Showing posts with label 1919. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1919. Show all posts

Monday 20 July 2020

1919


It's not The Girl, Peter, it's The Building
Something Terrible is about the enter Our World and This Building is obviously The Door. 





This is a Story of a Period Between Two World Wars — 
an interim in which Insanity cut loose. ‬

‪Liberty took a nose dive, and Humanity was kicked around somewhat.”






Sister Lucia (to her priest nephew): 
“It is necessary not to let yourself be drawn away by the doctrines of disorientated contradictors… The campaign is diabolical. We need to confront it, without getting into conflicts.” 

Last Sunday we broached some of the root causes of the problems we are facing in our day… problems that we must come to grips with as members of The Church, as citizens of our beloved country. 

In our discussion we mentioned Dialectics and Alchemy. 

Although I have spoken on dialectics a couple of times, it seems fitting and timely to once again address this catalyst for socio-political transformation preferred by the Communist like alchemists of our day… the disorienting contradictors! 

Dialectics? What does that mean? 

The Dictionary says a Dialectic is 
the existence of two opposing forces or things. 

Dialectics is concerned with or acting through 
Opposing Forces. 

So, a Dialectician is 
one who is skilled at getting two things to oppose each other 
in order to act through them. 

He gets them to engage in a Struggle of some kind 
for his own ends. 

This kind of dialectic is a sort of pummelling of some individuals or groups in order to dispose them to receive a new form … some “new normal” of modern times!

For more please visit http://reginaprophetarum.org & remember to say 3 Hail Marys for the priest





Wall Street Journal
May 12, 2019 12:04 pm ET
OPINION | LETTERS
The Legacy of Eugenics Still
Echoes in America

Rather than a “renunciation” of eugenics in the 1930s, forced-sterilization laws persisted for 40 more years at some of the best medical institutions.

Stephen Budiansky’s review of Daniel Okrent’s “The Guarded Gate” (Books, May 4) about eugenics in America fails to mention the pervasive forced-sterilization laws which persisted in the U.S. into the 1970s in places like North Carolina. Eugenics in America is important because the best medical journals and medical minds endorsed it. Rather than a “renunciation” of eugenics in the 1930s, forced-sterilization laws persisted for 40 more years at some of the best medical institutions.

And it was used as “evidence” for not just forced sterilization, but also euthanasia programs in Germany. Dr. Peter Breggin has documented that German psychiatrists practiced euthanasia both before and after the Third Reich.

Patience is The Reward paid due to he would  learn the skill to endure The Quiet.

The importance of eugenics for today’s health policy is important but ignored by both the medical community and mainstream media. The best medical journals advocate managed care to protect scarce resources and make America globally competitive. Harsh rationing of medical care to the poor, people of color and the very sick elderly are a reality of modern managed care. 

The mainstream media and academic medicine do nothing.

We are on the verge of another “evidenced based” purge of “undesirables” in America. A reading of Stanley Milgram’s classic work, “Obedience to Authority,” shows how scientific authority can cause ordinary people to commit murderous acts against innocents. Mr. Budiansky should have taken notice and warned readers that the legacy of eugenics is at work in America today.
Brant S. Mittler, M.D., J.D.


The Architect's name was Ivo Shandor - 
I found it in Tobin's Spirit Guide.

He was also a Doctor. Performed a lot of unnecessary surgery.
And then, in 1920 he founded a Secret Society.

PETER
Let me guess - Gozer worshippers.

EGON :
After The First World War, Shandor decided that 
Society was TOO SICK to survive. 

And he wasn't alone.
He had close to a thousand followers when he died. 

They conducted rituals up on The Roof, 
bizarre rituals, intended to bring about 
The END of The WORLD,

and now it looks like it may actually HAPPEN!


"Somebody had to clear up the mess."
Capt. G. Mainwaring,
British Expeditionary Force, 
France, 1919

D.W. Griffith intertwined four stories in Intolerance, The Fall of Babylon being the longest and best known.
Music composed and copyrighted by Edward Rolf Boensnes.


Birth of a Nation - Wagner The ride of the Valkyries







"I have always been willing to put myself at great personal risk for the sake of Entertainment and I’ve always been willing to put you at great personal risk for the same reason. 

