Kerry Thornley - The Dreadlock Recollections

The objection to racism and all other forms of elitism is SOCIOLOGICAL. Communication is only possible between equals. One person can only effectively govern one person, that's why everybody is equipped with a brain. (See the rest of my corollaries to the SNAFU Principle in a past issue of Spare Change that appeared in a past issue of FreFanZine ). Bureaucracy, whether in the form of states, caste systems, corporations or any other coercively enforced hierarchy, is always, inevitably a long road to betrayal of the goals for which it was intended. (And corporations could not exist as we know them without the State, although Libertarians insist they are voluntary.)

"CKQ" = Child Killing Quotient

A zooty pimp in Atlanta was before the judge, charged with creating turmoil. The case against him was brief and credible. His conduct in the courtroom was cavalier and extroverted. When the judge dismissed the charges against him he scratched her cheek.

That scenario was repeated in another form the other day. Both times the accused was symbolized as Mark Lane. Whether it only happened once and I was told about it twice, or whether it happened two or more times, I couldn't hazard a guess. The names of everyone involved and their "CKQ" ratings would, paradoxically it seems, require an atmosphere free of extortion to begin with. A complex, though probably not unsolvable, problem.

Anyway, today I'm sitting on somebody's grass complaining about how pawnly I feel with this power struggle that appears to be going on between Rockefeller and Demarra, and they turn on their sprinklers. That old "I had to leave" thing Berkman mused about. Sons of men with nowhere to lie their heads. Or no rest for the wicked, maybe.

Andrew Young says, they say, not to get trapped, as he is, in the Worldwide Church of God.

III

One Saturday morning Mariposa came into the living room just as I was waking up. Standing next to the TV set she looked my way and said "Which cartoon shall I watch today? This one (taking a little bow) or this one (turning on the television)?" I could tell she was mimicking me. She was what I later learned is called a "mirror." She also made snide remarks in cant when I got erections, although how she or her controllers could tell something like that was happening was quite beyond me.

I began to perceive an enormous amount of pressure in this direction. Jude kept prominently displaying a book called The Little Flowers of Saint Francis. I was supposed by somebody to be a celibate holy man, probably because of what I'd said to June that afternoon we fucked and I told her I'd gotten into tantric celibacy, to explain why I wasn't into attaining an orgasm. Or else the bastards were just mad at me for exposing their World Wide Church of God Conspiracy and this orthodox nagging was their demented notion of fit punishment.

In any case, that day I woke up with a hard-on and had to listen to Mariposa stand there and tell me I was a "naughty puppy." I became enraged. I stormed up to the Jack in the Box for coffee and told them to tell Jimmy Carter to tell whoever it was that no-one was going to go around saying I was celibate, or supposed to be celibate, and get away with it. I would, if necessary, publish incredibly pornographic writing to rebuke rumors like that.

At that time I was still not masturbating because of that experience with the astral witch. This, I'd learned, was called a "pinch." This mind control causing a lack of sexual desire during most waking hours. It felt like a "pinch" in my spinal column, just above my sexual chakra, cutting off sexual energy. Nevertheless I wasn't going to be celibate forever. They just told me I was arguing with a straw man. "That's extra," they said, complete agreement ("X") with straw.

Many years earlier, one calm hot night in Atlanta, Linda behaved more unusually than usual. "Listen to this Neil Diamond song" she demanded. I am, I said, and there was no one there, not even a chair . "Have you ever felt that way?" "No," I shrugged.

"Then you wouldn't understand," she said in tears.

Not long before this afternoon, hearing that song, having been through what I'd been through, I said "oh, Jesus, do I ever understand now!" That song was playing again on the radio and I was weeping unashamedly in the middle of Jude's living room. In conspiracy lingo "Neil Diamond" is Nelson Rockefeller and a "check" is something that confuses matters. Whitney said "Check it out, he's crying about Neil Diamond." Nelson Rockefeller's alleged death had been announced recently, with canted hints that it was just staged. I was crying for Linda. I let it pass, though. Not long afterwards Newport cigarette billboards appeared with the motto "Check It Out!" Two black people, a man and a woman, dressed in blue and yellow, symbolic of the KKK, were pictured in the ad laughing like heedless fools it seemed to me.

AWL: Anarchist Workingclass Satanism. I also called it Zenarchy. I assumed that Jude, Witney and Mariposa were all victims of implanted surveillance devices like me. I also figured there were probably bugs in the walls. Experimentation and feedback convinced me that I could say anything I wanted when I was in the house alone, although I had to be very careful only to follow cues when anyone was present. So I explained my political views in eloquent stoned speeches, designating coded significances to pieces of furniture to facilitate silent communication when my hosts returned. I also began dealing with lots of intelligence community Satanism. When I once asked Cameron what the attraction of Satanism was to our friends like Ron Garst and Robert Anton Wilson, he theorized it was the John Wayne syndrome, the need for excitement. After three-and-one-half years of tedium and boring juvenile harassment I was beginning to understand this much. I was always being accused of being too restless, of tinkering with plans beyond my understanding, etc. I also liked Robert Anton Wilson's Miltonic Satanism, expounded in the Trilogy , epitomized in the motto NON SERVIUM ! Anarchist in our code was symbolized with the letter "A." Working class was at that time designated with "W." Satanism was "L." So I called my teachings in that house "AWL," after the Zen roshi who compared the enlightened being to "a rusty awl." I wanted something with a funky, organic mood. Not shrill or romantic as conventional revolutionary ideology. I deemed it Satanism because in that social environment it involved the Jesuitical convolution and craftiness which I associated with Satanism as I'd come to know it.

At one end of Jude's living room a great bleeding sacred heart of Jesus rug covered most of the wall. An oblong coffee table stood perpendicular to it. "The end of the table nearest the rug is for objects symbolizing things in positions of political strength. Items symbolic of persons or organizations in conditions of powerlessness, position at the furthest end of the table from the bleeding heart of Jesus." This corresponded to my feeling that power is inseparable from torment. "Anything about which you feel distrust, place in this pot," I added, "this is the doobie pot, for dubious things."

Have you ever wondered why, after all these years, the truth abut the JFK murder is still being suppressed? One of the main reasons is because neither the right nor the left nor the political center wants you to discover the war in Indochina was a deliberately planned racist act of genocide. If I had understood the above van der Lubbe rap I could have known to mention this material when I testified before the Warren Commission in 1964. Since probably only a minority of the assassins wanted to expose the Nazi faction and avoid an Asian war, a compromise was probably reached where I would be given the information and then whether or not I passed it on would determine policy for all. The anti-Nazis bet that I would. I failed them. I didn't want to seem paranoid, so I discounted the conversations with Brother-in-law.