January 13, 2018

by Doug “Uncola” Lynn:

I had lunch with a friend the other day and he called the mainstream media the “sunshine media” because they are shedding light on all of Trump’s dark deeds with Russia. Not kidding. As I persuasively tried to red-pill him regarding Robert Mueller, Rod Rosenstein, Uranium One, the DNC/Clinton/Fusion GPS fake Russian dossier, Obama’s weaponization of the DoJ and FBI against a presidential candidate, FISA warrants and Susan Rice’s felonious unmasking of American citizens illicitly surveilled – I saw a look of confused pity enter his eyes. He thought I was crazy.

In retrospect, I was acting, perhaps, a little… shall we say… passionate on these topics. I also realize one of the reasons people get upset when discussing politics and the reporting by the mainstream media, is because no one wants their friends to get fooled.  But on the way home I started to wonder:

“How can one convince someone else they are NOT crazy?”

After lunch, I read a humorous story on a blog with the word “cuckoo’s nest” in the title and it made me think of the 25th Amendment positioning by Trump’s political opponents; both kind of funny and kind of tragic.  Kind of like Ken Kesey’s 1962 novel, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”, which was later made into a 1975 film of the same name. The book remains one of my personal favorites and the Academy Award winning movie is widely considered to be one of the best motion pictures ever made; ranking #33 in the American Film Institute’s top 100 films.

When I read Cuckoo’s Nest in high school I was so impressed that I wanted to learn more about the author. I was fascinated by Kesey, a one-time champion wrestler who later became an icon of the 1960s counterculture. I identified with Kesey as a wrestler although, at the time, I arrogantly considered his home state of Oregon to represent more of a civil war reenactor or national-guard-type level of wrestling; compared to my own Midwestern state, which ranked nothing less than the Green Beret, Navy Seal, or recon-Marine standard of matsmanship.

Then, in college, I also read “The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test”.

But I digress.

In the story of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Kesey narrates the account through the mind of Chief Bromden, a 6 foot, 7-8 inch tall Native American who is locked up in a mental health sanatorium for schizophrenia. Chief Bromden chronicles the mischievous shenanigans and legendary downfall of a footloose rogue by the name of Randle Patrick McMurphy, another inmate in the asylum who was later immortalized in the film version by actor Jack Nicholson.

McMurphy’s female antagonist in the tragic tale is a matriarchal, ball-busting, control-freak named Nurse Ratched, and the combative conflict between these two characters play out, allegorically, as masculine virility wilting before a maternally mechanized systemization of power. Chief Bromden identified the system as the Combine.

Like a school bus dropping off a load of uniformed children, the Combine reaps from fields of orthodoxies while dispatching the unruly chaff into insane asylums where the human debris is then threshed by the likes of Nurse Ratchet via methods including electroshock therapy and even lobotomies.

In many ways One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is more than a fictional story; more than an allegory. It has proven prophetic. It is the story of the Divided States of America; an asylum imprisoning subjects suffering under the final stages of Cultural Marxist Dementia and secured by a police state enforcing a twisted type of morality designed to make the inmates progressively and increasingly loony.  In a deranged world turned inside-out, the sane ones are labeled insane.

 

 

Kesey’s novel delineates the epic contest between individual autonomy versus the Feminine Authoritarianism of Matriarchal Tyranny. Stated another way, the story describes the warlike enmity between independent, masculine sovereignty and mother knows best. McMurphy sees how Nurse Ratched’s institutionalized control is designed to consolidate her power more than help her patients. She encouraged the inmates to snoop and snitch on one-another in ways like what forced Edward Snowden to seek asylum in Russia.

In a world where jocularity and machismo is not only discouraged, but forcibly renounced, McMurphy helps the formerly mute Chief Bromden to conquer his fearful, emotional paralysis by first cultivating his courage to speak. Furthermore, McMurphy challenges the condescending, intractable, and forced civility of others by goading them on with wild antics and crazy non-sequitors to confound them.  At one point he dominates a game of Monopoly by his unpredictable, iconoclastic heterodoxy. McMurphy wins. The others lose.  He teaches the patients that trying is better than not trying.  Is he rebellious? Is he an emancipator?

How can someone convince others they are not crazy?  How can anyone inform the herd they are moving toward the slaughterhouse without appearing insane in the process?

When talking to my “sunshine-media” cheerleading friend the other day I was reminded of the way I have felt for many years now.  One way I can describe it is to reference Ken’s Kesey’s, and Jack Nicholson’s, portrayal of Randle McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. 

Another cinematic example would include Sarah Connor in the “Terminator” series.

In “Terminator II”, Connor (who is portrayed by actress Linda Hamilton), envisioned the inevitable future.  It was a world overtaken by machines. The future was inescapable because it had already happened; although her vision took place in the past. You just have to see the movie(s). But it looked like this:

 

 

Seeing that would make anyone kind of passionate when warning others, would it not?  But, when she tried to explain this to those who did not believe her, she came across the way I did with my friend at lunch. He appeared as if he was watching a screen version of me not unlike this:

 

 

Whether Trump is controlled opposition, like a Lady Liberty -style judas goat who is drawing out the Deplorables for the globalists to one day lobotomize by the heel of Nurse Ratchet’s jackboot; or whether Trump is the real McMurphy taking on the institution, the demographic sanity, or rationality, of the incarcerated is already long gone.  War cometh and economic collapse is certain. How do you suppose the orderlies will keep the peace if not by weaponized technology and surveillance? How can the inmates resist that kind of superior force with spit-wads, pea-shooters, and tin-foil adorned bicycle helmets?

When it all goes really crazy, what will bind us together?

In a police state it is either submission, or death, by storm-trooper, drone, bomb, or robot. When staring into oblivion, what difference does it make?

These are just a few of the questions I wonder about sometimes, as I lay in my bed and stare at my ceiling; seeing the shimmering, silent shadows in the still of the night.

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