Black Daisies for Lorrie Millington (Or One Flew Over the Duck's Nest)

Image via highroydshospital.com

 

"I remember nights when we were young / They weren't very good they were rubbish   

Running round Highroyds isn't fun / Just teenagers testing their courage" [1] 

 

 

I.

 

Exactly 134 years ago today - the 8th of October, 1888 - High Royds Hospital was opened on the 300-acre estate that had been purchased three years earlier just south of the village of Menston, in West Yorkshire, approximately 11 miles from Leeds. 

 

The large stone complex, designed by J. Vickers Edwards in the High Gothic style that many Victorian architects favoured, was built to house those individuals who had the misfortune to be both poor and insane - as indicated by its original name of the West Riding Pauper Lunatic Asylum. 

 

High Royds was intended to be a self-contained and self-sufficient community; there were in-house butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers and there was also a cobbler's workshop, a dairy, and a farm-cum-market garden. 

 

Patients were expected - if able - to earn their own keep by providing labour, either on the farm, in the kitchens, or in the laundry room. They were also encouraged to learn various handicrafts, such as basket weaving, or make use of the extensive library.

 

In other words, it was the sort of place that Michel Foucault writes of in Madness and Civilization, his classic study of insanity in the Age of Reason [2]. And it was to become the sort of place that depraved sexual predator Jimmy Saville loved to visit [3]. 

 

The administration building, which is now Grade II listed, features a beautiful Italian mosaic floor in the main corridor, intricately decorated with the white Yorkshire Rose and - somewhat macabrely - black daisies [4].  

 

 

II.

 

Some of you might be asking at this point what any of this has to do with me ... 

 

Well, it just so happens, that I spent some time at High Royds in 1984 - not as a patient (fortunately), but as a visitor to my quasi-girlfriend Lorrie Millington [5], who was, unfortunately, confined there for two-and-a-half months.   

 

Anyway, for those who are interested, here are excerpts from several diary entries written at the time:

 

 

Monday 30 January, 1984

 

Received a letter from Lorrie. It turns out the reason I hadn't heard from or seen her around town lately is because she's been banged up in a mental hospital for the past three weeks! Happily, she says she's recovering, but still has to take a lot of pills (for epilepsy and various other things). 

      In the evening, I telephoned the hospital - High Royds - and asked to speak to her. After some initial confusion - it turns out her surname is Gatford, not Millington - they put her on the line. It was great to hear her voice and she sounded well. I think she was happy to hear from me, too; asked if I would visit her tomorrow and I agreed. I do hope she's going to be okay and can get out of the hospital soon. Very much looking forward to seeing her. 

 

Tuesday 31 January, 1984    

 

Having agreed to get to the hospital at 6-ish, I was obliged to skip yet another lecture.

      Bought some tulips for Lorrie en route; no idea if that's appropriate when visiting a patient in an asylum, but surely no one can object to flowers -? They might make you sneeze if you're allergic to pollen, I suppose, but unlikely to trigger a psychotic episode (though, having said that, one thinks of Vincent and his sunflowers). Just to be on the safe side, also got her some chocolates (After Eights). 

      The 731 bus took me straight to High Royds. Forbidding place - it took me ten minutes to find the entrance (and another five minutes to find the courage to pass through it). Couldn't help wondering how easy it would be to escape if ever confined in such an institution. Inside there were patients and staff wandering around - not sure who made me feel the most uneasy. 

      Found Lorrie - and she looked well, though very different with her natural hair colour. She didn't approve of the fact I'd recently dyed my hair orange, but she did appreciate the flowers and chocolates. Drank tea and chatted for three hours. She has such a lovely voice and soft accent; find it very sexy. Funny enough, she was probably more coherent than I've ever known her. Maybe we should all have a stay at a happy house! Kissed her goodbye and agreed to visit again soon.    

        

Thursday 2 February, 1984

 

Back to High Royds. Found Lorrie sitting with Keith, one of the people she shares a house with [6]. He's okay, but a bit quiet and uninspiring; always dressed in all black and likes indie music. Don't think he appreciated my being there, but fuck 'im, as they say; he's not her boyfriend after all ...? 

      Lorrie looked good, but was far more manic this evening. Before leaving, she insisted that I take some photos of her - and made Keith take one of me and her together. As well as the pics, I also took a greatest hits album by Rolf Harris that was lying around the recreation room. When I got home, sat playing that until after midnight ... 'Two Little Boys', 'Tie Me Kangaroo Down', 'Jake the Peg', etc. Not sure these are the kind of songs that assist with mental well being, so convinced myself I had done a good thing by stealing it from the hospital.                

 

Tuesday 7 February, 1984 

 

On an absolutely freezing evening, made my way once more to High Royds. Keith was there again, but soon left. I respect the fact that he visits Lorrie regularly (maybe he is her boyfriend).

      Lorrie was in a bad mood, but insisted on going to a disco event that was being held for patients. That was certainly an experience - literally a lunatics ball! Deeply disturbing, although it made Lorrie laugh when someone came up to me and made violent stabbing gestures in my direction with both fists. A member of staff assured me that he was only doing the monster mash!

      Back on the ward, Lorrie was much more loving. She's desperate to leave the hospital now and I don't blame her. But I'm not confident they'll discharge her at the end of this week as she hopes; experience has taught me to never trust what doctors say. Went home feeling depressed and - as much as I want to continue seeing and supporting Miss Millington - not sure I can face going back to High Royds [7].   

 

High Royds Hospital (2 Feb 1984)

Notes

 

[1] These lines form the first verse of the song 'Highroyds' by the Kaiser Chiefs, an indie rock band from Leeds. The track can be found on the album Yours Truly, Angry Mob, (B-Unique Records, 2007). Three members of the group - Nick Hodgson, Nick Baines and Simon Rix - used to attend a school that was opposite High Royds Hospital. The lyrics, written by Ricky Wilson and Andrew White, are © Universal Music Publishing Group. Click here to play.

