by Bodwyn Wook
As is well-known, most so-called ‘conspiracy’ theorists are males in the full reek of late maturity, swag bellied, neurotic and, in the many cases, actually funny looking; indeed, it is commonly held by state-liberallist credentiallised reality-counselors that one can identify these tragic excluded and socially-powerless screwballs, on sight:
The staring boiled eyes, ranting tones and hectoring manner even whilst conducting the normal transactions of daily life at the cash-point and coffee bar, all of these are the bitter foul stigmata of both moral and public impotence, and servile incapacity. Moreover, say the mental specialists in sociable re-normalisation, the private phantasies of these distrait persons (all of whom are found, on helpful intervention, to dream much, much too high above themselves, their actual station and real condition) give the game away everytime, every time:
With an error-factor of but a scant O.17 percent, these maimed characters on survey reveal themselves, one and all and all of the time, prey to abject and hideous, relentless, phantasies of terror and humiliation; the most common setting of these waking nightmares being the doctor’s office or hospital casualty department; and, the diagnostic conclusion speedily arrived at and with grim and grinding inevitability, therein the brutal subjection to bare naked ano-rectal indignities: all in the name of ‘therapy’ and eleemosynary Special Treatment.
On the face of it, clearly, so yelling and mad and and obsessional are the subjects, medical intervention avowedly is in order.
For a fact, medicine itself in its duty would indeed be derelict, an it did not step quickly to the duty station to complete the task of mercy, assain the insensate and console the mad obsessed whose name, to-day, is Legion.
But so wide-spread to-day is the phenomenon of so-called ‘paranoia’ that, as an historian, I must step forward — ’tis my turn now — in all modesty to adduce an new heuristic principle; it is a conception of nodes and a certain co-incident factor of parallelism.
This last point indeed is indicative:
In principle there is at all times and eras in Society a moiety of sociopathy; at all times, N members of the general population possess no inculcated and, hence, automatic morality.
It is my hypothesis, moreover, that this N surges in late-historical periods; and, within such late societies, that there are, likewise, certain vocational pustules, nodes or knots of infection, not unlike the inflamed segments of a chlamydious urethra. In our particular case, these co-incide in what was first identified by C Wright Mills in 1956 (OS) as an incorporate and subsidised ‘system of organised irresponsibility,
In these itching sectors, of non-productive corporate and governmental employment, are concentrated the burning largest opportunities in these times for careerist self-indulgence. These expanded chances for non-moral action open up indeed, as a matter of social statistics, new dimensions in the graphical charting of any so-called ‘sotadic zone’. This last was first adumbrated in the 1850s, by the Victorian explorer and arabomane semiticist, Sir Richard Francis Burton; it is not now our primary concern. Rather, here, we now grapple with the thorny question for once and for all of understanding that vast significant new numbers of these maniacs — the ‘new men’ of the late-modern New Deal and the Great Society; and, the late un-lamented neo-conservative South-West Asian Bubble — do now disport themselves muchly in the public life: more so, now, than at any time in all of our previous North Atlantic history.
But, in addition to the fact that there are by no means places for all of the morally un-anchored even in so vastly expanded a professionalist World as to-day’s, there is the question of what these deranged people are like? Our concern is with the task of ascertaining a type, the characteristic human figure of any World evening-time; and, in the digital records of our era, we may indeed behold for ourselves the veritable image of all that calm indecent sociopathy. I submit that from these public visual records, taken together with what we now know of the miserable ‘conspiracy theory’ personality, we can draw a fair picture of a so-called ‘elite’. It is a true question of ‘takes one to know one’; and — take it or leave it! — by the physiognomy of the excluded shall ye know them who dwell ‘on high’:
Videogramme footage to-day widely displayed of the infamous ‘globallists’ at their foregatherings at Davos and other watering places reveal that the sole difference between them and the despised undermen of universal plotting in their grubby tee-shirts, is that there are large numbers of females taking part in browsing these upper pastures. Otherwise, it is a case of males and females together in late middle-age, swag bellied, neurotic and, in the many cases, actually funny looking; indeed, it shall come to be commonly held by all actual historians of the age that one will have been able to identify these screwballs of unlimited power, on sight:
The staring boiled eyes, ranting tones and hectoring manner even whilst conducting the normal transactions of hotel and resort life, at the registration desk and coffee bar, all of these are the bitter foul stigmata of over-compensation for the stark naked horror of impotence both moral and public. This engenders the mad drive to drive under all in the vicinity in bare naked servile incapacity. Moreover, say the mental specialists in historical causation, the private phantasies of these distrait persons, all of whom are found on helpful intervention to dread being thrown down and, so, back into their actual psychological station and real naked condition, give the game away everytime, every time:
With an error-factor of but a scant O.17 percent, these maimed characters on survey doubtlessly should reveal themselves, one and all and all of the time, prey to abject and hideous, relentless, phantasies of imposing terror and humiliation; the most common setting of these waking nightmares being the doctor’s office or hospital casualty department, in which setting the day-dreaming elitist is the prime mover, all gotten up in the white smock and stethoscope and speculum of the physician; and, the diagnostic conclusion speedily arrived at and with grim and grinding inevitability, the dominant actor to whom bare naked divers underlings in the role of un-clad ‘patient’ repeatedly are exposed to brutal subjection to ano-rectal indignities; all in the name of ‘therapy’ and eleemosynary Special Treatment:
It is this pathological assertion of The Final Social Superiority that, alas, demands repeated bouts to reassure the doubt-tormented elitist, in very case, everytime, every time; and, lends new and sinister import, to the childish game of Playing Doctor.
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[12 December 2009]