As Above, So Below

As Above, So Below

".....KILL THE BABY! (Don't:)" <- anti-abortionist glitch
generalized through consciousness, individual and collective


It takes a ueber moench
to square out
the level itself.

Prequell to "Tabloid City" just released, must read.
Appearing at this time, w/ grizzly scribe himself, Pete Hammill, on Morning Joe this am (5.16.'11 a Monday), SQUARES THE PSYCHOHISTORICAL SITUATION created* by the Ob/s/ama conjunction of opposites (Mysterium Conjunctionis, w/ reversals).

As Above: upper triad -

America's Leader, BHO, cut the head off the snake, OBL, absorbs his psychic essence and disposes of the body at sea (according to the official version of 5.1.11 accepted by most people). This creates a collective psychic situation that blows your mind, when you stop to think about it. And since it has been repeated in situation rooms from CNN to the WH to Al Jazeera to NYC Talmudic print, that's a lot of blown mind. Not just a metaphor anymore. Oklahoma's Sen. Jim Inhofe has witnessed brains coming out the left eye hole, blown away from a bullet through the ear to complete the effect. Not something Ernie Pyle, WWII reporter for America. would probably have seen up close, even by Nazis. But those in the WH Situation Room did. My comment on the Monkey Survey question "Do You Think the photos should be released?" was "(yes) maybe it would help those who feel as if their heads have been blown off by the U.S. government feel better to see it actually happened to bin Laden." (<=that squares the unconscious dream-thought)

My argument elsewhere (sidthomas.blogspot.com) is that the symbolism of units comprised of conjunction of opposites with text-token reversal, (~S/S*)^, is exemplified by S* = Killing bin Laden, as a collective meme. It also provides a form, or grammatical structure, to analyze the symbolic content, as psychosemioitcs does. Taken together, S* defines a New Event in TokenSpace, referentially idexed to the date, 5.1.11; with Archetypal historical enactment of enemy-conquering and essence-devouring war chief ritual; arranged somehoiw (?) to come about in such a manner that way words, signs, pictures and dream-scenes combine (grammar, in its broadest sense) discloses to intellectual perception an entirely distinct and independent psychodynamic narrative playing out.

Consider the following: After blowing bin Laden's brains out for Posterity TV, the Big Scripster inked in "dump the body in the ocean." But The Ocean, the Deep Blue Sea, IS, for collective human consciousness, The Unconscious: scene of earliest millenia of evolutionary origins, reconstituted in fetal origins of experience by the placental sac of amniotic fluid.

(Don't!) KILL THE BABY! (2 layer unconscious/conscious thought defining the anti-abortionist psychosis. Substitution of "baby" for "fetus" for public records poisons (<-metaphor used for unsquared) discourse, and in a particular way. It 'translates backward' the feelings of mother for born child, as an accomplishment for both, as if the promise, or potential, were identical with completed totality and deserved equal consideration as a 'person'. It is very easy to entertain this linguistic substitution. After all, empathetic feelings of identification with contents of mammalian wombs, in general, are grounded in our human DNA. Depth-resonant 'recall' of pre-verbal consciousness, with self-love, is brought by "Don't Kill The Baby!". It is the cry of DON'T KILL ME!, beloved of Mother's nurture. But fetuses don't have mothers yet. What has not been appreciated in the psychosemiotic deconstruction of public discourse pertaining to abortion is the psychosis at the end of the tunnel created by redefining "baby" downward. The next step is identifying 'person', as opposed to 'potential person', as 'originting the moment of conception.' From another side, it's recognition supplies motivation for shooting abortion doctors as baby murderers. Still further, re-definiting fetuses as "the Unborn", mix-matched with "citizens" to get "Unborn citizens" as a politically available group-fantasy constituency, for those willing to concede delegate-cy. Such lowest level common denominator psychic processing occurs again in same sex marriage discourse, with sexual coupling reduced to physicality.