As far as I’m concerned, all of this airport security, all the searches, the screenings, the cameras, the questions -
It’s just one more way of reducing your Liberty
and reminding you that They can fuck with you anytime they want… 

As long as you put up with it… 
As long as you put up with it -

Which means of course anytime they want, cause that’s what Americans do now, they’re always willing to trade away a little of their Freedom in exchange for the feeling
The Illusion of Security.


What we have now is a completely neurotic population obsessed with security and safety and crime and drugs and cleanliness and hygiene and germs… 

There’s another thing… germs

Where did this sudden fear of germs come from in this country? Have you noticed this?

The Media, constantly running stories about all the latest infections – salmonella, e-coli, hanta virus, bird flu – and Americans, they panic easily so now everybody’s running around, scrubbing this and spraying that and overcooking their food and repeatedly washing their hands, trying to avoid all contact with germs. 

It’s ridiculous and it goes to ridiculous lengths. 


In prisons, before they give you a lethal injection, 

They swab your arm with alcohol! It’s True! 

Yeah! Well, they don’t want you to get an infection! 

And you could see their point; wouldn’t want some guy to go to Hell and be sick! 
It would take a lot of the sportsmanship out of the whole execution. 

Fear of Germs… why these fucking pussies! 

You can’t even get a decent hamburger anymore! 
They cook the shit out of everything now cause everybody’s afraid of food poisoning! 

Hey, where’s your sense of adventure? 
Take a fucking chance will you? 
You know how many people die in this country from food poisoning every year? 

9000… That’s all; it’s a minor risk! 

Take a fucking chance… bunch of goddamn pussies! 

Besides, what do you think you have an immune system for? 
It’s for killing germs! But it needs practice… 

It needs germs to practice on. So listen! 
If you kill all the germs around you, and live a completely sterile life....

Then when germs do come along, you’re not gonna be prepared. 

And never mind ordinary germs --

What are you gonna do when some super virus comes along that turns your vital organs into liquid shit? 

I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do… 

You’re gonna get sick
You’re gonna dieand 
You’re gonna deserve it cause you’re fucking weak 
and you got a fucking weak immune system!

Let me tell you a True Story about immunisation okay? 

When I was a little boy in New York City in the 1940s, we swam in the Hudson River and it was filled with raw sewage okay? 

We swam in raw sewage! You know… to cool off! 

And at that time, the big fear was Polio; 
Thousands of kids died from polio every year but you know something? 

In my neighbourhood, no one ever got polio! 
No one! Ever! 
You know why? 

'Cause we swam in raw sewage! 
It strengthened our immune systems! 

The polio never had a prayer -- 
We were tempered in raw shit

So personally, I never take any special precautions against germs. 

I don’t shy away from people that sneeze and cough, 
I don’t wipe off the telephone, I don’t cover the toilet seat, 
and if I drop food on the floor, I pick it up and eat it! 
Yes I do. 

Even if I’m at a sidewalk café! 
In Calcutta! 
The poor section! 
On New Year’s morning during a soccer riot! 


And you know something? 
In spite of all that so-called risky behaviour, I never get infections, I don’t get them, I don’t get colds, I don’t get flu, I don’t get headaches, I don’t get upset stomach, you know why? 

'Cause I got a good strong immune system and it gets a lot of practice. 

My immune system is equipped with the biological equivalent of fully automatic military assault rifles with night vision and laser scopes, and we have recently acquired phosphorous grenades, cluster bombs, and anti-personnel fragmentation mines. 

So when my white blood cells are on patrol recon ordering my blood stream seeking out strangers and other undesirables, if they see any, ANY suspicious looking germs of any kind, they don’t fuck around! 

They whip out their weapons; they wax the motherfucker and deposit the unlucky fellow directly into my colon! 
Into my colon! 

There’s no nonsense, there’s no Miranda warning, there’s none of that “three strikes and you’re out” shit, first defense, BAM… 

Into the colon you go! 
And speaking of my colon, I want you to know I don’t automatically wash my hands every time I go to the bathroom okay? 

Can you deal with that? 
Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. 

You know when I wash my hands? 
When I shit on them! 

