sexiest woman room

Marlon Brando on Larry King Live in April 1996


MB - Hollywood is run by Jews; it is owned by Jews, and they should have a greater sensitivity about the issue of - of people who are suffering. Because they've exploited - we have seen the - we have seen the Nigger and Greaseball, we've seen the Chink, we've seen the slit-eyed dangerous Jap, we have seen the wily Filipino, we've seen everything but we never saw the Kike. Because they knew perfectly well, that that is where you draw the wagons around.

LK - When you say - when you say something like that you are playing right in, though, to anti-Semitic people who say the Jews are...

MB - Sure. That's what I'm talking about. You're making my point for me.

LK - Sorry? You're talking about anti-semitism?

MB - No. You are. I'm talking about how Jews in Hollywood treat others in a way they would never allow for their own people.

LK - But what's the point I'm making for you?

MB - That the wagons will get circled and the conversation will not be permitted.

LK - But when you say Jews control Hollywood you're playing into the hands...

MB - Yeah. I'm uninterested in what others may make of it. Nothing to do with me. Meanwhile here we are, nervous that this discussion is taking place.

LK - Yes, well of course. After the suffering of the Jews you have to be sensitive about that... how they...


MB - Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm not disputing the suffering of Jews. What I'm saying is that you'd think they'd have a heightened sense of other's suffering. You know, because of what they went through. But they don't. They paint them in the broadest of racial epithets. Like I said.

LK - Epithets like Kike?

MB - No Larry. That's the one you'll never hear. That's what I'm saying.

LK - Never hear it? I'm hearing it now. And I'm hearing that Jews control everything. And I'm sure anti-semites are taking great comfort in it. I mean it's exactly what anti-semites would say.

MB - Forget them Larry. Forget anti-semites. I have nothing to do with them and they have nothing to do with me. I told you that. I'm merely pointing out that that's how Hollywood is and that no discussion may be permitted on it. Do you get it?

LK - Well I don't know, Marlon. We're out of time now... but I wonder... you know I wonder at you for saying such things. Honestly I thought you'd know better than to say things that...

MB - No, no, because I will be the first one who will appraise the Jews honestly and say 'Thank God for the Jews'.


Actually Brando didn't stick to his guns. He folded up at the first mention of the anti-semite voodoo talisman. All he actually uttered was the last piss-weak line. Everything in between was imaginary. It was me channelling a more resolute Brando, unfazed by the magic words. Those words only held their power when they were used sparingly. The phrase is thrown about with such abandon now that it's an object of scorn. At this rate it'll end up a badge of honour. Otherwise Brando was right.

I am schooled in cinema and film. I started as a sculptor/FX guy and ended up as a director of TVC's. It's possible you guessed something-like already. It's all in the past now. But I can't help myself and remain endlessly distracted by moving pictures and what they mean.

And they don't mean nothing. Anyone who says It's only a movie, doesn't get it. Moving pictures sway you like nothing else. They are propaganda vehicles nonpareil. Advertisers don't spend such spectacular sums on little 30 second movies because they have no effect. Their effect is precisely measurable and precisely calculated.

If you're not in the industry you have no idea how much thought and argument goes into every single thing in every second of every shot. Everything is there for a purpose. Everything is there to sway the viewer. And boy, do they know how to sway. Not only can they sway you but you will remain unaware of what is taking place in your head. Even cynical types get their heads done in, me included.

But I'm getting ahead of things. I've decided to split off another blog, the cinema of nobody, devoted to moving pictures, and where I intend to dissect them in a socially disagreeable fashion, ha ha. If this appeals, pop in. First up - deviltry.

On 11 January a singular and extraordinary man died. His name was Sir Edmund Hillary. He was the first man, with Tenzing Norgay, to conquer Everest. New Zealand, his home, went into mourning. He was their greatest man - equivalent in stature to the immortal All Blacks. This entry here is me signing his condolence book.

I'm not so much given to higher, faster, bigger. That Hillary conquered the roof of the world is no small feat but for mine it's only half of his greatness. What sets him apart is what he did after this herculean effort. The news of his achievement was world-wide event. Fame and fortune awaited him - the world was his oyster. A lesser man would have cashed in. Hilary could have swanned about the world and played on his celebrity and good looks - money, a jet-set crowd, the high life.

