To all the Really Good Ones, and to all in peril on land or sea: I promised three parts to this essay, (sorry about yesterday, other thoughts sometimes get in the way). So .. here's the 3rd. Cerulean Blue For 63 Years When I was in 7th and 8th grade, I had a teacher named Mr. Dickson. He had a tremendous impact on my life. He was a male figure who gave me what my hot shot 'don draper'-like father just didn't have the time to give a mere 1st born son, (with all those pretty girls around). After I'd had him in 7th grade, for Unified Studies, I got a different teacher for 8th grade, but my mother could 'see'. She could 'see' that her son needed something then that no woman alive could give him. That's my best guess at what happened, because on the second day of 8th grade, they took me out of my assigned class, and put me in Mr. Dickson's class again.  Mr Dickson had an elaborate scale model of the ancient City of Rome in his classroom. It was the size of a ping pong table. It was made from heavy paper, cut out into pieces and glued together into the Forum, the Temple of the Vestal Virgins, and the Great Circus. The whole city was mapped, with its hills built up out of paper mache or something. His junior high (what the called middle school back then) students in Texas had made it. A bunch of kids had learned about Rome by building this scale model of the entire ancient city. Well ... Needless to say (I s'pose), Mr. Dickson was a REALLY good teacher, and I think every one of his students thought she or he was his favorite. Yea ... but only one kid, the weird quiet one, was the smartest. He saw that right away. This would have been '60 and '61. Mickey Mantle was my hero. Roger Maris was pretty good too. ('Course Ted Williams was 'god', but he hit his last homer in '61, in his last at bat). The KC A's were a perennial joke, although I went to grade school with Susan Zernial, Gus's daughter. (Ball players back then got jobs as meat-cutters, or delivery drivers, in the off season. If you weren't a 'big star', you had to work to keep the rent paid in the winter, but the other side 'a that coin is that any plumber could take his sons to the ballgame, stuff 'em with as many hot dogs and sodas, and as much ice cream as they could eat when mom wasn't there, and it wouldn't even cost the man an hour's wages, or two.  'The Hidden Persuaders' was published in '57. You think a man like Mr. Dickson was not alert to the danger? You think he didn't talk about it with his students? You BETCHA he did! We've known for over half a century, at least 63 years, in fact, that 'they' are doing this. They employ the most brilliant minds in mass psychology to better enable them to part unwitting fools from their hard earned money. Mr. Dickson told us how they did experiments in actual movie theaters, in the 1950s, as Allen Dulles was molding the CIA. Some pretentious French director said, "film is truth 24 times a second", (Truffault?) You all know that 24 still frames make up every one second of film. Well ... They found out that if they inserted single frames randomly every few minutes, between all the thousands and thousands of other frames, people would not even see them. Literally. The people would not be aware of having seen them at all. But those single frame pictures could affect people's behavior. Aye ... How the eyes of Evil gleamed hot when they 'saw' that. Here's what they did, (according to Mr. Dickson). Most all movies were 'double features' back then. So as the first movies got into the last act, they'd flash a picture, a 'subliminal image' they were called, a single frame every 30 seconds, say, right before the intermission, and people would then buy THAT item MUCH more at the concession stand. If they flashed a hot dog, people wanted hot dogs. If they flashed an Eskimo Pie, people wanted those. And if they flashed pictures of a dog pooping, or someone vomiting, business was WAY down at the concession stand. And NONE of those folks even KNEW they had seen ANY of those pictures. Yea, 1957, it was published. 63 years ago. We've known this THAT long and yet we STILL don't 'see'. Miranda Priestly was certainly an interesting character. Give the author credit for the clever irony in her very name. It was one of our finest actress's finest roles. (Which actor or actress would not 'jump at the chance' to play The Devil herself, or himself, as Pacino did). The thing is, we LIKED her. She was SO good at being evil that we could not help but admire her. And she liked the "beautiful girl". She liked her because she was beautiful, sure, but she liked much MORE because she was so smart, and SO strong. Yea ... It was just a movie ... Does even the Devil feel affections? What would The Devil's unholy 'love' even feel like? All who saw that wonderful movie remember the girls snorting snicker. Oh ... LOL ... How the Devil, Ms. Priestly, was laying in wait for THAT one. Cerulean Blue, indeed. 'They' choose the clothes our women wear. Oh sure....Women may THINK they chose that blue sweater, but someone else had already decided they would choose it. Women may think it was themselves that decided that dressing like prostitutes is a really great idea, while they crybaby about big old meany men treating them like sex objects. Do girls know the song Women Be Wise. Bonnie Raitt just tears it to the shreds of perfection. "Some women now'days, lord, lord, they ain't no good. Better call for the doctor, honey, try to investigate your head" American women have forsaken their own men, to make sex objects of themselves. Women did NOT choose this stupidity on their OWN. [This may have been a brilliant move, but I'm sure our Enemy knows the concept of "a bridge too far"]. Women and men are all stinking rutting beasts. But from out of the swirls of pure energy of all the Universe, we stinking creatures were gifted with the powers of Reason, and thereby we became more. When set to the rapturous music of love and family, our stories and sagas of rutting and fretting become beautiful wondrous songs and poetry that can stir that rapture in each of us. Gloria Steinem WAS a fracking CIA operative, fer crissakes. She worked for 'them' just as the "hidden persuaders", under Allen Dulles, were really starting to get cranked up. C'mon, folks. It ain't the "corporate media". It ain't the "mainstream media". It's the Enemy's own naked face. C'mon. girls ... Yea ... Ya gotta put up with the fartin' and belchin'. Yea ... He may be dumb as a sack of rocks ... but he'd die fer ya, with not ONE nano-instant of hesitation. The stupid brutes can come in handy t' have around once in a while. Ahh ... Caliban well knows what a girl feels like. To have hungry male eyes riveted upon her. (A gay friend took me to a gay bar once, when I was still in the flower of me youth, and THAT was sure a major league 'epiphany' fer ya). You better be wise, girls, that's the Devil inside, every single one. Even you. That flower blooms so radiantly, girls, but it fades quickly. The petals wilt. The edges begin to turn brown as they oxidize. And nearly HALF your life is left to live. THOSE are the best years! They ARE! You'll 'see'. Or else perhaps you'll have a cat to keep your lap warm. "Three cats and yer done", Caliban heard an old crone say. Here's one fer ya .... Every stupid brute's fantasy..No words to add on that. If ya don't 'get it', girls, ole Caliban can't help ya. Yea ... but how many girls get themselves under those klieg lights, dressed like sex goddesses, and then say, "no thanks", and run back to the man who loves them so true. "Just remember the Red River Valley, and the cowboy who loved you so true". Is gettin' focked by handsome rich guys who don't care much about you better than true love these days? Is it, girls? Hear the welling heartbeat of an angry young men, drumming their spirits toward rage, the Demon in them pulling at their chains. East End Boys, glaring at West End Girls. That Demon gets loose, boys and girls, it'll be hell t' pay ..(No..LITERALLY).... Caliban |
Archives‎ > ‎