Sunday 29 April 2018

My Best Enemy - Magnificent Bastardy



"Why, That's My Best Enemy!
He likes to be known as The MSc., don't you..?

Oh, my, my, my - but you've changed..."
- The Established Dandy

"You Can All Ways Judge a Man By The Quality of His Enemies..."

- Time's Champion

" Some of my best friends have hated Nixon all their lives. 

My mother hates Nixon, my son hates Nixon, I hate Nixon, and this hatred has brought us together.

Nixon laughed when I told him this. "Don't worry," he said"I, too, am a family man, and we feel the same way about YOU."

- Dr. Hunter S.Thompson

"[The Forces of] Organised Money... are Unanimous in their Hatred of Me - and I WELCOME Their  Hatred..!"

- FDR, 1936

"Margaret Thatcher was blessed by having all the Right Enemies : a Fascist South American Dictator, and a Militant Radical Marxist Head of the National Union of Mine Workers -

O, how I could wish to have such enemies..."

- Neil Kinnock



He Was a Crook

MEMO FROM THE NATIONAL AFFAIRS DESK

DATE: MAY 1, 1994
FROM: DR. HUNTER S. THOMPSON
SUBJECT: THE DEATH OF RICHARD NIXON: NOTES ON THE PASSING OF AN AMERICAN MONSTER.... HE WAS A LIAR AND A QUITTER, AND HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN BURIED AT SEA.... BUT HE WAS, AFTER ALL, THE PRESIDENT.

"And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird."
---Revelation 18:2

Richard Nixon is gone now, and I am poorer for it. He was the real thing -- a political monster straight out of Grendel and a very dangerous enemy. He could shake your hand and stab you in the back at the same time. He lied to his friends and betrayed the trust of his family. Not even Gerald Ford, the unhappy ex-president who pardoned Nixon and kept him out of prison, was immune to the evil fallout. Ford, who believes strongly in Heaven and Hell, has told more than one of his celebrity golf partners that "I know I will go to hell, because I pardoned Richard Nixon."

I have had my own bloody relationship with Nixon for many years, but I am not worried about it landing me in hell with him. I have already been there with that bastard, and I am a better person for it. Nixon had the unique ability to make his enemies seem honorable, and we developed a keen sense of fraternity. Some of my best friends have hated Nixon all their lives. My mother hates Nixon, my son hates Nixon, I hate Nixon, and this hatred has brought us together.

Nixon laughed when I told him this. "Don't worry," he said, "I, too, am a family man, and we feel the same way about you."

It was Richard Nixon who got me into politics, and now that he's gone, I feel lonely. He was a giant in his way. As long as Nixon was politically alive -- and he was, all the way to the end -- we could always be sure of finding the enemy on the Low Road. There was no need to look anywhere else for the evil bastard. He had the fighting instincts of a badger trapped by hounds. The badger will roll over on its back and emit a smell of death, which confuses the dogs and lures them in for the traditional ripping and tearing action. But it is usually the badger who does the ripping and tearing. It is a beast that fights best on its back: rolling under the throat of the enemy and seizing it by the head with all four claws.

That was Nixon's style -- and if you forgot, he would kill you as a lesson to the others. Badgers don't fight fair, bubba. That's why God made dachshunds.

Nixon was a navy man, and he should have been buried at sea. Many of his friends were seagoing people: Bebe Rebozo, Robert Vesco, William F. Buckley Jr., and some of them wanted a full naval burial.

These come in at least two styles, however, and Nixon's immediate family strongly opposed both of them. In the traditionalist style, the dead president's body would be wrapped and sewn loosely in canvas sailcloth and dumped off the stern of a frigate at least 100 miles off the coast and at least 1,000 miles south of San Diego, so the corpse could never wash up on American soil in any recognizable form.

The family opted for cremation until they were advised of the potentially onerous implications of a strictly private, unwitnessed burning of the body of the man who was, after all, the President of the United States. Awkward questions might be raised, dark allusions to Hitler and Rasputin. People would be filing lawsuits to get their hands on the dental charts. Long court battles would be inevitable -- some with liberal cranks bitching about corpus delicti and habeas corpus and others with giant insurance companies trying not to pay off on his death benefits. Either way, an orgy of greed and duplicity was sure to follow any public hint that Nixon might have somehow faked his own death or been cryogenically transferred to fascist Chinese interests on the Central Asian Mainland.

