Silverwolf says: As I have mentioned earlier, I really enjoyed watching The Stampeding of Gonzo by that pack of the Pitbulls of Democracy led by Senator Leahy. I enjoyed it so much, I went and re-viewed some of the debacle towards the end. Still, remembering that the Good Book says we should not gloat at the fall of an adversary (heehee), I felt I had indulged enough in that pleasant emotion, and at that moment my attention was arrested by the mole on Senator Leahy’s bald pate. It was then that I decided to play a little game with myself: The Game of Nostalgics.
The Game of Nostalgics, though played by countless millions for eons thousands, consists in throwing the mind back and letting it track the associations it comes upon, and for each new association picking just one of the myriad paths that association offers and following that through, much as playing even the most heavily analysed chess openings soon leads to uncharted territory where both players are out of the books. I first heard this game formally described on an album of true comic genius put out by Shelley Berman around 1959 or so. It involves (in my version) letting the mind move from image to image, and from topic to topic, of people, events, ideas and observations of the far-removed past. I have found this game to be of immense value when riding the Greyhound Bus, or waiting a half hour on the line to get through to the IRS.
So for some reason I started playing Nostalgics when I looked at Senator Leahy’s mole, and suddenly forgot the un-Biblical enjoyment I had felt at seeing the Pitbulls of Democracy stampede the Backshooter of the Bill of Rights over the cliff of veracity and into the LaBrea Tarpits of “actionable lacunae” in his testimony; and that mole, screaming out at the camera like a dark brown-black planet in a clear firmament of cleanest pink flesh, and flanked by two milky way-swathes of flocculent grey, led me off into the lethe of a game of Nostalgics.
First off, I wondered if it could be something more severe, say even a melanoma. I hope not ’cause I like Leahy’s intelligence in cross-ammo. Well, Leahy’s mole led me to think about the research I had done on skin cancer, which showed that rates had soared since around 1988. The rates back then were around 1 in 245 people getting it each year. Now its about 1 in 85. So they really thinned out the atmosphere. And this led me to think of those two hypocrites of capitalism, Mrs. Thatcher and Mr. Reagan. I recalled how, at a time when enviros were called for an immediate ban on ozone-depleting chemicals, the glimmer twins of the Spirit of Free Enterprise, agreed to a phase-out after … eight years. How many thousand, tens of thousands, or millions have gotten melanoma, how many have died, because these two so-called champions of the rights of the individual, were willing to cause the deaths of countless individuals in order to protect the profits of their big corporation buddies? Who knows, because the dead certainly didn’t get the publicity Saint Reagan got when they stuffed him in a vault. And Thatcher who sank the Belgrano during the Falklands War, drowning over 500 sailors. Of course, let’s remember the moral blame lies on the Argentinians for trying to use force to overthrow a Democracy. And it did lead to the end of Generals Galtieri and Videla, and the preservation of the Falkland Islands as a bastion of British liberal Democracy. The Falklands, Keep Them Free! went the chant. I’ll howl to that.
Now it’s interesting that the Jew-hating Argentinian government were very crafty anti-Semites, for while the percentage of the populace that was Jewish was about 5%, the percentage of the Jewish inductees into the army was 10%. It was at this time I recall the disgusting behavior of Menachem Begin, Israeli Prime Minister, who delivered arms including parts for planes to the Argentinians. Begin, supposedly the guy who would defend the Jews wherever they were discriminated against, was giving arms to an anti-Semitic dictatorship to be used in attempting to kill Democrats fighting for democacy, a democracy which had a proud history, since Cromwell’s time, of first welcoming and then protecting the Jews and their civil rights as Englishman equal before the law. When criticized for his immoral behavior, Begin tried to Quisling out of it by saying that the arms delivered had been contracted for before the outbreak of the war, and Israel always lived up to its pre-existing contractual obligations,etc. blah, blah, blah. The usual sophistry of the blatant immoralist. Begin and war-criminal Humphrey, what a team they’d have made! Two moral trashbins.
Begin, Humphrey, Cromwell, Galtieri, the flotsam and jetsum of the past drifting on the vast ocean of consciousness and memory, and like a beachcomber coming upon a piece of driftwood which he recognizes as the same as a part from his first childhood scooter, and then finds his name carved into it, so the ego-memory ranges through the old stamping-grounds of consciousness, looking for something to chew on. But there are a hundred warehouses full of memory, bursting to overflowing. One needs only the desire to look around, and the persistence to dig in the piles of boxes of bric-a-brac.
But Silverwolf is a wild animal, and soon grows tired of human games, even the best. He must range the woods tonight and howl at the Oregon moon.