 

[2] This work - translated into an abridged English edition by Richard Howard in 1964 - was originally published as Folie et Déraison: Histoire de la folie à l'âge classique in 1961. 

      Foucault traces the rise of the modern asylum in which those designated as crazy are confined under the supervision of medical professionals, so as to be studied and subjected to therapeutic procedures in an attempt to cure them of their illness (whilst also protecting the society from which they were removed).

      Although seemingly more enlightened and compassionate in the clinical treatment of insane people, Foucault shows how the modern mental hospital nevertheless remained as cruel and controlling as any other institution established and run on similar lines - be it a boarding school, a workhouse, or a prison.  

 

[3] The official report into the Saville case reveals that he did in fact commit an act of sexual assault at High Royds Hospital in the 1980s, during a fancy dress fun run. It has also been alleged that he groped patients and members of staff on other occasions.

 

[4] These fleurs du mal provided inspiration for the title of Tony Harrison's 1993 screenplay Black Daisies for the Bride - a beautiful but disturbing work using verse and song to examine the lives of three women coping with Alzheimer's. The work was filmed in High Royds (dir. Peter Symes) and shown on BBC Two in 1994: click here to watch on YouTube via the High Royds Hospital digital archive.       

[5] I have written of Lorraine Millington (aka Lori Gatford) several times on Torpedo the Ark; see here, for example, or, more recently, here. 

 

[6] Keith Gregory went on to become the bass guitarist in The Wedding Present, a band he formed with vocalist and guitarist Dave Gedge in 1985 and who I tried (unsuccessfully) to get signed to Charisma Records (I was informed their jangly guitar sound was passé ... the band, however, went on to have 18 Top 40 hits).    

 

[7] As a matter of fact, I made three more visits to see Lorrie at the hospital - Tuesday 14 February, Thursday 1 March, and Thursday 15 March - before she was finally discharged on Monday 19th of March, 1984. 

 

 

High Royds Hospital 

(as I still see it in my nightmares)

       

 

Afternote: Readers might be interested to know that, following numerous complaints about conditions at the hospital, High Royds was eventually deemed unfit for purpose (i.e., no longer  able to provide proper care); this was acknowledged by the chief executive of Leeds Mental Health in 1999. After services were transferred to other hospitals, High Royds closed in 2003. It has since been converted into a residential development called Chevin Park.

 

 

Snapshots from 1983 (Featuring Johnny Rotten, Billy Bragg and Lorrie Millington)

Johnny Rotten and Billy Bragg (28 October 1983)

 

 

I. 

 

Despite the cynical brilliance of 'This Is Not a Love Song' [1], it's probably fair to say that I listened more to Killing Joke and the Dead Kennedys in 1983 than to Public Image Ltd., and that Jaz Coleman and Jello Biafra suddenly seemed more interesting characters than Johnny Rotten.

 

Nevertheless, when PiL played live on The Tube [2] in October 1983, I felt obliged to watch out of love and loyalty for all that Rotten had meant to me:

 

"PiL opened their short set with 'This Is Not a Love Song' and closed it with 'Flowers of Romance'. In between, they offered a kind of honky-tonk version of 'Anarchy in the UK'. 

      Rotten lived up to his name and probably deserved to be booed or bottled off stage. But very funny as he patted the front row punks on their spiky heads and even spat for the camera. Whilst he made little effort to actually perform, it was hard to tell if his apathy (and professed sickness) was real or just part of the act. Ultimately, this is more punk cabaret than punk rock and Rotten seems only too aware that the gig is up and his day is almost over. Nevertheless, he still looked good and I want that electric blue raincoat he was wearing!" [3] 

 

 

II. 

 

Nine days later, and I went to see my pal Billy Bragg playing at a tiny club in the centre of Leeds: 

 

"Arrived at Tiffany's. My name was supposed to be on the door, but wasn't, so had to talk my way in by insisting I was from a London record company; I think they call this blagging. 

      Once inside and having got a drink from the bar, I went to say hello to Billy pre-set. He seemed genuinely pleased to see me and insisted I give him my new address so that he could send me a copy of photo he had taken up in Newcastle when he and Rotten were guesting on The Tube [4]. He also filled me in on the latest Charisma gossip and news of Lee Ellen [5].

      Unfortunately, Billy's set didn't go smoothly - he managed to twice break strings on his guitar. Fortunately, the small crowd (and it was very small) were clearly fans and so supportive; they requested (and were given) autographs after the show. So much for punk doing away with the idea of stars! But then Billy isn't really a punk, more a Clash-influenced folk singer. Hard not to like him though - he's always been friendly to me (and he's a fellow Essex boy)." [6]    

           

 

III.

 

Twelve days after this, having missed the chance to see them at the Rainbow on Boxing Day in 1978, I thought I would take the opportunity to finally see Public Image Limited play live (at Leeds University) - though it would again require talking my way into the gig, as I didn't have a ticket and Lee Ellen insisted there was no guest list: 

"Decided to go to the Faversham [7] for a drink prior to the gig. To my delight, Lorrie [8] walked in soon after I arrived, looking fabulously sexy in black leather trousers, a big black jumper, and dark glasses. Amazing hair and make-up too. We sat down and she popped some pills given to her, she said, by her doctor. 

      It was decided that, rather than wait for the people she was supposed to be meeting, she'd come with me to the PiL gig. As we were leaving, who should walk in but Miss Hall [9]. She appeared not to see me, however. But then she's so far up herself these days, that's not surprising.

      Managed to get myself and L. into gig without any problem, despite not having tickets; I told the people on the door I was Malcolm McLaren and that Lorrie was Vivienne Westwood. If you're going to lie or bluff then it's always best to lie big and bluff with confidence. People might still know you're bullshitting them, but they'll admire your audacity (that's the theory anyway).

