RIP GRIEVES ABOUT THE DISTRACTION MACHINE
Eugene Narrett, Ph.D
Hunkered by the fire within Rip’s highly mobile dream, lubricated with pain-killing cider, we have a preparedness mechanism of great value. Moving through many periods of time, I sit and doze while Rip explores previous and future lives of which there are many to choose.
Occasionally, when we’re both awake at the same time we peruse the process of the horse race, better known as the distraction machine or pre-op room. This cannot be done without painkillers like a fire (the TV is near the stove) and the aforementioned beverage.
Rip has been working with me on a policy statement for a Presidential candidate from any party that will identify the problems rotting out the Republic and propose specific repairs. It will be good but probably a little too late. In the meantime, after a field trip to the 1890s including a visit to the library of H.G. Wells, we’ve returned to virtual land in time for the latest mediated confection:
Hillary’s in trouble, that’s the message being hammered into the residue of dupes meant, in due course to troop to polling stations and pull the chain.
I can tell Rip’s learned a lot and probably could pass for a 21st century person because he doesn’t say much anymore about how the women dress like men and look like harlots: a disturbing combination if you step back and consider it. He doesn’t ask anymore about why they all talk so loud and fast: we’ve decided that it’s because they’re running out of time even if only the producers know it for sure.
Inside the candle light of the dream we agree it was apt to visit that library because the spattering of slogans are like what happens to the language of the beast folk after Dr. Moreau loses it with the panther woman. “A growing coarseness of articulation...less and less comprehensible…they seemed to be altogether losing their hold on speech. Imagine language, once clear cut and exact losing shape and meaning, becoming mere lumps of sound again.” That’s what it’s like to enter the no-brain zone and its surrounding acts: getting spattered by gobbets of sound that used to relate to human thought and deeds and needs and real flesh and blood.
“Every day the human semblance left them” more and more; Rip reminded me that this dark vision haunted the last poem of the poet Shelley, a revolutionary in his earliest youth and an adherent of enlightenment led by an elite of liberated females. In the end he saw the light was a blinding glare and all the liberating promises a series of shadows that like discolored flakes of snow steadily darkened and buried the idealists and practitioners of useful idiocy. A disappointed progressive, he acerbically called the process “the Triumph of Life.” That’s what we’ve got here, -- “an explosive animalism that ousted the human day by day.”
No wonder Wells wanted to control people, Rip muttered. Shoot, it’d be good just to junk the media. They’re sorcerers, Rip; it’s the end of days, I said and took another sip. It’s just the way they said it would be.
Heraldo is doing news analysis and Ms. Zombie the body language expert is listened to respectfully as she describes what everyone is saying in language that has no nutritional value. This routine is an extension of feminist theory, and subsequent law about oppressive or threatening male behavior: men in the West need to keep their eyes down and their mouths shut and their bodies in a perfectly “normal” position that never will exist. That’s where this seemingly innocuous and moronic segment is going. Yes, this is the network that is the “bleeding edge” of millennial social instruction and control. This is where radical perestroika is done on language, thought and expectation.
Rip says we should go to the Rod ‘n Gun club again and we step in the bubble and fizz over. Rip says that when things get really bad he’s gonna grab a couple a fish poles, head down to the pond and spend a few decades talking to the bass and pickerel. It’s a good idea, being one of the safest, no-name places around and right near a subtly positioned shelter.
“It’s only his vigilance that enabled me to sleep…”
They been talking a lot about race, Rip says and, sorry to say, I can’t get the chorus out of my head either. When Mr. President Clinton gets angry, -- you can tell when he’s angry and you don’t really want to be standing in his way. “Say,” says Rip, “did I ever tell you about the time I was with Jerry Brown in California and Bill and the gang barged into a ‘meeting’ dressed in long leather coats and laid down the law, short and sweet?” Yeah, I said, I remember.
When he gets angry at the media, for public consumption, and his wife is angry you know it’s about something. Now they’ve all been picking on that sort of black fellow who says he’s not a Muslim though his father was and he’s really not the Manchurian candidate, of course because he’s very natural and a really nice guy; so, Rip says, it seems like they’re setting up for big time apologies from white people when the fellow has to settle for being Mrs. Clinton’s Vice President. She’s only going to get the “top slot” because of the machine of “old boy insiders” (who are now old girls regardless of gender, and mere lumps of sound) and so we’re going to be getting a lot more years of lectures about how this is a racist country and there will restitution to be paid and more violence and things will fall apart quicker.
We stared at the embers and tilted some more. I remembered how Richie “the rail” Van Ness used to sing ‘Little Brown Jug…’
Also, Rip added this way the Democrats don’t have to talk about what they’re going to do after they’re elected. Do you think they’ve picked the winning percentage yet? I told him they’d probably wait till a couple of weeks before the election to do that. Rip says Ron Paul probably got about 45% of the votes so far; at least, I said but now central control has got it cooking for Manchurian McCain and the borderless world. Did I tell you, he asked that all the kids are taught to be “world citizens” (www.una-usa.org) and to talk about how they feel so the teacher can take their psychological profile so they can get the right medicines and treatments and stuff?
Yup you did...
