REFERENCE FOR 'ENTER THE DREAM'

HIGH ALERT!:
Note to Reader : You are about to enter the area of reading 'Enter the Dream'. I wish to forewarn you now, in the interest of your own self-knowledge beforehand, that what this depicts is a fictional setting of my 'take' on the educational scene depicted. Conceptually, this deals with the overlapping confusion of dream vs. reality as reflected prismatically in the same overlap between film and real life - what was imagined, what one thought they saw, what feasibly could or could not exist. And I've used as a setting that closed and claustrophobic setting of professorial college drawing rooms, college campuses with urban settings, town/gown issues...and the entire piece ends up depicting that very same confusion I just mentioned. Don't let it rile you, and if you're easily offended, don't read, (let alone consider the idea of what the HELL such a subject as FILM is doing being taught as such as a 'college' course).

ENTER THE DREAM (And It Was Only a Dream

3. ENTER THE DREAM (And It Was Only a Dream):

1. ILLUSIONARY EVIL:

And the Great Garbo Almighty Match Mark-o-Ponic Resailleigh whose real name was of course Mark Resailleigh and who was the seated Professor in the Chair of Cultural Studies at Roundabout College in New Windsor Locks Byrom Connecticut and whose sister's name was Mary Judge - a nice woman and a friend of mine whom I'd 'had' many times at all-night faculty orgies myself - pleasureable as she was and neat as a pin (and 'great for sin' as the college's motto went) were both there to greet me this one evening when I was to speak before the uncrowded house of undergraduates there to hear me talk of the 'Degeneracy of Degraded Pap' subtitled 'The Illusionary Evil of the World of Film and Discs' which title once by telephone had almost been misconstrued for publication (until it was recalled and reprinted but which did add a great many students to the lecture rolls most of whom later cancelled after relenting) to 'The Illusionary Evil of the World of Film and Dicks' which wouldn't have done much for my small career but nonetheless I'd arrived by train and car to make the feeble appointment and to be nice enough about the invitation and Mary Judge herself of Marymount College somewhere was in from New York City for the night and we all met in the sedatious Faculty Lounge at McIver-Barringer Hall and settled in as it were for the two-hours of downtime before the start and the place was dreary and fraught with sadness too as just the day before a kid had been killed at a peace march of some sort demanding free taxation for those who resisted the war and free college tuition for anyone intermingling with criminals for their own enlightenment but the local cops had moved in - mixed of course with the usual assortment of FBI rabble-rousers implanted there for the occasion and a few shots were fired and cars burned ('French envy' the kids called it and it was becoming a new part of every philosophy course thereabouts) and as stones began to be heaved into store windows downtown the local black population - sensing economic opportunity too - joined in and the main targets immediately were computer and electronic shops and only later the food stores and food banks nearby so that by now most of the town was a shambles and some form of martial law had been declared but somehow my stupid lecture was still on the docket so we talked of course all about that - Marxist dialectic disease dispassioned economic situations of the lower middle-class the role of media in violence the responsibility of town/gown interactive relationships and - of course - who was blowing whom and which faculty wife had last fucked Henry Mangello the outgoing Faculty Dean of Commingled Studies : all very nice subjects of some ertswhile importance when one wishes to pass the time of day YET nonetheless the clock was moving the fated hand of the measured moment was drawing me closer to personal extinction ('what else is new' I heard someone exclaim) - Mark Rassailleigh was a total film-geek whose entire life and career had by now been turned into nothing more than an ENDLESS progression of cinematic moments as he would write and re-write studies and reviews of this or that film and movie-person profiles and delve into the underpinnings of plot and secondary themes and hidden meanings and all the rest of that movie rot which movie-chair-bound people do and which disingenuous careers had all now been far advanced by the proclivity current to now be able to do this all in the comfort of one's own home what with DVD disc video home theater screening room Netflix and all the rest of that palavered crap pushed forth to us all as the entertainment movie industry - something of no worth heavied up with something of no worth and coated in a pabulum now of mere mirth - ALAS! the end of culture the pinnacle of moviedom the successful bitch the naked starlet the movie-guy with political opinions and all the rest to the fore - such was the culture of college as seen by Mark Rassailleigh and in whose presence I was merely awaiting time (as some stupid plot device) to move along and all of own own personal close-ups of course were centered on Mary Judge's black box so to speak and never ever had the words 'Marymount' meant more to me but all that's another joke awaiting its own time and as far as genres go COMEDIC wasn't in the cards (nor unfortunately right then was hard-core pornography) so I sat there lamely drinking coffee and ale while the bunch of them twittered along as it turned out QUESTIONING me as to 'what exactly my lecture title meant to be driving at?' as to them all it had become a subject of some contention as I supposed they were worried about me saying something amiss or something perhaps to incite the crowd - whatever crowd there was to be seeing as how most