It would also play into the hands of those millions of self-stigmatized patriots like me who believe these things already.

If the right people had been in charge of Nixon's funeral, his casket would have been launched into one of those open-sewage canals that empty into the ocean just south of Los Angeles. He was a swine of a man and a jabbering dupe of a president. Nixon was so crooked that he needed servants to help him screw his pants on every morning. Even his funeral was illegal. He was queer in the deepest way. His body should have been burned in a trash bin.

These are harsh words for a man only recently canonized by President Clinton and my old friend George McGovern -- but I have written worse things about Nixon, many times, and the record will show that I kicked him repeatedly long before he went down. I beat him like a mad dog with mange every time I got a chance, and I am proud of it. He was scum.

Let there be no mistake in the history books about that. Richard Nixon was an evil man -- evil in a way that only those who believe in the physical reality of the Devil can understand it. He was utterly without ethics or morals or any bedrock sense of decency. Nobody trusted him -- except maybe the Stalinist Chinese, and honest historians will remember him mainly as a rat who kept scrambling to get back on the ship.

It is fitting that Richard Nixon's final gesture to the American people was a clearly illegal series of 21 105-mm howitzer blasts that shattered the peace of a residential neighborhood and permanently disturbed many children. Neighbors also complained about another unsanctioned burial in the yard at the old Nixon place, which was brazenly illegal. "It makes the whole neighborhood like a graveyard," said one. "And it fucks up my children's sense of values."

Many were incensed about the howitzers -- but they knew there was nothing they could do about it -- not with the current president sitting about 50 yards away and laughing at the roar of the cannons. It was Nixon's last war, and he won.

The funeral was a dreary affair, finely staged for TV and shrewdly dominated by ambitious politicians and revisionist historians. The Rev. Billy Graham, still agile and eloquent at the age of 136, was billed as the main speaker, but he was quickly upstaged by two 1996 GOP presidential candidates: Sen. Bob Dole of Kansas and Gov. Pete Wilson of California, who formally hosted the event and saw his poll numbers crippled when he got blown off the stage by Dole, who somehow seized the No. 3 slot on the roster and uttered such a shameless, self-serving eulogy that even he burst into tears at the end of it.

Dole's stock went up like a rocket and cast him as the early GOP front-runner for '96. Wilson, speaking next, sounded like an Engelbert Humperdinck impersonator and probably won't even be re-elected as governor of California in November.

The historians were strongly represented by the No. 2 speaker, Henry Kissinger, Nixon's secretary of state and himself a zealous revisionist with many axes to grind. He set the tone for the day with a maudlin and spectacularly self-serving portrait of Nixon as even more saintly than his mother and as a president of many godlike accomplishments -- most of them put together in secret by Kissinger, who came to California as part of a huge publicity tour for his new book on diplomacy, genius, Stalin, H. P. Lovecraft and other great minds of our time, including himself and Richard Nixon.

Kissinger was only one of the many historians who suddenly came to see Nixon as more than the sum of his many squalid parts. He seemed to be saying that History will not have to absolve Nixon, because he has already done it himself in a massive act of will and crazed arrogance that already ranks him supreme, along with other Nietzschean supermen like Hitler, Jesus, Bismarck and the Emperor Hirohito. These revisionists have catapulted Nixon to the status of an American Caesar, claiming that when the definitive history of the 20th century is written, no other president will come close to Nixon in stature. "He will dwarf FDR and Truman," according to one scholar from Duke University.

It was all gibberish, of course. Nixon was no more a Saint than he was a Great President. He was more like Sammy Glick than Winston Churchill. He was a cheap crook and a merciless war criminal who bombed more people to death in Laos and Cambodia than the U.S. Army lost in all of World War II, and he denied it to the day of his death. When students at Kent State University, in Ohio, protested the bombing, he connived to have them attacked and slain by troops from the National Guard.