      The support band weren't bad; the singer was young and had style as well as energy. As for PiL, well, it was great to hear songs with which one is so familiar played live - 'Low Life', 'Memories', 'Poptones', 'Chant', and - of course - 'Public Image' (with which they opened). Rotten looked great too; young and still amazingly charismatic. He told those who spat that they were out of date. The band finished with 'Anarchy in the UK'. The crowd went wild, but I just stepped aside and felt a bit sad to be honest.

      'If you want more, you'll have to beg', said Rotten. And they did. So they got a two-song encore consisting of 'This is Not a Love Song' and 'Attack'. And that was that. If Rotten left the stage with gob in his hair, I couldn't help feeling that the audience left with collective (metaphorical) egg on face. As I said after his appearance on The Tube, Rotten is offering us punk cabaret now (or even punk pantomime) - particularly with his jokey cover version of 'Anarchy'. But then perhaps he always was ...

      Shared some chips with Lorrie afterwards and said our goodnights. She agreed to come over on Sunday. She's a strange girl, but I like her a lot. Duck! Duck! Duck!" [10]              

 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The single 'This Is Not a Love Song was released by Public Image Limited in 1983: click here to listen and watch the official video on YouTube.

      The song became the band's biggest commercial hit, peaking at No. 5 in the UK Singles Chart. A live version can be found on the album Live in Tokyo (Virgin Records, 1983) and a re-recorded version on the band's fourth studio album This Is What You Want... This Is What You Get (Virgin Records, 1984).

 

[2] The Tube was a live music show broadcast from a studio in Newcastle, which ran for five years on Channel 4 (from November 1982 to April 1987). In that time it featured many bands and a host of presenters, including, most famously, Jools Holland and Paula Yates.

 

[3] Entry from the Von Hell Diaries (Friday 28 October, 1983). To watch PiL's three-song performance on The Tube, click here.

 

[4] Billy did, in fact, send me the photo and it's reproduced at the top of this post. I hadn't known he was also on The Tube the same night as Rotten - had only seen the latter's performance.     

 

[5] Charisma Records was an independent label based at 90, Wardour Street, above the Marquee Club. Charisma marketed Billy's first release, a seven track mini-album entitled Life's a Riot With Spy Versus Spy (Utility, 1983). Perhaps the best-known track - 'A New England' - can be played (in a newly remastered version) by clicking here. 

      Lee Ellen Newman was the Charisma Press Officer whom I adored then and still adore now.   

 

[6] Entry from the Von Hell Diaries (Sunday 6 November, 1983).

 

[7] The Faversham is a well known venue in Leeds (est. in 1947). In the 1980s it was a popular place for punks, goths and students to meet or hang out.  

 

[8] Lorrie Millington - artist-model-dancer-writer and a well-known face on the Leeds scene at the time. I have written about her in several earlier posts; see here, for example.   

 

[9] Gillian Hall - ex-girlfriend; see the recently published post which included an extract from the Von Hell Diaries dated 3 October 1982: click here.  

 

[10] Entry from the Von Hell Diaries (Friday 18 November, 1983). It might be noted that the last line refers to the fact that Duck was my pet name for Lorrie (because she danced like one). The photo of myself and Miss Millington was taken shortly after events discussed here.

 

 

Being is Time: Life in the Present Perfect Continuous

Image credit: UCLA / Horvath Lab

 

Somewhat paradoxically, whilst having a minimal sense of self on the one hand, I've always possessed a strong sense of self-continuity through time on the other, and have never really bought into the Shakespearean idea of there being seven distinct ages into which a single life might be neatly divided up [1].

 

Thus, when someone asked in relation to a recent post adapted from the Von Hell Diaries [click here] whether it made me sad to realise that forty years had passed since the events described on 3 October 1982 - or frightened to think that I would soon be passing from middle age to old age - I had to say no, not really.

 

For like Jaz Coleman, time means nothing to me, and whether something happened forty years ago or yesterday, it's all the same to me [2]. I am that unity of past, present and future. That is to say, I understand time not just as something that can be measured by the ticking of a clock, but as fundamental to our being. Indeed, one might even say that being is time.     

 

And unlike the Killing Joke frontman, I don't even have to shut my eyes in order to remember childhood thoughts and feelings; for I still think those thoughts and experience those feelings. In other words, because I live in what might be termed by a grammarian as the present perfect continuous, I've no need to make an imaginative journey back in time, or to dream.      

 

But aren't you worried that you're just stuck in the past?, asks the same interrogator.

 

Again, the answer is not really. 

 

In fact, I'm more concerned - as a philosopher - with the consequences of privileging the present [3] and having a vulgar conception of time in which the past is denigrated as that which we must move on from and leave behind, as if no longer important, when, in fact, not only does the past inform the present, but it awaits us in the future too [4].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I'm thinking here of the famous monologue in Act II, Scene VII of Shakespeare's pastoral comedy As You Like It (1623) which opens with the line "All the world's a stage". However, I'm aware of the fact that this division of human life into a series of stages was a commonplace of art and literature and not something invented by the Bard of Avon. Whilst ancient authors tended to think in terms of three or four such stages, medieval writers liked to think in terms of seven for theological reasons.   

 

[2] I'm quoting from the Killing Joke song 'Slipstream', from the album Extremities, Dirt and Various Repressed Emotions, (Noise Records, 1990): click here. The track was written by Jaz Coleman, Geordie Walker and Martin Atkins. Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.

 

[3] I am increasingly sympathetic to thinkers such as Heidegger and Derrida who are concerned that the understanding of Being in the metaphysical tradition is dominated by an ontological primacy of the present; i.e., that the present is viewed as more real or immediate than the past or future, with the former seen as merely the 'no-longer-now' and the latter as merely the 'not-yet-now'. 

      This tradition has run all the way from Aristotle to Hegel and beyond; see, for example, Lawrence's 1919 Preface to his New Poems (1918), in which he writes of the incarnate Now as supreme over and above the before and after and of the quivering present as the very quick of Time. For Lawrence, the past and future are mere abstractions from the present; a crystallised remembrance and a crystallised aspiration.

