12 July 2024
In my resolutely unplugged state, I stay very far afield of the field of inept and incompetent journalists in America, and elsewhere.
During the past two weeks, however, I’ve become aware of the feeding frenzy out there in Public America. For all I know, the cannibalism is going on, in private!
I opined to Dear Husband last night that it has taken a very short time for the mass-media excuse to go from:
NOBODY KNEW
to
EVERYBODY KNEW!!!
That mantra-hoax of honesty got trotted out by the mass-media morons during the Me-Too mania that covered for many creeps, while also coughing up a few weirdos who were no longer useful to The Cause. It doesn’t matter what The Cause is, because, well, it’s part of The Bigger Picture, aka Follow the Money.
Dear Hubby has informed me that I’m onto the new form of Journalism in America. It’s called Asymmetrical Journalism.
I use that term, asymmetrical, often, and lovingly, in THE DAWN, starting with the fascination that my colonel, Arthur Carmichael, holds for this form of irregular warfare.
I’ve been trying, mightily, to complete my review of Chapitre 14 (Chapter 14), but current events, and an almost two-week long heat wave are conspiring against me. Do not think for a moment, though, that I believe in any conspiracy of any sort.
Arthur is there, on the lush and lovely grounds of his training camp, in Chichester, West Sussex, England. He’s sharing a thermos of coffee with Roland Monfils, the French major who has been battle-scarred into joining the Free French Forces. It’s two in the afternoon on that Saturday of 19 October 1940. This American Army colonel offers a wonderful, home-baked cookie to Roland who reels back at the sight of it.
This cookie with currants is called Squashed Flies. Another name is Fly Cemetery. Arthur assures Roland that the « biscuit », which is French for “cookie”, is delicious. And Roland bravely discovers that it truly is!
Given the treatment of the patriots in America as squashed flies, during the past 5-10-20-30, perhaps 50, years, I’ve concluded just how prescient is my novel, THE DAWN, in oh so many ways! I find more wisdom in its wondrously wrought words today than when I first penned them, mostly because, back then, I was “seeing” into the future.
That vision is my form of asymmetrical journalism. I’ve also got a memory like an elephant.
I did, indeed, long ago flee that fetid pool of sicko snoops and bombastic busy-bodies into the private lives of other people. I’ve still got a nose that sniffs out a sensationally superb scandal on the brew, along with an acutely accurate investigative mind. I protected those two treasures by walking away from the dying industry of journalism once it began ENG, electronic news-gathering, precursor to Fake News.
Being a fly on the wall has appealed much more to my analytical heart, my inquisitive mind and my scrutinizing soul. I haven’t forced myself to act dumb-redhead too often in the theatre of life.
Speaking of dramatic coups and asymmetrical journalism, I’m quite pleased to see that Georgia Meloni is the clear winner for this past year of creepy celluloid concoctions — in the category of:
Best Lead Actress in a Foreign Film.
As for those fly cemeteries, they honor the scoundrels, scalawags, and shrews among us who put America Last.
Now back to my review.
Arthur is about to discuss with this young Frenchman the Hugo masterpiece known as Les Misérables. He’s wondering if Roland wishes to discuss social inequities in France in the 19th century, or the heroic selflessness and redemption of Jean Valjean, or, Heaven forbid, the love of Marius for Cosette.
That Arthur, he’s a thinker!