Some people will say that words like scum and rotten are wrong for Objective Journalism -- which is true, but they miss the point. It was the built-in blind spots of the Objective rules and dogma that allowed Nixon to slither into the White House in the first place. He looked so good on paper that you could almost vote for him sight unseen. He seemed so all-American, so much like Horatio Alger, that he was able to slip through the cracks of Objective Journalism. You had to get Subjective to see Nixon clearly, and the shock of recognition was often painful.

Nixon's meteoric rise from the unemployment line to the vice presidency in six quick years would never have happened if TV had come along 10 years earlier. He got away with his sleazy "my dog Checkers" speech in 1952 because most voters heard it on the radio or read about it in the headlines of their local, Republican newspapers. When Nixon finally had to face the TV cameras for real in the 1960 presidential campaign debates, he got whipped like a red-headed mule. Even die-hard Republican voters were shocked by his cruel and incompetent persona. Interestingly, most people who heard those debates on the radio thought Nixon had won. But the mushrooming TV audience saw him as a truthless used-car salesman, and they voted accordingly. It was the first time in 14 years that Nixon lost an election.

When he arrived in the White House as VP at the age of 40, he was a smart young man on the rise -- a hubris-crazed monster from the bowels of the American dream with a heart full of hate and an overweening lust to be President. He had won every office he'd run for and stomped like a Nazi on all of his enemies and even some of his friends.

Nixon had no friends except George Will and J. Edgar Hoover (and they both deserted him). It was Hoover's shameless death in 1972 that led directly to Nixon's downfall. He felt helpless and alone with Hoover gone. He no longer had access to either the Director or the Director's ghastly bank of Personal Files on almost everybody in Washington.

Hoover was Nixon's right flank, and when he croaked, Nixon knew how Lee felt when Stonewall Jackson got killed at Chancellorsville. It permanently exposed Lee's flank and led to the disaster at Gettysburg.

For Nixon, the loss of Hoover led inevitably to the disaster of Watergate. It meant hiring a New Director -- who turned out to be an unfortunate toady named L. Patrick Gray, who squealed like a pig in hot oil the first time Nixon leaned on him. Gray panicked and fingered White House Counsel John Dean, who refused to take the rap and rolled over, instead, on Nixon, who was trapped like a rat by Dean's relentless, vengeful testimony and went all to pieces right in front of our eyes on TV.

That is Watergate, in a nut, for people with seriously diminished attention spans. The real story is a lot longer and reads like a textbook on human treachery. They were all scum, but only Nixon walked free and lived to clear his name. Or at least that's what Bill Clinton says -- and he is, after all, the President of the United States.

Nixon liked to remind people of that. He believed it, and that was why he went down. He was not only a crook but a fool. Two years after he quit, he told a TV journalist that "if the president does it, it can't be illegal."

Shit. Not even Spiro Agnew was that dumb. He was a flat-out, knee-crawling thug with the morals of a weasel on speed. But he was Nixon's vice president for five years, and he only resigned when he was caught red-handed taking cash bribes across his desk in the White House.

Unlike Nixon, Agnew didn't argue. He quit his job and fled in the night to Baltimore, where he appeared the next morning in U.S. District Court, which allowed him to stay out of prison for bribery and extortion in exchange for a guilty (no contest) plea on income-tax evasion. After that he became a major celebrity and played golf and tried to get a Coors distributorship. He never spoke to Nixon again and was an unwelcome guest at the funeral. They called him Rude, but he went anyway. It was one of those Biological Imperatives, like salmon swimming up waterfalls to spawn before they die. He knew he was scum, but it didn't bother him.

Agnew was the Joey Buttafuoco of the Nixon administration, and Hoover was its Caligula. They were brutal, brain-damaged degenerates worse than any hit man out of The Godfather, yet they were the men Richard Nixon trusted most. Together they defined his Presidency.

It would be easy to forget and forgive Henry Kissinger of his crimes, just as he forgave Nixon. Yes, we could do that -- but it would be wrong. Kissinger is a slippery little devil, a world-class hustler with a thick German accent and a very keen eye for weak spots at the top of the power structure. Nixon was one of those, and Super K exploited him mercilessly, all the way to the end.

Kissinger made the Gang of Four complete: Agnew, Hoover, Kissinger and Nixon. A group photo of these perverts would say all we need to know about the Age of Nixon.

