(actually, this is how I felt yesterday morning, but I’ve brought it forward so that no one can claim not to understand where I’m coming from – RB)
I really hope that McCain chooses Lieberman, that the McCain-Lieberman ticket wins the next US presidential election, and that under their guidance the USAF proceeds to treat the entire planet exactly as it would if it was an alien invasion fleet subjugating another planet by massive nuclear force, in order to exterminate the majority of its inhabitants, enslave the remainder or use them for biological experiments, extract the remaining resources such as water for use elsewhere in the cosmos, and all the other things your ‘science fiction’ has taught you to expect from aliens. Then you’ll all be sorry, and it will be too damn late.
You know what? All I ever looked for on this planet was someone, or something, to love—someone or something that would love me back. Having never had or known a family, I had to create my own gender role from scratch—not very easy in an English Public School, where the prefects cane the new boys for fun, as illustrated in Lindsay Anderson’s 1968 film, “If”. Nor did I ever acquire a girl friend, let alone a wife—though I was briefly utilised as a human prop during the onset of 1970s radical feminism, an experience that nearly led me to suicide. Nor do I have the faintest respect or affection for any aspect of Christianity, which for me is associated with playing the organ at my Preparatory School, the Freudian pun in that statement being intentional.
It so happens, though, that throughout my later childhood, my mother taught english literature at a rather upper middle class Jewish girls’ school in North London—and I lived with my mother in a tiny attic apartment nearby. Judaism, Jewish politics, Jewish writing, Jewish thought, Jewish girls, and even, on a non-sexual plane, Jewish men, attracted and intrigued, and continue to attract and intrigue me endlessly, but they drive me much further into despair than I would otherwise have imagined possible. My depth knowledge of Crowleyan occultism merely allows me to identify and label to some extent the processes which for modern Jews are omnipresent, consciously or unconsciously—spiritual terror and the death of the soul. So what shall I call myself? Perhaps another science fiction title will do, Harlan Ellison’s 1969 collection, “The Beast That Shouted Love At The Heart Of The World”.
I posted the whole of the above rant at Harlan’s own fan site.
Niqnaq 