      Lawrence's preface can be found as Appendix I to The Poems, Vol. I, ed. Christopher Pollnitz, (Cambridge University Press, 2013), pp. 645-649.      

 

[4] I think Heidegger refers to this ontological baggage in Being and Time (1927) as Gewesenheit (i.e., our been-ness).

 

 

The Von Hell Diaries: 3 October 1982

Jazz and Kirk from the Pandemonium Series 

by Gillian Hall (October 1982)

 

 

Between 1980-89, I faithfully kept a diary; a full page of A4 written every day for ten years. 

 

The entry below - written exactly forty years ago - has been slightly edited for the purposes of this post, but it still gives a good indication of my life at this time; the friends, the feelings, the music, the late-night snacks, etc.   

 

Sunday 3 October 1982

 

Woke up at midday, which is pretty late even by my standards, but I had been up until 4am talking with Kirk [1] and eating cheese on toast after we got home from another Saturday spent dancing the night away at the Phono [2]. Told Kirk I didn't think much of his new sidekick Jim, a first year student to whom punk is simply an escapist bit of fun. Eventually, of course, K. will tire of J. and we needn't have him tagging along and following us around. 

      After breakfast, I chatted with Hess [3], whom I do like, despite the fact he's a Stranglers fan. Thought about doing some work, but listened to the Buzzcocks instead. Then Gillian [4] came over looking awful - as if she had flu or something. Decided to go back to her place. Things still tense between us following our bust-up over her ex-boyfriend Rick. When Kirk came over later on he and Gill spoke about their paranormal experiences, whilst I sat in sceptical (almost scornful) silence. Gill then decided she wanted to try out a new camera, so Kirk and I posed on the wasteland at the back of Pandemonium [5], watched by stray dogs and laughed at by the local children. 

      Gill went home. Kirk and I then discovered we were locked out. Fortunately, he was able to climb up a drain pipe and get in to the house through an upstairs window. Later, I returned to Gill's. As her room still smelt of Rick, I insisted on spraying an air freshner, which didn't amuse her. I think we both realised that things were over between us; she expressed her hope we could still be friends (and perhaps part-time lovers) [6].

      Went home with tears in my eyes and sought solace in music and sleep (after yet another slice of cheese on toast; you have to eat, even with a broken heart).  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Kirk Field was my closest friend and partner in crime throughout my student years in Leeds; see the posts entitled 'Punk Friends Reunited' (9 April 2019) and 'Autobiographical Fragment: This is the Nine O'Clock News from the BBC' (20 August 2020). 

[2] Le Phonographique - or the Phono, as it was known - was a punky-gothic nightclub located underneath the Merrion Centre in Leeds, frequented by an assortment of spiky-haired youths who liked to dress in black and go heavy with the eyeliner. I spent many happy nights there in the period 1981-84 and it was where I met the artist, model, dancer and writer Lorrie Millington: click here.     

 

[3] Mark Morris was nicknamed Hess, after Rudolf Hess, not due to any Nazi sympathies, but because he had a tiny room resembling a prison cell in the house he shared with me, Kirk, and a hippie from Cambridge called Jonathan Ashman.

 

[4] Gillian Hall, girlfriend (1981-82): see the posts 'To Hull and Back (In Memory of Gillian Hall)' (28 March 2022) and 'The Bats Have Left the Bell Tower: Reflections on Graveyard Poetry and Post-Punk Goth' (10 March 2021); the photo credited to Kirk Field is of myself and Miss Hall staging a tender moment.

 

[5] Pandemonium was the name given to the large Victorian house in Kirkstall, Leeds, that Kirk, Hess, Jonathan Ashman and myself shared from the autumn of 1982 until the summer of 1983. The front door of the house had a brass knocker in the form of a goblin - intended to signify Kirk's love of magic mushrooms - and above that a golden cupid wearing a blindfold, indicating it was a house of ill repute (in our imagination at least). 

      One of the (now faded) photos of myself and Kirk taken by Gillian is reproduced at the top of this post.

 

[6] What would now be known, of course, as a friend with benefits - a term first used by Alanis Morissette in her song 'Head Over Feet' (1995).      

And from the soundtrack of my life, here's a track by the Buzzcocks which pretty much sums up how I was feeling in October 1982 thanks to the detriorating relationship with Gillian: 'Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've)' ... Click here to watch them performing the single on Top of the Pops (September 1978) - two-and-a-half minutes of punk-pop genius.

On the Rise and Fall of Because

Image adapted from the sleeve to the Killing Joke album 

What's THIS for ...! (E.G. / Polydor Records, 1981) [1]

 

"He shall fall down into the pit called Because,

and there he shall perish with the dogs of Reason." [2]

 

 

I. 

 

Although the Age of Reason didn't really establish itself until a few hundred years later, it was already assembling its vocabulary in the late 14th-century, including that crucial term because, which enters into English at this date modelled on the French phrase par cause. 

 

It's one of those words that people who love the abstract concept of causality - i.e., the capacity of a to determine b - often use to close down further discussion: There's no point arguing because the facts clearly demonstrate ... 

 

Because is thus the ultimate explanation - the metaphysical answer to the equally metaphysical question why? - and it has become implicit in the logic and structure of everyday language. Indeed, one might even, like Nietzsche, suggest that it betrays the presence of God within language ... [3]

 

 

II.

 

However, those of us who have long been anticipating the fall of because - by which we mean the overcoming of metaphysics, rather than the abolition of reason - are amused by a recent development in the English speaking world that has got some grammar nazis upset ... 

 

For it seems that because is now being used in an ironic manner by the young to convey a certain vagueness about the exact reasons for anything. Thus, whereas traditionally, because is a subordinating conjunction which connects two parts of a sentence in which one (the subordinate) explains the other, now it's being used as a preposition (i.e. placed before nouns, verbs, adjectives, and interjections). 