Nixon's spirit will be with us for the rest of our lives -- whether you're me or Bill Clinton or you or Kurt Cobain or Bishop Tutu or Keith Richards or Amy Fisher or Boris Yeltsin's daughter or your fiancee's 16-year-old beer-drunk brother with his braided goatee and his whole life like a thundercloud out in front of him. This is not a generational thing. You don't even have to know who Richard Nixon was to be a victim of his ugly, Nazi spirit.

He has poisoned our water forever. Nixon will be remembered as a classic case of a smart man shitting in his own nest. But he also shit in our nests, and that was the crime that history will burn on his memory like a brand. By disgracing and degrading the Presidency of the United States, by fleeing the White House like a diseased cur, Richard Nixon broke the heart of the American Dream.


Copyright © 1994 by Hunter S. Thompson. All rights reserved. Used by permission.
Originally published in 
Rolling Stone, June 16, 1994.

The Reluctant Judge

" I Don't Want to Go to Ninevah - Those People are CRAZY! "

" The Book of Jonah is The Funniest Book in The Bible."

- Jordan Peterson

Friday 27 April 2018

Natalie Portman in The Bath

You don't live with me, you live among the remains of dead people. 

You sift through the detritus, you read the terrain, you search for signs of passing, for the scent of your prey, and then you hunt them down. 

[ The Proper Purpose of Criticism is to seperate The Wheat from The Chaff - Picking Diamonds out of Shit.]

That's the only thing you're committed to. 
The rest is The Mess you leave as you pass through.

[ Like your Ex-Husband..? ]

You prefer the normal routine. 
We fuck and you lose the power of speech.

*****

[Vincent gets back after being called to the scene of Waingro's latest murder victim]

Justine
I guess the earth shattered?

Vincent
So why didn't you let Bosko take you home?

Justine
I didn't wanna ruin their night too. 
What was it?

Vincent
You don't wanna know.

Justine
I'd like to know what's behind that grim look on your face.

[ You Don't. ]

Vincent
I don't do that. 
You know it. 
Let's go, come on.

Justine
You never told me I'd be excluded.

Vincent
I told you when we hooked up, baby, that you were gonna have to share me with all the bad people and all the ugly events on this planet.

Justine
And I bought into that sharing
Because I love you. 
I love you fat, bald, money, no money, driving a bus - 

I don't care. 

[ I do  care - and you have absolutely no appreciation or respect for I do.

For you,  for your daughter, and for 8 Million strangers, nearly all of whom are less fortunate than You or I. ]

But you have got to be present like a normal guy, some of the time. 

That's sharing. 
This is not sharing, this is left-overs!

Vincent
Oh, I see, what I should do is, er, come home and say, 
"Hi honey! Guess what? I walked into this house today, where this junkie asshole just fried his baby in a microwave, because it was crying too loud

So let me share that with you. 

Come on, let's share that, and in sharing it, we'll somehow, er, cathartically dispel all that heinous shit". 

Right? 

[pause] 

Wrong.


Selfish Damn Mother

Justine
Are you all right? What happened? Where've you been?

Vincent
Work. 

Lauren's dad show up?

Justine
Didn't call, didn't show. 
We waited for you until 10:30.

Vincent:
Does this guy have any idea of what's going on with his kid?

Justine
[shakes her head] 
I don't know.

[ Why don't you know? ]

Vincent
What, is she okay?

Justine
She's been in her room all day, so no, she's not okay. 

[ "I haven't checked - because its too hard." ]

[ And it requires A Man. ]

Neither am I. 

Uh, I made dinner for us four hours ago. 
Um, by the time I tried to maintain a consistent mood between us, she'd withdraw.

Vincent
I've got three dead bodies on a sidewalk off Venice Boulevard, Justine! 

I'm sorry if the goddamn...chicken...got overcooked.

Thursday 26 April 2018

Well - THAT Was Unlucky... : 14,000,405 to 1

Avengers : Infinity War 
is a Film about
DEPRESSION

In a Quantum Reality, the only Universal is 
CHOICE
We CHOOSE to Go to The Moon
(and to do The Other Things),
not because they are easy, but because they are HARD...