of them had already unencumbered the local stores of any distracting entertaining of their own which they could steal and run forth with and thereby somehow enter a higher realm of passing their own time and watching events unfold - and as much as I wondered what to say back to them it was just as much as I REALLY knew what it is was that I was there for : essentially to debunk and tear apart the stupid premises of which our 'culture' or its lack was now running on - vap'rous air foul emissions putrid fog - and so I said gingerly enough "well who comes to college exactly anyway to study film? and why should they?" and what I meant by that (which I stated elegantly as their star-faced jaws dropped) was my questioning of whatever basis in 'knowledge' as it was supposed to be had been put to use in the endeavor to parlay the interests of students (who were after all nothing but over-grown brat kids saturated with media filth by the time they got here) in cheap movies with the overly-ponderous and often ridiculous questions and/or points of view of the like of Professor Film Studies himself Mark Rassailleigh - and for the sake of saying something I went on "for in reality I wonder actually why there is even the consideration of such a subject in a curriculum such as this for I can't see past the point of wasting the money (which fiscal responsiblity should be first and foremost a consideration to consider) which is put into laying out and presenting the course for whatever reason or conclusions you may make about film and its philosophy - if there is such a thing - and movie-making and its science - if there is such a thing - it all seems like perfidious piffle to me in the long run and furthermore a piffle presented at the expense of real subjects and material of which these 'educations' should consist for - at bottom - MOVIES are no more than movies are" and at that it was as if a huge escape of air had left the room in a state of vacuum - I could imagine people gagging and clutching at their throats - for I had in one swift jab completely deflated whatever hyperbolic edifice this entire night had been resting upon and the resultant loud crash was quite a noise to be sure - there was so much more I wished to say : 'you love your enemies and hate your friends' would have been one phrase - as Joab said to King David when David was seen weeping for the son who had betrayed him (the son Absalom had just been killed while leading a failed rebellion against his father the King) and Joab's claim was that the King was disgracing all those who had just risked their lives defending him - but I somehow shied away from that because of the confusion of the argument for after all HOW before them would I be able to let them see that I was in essence weeping for them who had betrayed both me and their own intelligences by marching in lockstep to the invidious Evil of media and all that - yet they'd not see and I'd really rather not press the point (an idiot is after all an idiot) and the fact that they loved their enemies - which were the Evils embodied by the Spirits which drove them - and hate their friends (in this case me pointing all this out to them in their own self-interest) would matter little to them - pleasure-principle solace-seekers of selfhood lost raiders of the ark of goodness now forgotten and rotten by neglect - NOTHING would matter (LEAST OF ALL - thought I - my clarity) - and then at that one time I realized I simply had nothing more to say and I stood back recoiling watching and surmising - the tea cups and the coffee cups in the gentle teachers' hands the pencil sets and pen clips the pocket books and nail files the magazines thrown haphazardly across the table - each magazine as useless as the one before it - personality profiles style guides stupid stories of the rich and famed the Lonely Planet Guide to Peru - all this in staggering disbelief at the sinecure the story and the progression of lives all the same - tenured professors perhaps riding coattails editing another small book or detailing a study of Marx again or Oscar Wilde or the Duchess of York and all that or doing the faculty newsletter while staying at home with some student upstairs and the partner away on a tour of North Africa and spending long nights watching videos or fucking to the sound of Joanie Mitchell records or watching pornographic movies projected on the darkened mirror - it was all too much and I said as much - "but this cannot be I shouldn't even be here I've nothing to say anymore I hate these students really and I'd rather machine gun the whole lot of them both here and along the street or burn them in gasoline and tire fires along with the rabble that roams downtown for this is so obviously some post-apocalyptic bullshit going on that you all can only cater to by bringing in speakers on the philosophy of film or the media-inducement Pied Piper fatalism of the cowering hulks of dead authority figures in the corner while the regal hordes trespass against them everywhere and you've allowed all this right here in whatever the hell town this is in Space-Me-Out Center Connecticut anyway and what are you doing here ? nothing a great big nothing you twaddle-shits you useless drones you people who think any of this actually matters" and I realized I was finished (as in done for) and just then thankfully the alarm went off and the fire-bells ringing so loudly arose over the center campus and everywhere else and firetrucks whizzing in eventually unsettled everyone else and that along with all the troubles downtown put an end to the evening-to-be cancellation was called nothing went on everything was over and I high-tailed it out of there like NEVER AGAIN next year in Jerusalem Absalom oh Absalom and all the rest - while the professors sauntered away (I hoped) to High Tea in the Quadrangle Tea Room Cafe.