 

And this new usage, not yet widespread but increasingly common - because social media - in some sense subverts the word's old grammatical function and authority, exposing the fact that we realise there's nothing we can really refer back to as a causal agent or fixed and final explanation of the world's chaos and mystery; i.e., that we know our rationale is often - like God - just a linguistic fiction that we hold on to because convenient and because comforting [4].   

 

As Megan Garber writes in The Atlantic, the word because hasn't fallen so much as exploded; it can now be used however the speaker chooses to use it, limited only by the confines of their own imagination: "So we get [...] people using 'because' not just to explain, but also to criticize, and sensationalize, and ironize [...]" [5]

 

 

 

III.     

 

So, what does all this signify exactly? That we're living in a post-Nietzschean (and post-Derridean) universe? Or that the Aeon of Horus has arrived as Aleister Crowley announced? 

Possibly. 

 

Or it could just mean that a generation who have grown up texting and tweeting are so lazy (and self-absorbed) that they can't be bothered to finish their thoughts and sentences, or waste time providing long and complex explanations: because emoji and the will to abbreviate ...?   

 

Notes

 

[1] The Killing Joke album What's THIS for ...! (1981) is one of the great post-punk albums and the opening track of Side A - 'The Fall of Because' - is a personal favourite. I'm assuming they took the title of the song from a line by Aleister Crowley (see note 2 below). Click here to listen to the 2005 digitally remastered version provided to YouTube by Universal Music Group.    

 

[2] Aleister Crowley, The Book of the Law (1909), II. 27. See also III. 20, where Crowley actually uses the phrase 'fall of because'.

      For those who don't know, this work - often referred to by enthusiasts with the Classical Latin title Liber AL vel Legis - is the central sacred text of Crowley's new religion (Thelema). According to Crowley, it was dictated to him by a supernatural being who called himself Aiwass, speaking through his new wife, Rose Edith Kelly, during their honeymoon in Egypt, in 1904. 

      With publication of this text, Crowley announced the arrival of a new phase in the spiritual evolution of mankind, to be known as the Aeon of Horus. The key teaching of the book - and this new age - is: Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law, meaning that adherents of Thelema should seek out and follow their own singular path in life (like a star). 

      As for what Crowley means by the fall of because, I suspect he's simply indicating that the Age of Horus is post-Enlightenment and thus open to the possibility that there are more things in heaven and earth than are understood within the framework of modern science, or Western reason.       

 

[3] See Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, where he famously writes in the chapter entitled 'Reason in Philosophy' (5): "I fear we are not getting rid of God because we still believe in grammar ..."

       For Nietzsche, our faith in causal relationships (as a form of agency) is based upon a number of mistaken beliefs and correcting these four great errors will play a significant part in what he terms the revaluation of all values. 

      The reason, says Nietzsche, that we like to think events have causes (and actions have actors behind them), is because it's reassuring. Further, to trace something unknown (and thus threatening) back to something we can explain and make familiar is empowering. Essentially, we look to find ourselves in everything (even in God). See the chapter entitled 'The Four Great Errors', in Twilight of the Idols.   

   

[4] See note 3 above.

 

[5] Megan Garber, 'English Has a New Preposition, Because Internet', The Atlantic (19 Nov 2013): click here to read online. Readers interested in this topic might also like the post entitled 'Because and effect' (21 July 2014) by Patricia T. O'Conner and Stewart Kellerman on their Grammarphobia blog: click here.

 

 

Feed the World

New sign erected at a local equestrian centre; the exclamation mark 

detracting from the politness of the request. 

(Image: SA/2022)

 

 

I. 

 

What has the world come to when you can't feed the local ducks some breadcrumbs, or give the horses that live nearby some sugar lumps? 

 

How are children going to learn to care for animals and understand they have a duty towards them if they can't physically interact, but simply observe from a distance or from behind a barbed wire fence? 

 

 

II. 

 

I'm aware of the argument that feeding the ducks bread - something that has been enjoyed by young and old alike for generations - may have negative health implications for the birds and, apparently, pollute the water causing excess algae growth.

 

But I'm not convinced they'll live happier (or longer) lives by relying exclusively on natural food sources that they have to find for themselves. 

 

For it seems to me that every creature appreciates a treat now and then, or enjoys a free meal. And it also seems to me that birds, squirrels, horses, and even sticky-bun loving elephants at the zoo, all benefit from friendly interaction with human beings as much as we do with them.   

It's wrong to stifle the instinct of generosity and the will to share; particularly when this is said to be done for the recipient's own benefit. 

 

I suspect that the same kind of mean-spirited people who put up signs saying do not feed in relation to animals, also insist it's harmful to give money to the poor; such handouts only risk trapping them in a lifestyle of dependency.

 

We would do well to remember the words of Schopenhauer on this question: 

 

Kindness towards animals is so intimately associated with goodness of character, that it may be asserted with confidence that those who are mean to birds and beasts will also lack compassion and generosity for their fellow human beings.  

 

Ultimately, by feeding the animals you nourish your own soul.  

Life in Vein (With Reference to D. H. Lawrence's Undying Man)

Homunculus created by alchemy 

(from a 19th-century engraving for Goethe's Faust Pt. II)

 

 

I. 

 

Some readers may recall a post from May last year in which I reported on (what I believe to be) a vaccine induced blood clot in my lower right leg, but described on my medical record as superficial thromobophlebitis and said to be of unknown cause [1]. 

 

Sixteen months later, and my leg is still a mess and a consultant vascular surgeon has advised that due to long saphenous vein reflux and associated varicosities, I undergo either endovenous or open surgery to address the problem [2]. 

 

Funny enough, the first thing I thought of when told this was D. H. Lawrence's unfinished short story 'The Undying Man' [3] ...

 

 

II. 

 

Written in 1927, 'The Undying Man' is a reimagined version of a Jewish tale translated by his Russian friend S. S. Koteliansky [4]. In it, Lawrence toys with the idea of creating human life via a pre-scientific form of the technique we now term cloning. 