That’s the only time. And you know how often that happens? 
Tops, TOPS, 2-3 times a week tops! 
Maybe a little more frequently over the holidays, you know what I mean? 

And I’ll tell you something else my well-scrubbed friends…You don’t need to always need to shower every day, did you know that? 

It’s overkill, unless you work out or work outdoors, or for some reason come in intimate contact with huge amounts of filth and garbage every day, you don’t always need to shower. 

All you really need to do is to wash the four key areas; 
Armpits, Asshole, Crotch, and Teeth
Got that? 


Armpits, Asshole, Crotch, and Teeth

In fact, you can save yourself a whole lot of time if you simply use the same brush on all four areas!









On 31 January, a large number of strikers (contemporary estimates range from 20,000 to 25,00012) congregated in George Square. They were awaiting an answer to a their petition which the CWC had delivered to the Lord Provost of Glasgow some days earlier.13

Accounts differ on what initiated the violence on the day, but police testimony at the following trials records that the police baton charged the striking workers at 12:20.14

As the fighting started in George Square, a Clyde Workers’ Committee deputation was in the Glasgow City Chambers meeting with the Lord Provost of Glasgow. On hearing the news, CWC leaders David Kirkwood and Emanuel Shinwell left the City Chambers and started towards George Square.

Kirkwood was knocked to the ground by a police baton.15 Then he, William Gallacher and Shinwell were arrested. They were charged with “instigating and inciting large crowds of persons to form part of a riotous mob”.1617 Kirkwood was found not guilty at trial after a photograph was submitted to the court, showing him lying on the ground after being knocked out by police, before reaching George Square and the fighting.

After the baton charge, the outnumbered police retreated from George Square. The fighting between the strikers and police, some mounted, spread into the surrounding streets and continued into the night.18

Military deployment


Medium Mark C tanks and soldiers at the Glasgow Cattle Market in the Gallowgate
The events of the day prompted the request for military assistance by the Sheriff of Lanarkshire, the King’s representative in the area. The deployment had already begun before the day’s meeting of the War Cabinet,19 which convened at 3pm.20

During that meeting Munro, Secretary for Scotland, described the demonstration as “a Bolshevist uprising”. It was decided to deploy troops from Scotland and Northern England: troops from the local Maryhill barracks were not deployed because it was feared that men there might have sided with their neighbours.3 General Sir Charles Harington Harington, the Deputy Chief of the Imperial General Staff informed the meeting that 6 tanks supported by 100 lorries were “going north that evening”.20 It was stated that up to 12,000 troops could be deployed.

It is sometimes suggested that the War Cabinet ordered this deployment, but this is incorrect: the government lacked the authority to deploy troops against British civilians without declaring martial law, which was not declared. The War Cabinet discussed the issue but the military deployment was in response to the request from the Sheriff of Lanarkshire.19

The first troops arrived that night,21 with their numbers increasing over the next few days. The six Medium Mark C tanks, of the Royal Tank Regiment arrived from Bovington on Monday 3 February.22 Machine gun nests were placed in George Square. The Observer newspaper reported that “The city chambers is like an armed camp.‘The quadrangle is full of troops and equipment, including machine guns.”3

The military arrived after the rioting was over and they played no active role in dispersing the protesters.19 The troops guarded locations of import to the civil authorities throughout the period of the strike, which lasted until 12 February. The troops and tanks then remained in Glasgow, and its surrounding areas, until 18 February.

Wednesday 22 April 2020

POLIO








"I have always been willing to put myself at great personal risk for the sake of entertainment and I’ve always been willing to put you at great personal risk for the same reason. 

As far as I’m concerned, all of this airport security, all the searches, the screenings, the cameras, the questions, it’s just one more way of reducing your liberty, and reminding you that they can fuck with you anytime they want… 
As long as you put up with it… 
As long as you put up with it -- 

Which means of course anytime they want, cause that’s what Americans do now, they’re always willing to trade away a little of their freedom in exchange for the feeling, The Illusion of Security.


What we have now is a completely neurotic population obsessed with security and safety and crime and drugs and cleanliness and hygiene and germs… 

There’s another thing… germs

Where did this sudden fear of germs come from in this country? Have you noticed this?

