is the woman’s character, her intelligence and her intellect that will have the most influence on her son.  Mothering is something else.  You can see how lucky I was to be separated from my mother at the formative stage.

page 51.

     Nature may not have done women a favor by making them potential mothers but the mother is a role which most women must assume, not infrequently against their will.  Thus Freud is quite correct when he says the mother is responsible for the future of her children.  The woman may rebel against her fated motherhood but how she handles her responsibility determines the fate of her children.

    My mother fated me to frustration as a baby although as a woman she may claim she did not have the intelligence to understand what she was doing, she nevertheless had the subconscious craft to achieve her ends.  Her wishes had been frustrated when my father failed to present her with a girl.  She made him pay and she made me pay.

     In order to frustrate me as she had been frustrated by me, so to speak, my mother teased me by presenting her nipple and then withdrawing it just as I was gaining satisfaction.  She didn’t do this just once but repeatedly.  The resultant search for the source of nourishment left me with a ridicuous complex.  She conditioned me.  In certain instances when I was searching for something I couldn’t find which was often right in front of me I became very distraught.  Others interpreted this as unwarranted anger leaving me open to ridicule.

     Thus as I had disappointed my mother for life when her older sister had the first girl in the family she attempted to frustrate me for life as a punishment.  She wouldn’t be able to understand if she were told and neither may you but it is true nonetheless.

page 52.

     I retrieved those two memories by auto-suggestion.  Over a period of time my mind presented an image of a nipple being offered and withdrawn.  Auto-suggestion will call up images from the subconscious but you must make an effort to consciously interpret them and you better do it quickly.  I seized the moment.  Little was required of me to reconstruct the situation.  Knowing, I eliminated the fixation.  I am now able to deal with the problem constructively.  Poimander makes my life better and better every day in every way.

     So that, to understand one’s influences one must somehow learn the Field, work to find the Challenge to which the Response applies.  A person acts and reacts; you may have been the perpetrator and had your own evil turned back upon yourself.  One must be honest with oneself.  Sonderman cannot blame me for Wilson’s death; he must accept that responsibility himself. 

     If you lie to yourself you aren’t going to get very far.  Others will have motivations that affect you; you will have motivations that will affect others.  You may be unaware that you have been targeted; you may think that things have just ‘happened.’ Or, as in my case, you may know, be aware, or vaguely aware that you are being targeted but not know who the stalkers or agents are or why they are doing it.

     For whatever reasons you may be on the butt end the important thing is not to accept other people’s negative opinions about yourself.  Do not give up hope.  Refuse the negativity; reject the Suggestion; turn back the evil before it enters your soul.

page 53.

     Right Conduct is in may ways more important than personal psychology.  The Ancients who had a very different concept of psychology rightly placed great emphasis on morality.  They were in a lane on the right highway, in my opinion, the fast lane.  Following Freud psychologists do not recognize the importance of morality.  I have never read a psychological work where morality was even mentioned.

     The rules of Right Conduct were expressed in gnomic terms of which it is difficult to acquire a right understanding.  For instance the injunction of Christ to turn the other cheek must not be taken literally.  The meaning is not to suffer insult but not to return evil for evil because evil begets evil.  Returning evil for evil justifies the perpetrator in his own mind.  It justifies his belief that the world is created in his own image.  Nothing hurts them worse than to realize it isn’t.  One must learn to turn back another’s evil on himself thus causing him to eat the bitter pill.  To take the evil on one’s self only embitters one’s own life whether one realizes it or not.  Of course, often there is nothing for it and it must be dismissed as the boorishness of the other.

     Earlier I remarked that when Sonderman took me to visit his father’s  chemical plant I tried to burn it down.  How did that ‘happen’?  Failed evil is a powerful rebuke.  The evil of the perpetrator has been turned back on him and he knows shame.

page 54.

     When Sonderman took me out to the Shield and I survived that was a powerful rebuke to him and his father.  Had I fallen beneath the great steely wheels they could have consciously rationalized my fate to themselves as my own stupidity.  When I didn’t they became evil in their own eyes while they now saw me as more virtuous.  They found my innocence intolerable as it made me better than them.  They took it upon themselves to prove that I was no less evil than themselves.  They had to prove to themselves that I would have done the same thing or its equivalent myself.  No one wants to think he is less moral than his fellows.