 

He opens his story thus:

 

"Long ago in Spain there were two very learned men, so clever and knowing so much that they were famous all over the world. One was called Rabbi Moses Maimonides, a Jew - blessed be his memory! - and the other was called Aristotle, a Christian who belonged to the Greeks.

      These two were great friends, because they had always studied together and found out many things together. At last after many years, they found out a thing they had been specially trying for. They discovered that if you took a tiny vein out of a man's body, and put it in a glass jar with certain leaves and plants, it would gradually begin to grow, and would grow and grow until it became a man [...] a fine man who would never die. He would be undying. Because he had never been born, he would never die, but live for ever and ever. Because the wisest men on earth had made him, and he didn't have to be born." [5]

 

Unfortunately, the donor of the tiny blood vessel will die as a result of the procedure. Nevertheless, Aristotle consents to the removal of a vein, having first made Maimonides promise that he will not obstruct or terminate the process once the vein has started to develop into a homunculus (i.e., a miniature but fully formed man) [6]:

 

"Aristotle asked Maimonides to take him by the hand and swear by their clasped hands that he would never interfere with the growth of the little vein, never at any time or in any way. Maimonides took him by the hand and swore. And then Aristotle had the little vein cut out of his body by Maimonides himself." [7]  

 

Maimonides places the little vein in the glass jar amongst the leaves and herbs. Having sealed the lid, he places the jar on a shelf in his room and waits:

"The days passed by, and he recited his prayers, pacing back and forth in his room among his books, and praying loudly as he paced, as the Jews do. Then he returned to his books and chemistry. But every day he looked at the jar, to see if the little vein had chaged." [8]

 

For a long time nothing happens. But then at last the vein begins to grow:

 

"Maimonides gazed at the jar transfixed, and forgot everything else in all the wide world; lost to all and everything he gazed into the jar. And at last he saw the tiniest, tiniest tremor in the little vein, and he knew it was a tremor of growth." [9] 

 

Soon, the little vein begins to glow red, "like the smallest ember of fire" [10]. Maimonides knew he was witnessing the spark of life itself, and he was afraid of what might be. For it seemed to him that this tiny red light glowed with an ungodly power - Fierce and strong! Fierce and strong! as he muttered to himself - rather than with divine goodness.   

 

Unable to sleep, Maimonides lies in bed "thinking of that little red light which alone of all light was not the light of God" [11] and fearful of what will happen when the undying man is fully grown ...

 

 

III. 

 

Unfortunately, Lawrence's manuscript ends here and so we don't find out what Maimonides decides to do; whether he keeps his word to Aristotle not to interfere with the development of the undying man, or whether he acts decisively to ensure the latter never leaves his jar.  

 

Fortunately, however, we do have the complete version of the story translated by Kot, and here we discover that, tormented by the thought that an immortal human being will be worshipped by the people as a living god, Maimonides allows his chickens to enter the room where the jar is stored, ensuring they knock it over by deliberately spooking the birds:

 

"Once the jar has crashed to the floor, however, the tiny creature points an accusatory finger at Maimonides for breaking his oath [...] and he spends the rest of his days praying for forgiveness." [12] 

 

That's a terrific ending, I think; one that is frightening, humorous, and realistic. Although Lawrence would doubtless have altered (and probably extended) it in his own unique manner, I'm confident he would have kept the accusatory finger (as I certainly would have).     

 

Finally, to return to where we began this post, I really rather hope that if I do have a vein removed from my leg it too is placed into a little glass container where it might grow into a new type of (transhuman) human being; one not born of a womb, and so soulless, sexless, and immortal ... For is this not the tragic destiny of mankind? [13]  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] This post can be read by clicking here.  

[2] Apparently, there is very little difference between the two types of surgery in terms of complications or risks. Whether a scalpel or laser is used, there's likely to be post-operative pain and discomfort as well as aesthetically displeasing lumps, bumps and bruises. And let's not mention the possibility of sensory nerve numbness in the leg and a 1-in-200 chance of a deep vein thrombosis. 

       So it's a big thank you to those who - whether with sincerity or cynicism - assured us all that the Covid-19 vaccines were extremely safe and effective, when, as we now know, they're neither. 

 

[3] D. H. Lawrence's 'The Undying Man' can be found as Appendix III to The Virgin and the Gipsy and Other Stories, ed. Michael Herbert, Bethan Jones and Lindeth Vasey, (Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 241-244.  

 

[4] Koteliansky published 'Maimonides and Aristotle' along with a second tale - 'The Salvation of a Soul' - in translation from the Yiddish as 'Two Jewish Stories' in London Mercury XXXVI (Feb 1937), pp. 362-70.

 

[5] D. H. Lawrence, 'The Undying Man', The Virgin and the Gipsy and Other Stories ... p. 241.

      This isn't as preposterous as it perhaps sounds; in 2013 it was announced that scientists in Japan had cloned a mouse from a single drop of blood collected from the tail of a donor subject. The cloned female mouse wasn't immortal, but she did live a normal lifespan and could sexually reproduce. And the donor mouse was also unharmed after the procedure (unlike poor Aristotle who dies).

 

[6] The Homunculus - a Latin term meaning 'little man' - was a popular idea in both 16th-century alchemy (Paracelsus is credited with the first use of the term) and 19th-century literature (see Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1818) and Part Two of Goethe's Faust (1832), for example). 

      As a concept, it has its roots in folklore and the pre-scientific theory of preformationism which taught that organisms develop from tiny versions of themselves. For Jung, the homunculus is a symbol of the inner man or, indeed, inner Christ (i.e., the divine aspect of human being).   

 

[7-10] D. H. Lawrence, 'The Undying Man, The Virgin and the Gipsy and Other Stories ... p. 242.

 

[11] Ibid., p. 243.

 

[12]  Editors' Introduction to The Virgin and the Gipsy and Other Stories ... p. xxxi.