The Media, constantly running stories about all the latest infections – salmonella, e-coli, hanta virus, bird flu – and Americans, they panic easily so now everybody’s running around, scrubbing this and spraying that and overcooking their food and repeatedly washing their hands, trying to avoid all contact with germs. 

It’s ridiculous and it goes to ridiculous lengths. 

In prisons, before they give you a lethal injection, 
They swab your arm with alcohol! It’s True! 
Yeah! Well, they don’t want you to get an infection! 

And you could see their point; wouldn’t want some guy to go to Hell and be sick! 
It would take a lot of the sportsmanship out of the whole execution. 

Fear of germs… why these fucking pussies! 

You can’t even get a decent hamburger anymore! 
They cook the shit out of everything now cause everybody’s afraid of food poisoning! 

Hey, where’s your sense of adventure? 
Take a fucking chance will you? 
You know how many people die in this country from food poisoning every year? 

9000… That’s all; it’s a minor risk! 

Take a fucking chance… bunch of goddamn pussies! 

Besides, what do you think you have an immune system for? 
It’s for killing germs! But it needs practice… 

It needs germs to practice on. So listen! 
If you kill all the germs around you, and live a completely sterile life....

Then when germs do come along, you’re not gonna be prepared. 

And never mind ordinary germs, what are you gonna do when some super virus comes along that turns your vital organs into liquid shit? 

I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do… 

You’re gonna get sick
You’re gonna dieand 
You’re gonna deserve it cause you’re fucking weak 
and you got a fucking weak immune system!
Let me tell you a true story about immunization okay? When I was a little boy in New York City in the 1940s, we swam in the Hudson River and it was filled with raw sewage okay? We swam in raw sewage! You know… to cool off! And at that time, the big fear was polio; 
Thousands of kids died from polio every year but you know something? 

In my neighbourhood, no one ever got polio! 
No one! Ever! 
You know why? 

'Cause we swam in raw sewage! 
It strengthened our immune systems! 

The polio never had a prayer -- 
We were tempered in raw shit! 

So personally, I never take any special precautions against germs. 

I don’t shy away from people that sneeze and cough, 
I don’t wipe off the telephone, I don’t cover the toilet seat, 
and if I drop food on the floor, I pick it up and eat it! 
Yes I do. 

Even if I’m at a sidewalk café! 
In Calcutta! 
The poor section! 
On New Year’s morning during a soccer riot! 


And you know something? 
In spite of all that so-called risky behaviour, I never get infections, I don’t get them, I don’t get colds, I don’t get flu, I don’t get headaches, I don’t get upset stomach, you know why? 

'Cause I got a good strong immune system and it gets a lot of practice. 

My immune system is equipped with the biological equivalent of fully automatic military assault rifles with night vision and laser scopes, and we have recently acquired phosphorous grenades, cluster bombs, and anti-personnel fragmentation mines. 

So when my white blood cells are on patrol recon ordering my blood stream seeking out strangers and other undesirables, if they see any, ANY suspicious looking germs of any kind, they don’t fuck around! 

They whip out their weapons; they wax the motherfucker and deposit the unlucky fellow directly into my colon! 
Into my colon! 

There’s no nonsense, there’s no Miranda warning, there’s none of that “three strikes and you’re out” shit, first defense, BAM… 

Into the colon you go! 
And speaking of my colon, I want you to know I don’t automatically wash my hands every time I go to the bathroom okay? 

Can you deal with that? 
Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. 

You know when I wash my hands? 
When I shit on them! 

That’s the only time. And you know how often that happens? 
Tops, TOPS, 2-3 times a week tops! 
Maybe a little more frequently over the holidays, you know what I mean? 

And I’ll tell you something else my well-scrubbed friends…You don’t need to always need to shower every day, did you know that? 

It’s overkill, unless you work out or work outdoors, or for some reason come in intimate contact with huge amounts of filth and garbage every day, you don’t always need to shower. 

All you really need to do is to wash the four key areas; 
Armpits, Asshole, Crotch, and Teeth
Got that? 


Armpits, Asshole, Crotch, and Teeth

In fact, you can save yourself a whole lot of time if you simply use the same brush on all four areas!