Mightier than The Sword
"There was no other way."

- Says the man who just looked ahead into 4,000,406 Quantum Reality Potential Futures


"Even Now, We are not yet beaten - this fate is not finally  yet sealed for all eternity. N


Writers have for years tried to make some sense of the Scarlet Witch’s powers (which seem to have to do with altering probablities, or altering reality or SOMEthing – it was all really vague when Stan Lee introduced her in the pages of the X-Men and even later on when he made her an Avenger). 
During Kurt Busiek’s run on the Avengers, he clarified her powers as being a result of 
Chaos Magick :
Well, during Avengers Disassembled, Brian Michael Bendis had Doctor Strange show up to say :
CHAOS MAGICK DOES NOT EXIST...!

PRINCIPIA CHAOTICA 
By Peter Carroll 

Chaos Magic for the Pandaemeon 


In Chaos Magick, beliefs are not seen as ends in themselves, but as tools for creating desired effects


To fully realize this is to face a terrible freedom in which 
Nothing is True 
and 
Everything is Permitted
which is to say that 
Everything is Possible, 
There are no Certainties
and 
The Consequences Can Be Ghastly


Laughter seems to be the only defence against the realisation that one does not even have a real self. 

The purpose of Chaos Rituals is to create beliefs by acting as though such beliefs were True. 

In Chaos Rituals you Fake it till you Make it, to obtain the power that a belief can provide. 

Afterwards, 
if you have any sense
you will laugh it off

and seek the requisite beliefs for whatever you want to do next
as Chaos moves you. 


Thus Chaoism proclaims 
The Death 
and 
Rebirth of The Gods. 


Our subconscious creativity and parapsychological powers are more than adequate to create or destroy any god or self or demon or other "spritual" entity that we may choose to invest or disinvest belief in, at least for ourselves and sometimes others as well. 


The frequently awesome results attaining by creating gods by act of ritually behaving as though they exist should not lead the Chaos Magician into the abyss of attributing ultimate reality to anything.


YOUR CHOICES ARE HALF CHANCE - 
SO ARE EVERYBODY ELSE'S


That is the transcendentalist mistake, which leads to the narrowing of 
The Spectrum of The Self. 


The real awesomeness lies in the range of things we can discover ourselves capable of, 
even if we may temporarily have to believe the effects are due to something else, in order to be able to create them. 


The Gods are Dead. 
Long Live The Gods. 





Magic appeals to those with a great deal of hubris and a fertile imagination coupled with a strong suspicion that both reality and human condition have a game like quality. 

The game is open ended, and plays itself for amusement. 
Players can make up their own rules to some extent, and cheat by using parapsychology if desired. 

A magician is one who has sold his soul for the chance of participating more fully in reality. 

ONLY WHEN YOU HAVE LOST EVERYTHING
ARE YOU FREE TO DO ANYTHING

Only when Nothing is True, and the idea of a True Self is abandoned, does everything become permitted. 

There is some accuracy in the Faust myth, but he failed to take it to its logical conclusion. It takes only the acceptance of a single belief to make someone a magician. It is the meta-belief that belief is a tool for achieving effects. 

This effect is often far easier to observe in others than in oneself. It is usually quite easy to see how other people, and indeed entire cultures, are both enabled and disabled by the beliefs they hold. 

Beliefs tend to lead to activities which tend to reconfirm belief in a circle they call virtuous rather than vicious, even if the results are not amusing. 

The first stage of seeing through the game can be a shocking enlightenment that leads either to a weary cynicism or Buddhism. 

The second stage of actually applying the insight to oneself can destroy the illusion of the soul and create a magician. The realisation that belief is a tool rather than an end in itself has immense consequences if fully accepted. Within the limits set by physical possibility, and these limits are wider and more malleable than most people believe, one can make real any beliefs one chooses, including contradictionary beliefs. 

The Magician is not striving for any particular limited identity goal, rather he wants the meta-identity of being able to be anything. 

So welcome to the Kali Yuga of the Pandaemonaeon wherein nothing is true and everything is permissable. For in these post-absolutist days it is better to build upon the shifting sands than the rock which will confound you on the day it shatters. 