 

[13] I'm referring here to Baudrillard's thinking in his essay 'The Final Solution, or The Revenge of the Immortals', which can be found in Impossible Exchange, trans. Chris Turner, (Verso, 2001), pp. 27-8. Long time readers (with good memories) may recall that I discuss Baudrillard's thoughts on cloning in a post published back in April 2013: click here.

       

 

Good Things Come in Small Packages: Notes on Microphilia with Reference to the Case of Tinker Bell

Very Sexy Tinkerbell by CreepingNinjas  

deviantart.com

"It was a girl called Tinker Bell, exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf, 

cut low and square, through which her figure could be seen to the best advantage. 

She was slightly inclined to embonpoint." [1]

 

 

I. 

 

An anonymous correspondent emails: 

 

As a member of the SW community, I was intrigued to see you close a recent post featuring the Mothra twins by making reference to your own microphilia. I do hope that, as indicated, you intend to say more on this often overlooked form of love. [2]

 

So, not wanting to disappoint a reader (since I have so few), here's a post for him [3] and all other members of the shrinking women community ... [4]   

 

 

II.

Somewhat ironically, it seems that the number of individuals erotically fixated with tiny women and who derive sexual pleasure from fantasies involving such fairy-like figures is increasing in size, just as the number of self-identifying macrophiles begins to shrink. [5]

 

But then, when one starts to investigate the subject, it soon becomes apparent that microphilia has always been present within mainstream art, literature and film - and that it is not something only found at the kinky margins of society. 

 

In order to demonstrate this, I thought it might be fun to examine the case of Tinker Bell ...

 

 

III.

 

As most readers will know, Tinker Bell is a fictional character from J. M. Barrie's play Peter Pan (1904) and its later novelisation as Peter and Wendy (1911). She has since established herself as an iconic figure within the Disney universe - where she is often misclassified as a pixie - wearing a bright green strapless mini dress in order to best display her hourglass figure and lovely long limbs.

 

Although some people like to believe that the original animated version of Tinker Bell was modelled after blonde bombshell Marilyn Monroe, the primary point of reference was actually the dancer and actress Margaret Kerry who, in 1949, was said by Hollywood insiders to have the World's Most Beautiful Legs. 

 

The key point is that, from the first, Tinker Bell was imagined as a sexually alluring woman in miniature; not a pre-pubescent girl. Thus, there's nothing innocent about foul-mouthed, orgy-loving Tinker Bell [6] and nothing criminally deviant about finding her sexy; microphilia is not a form of paedophilia [7]. 

 

This perhaps explains her broad and continuing appeal. Not only, for example, does she have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, but in 2009 she became the smallest waxwork ever to be made by Madame Tussauds, measuring just five-and-a-half inches in height. 

 

Arguably, as I said earlier, this illustrates that whilst microphilia is rooted within the pornographic imagination, it also has a central position within mainstream popular culture and so isn't really a hidden or secret fantasy as some claim; young or old, male or female, queer, kinky or straight, we all love women in miniature (particularly those who, when spanked, sprinkle fairy dust upon our otherwise drab lives).     

 

 

 

Notes

[1] J. M. Barrie, Peter and Wendy, (Hodder & Stoughton, 1911), Ch. III, p. 35. This work can be read free online thanks to Project Gutenberg: click here.

 

[2] The post that my correspondent refers to was published as 'Ravishing a Universe for Love: In Praise of Mothra and the Shobijin' (25 Sept 2022): click here.

 

[3] Although I'm assuming my kinky correspondent is male, it's important to note that there are female microphiles who might, for example, desire to be miniaturised and then sexually pleasured by a normal-sized partner (which might, I suppose, be just as legitimately discussed in terms of macrophilia). 

 

[4] I'd like to make clear at the outset, however, that I'm not an expert in this area and do not wish to be seen as a spokesperson for those with a fetishistic penchant for women of a radically reduced stature whom one might literally hold in the palm of one's hand. The views expressed here are my own and I'm sure some microphiles will object to my focusing on Tinker Bell - a fairy - rather than a real human female in shrunken form - such as Raquel Welch in Fantastic Voyage (dir. Richard Fleischer, 1966); or is Cora Peterson so tiny that even the most devoted or hardcore of microphiles draws the line?   

 

[5] According to Dr Mark Griffith, the go-to academic for information on a wide range of paraphilias, the reason microphilia appears to have increased in popularity over recent years is because of the rise of the internet and social media: 

      "Because the paraphilia is almost totally fantasy-based, much of the material from which microphiles gain their sexual gratification is placed and distributed online. There is a wide range of microphile artwork, photographs, and video on the internet. Applications such as Photoshop are widely used to create collages of fake miniaturized people." 

      See the post published on his website entitled 'Shrink rap: A beginner's guide to microphilia' (9 Nov 2012): click here. 

 

[6] Re Tinker Bell's tendency to sprinkle her speech with expletives, see Peter and Wendy, Ch. III, p. 48 in the edition previously cited, where Barrie writes: "Tink was darting about again, using offensive language". And for the reference to fairy orgies, see Ch. VI, p. 109.         

      I am grateful to Hannah Lucy, writing on her blog - Hannah Lucy's Literary Adventures - for reminding me of these lines. See the post 'Tinker Bell's Disturbing Sexuality' (19 November 2017): click here. As much as I enjoyed this post, however, I couldn't help thinking that Lucy's conclusion - that Tinker Bell is "essentially a lascivious tart" - is a bit harsh. 

 

[7] It is always questionable when one paraphilia is reduced to another, or different forms of kink are confused and conflated. 

      Having said that, Mark Griffith insists that when it comes to microphilia "there are crossovers with other sexually paraphilic behaviours such as sadism and masochism [...] For instance, some male microphilic fantasies involve sexual violence against shrunken women who they hold as a captive and/or prisoner. Here, the microphiles may also be sexually aroused by the fact that the shrunken women may be in a distressed psychological state [...] as a result of being miniaturized". See 'Shrink rap: A beginner's guide to microphilia' (the link to which has previously been given).  