Thursday 2 January 2020

After The Wars





On 9 November 1920, a few platoons of British soldiers set out once more for the front. Led by one officer apiece, they went to the still-churned, still-slimy ground where great slaughters, at Ypres, Cambrai, Arras and the Somme, had taken place. They marched to a place of rough wooden crosses without markings, where dead Britons too torn about to be identified had been buried. Just one body was dug up from each site, placed in a plain deal coffin and then brought back to a small chapel. Next, an officer was blindfolded and led into it. He reached out and touched one of the four coffins. The other three were returned to be reburied. The fourth was then taken by train to the Channel, where it was met by a warship and placed inside a larger casket of oak, specially made from a tree cut down in Hampton Court forest. With an escort of destroyers and given the admiral’s nineteen-gun salute as it passed, the dead man–a Scot or a Welshman, a Nottinghamshire miner or a Devon public schoolboy, a man who had died bravely or in terror–no one knew who he was–was then taken to London. Two days after being dug up in France, he was paraded through the streets, his pallbearers being field marshals and admirals, until he was buried deep in the sand below Westminster Abbey. 

On his coffin rested an antique sword from the King’s collection. In the next days and weeks, more than a million people came to say goodbye. Outside, in Whitehall, 100,000 wreaths had almost hidden the base of the brand new Cenotaph. 

Reclaiming, and giving a State Burial to, an unknown soldier had been the idea of a young army padre, later a vicar in Margate, called David Railton. He passed the idea to the Dean of Westminster, who wrote to the King. George was initially against the notion, worrying that it was too morbid, but he was won round. 

As the writer Ronald Blythe later said, ‘The affair was morbid, but grandly and supremely so.’ It proved hugely popular and cathartic, partly because it was in its way democratic. Millions of bereaved parents, brothers and sisters could half-believe that the recovered body was theirs, and certainly that it represented their dead boy. 

There had been much argument about the different treatment of aristocratic or upper-class corpses, which might be returned for burial at home, and the great mass of the dead who were left near to where they fell. Overall, the funerary democrats–led by the poet Kipling–won the argument for all to be treated alike in death, officers and men lying alongside one another with similar headstones. 

This was not trivial. 

At a time of revolution abroad, democracy needed to be symbolized. These were the years of the memorials: the vast Commonwealth memorials in France, requiring their own large bureaucracy and the factory-scale cutting of headstones; the thousands of granite crosses, sculpted Tommies and gold-painted wooden boards in villages, schools, train stations and city squares. In every style from the mimicry of ancient Greek and Egyptian funerary art to the latest in angular modernism, the British raised up AND THEN LIVED IN a Garden of Death. 



Though there was not, in statistical terms, a lost generation as is sometimes still claimed, the three-quarters of a million dead were a ghostly presence everywhere; faces staring out of school and sporting photographs, empty upstairs bedrooms in suburban houses, silent family meals, odd gaps in offices or village pubs between the old and the very young. 

In the ten years after The War 29,000 small country estates were sold off, often simply because there was no heir to inherit them. The wounded and maimed were also visible everywhere. They might be blind, gassed, distressingly unpredictable, hobbling with empty trouser-legs or pinned-up arms. 

The worst were still coping with open wounds which needed to be dressed daily to staunch infection. New plastic surgery techniques, still crude, could last until the late 1920s before patched-up faces were ready. Unsettling smells broke through the cigarette smoke. Park benches were sometimes painted blue to warn passers-by that they were reserved for badly wounded men from hospital, in their floppy serge uniforms and blue caps. 

The exuberance of blood–the erect spirit–of Edwardian times had been drained. 





Though in theory there were enough men for most women to marry, that was cold arithmetical nonsense for the hundreds of thousands who had lost the only one they loved, and who were still wearing black and would never wed. The current author is old enough, just, to remember great-aunts who did not marry ‘because of the War’ and lived single lives–albeit quite cheerful ones–focused on fruit cake and friendship. 

