Bill GreenAMERICA'S SUB-CULTURE OF DEMOCRACY BY ASSASSINATION HAS ENTERED MY UNCONSCIOUS
July 8th 2008 02:31
America has a sort of sub-culture of democracy by assassination. They not only kill their own presidents and those that aspire to the job, but they plan the killings of those leaders they don't like. The funniest attempts were on Fidel Castro. After having failed to have one of his mistresses kill him they plotted to have a substance rubbed on his shiny boots that would make his hair fall out. This would include not only his beard but his pubic hair. They figured he would be such a laughing stock he would be shamed into dying early, or at least stepping down.
Before you cry, that is unbelievable, please read the reports on Congress's investigations into the CIA. Several good movies obtained their comic plots from those investigations.
My dilemma is that the American method of solving democratic problems has entered my Freudian unconscious. I woke several days ago with a dry mouth but a satisfied mind. I had dispensed with a state premier and was already planning a similar fate for his successor if I didn't agree with his policies. Conscious again I backed away from the second snuffing, knowing full well that I couldn't plan the death of someone who I hadn't grown to hate.
My justification for my facilitating dream was that I had a neglected childhood, although on quick reflection it wasn't neglected enough. At nine years old I had been sent to a boarding school that associated with institutions that bred those who were headed for the Melbourne Club. I was not neglected by the bullies, or those that condoned their behaviour to the odd types that attended private schools. Once when I took the butter out of turn my hand was opened up with a fierce slash from a steak knife from a more senior boy across the table. I was being taught the correct etiquette.
"You better learn a bit faster," a prefect told me.
That moment was my jumping off point in my dream to dispense with the premier for his penchant for only taking votes on policy from his rich mates. Those who wish to speak to him (unlike Gordon Brown in the UK who rings those who write him angry letters) have to pay $1,300 to attend one of his dinners (with the PM) to put their special pleadings for policies that will make them more money. How many who were against the slashing of Port Phillip Bay could afford such an outlay to meet the Premier. Already the risk of rising water levels has made many beach front dwellers nervous. A few weeks ago you could buy beach front apartments in Lorne and Apollo Bay for $85,000. But that's not the problem (well, for them it is), it's the destruction of the bay's ecology and the unique dolphins that swim there.
In my dream I helped the dolphins dispense with the individual who destroyed their livelihoods. The PPB dolphins will die in their present habitat. They evolved in the bay and the experts say they will die rather than leave it. There was a pod of a hundred. Only about five attacked the premier who, with my help, found himself beyond his environment. They drove their snouts into his ribs in the way they destroy the gills of sharks. It was good to see.
Before you cry, that is unbelievable, please read the reports on Congress's investigations into the CIA. Several good movies obtained their comic plots from those investigations.
My dilemma is that the American method of solving democratic problems has entered my Freudian unconscious. I woke several days ago with a dry mouth but a satisfied mind. I had dispensed with a state premier and was already planning a similar fate for his successor if I didn't agree with his policies. Conscious again I backed away from the second snuffing, knowing full well that I couldn't plan the death of someone who I hadn't grown to hate.
My justification for my facilitating dream was that I had a neglected childhood, although on quick reflection it wasn't neglected enough. At nine years old I had been sent to a boarding school that associated with institutions that bred those who were headed for the Melbourne Club. I was not neglected by the bullies, or those that condoned their behaviour to the odd types that attended private schools. Once when I took the butter out of turn my hand was opened up with a fierce slash from a steak knife from a more senior boy across the table. I was being taught the correct etiquette.
That moment was my jumping off point in my dream to dispense with the premier for his penchant for only taking votes on policy from his rich mates. Those who wish to speak to him (unlike Gordon Brown in the UK who rings those who write him angry letters) have to pay $1,300 to attend one of his dinners (with the PM) to put their special pleadings for policies that will make them more money. How many who were against the slashing of Port Phillip Bay could afford such an outlay to meet the Premier. Already the risk of rising water levels has made many beach front dwellers nervous. A few weeks ago you could buy beach front apartments in Lorne and Apollo Bay for $85,000. But that's not the problem (well, for them it is), it's the destruction of the bay's ecology and the unique dolphins that swim there.
In my dream I helped the dolphins dispense with the individual who destroyed their livelihoods. The PPB dolphins will die in their present habitat. They evolved in the bay and the experts say they will die rather than leave it. There was a pod of a hundred. Only about five attacked the premier who, with my help, found himself beyond his environment. They drove their snouts into his ribs in the way they destroy the gills of sharks. It was good to see.
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