Wally and Wendell were straining themselves and Malarkey was jesting with Laurie love, love me do about make-up, the stuff they put on their faces; mostly the females still use more than the men but not always. They were using about half their minutes to talk about the dead Australian cowboy and some of the rest for the regular “Britney spot” and were really upset about Americans being fixated on celebrities. Some female “who began to disregard the injunction of decency” gave us quite a scolding about that. Rip and me zipped off in a cider bubble about that time and zoomed off to the future but we took the wrong channel and zipped right back: there were these five hundred million zombies walking around with dead faces and giant screens everywhere. The Senator from New York was yelling at a platoon of condemned gooks and it didn’t sound so good. It was like having a bad dream in Times Square about thirty years ago; like watching a dog trying to walk on its hind legs and smoke a pipe, too.
You realize, Rip added, that this isn’t the real part, it’s just the distraction per se (yeah we’ve been reading too much). The real part is the in-between’s when they show all the animated landscapes with giant bottles of prescription medications and the real people in the virtual meadows get really happy or worried and break water faucets and stuff until they get the right birth control or erection pills. I noticed, I said; it’s a beautiful life. I also like the ads for financial services: “don’t outlive your money” one of them warns coyly.
Rip remembers when Doctors made house calls for five dollars, he does. And when an office visit cost twenty bucks and there was just a play room for kids, a reception and consult room with medical books, and two exam rooms. No rooms of files; no forms after forms; no dozens of female drones, reverting very rapidly in a maze of insurance bills and identity checks.
I don’t think anyone talked about securing the border tonight though they wouldn’t have meant it anyway. This was the Blue Team, Rip said, and threw in another log. I realized we’d been watching the “Amityville Horror” for two hours and thought it was the primary. Rip tried the clicker but it was stuck. The Mayor was “disappointed” that he wasn’t the official “National Security Conservative” anymore and Hillary was in Nashville promising not to sing. Sitting behind here was a bunch of rented humanoids.
Seven years ago Rip’s friend wrote an essay called “Bush hands off to Clinton” about how Dubya’s job would be to wreck the Red Team, create chaos in the Middle East and turn things over to the human statue of Liberty. He said XLIII would wreck the economy worse than XLI did. “My granny used to call it ‘green paper’ noted Rip. So anyone says Dubya’s a failure can’t read a script: the man did just what he was told and made it like he didn’t know what he was doing, only a good actor can do that.
But we’re glad there’s a stimulus plan since we both need it though we probably won’t be able to stand it: maybe the body language cut out can talk about the relaxation response for a few weeks. You think Putin will drop a brick if Obama gets elected and our overt ties with Jihadistan get as cozy as the covert ones? Rip thinks Putin is one of our most subtle allies; also that fellow His Excellency Hojjatoleslam Sayeed Mohammed Khatami, from the Alliance of Civilizations (www.unaoc.org) and author of From World City to Global City who’s been criticizing M. Ahmadinejad again. His Excellency has honorary doctorates from the Universities of Delhi, Moscow and Tokyo. AC’s “High Level Group,” appointed by Kofi Anan is “opposed to extremism” as is statesmanlike™ John McCain.
They’re fresh off a meeting in Madrid and have a slew of great youth projects: global solutions; the flag follows trade, that’s the way it works: Free trade, no borders.
Just a few more days till the Super Bowl and Super Duper Tuesday as the hairstyles are calling it. They’ve got to slang the hash for nine more months, making it all seem real while the ship goes down. “Imagine language, once clear cut and exact losing shape and meaning, becoming mere lumps of sound again.” “Progress is regression,” Rip says, stealing my line again. The West wants to die; “the whole realm reels back into the beast.” It’s like in the movies when you’re crossing a long foot bridge and the slats start to crack.
The good thing about the pond is that the bass are real, at least for now. It’s ten degrees and we haven’t seen the ground in six weeks but it’s all a dream anyway. McCain’s really Jacques Chirac, Rudy’s got a nice law practice and pretty wife and Romney’s as plausible a person as any in the race. The whole gang’s lost in a surrealistic pillow.
Rip’s gonna have that policy paper for us next time. He’s keen on something that doesn’t depend on politics or the media and I say amen and good luck.
from H.G. Wells, The Island of Dr. Moreau (1896)
© 2008 Eugene Narrett
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Eugene Narrett received his BA, MA and PhD from Columbia University in NYC. His writings on American politics and culture and on the Middle East and geopolitics have been widely published. These include four books, the most recent being WW III: the War on the Jews and the Rise of the World Security State (2007) which examines the historical roots and purposes of the war on terror as a late stage in the undoing of the West. His previous book, Israel and the Endtimes (2006) lays the basis for these questions.
Dr. Narrett has appeared on scores of radio programs, both major networks like WABC, Radio America, Eagle Forum Radio and Westwood Communications, as well as regional and local stations. He has been honored for his essays on art and literature and on behalf of the pro-life movement.
Since receiving his doctorate in 1978, Dr. Narrett has been teaching literature and art and creating interdisciplinary courses in the Humanities. He lectures on a variety of topics relating to western civilization, geopolitics and the multi-faceted war on the family that is a striking feature of the postmodern west.
See his web site, www.israelendtimes.com for information on booking a lecture and for contact information.
Rip has been working with me on a policy statement for a Presidential candidate from any party that will identify the problems rotting out the Republic and propose specific repairs.