     Human life is less haphazard than we imagine.  On a close examination you will find that more is caused than happens.  If you have an effect then look for the cause.  Thus the Sondermans did something they were loath to do; I was invited to see their chemical plant, or the inner sanctum of the Sondermans from which I had been carefully excluded.

     The Sondermans didn’t want anyone to have to take their word for it so they invited a young cousin along who I had never seen before.  He was to act as their ‘witness.’

     As I would never attempt a crime on my own it was necessary to suggest one to me.  Sonderman pointed out the extreme combustibility of some chemicals sitting in an old open wooden tub.  He admonished me not to let a spark get near it.  As young as I was I still should have had better morality than to fall for the suggestion, to attempt a revenge on what I rightly interpreted as attempted murder.  In the sense of Christ I should have turned the other cheek.

     Having suggested the act Sonderman was already prepared to prevent me from making the attempt so that while I was willing no such attempt was actually made.  Had I remained pure in thought I would have redoubled the evil on the Sondermans.  As it was he went and told his father that it was my intent to put a match to the chemicals even though I had no match.  I was ordered off the property.  To some extent I enabled them to redeem their innocence.

page 55

     But then, as events will show, my enemies would only have redoubled their efforts.  As I had made no real overt attempt to return their evil in a way for which they could condemn me as they condemned themselves their guilt remained unexpiated.

     Evil cannot be expiated by further evil but the Sondermans did not know that.

5,

     A peculiar dream happened to me as I wrestled with this part of the story.  The problem of confronting my inner fears was apparently  more fearsome to me than I realized or had more far reaching consequences than I imagined.  Subsequent events were apparently very traumatic, much more so than I realize even now.  I apparently needed greater protection to deal with them.  My subconscious provided it for me.

     In my dream I had just been let out of prison.  Although outside the walls I was told that I couldn’t leave the area until the Grey Ones arrived.  When I asked who the Grey Ones were and when they would arrive I was told that I would see them when I saw them.

page 56.

     The prison and its guards looked a great deal like my fourth grade school so I suppose I was being released from the confines of my central childhood fixation.  As I was standing around marveling at this, wondering what to do, the three Grey Ones appeared in the distant bright blue sunless sky drifting slowly on the breeze in my direction.

     I had no idea what to expect.

     As they come fluttering closer over this bleak barren desert landscape they took the shape of what I can only describe as wrinkled grey windsocks.

     I stared up in amazement and apprehension not knowing what to expect.  The eldest windsock, who was also the ugliest, rippled past disdainfully not even deigning to notice me.  The middle one wrinkled past sheepishly as though ashamed to represent my present situation.

     The youngest and prettiest Grey One seemed to fall in love with me on the spot.  She breezed over and playfully ensheathed me with her joyful presence.  She would be my Anima for the future.  I would be her eyes and teeth, her Ego.  Thus protected against any future psychic dangers I was free to leave the prison grounds.

      Psychologically the Grey One is still with me.  She has guided me over several treacher0us shoals.

page 57

     At the Judgment of Paris he was asked to choose but I was chosen.  The oldest Grey One rejected me outright.  Indeed, there was no going back to a shameful past for me.  The middle one realizing she could not maintian an unpleasant status quo sheeplishly passed me by.  The youngest representing a fearless flight into the future took possession of me.

     Dreams are of course a product of subconscious desires so that auto-suggestion indicated that the way had been cleared.  I was to deal with the future as it arose unimpeded by past or present impediments.

     The message was that when I failed to turn back the evil in the second through fourth grades I had transferred it into my own guilt and shame.  I had accepted inhibiting behavior that was now at an end.

     Perhaps in the organization of the Sonderman Constellation I will be able to rid myself of his evil incubus.

     The senate house of the planets may sit again to deal me a new hand.

End of chapter II.

Now that the stage has been set the narrative begins.

Go to Chapter III

The Psychodrama