2. A CONDITIONAL THAT'S THAT and END OF STORY:

So I never saw Rassailleigh again since that episode and it was all the best for me and once I did get a note from him asking what had happened and why I was such a rambunctious figure who couldn't leave well enough alone and take what my betters were offering and learn the simple stipulations of decorum and the rules of which people play their little campus games and the politics of pre-selection and the advantage of not making a ruckus and all that - typical fucked over tweedledum-twat bullshit did that probably really did make him happy - and I sent him back a long postcard that said with short words 'well I wish't I was another mother's son' and I tried to postmark it Hades but couldn't make it work and so instead I filed some papers in my briefcase and left everything there for anyone to find : 'while the cock with the lively din/scatters the rear of darkness thin/and to the sack or the barn door/stoutly struts his dames before' which are a few lines from Milton's L'Allegro (49-52) which means like 'Fast' or 'Swiftly' or something and I thought it all fit well with the women who were in the room with us that day - all like his own little harem of sympathetic college whores - except maybe for Mary Judge who I'd always wished was mine and who I did kiss once on a train (which led to a station which led to a destination which led to a hundred other things) and whom I hardly ever forget but she too disappeared in a blearly haze of retribution and riot as I exited Connecticut proper (or should I say improper) and maybe the town never burned down - I couldn't ever find out - except that I knew SHE'd become a socialist and a sympathizer for any weak-kneed communist bullshit take-it-all cause she could find - which no matter didn't change the taste of her for me but whatever there - ('till now thy hand hath held me fast / lord help me hold me to the last') - Christina Rosetti wrote that in 'For a Mercy Perceived' but I always thought Mary Judge fit that bill too but this is them and they all got her and all I can ever do is walk wetly through some graveyard swamp and indicate by mettle what I'd meant to say - for sure as Hell it was I never said it - the irresponsible protesters - to me - are those : 'that bawl for Freedom in their senseless mood / and still revolt when truth would set them free / Licence they mean when they cry Liberty' and that again is Milton this time in Sonnet XII which is OK by me because it's like the only one I've read anyway and Roman numerals give me a blur but I like the idea that all this time can pass and the same elapsed bullshit still happens and the weezling thumbsuckers of yesterday are the same weezling ones as today and one cause is the same as any other causes 'cause they're all just garments put on to wear while the real issue is again and again and always the SELF the pure purloined aggrandized ornamental and without a reason SELF the self of selfhood the hood of selfness the place wherein everything else takes place and from which ALL and EVERY symbolism comes - and no matter if they burned down the city or the town they got me out of a cancelled night from Hell wherein all I was going to do was to bewail the cultural state of our lost country and show despicable opinions towards every guttural form of vulgar entertainment ridden by Jews and Gentiles alike but mostly Jew media contortions and all their twisted and mal-adjusted entrapments and culturally destructive bullshits promulgated on a captive and dumb people goy joy gentile servile whatever you may call it whenever you call - and shit if I never knew the nothing of the barrel and the long-lash of the pirate's eye peeking through the periscope and have you ever watched some guy from a distance (I wondered who asked this) fucking pounding hard some woman underneath him and knees are up and her legs are all flailing and her face is a big twisted grimace - as is his - and he looks like he's riding some horse slamming hard slapping legs a'kimbo fuck fuck fuck and they're both screaming and making noises and it just goes on and you can pretend to hear the furniture creaking the the chair break or whatever and all it really is is some stupid fucking-ass pirate sneaking a peek with a telescope to some captain's quarters on the ship-berth below and right before they all climax the pirate goes rushing in and breaks down the door with a broad-axe and slays the man from the ship the one who was fucking and then has his way - again and again - with the woman whose sole remaining hope and chance of salvation is in fucking every other one of that nasty pirate's crew - and before you know it she's got the job done and over and they take her by the hair and simply throw her overboard.
-- A conditional that's that and End of Story --