KILL BIN LADEN <=> KILL THE BABY

The operative word for America at the moment is "KILL". It associates through Unconscious Portals, with "The Christ" and "the Jew": "KILL THE CHRIST" and "KILL THE JEW". "Christ = (spiritualized) Jew" is the dyad*meme conjoined in The Bible, SQUARED in The New Testament by the narrative of Jesus as God's Son on earth, and what happened to Him for proclaiming it.

In the Apotheosis drama, winning consciousness after birth trauma travail, Leader (president, Obama) is the Fetal Hero, standing up to the Monstrous Poisonous Placenta for "us", children in Tiamat's womb. But, on the flip side of the token, "He" is also the Poisonous Placenta, aka by retrodefinition, the rapist-killer Father blocking the way to (Mother/Wife/Eve/Female Completion/life) of potential son-rival. The Leader* is a composite of the same duality of the unborn fetal-placental psyche: all mysterious-Powerful, Holy Wholly Other, on the textual side; helpless, tiny, undifferentiated collective entities like "us.". His trick, the grammar he must learn in order to play the Leader language-game, is: a. split off the Dark side of Otherness; b. project this dark side onto an external Enemy Archetype (deMause's 'dump' moment); c. attack, as in "KILL THE POISONED". a. b., c.: split dump, kill => the anti-pleasure principle Archetype. Eternal re-enactment of life developing from conception through birth to re-birth to reproduction , forever prevented from completing life's trajectory ('aborted'). Or: acting out completion of false trajectory as complete.

... So Below -- the Lower triad

Pete Hammill is a union of opposites, conjoining: A. Rich Man's pre-60's Tabloid New York , w/ b, mob-friendly City Street mentality reflected on P. 6 of the old NY POST, when it still reflected something of real life lived there. A "man among men", able to forge grammar for a narrative including all sectors of society, from The Street to Carenegie Hall via Yankee Stadium to Gracie Mansion, all in superb English American Tabloid style. Along with a few others, such as the I-Man Don Imus and George Carlin, one of the Real Deal definers of this mental strand. Class without sass, it might be put. He, and others of this genre, had already evolved beyond need to defend against put-downs. Reviews of his new novel "TABLOID CITY" relate that it is about a 28 yr old media whiz who has assumed control of an old newspaper and is taking it online, in effect dooming the Old Way it once communicated. (cf. Salon. The emergence of Hammill, the persona, with the message of transition from old-to-electronic-new tokens of TokenSpace, is the same process "doubled" on the Token side of consciousness, as identical with the process in the upper triad of Obama becoming Hero-sacrifice to Serpent God "doubling" the transition from snake-brain to mammalian mentality (reversed).

Surely, this is hard to swallow all at once. The "Double Double" transition I see is mediated through a third, the transition from "CITY" to "NATION". The content of the upper triad is Obama, as fetal hero, killing and consuming Osama, the split-off, projected Poisonous Placenta, blocking America's rebirth. The lower has Hammill, token of lower strand of the Old Above, handing that strand of Childless Fathers off to the New Below -- the generation of computer nerds, some of whom show signs of maturing autism. He is a master tokenist, constructing narrative to relate upper and lower registers of social discourse for the nation as a whole, which is awakening to its Ob/s/ama problem. This dyad is the Mix-opposite-ReMatch brought about by the blunder of burying Osama's body in the bosom of the sea, universal symbol of the Collective Unconscious. Hammill has re-entered the scene to tag us "TABLOID NATION", feasting on circuses and blood.