Philosophers have become no more than the keepers of useful sarcasms, for the secret is out that there is no secret of the universe. 

All is Chaos and evolution is going nowhere in particular. It is pure chance which rules the universe and thus, and only thus, is life good. 

We are born accidentally into a random world where only seeming causes lead to apparent effects, and very little is predetermined, thank Chaos. 

As everything is arbitrary and accidental then perhaps these words are too small and pejorative, rather we should perhaps say that life, the universe and everything is spontaneously creative and magical. 

Relishing stochastic reality we can revel exclusively in magical definitions of existence. The roads of excess may yet lead to the place of wisdom, and many indeterminate things can happen on the way to thermodynamic equilibrium. 

It is vain to seek solid ground on which to stand. Solidity is an illusion, as is the foot which stands on it, and the self which thinks it owns either is the most transparent illusion of all. 

The heavy vessels of faith are holed and sinking along with all lifeboats and ingenious rafts. 

So will you shop at the supermarket of sensation and let your consumer preferences define your true self? 

Or will you in a bold and lighthearted fashion, thieve from both for the fun of it?

For belief is a tool for achieving whatever one chooses to consider important or pleasurable, and sensation has no other purpose than sensation. 

Thus help yourself to them without paying the price. 

Sacrifice Truth for Freedom at every opportunity. 

The greatest fun, freedom and achievement lies not being yourself. 

There is little merit in simply being whomsoever you were destined to be by accident of birth and circumstance. 

Hell is the condition of having no alternatives. 

Reject then the obscenities of contrived uniformity, order and purpose. 

Turn and face the tidal wave of Chaos from which philosophers have been fleeing in terror for millennia. 

Leap in and come out surfing its crest, sporting amidst the limitless weirdness and mystery in all things, for those who reject false certainties.

 Thank Chaos we shall never exhaust it. 

Create, destroy, enjoy, IO CHAOS! --- * 

Origin: ChaosBox: Nothing is true -> all is permitted... (2:243/2)






(ll. 404-452) Again, Phoebe came to the desired embrace of Coeus.

Then the goddess through the love of the god conceived and brought forth dark-gowned Leto, always mild, kind to men and to the deathless gods, mild from the beginning, gentlest in all Olympus. Also she bare Asteria of happy name, whom Perses once led to his great house to be called his dear wife. And she conceived and bare Hecate whom Zeus the son of Cronos honoured above all. 

He gave her splendid gifts, to have a share of the earth and the unfruitful sea. She received honour also in starry heaven, and is honoured exceedingly by the deathless gods. 


For to this day, whenever any one of men on earth offers rich sacrifices and prays for favour according to custom, he calls upon Hecate. 

Great honour comes full easily to him whose prayers the goddess receives favourably, and she bestows wealth upon him; for the power surely is with her. 

For as many as were born of Earth and Ocean amongst all these she has her due portion. The son of Cronos did her no wrong nor took anything away of all that was her portion among the former Titan gods: but she holds, as the division was at the first from the beginning, privilege both in earth, and in heaven, and in sea. Also, because she is an only child, the goddess receives not less honour, but much more still, for Zeus honours her. Whom she will she greatly aids and advances: she sits by worshipful kings in judgement, and in the assembly whom she will is distinguished among the people. And when men arm themselves for the battle that destroys men, then the goddess is at hand to give victory and grant glory readily to whom she will. Good is she also when men contend at the games, for there too the goddess is with them and profits them: and he who by might and strength gets the victory wins the rich prize easily with joy, and brings glory to his parents. And she is good to stand by horsemen, whom she will: and to those whose business is in the grey discomfortable sea, and who pray to Hecate and the loud-crashing Earth-Shaker, easily the glorious goddess gives great catch, and easily she takes it away as soon as seen, if so she will. She is good in the byre with Hermes to increase the stock. The droves of kine and wide herds of goats and flocks of fleecy sheep, if she will, she increases from a few, or makes many to be less.

So, then. albeit her mother's only child, she is honoured amongst all the deathless gods. And the son of Cronos made her a nurse of the young who after that day saw with their eyes the light of all-seeing Dawn. So from The Beginning she is a nurse of the young, and these are her honours.