 

Readers might be interested in some of the posts published on Torpedo the Ark discussing macrophilia, i.e., the opposite of microphilia in which the amorous subject derives sexual pleasure from human giants. These posts include: 'In Defence of Giant Lovers' (15 June 2015); 'Bigging Up the Gibson Girl' (23 July 2019); and 'Into the Valley of the Giants' (3 April 2022).

Ravishing a Universe for Love: In Praise of Mothra and the Shobijin

Mothra, oh Mothra! If we were to call for help

over time, over sea, like a wave you'd come, 

our guardian angel!

 

 

I may not know much about foreign cinema, but I do know that the Japanese love their movie monsters - or kaiju, as those in the know like to say ...

Whilst Godzilla may be the most famous of these amongst Western audiences, my personal favourite is Mothra, who first appeared in a 1961 film of that title directed by Ishirō Honda [1]. As might be inferred from the name, Mothra is a giant, fully sentient saturniid (most probably an extremely large type of silk moth) [2]. 

Unlike Godzilla, who is hell-bent on destroying Tokyo at every given opportunity, Mothra is a more benevolent character who often acts to protect mankind; as seen, for example, in Godzilla vs. Mothra (dir. Takao Okawara, 1992), where she bravely battles the former in order to prevent him from attacking Yokohama [3].

 

This might explain why Mothra is particularly popular with female movie-goers in Japan; they can empathise with a kindly creature who comes to spread love and peace, in a way they cannot with a rampaging, atomic-fire breathing reptilian who brings death and destruction in his wake. 

Of course, when I was a wide-eyed young boy I loved violent displays of sheer power - be they performed by fictional monsters like Godzilla, or Nazi stormtroopers. However, as one gets older, one becomes a little less easily impressed by such crude displays and understands that the greatest change is sometimes wrought by the movement of a pollen-dusted wing [4]. 

Finally, there's one other reason I like Mothra. And that's the fact that she is worshipped by twin female fairies; sacred figures - only 6" tall - termed Shobijin [小美人] [5]. 

 

With their tiny feet and tiny breasts, what's not to love about these small beauties who call to their guardian deity in prayer and song and have some kind of magical connection to her even across great distances?

 

At any rate, like the alchemist and philosopher, Dr. Septimus Pretorius, I've always had a thing for perfectly formed young women whom you might hold on your hand, or keep in a glass jar [6]. But we can discuss my microphilia another day ...

 

 

Emi and Yumi Itō as the Shobijin 

in Mothra (1961)

 

 

Notes

[1] Mothra [モスラ] is sometimes written and pronounced as Mosura. To watch a trailer for the film, click here.

[2] In the original 1961 film, Mothra is at her largest; 590 feet in length, with a wingspan of 820 feet, and weighing in at 20,000 tons (i.e., not as heavy as the Statue of Liberty, but twice the weight of the Eiffle Tower).

 

[3] This 1992 film should not be confused with the earlier Mothra vs. Godzilla (dir. Ishirō Honda, 1964), an edited version of which was released in the United States under the title Godzilla vs. the Thing (1964).

 

[4] I'm alluding here to the so-called butterfly effect in which a small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state. 

      The term is closely associated with the work of mathematician and meteorologist Edward Norton Lorenz, who originally referred to a seagull flapping its wings, before friends and colleagues persuaded him that butterflies had greater poetic resonance within the cultural imagination. 

      The concept is now widely used even by individuals with little or no knowledge of chaos theory, to refer to any situation in which a tiny change is thought to be the cause of larger consequences. 

 

[5] In the 1961 film the Shobijin were played by sisters Emi and Yumi Itō, known professionally as the Peanuts. As identical twins, they had voices that only slightly differed in timbre, so that when they sang together it sounded like a solo artist utilizing a reverb effect.

 

[6] Dr. Septimus Pretorius is a fictional character in the classic Universal horror movie Bride of Frankenstein (dir. James Whale, 1935). He is played by British stage and film actor Ernest Thesiger. Those interested in his experimental work in growing homunculi from seed, should click here.

 

 

Derealisation

Derealisation (A Cursed Image)
SA (2021)

 

 

After a Greek art student described the photos on my Instagram account as cursed images, I was encouraged to investigate this term and write a short post on the subject [1].  

 

However, whilst in some instances this description might seem appropriate, I don't think it holds true for all of the pictures and I certainly wasn't aiming at producing images that could be categorised as such; nor do I like to be seen as a follower of trends. 

 

Further, it could just as easily be argued that the photos are, in fact, symptomatic of my disordered mental state and represent how I perceive the world, rather than exemplify a deliberate aesthetic. 

 

This is why the images are, for example, often lacking in depth of feeling or emotional resonance; why there's no sympathy or sincerity in them, even when contemplating corpses. It's as if everything were seen from an ironic perspective by someone who is detached, distant, and dissociated from reality. 

 

I don't know if this is caused by some kind of brain dysfunction, but it's pretty much how I've always seen things - even as a very young child observing the world of animals, grown-ups and school friends. 

 

It might have something to do with my birth sign (Aquarius), or it might be due to the fact that I spent so much time watching TV that eventually I saw real life as if it too were being played out on a screen - who knows? 

 

And, indeed, who cares: it's never been something that's particularly bothered me or caused any anxiety. In fact, my ability to be objective - to see things with a little coldness and cruelty - made me feel not only different from other children, but superior - like an alien being, or a god. 

 

And what young boy doesn't want to feel like that? [2]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See 'A Brief Note on Cursed Images' (21 September 2022): click here. Readers interested in judging my photos for themselves should go to: @stephenalexander9383

 

[2] I'm thinking here of Nietzsche's remark: "One would make a fit little boy stare if one asked him: 'Would you like to become virtuous?' – but he will open his eyes wide if asked: 'Would you like to become stronger than your friends?'" 

      See §918 of The Will To Power, trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale, (Vintage Books, 1968), p. 485.