Hammill-yielding-torch-to-Zuckerman




http://www.kansascity.com/2011/05/11/2866370/a-grizzled-scribe-chases-his-last.html

"Tabloid City" by Pete Hamill; Little, Brown (278 pages, $26.99)
There's murder and mayhem in Pete Hamill's latest novel, "Tabloid City," but the real victim in his book is the print journalism that Hamill knows and loves so well. This ticking time bomb of a novel is about the end of a form of daily storytelling in which America's big cities are like small towns - their recognizable casts of characters, dramas and moral struggles playing out on a slightly bigger, more complex stage.
The book centers on the final publication night of the fictional New York World, the city's last afternoon newspaper. The ridiculously young publisher of the World, in his lack of wisdom, is turning the paper into a website.
"I'm being summoned to the palace by a twenty-eight-year-old. The dauphin. A kid who spent two summers here as an intern, couldn't get a fact straight," thinks Sam Briscoe, the World's 71-year-old veteran reporter who will quit when the new publisher tells him the news. Doesn't even have to think about it. Briscoe is a creature of the "world of paper itself, and ink, and trucks, and bundles dropped at newsstands. A world that is now shrinking. Under assault from digitalized artillery. The future? Yeah. The ... future."
This is not the book for readers who have spent the last decade saying that Web and print, blog and column can live happily together. Not that Briscoe is convinced anyone really cares if the paper goes the way of all flesh, "except the people who made the newspapers, the people he loved more than any others." But it's the world he's lived in, and wants to live in, until he dies.
Picture this night, the night of the novel, as a map of the city.
Hamill, the son of Irish immigrants, has been a New Yorker and a journalist all his life - a reporter for the New York Post, a columnist for the New York Herald Tribune and, briefly, the editor of the New York Post. Hamill moves around the city easily, with a great fondness reminiscent of the writing of Joseph Mitchell - the late New Yorker writer who is a sacred name at the intersection of New York journalism and literature.
Hamill populates his map with characters: men and women who work at the newspaper, homeless men, Islamic extremists, hedge fund swindlers, socialites, cleaning ladies. The map lights up with movement as Hamill's characters travel around New York, their lives intersecting in ways even they are unaware of.
Of course, this has been done before. Virginia Woolf's novel "Mrs. Dalloway" with the important personage in the back of a limousine driving through London while Clarissa Dalloway and Septimus Smith walk the city's streets on a collision course as the hour of Clarissa's dinner party approaches; or the characters in Jay McInerney's "Bright Lights, Big City," whose disparate lives are tied together by the tabloid story of the Coma Baby; or Tom Wolfe's novel "The Bonfire of the Vanities" in which rich and poor wind around each other in common desperation. In all of these remarkable, urban books, the web grows tighter and tighter around the characters; the density reaches a pitch, a final event.
Hamill's novel is woven through with references to great writers and reporters, such as E.E. Cummings and Martha Gellhorn, witnesses to this and other centuries in American life. Hamill's characters (reporters, policemen and painters) have inherited a commitment to telling other people's stories, depicting other lives. The smell of the city room is not lost on the young reporter, Bobby Fonseca, as he bleakly contemplates his future. The road to Web world seems thin and wobbly by comparison, altogether less interesting than the disappearing universe of "Tabloid City."
There are many plotlines, and Hamill fishes with them all, but it is the story of the policeman searching for his long-lost son that drives the novel forward.
"What always happens at the end is death," Briscoe thinks, and he has reason to believe it. One by one, too many of the characters are murdered, commit suicide or die in car crashes - senseless deaths, every one.
The angry veteran from the war in Iraq who has lost his legs (and his wife and child) wants revenge, the suicide bomber with nothing left to lose wants to cleanse the world of sin, the cokehead in the BMW is on a path of self-destruction only he can understand. Briscoe and Helen Loomis and Fonseca have given their lives to tell these stories.
"Going to work where every single day it was something new," Fonseca recalls to his father, "some new story, where I could learn about people, and sudden death, and human pain. Not reading about them. Seeing them. Then telling their stories. I tried to explain to him, Dad, I don't want to be rich, I don't want to be famous, I want to be good. And he said, Why can't you be good at something like banking?"
Susan Salter Reynolds is a Los Angeles writer.


Read more: http://www.kansascity.com/2011/05/11/2866370/a-grizzled-scribe-chases-his-last.html#ixzz1MWQqtIgz