Eventually, of course, the sadness was too much, the weight of public stoicism too heavy for living, breathing humans to bear. Those who had survived wanted some fun again. The brittle urban gaiety for which the twenties are known was an essential response to the muffled drums and the silences and the hat-doffing to piles of brick and bronze. Ponderous hymn tunes consoled many. Jazz replied. The war had dulled and shabbied the country, so there followed a time of paint and silliness. Upper-crust girls could shock their parents by aping the masses and using rouge and mascara and lipstick. Women began smoking in public. The Great War, like littler wars, had been an overwhelmingly masculine affair. Boys grew into men very fast, and died as men. Men dressed as modern warriors in thick polished belts, heavy boots, rough, bronze-decorated overcoats and peaked caps. In wartime, beards and long hair were symbols of dissidence which drew angry looks and loud comments. So after it was over the younger men who had just missed the war responded with colourful and, to their elders’ eyes, effeminate clothing. Women, in turn, looked a little more like boys. Tubular dresses, bindings round the chest to disguise the bust and short haircuts, the bob and then the shingle, made girls seem unsettlingly androgynous. When the insolent-puppy writer Evelyn Waugh married a woman also called Evelyn, they were called He-Evelyn and She-Evelyn, and they gaze back from photos in identical trousers and shirts with similarly camp expressions. The upper classes and their arty hangers-on led the way, but thanks to the mass newspapers people across the country watched and in some ways mimicked them. Though we think of the most riotous scenes of misbehaviour coming in the twenties, the years of the Bright Young Things, the pattern had been set during the war. A good case-study can be found in the diaries of Duff Cooper, for most of the war working at the Foreign Office and in love with Lady Diana Manners, who had been a great and well-connected Edwardian beauty. His diaries recount an astonishing amount of casual love-making and hard drinking. The affairs are probably mostly not fully physical, because of the dangers of pregnancy, but in variety and number his circle rivalled or outpaced the behaviour of people in supposedly laxer, later days. The fine wines and champagnes gurgled away through the war, as did the old brandies and whisky, and a fair amount of drug taking–morphia, mainly, injected. You could buy what was, in effect, cocaine and heroin quite legally–people sent it to the troops. At one level, it is a record of hedonism and self-indulgence on a scale that would have shattered the constitutions of most rock musicians sixty years later. Yet it is only when set together with the equally astonishing death-rate of their friends that it makes full sense. After yet another friend, an in-law of the Asquiths, has been killed, Cooper recalls Edwardian parties of which he was now the only male survivor and records a day of helpless crying. It ends with him dining in his club: ‘I drank the best champagne–Pommery 1906–because I felt that Edward would have wished it and would have done so had I been killed first.’ He refuses to go out to eat ‘simply because I was afraid that I might cry in the middle of dinner’. Cooper went on to serve towards the end of the war, with spectacular bravery. This determination to drink deep and party while there was still time flowed unchecked into the post-war world. The nearest recent equivalent might be the drug-taking hedonism that flooded American youth during and after Vietnam. As then, in twenties Britain it pitted young and old against each other in an epic generational battle. The jittery, shallow, fancy-dressing army of upper-class children who smashed up bars, invented new cocktails, danced along the counters of department stores, learned to dance the camel-walk, the shimmy, the black-bottom and the notorious Charleston and stole policemen’s hats contained plenty of ex-officers from the front, and many whose brothers, cousins and lovers had been killed. Among those who arrived in London and changed the city’s taste were the first Harlem hot jazzmen, black musicians bringing the allure of early Hollywood pictures and stories of gangsters. Elders and betters looked on aghast; and, as ever, the media, in this case the fashionable new trade of newspaper gossip columnists, stoked up the story. Noe¨l Coward, whose play The Vortex dealt with drugs, was able to pose to a popular newspaper in a silk dressing gown with an expression, it reported, of advanced degeneracy. He promised the London Evening Standard that ‘I am never out of opium dens, cocaine dens, and other evil places. My mind is a mess of corruption.’ Gangs like the Sabinis and the Titanics (the latter apparently so named because they dressed up poshly, like passengers on the liner) fought across Soho, across the racetracks and for control of the new centres of vice in twenties Britain–the nightclubs. 

There you could find ex-officers, Sinn Fein men, gangsters, prostitutes, dancers and drug dealers like the famous opium supplier ‘Brilliant’ Chang. 

There were also homosexual clubs, crowded with men who had failed to heed their monarch: George V, told that an acquaintance was a ‘bugger’, replied with consternation: ‘I thought men like that shot themselves.