But he didn't. His love for the people of Nepal, big of heart but poor as dirt, drove to him to devote his life to improving theirs. He built schools, clinics and whatever he thought would provide the greatest benefit. When I say 'built' he didn't turn up with a cheque, have his photo taken and then head back to the hotel. He took his shirt off, picked up a hammer and piled in. The people of Nepal declared him a saint.

Meanwhile back in NZ he was simply Sir Ed. He didn't need the 'sir' bit, but people thought it was right. It was right. No one earned it more. Yet he didn't flaunt it. His name was in the phone book. His house was modest. He talked to regular people like they were regular people. He wasn't overly impressed with himself and didn't ask that others be either. He was the embodiment of level-headed selflessness.

His passing affected me more deeply than I expected. I offer my condolences to his family, friends and the people of New Zealand and Nepal who mourn him. Were that there were more like Sir Edmund Hillary. Vale.

Should you come across a book called Japan at War - An Oral History I recommend you to pick it up. It's gripping in a way that no piece of artifice could ever manage. It's a collection of various Japanese people talking of their time in WWII. It runs the gamut: School-kids making balloon-bombs; settler-housewives from Manchuria; wicked Kempei head-loppers; everyone is here. And they tell you of their experiences in their own words.


I do not recommend this book for the simple-minded seeking to have their racist Hollywood delusions confirmed. This book is too full of humans. There is a great deal to Japanese culture - it is as complex as a thing can possibly be. It can, like our culture, produce perfect villains. It can also produce astounding people like the fellow I am dubbing here, 'the brain-washing victim'.

I can't even remember his name. Understand, I read this book years ago and it's now in storage a thousand kilometres away, so I necessarily run on recollection. Our villain-victim provided insights into two aspects of the Japanese at the time. Initially he was a standard occupier doing his small part in the subjugation of China. He hunted 'bandits', or 'terrorists', or whatever phrase-du-jour was then in use to avoid calling a patriotic resistance something truthful. But it's what happened to him after the war that lends him significance. After Japan's defeat he was captured by the communists, imprisoned, and 'brain-washed'.


This was the precise term he used. And he wondered at the words themselves and made a simple point: said he - Why do we shudder at the words 'brain-washing'? Isn't 'washing' good? When a thing is 'dirty' and we 'clean' it, isn't that better than leaving it as it was? This fellow, believe it or not, was of the opinion that the Chinese had removed the filth that had been clogging up his brain. His understanding that others were 'unter-menschen', or 'beasts', or any other self-serving bullshit, was broken down and washed away. He could look back clearly and know the falsity, indeed enormity, of who he had been.

As an aside - if you're given to thinking that 'brain-washing' is some kind of evil, hypnotic, drug-fueled mindfuck, then you've obviously been reading about mkultra and Sirhan Sirhan. I can dig it. I read that too and it's all true. But just put that to one side for the moment. This fellow's experiences were no such thing. The Chinese had neither the resources nor the mindset of the CIA. They did not mistreat him, drug him, or torture him. They simply demanded, implacably, that our Japanese victim-hero stop bullshitting them. And himself, of course. They would not stand for his lies. They demanded nothing less than that he cast off delusion and face the wrongness of his behaviour. And he rose to the occasion.


I always imagined that his experiences resembled those of Pu Yi in The Last Emperor. And like the ex-emperor in that film, our Japanese hero possessed no hatred for his 'brain-washers'. Far from it - he rejected any label of victimhood. With a clear mind he saluted his jailer's humanity and expressed his gratitude. They could have just shot him. It would have saved a lot of time and money and achieved a similar result - ie. ensuring one less murderous racist scumbag. Nobody would have blamed them. Instead, his jailers freed him. And he thanked them.

annemarie,

As ever your insight (last comments) is spooky. I AM silly. Everything I'm doing here is a waste of time. It's just me shouting to an empty wilderness. I'm not saying I don't enjoy you, Tony and the odd anonymous dropping in and keeping me company. I do. But a wilderness with three people in it is still a wilderness.

Fact is, I imagine in my head that I'm following Pilger's dictum of 'speaking truth to power' - albeit in a socially unacceptable way - and doing so to a power that not even the otherwise fearless Pilger will address. It's a fact that simply acknowledging these paragons of hubris renders one socially acceptable. So if I must be socially unacceptable I shall go full-tilt. I know that what I write will not appeal to anyone. But there's a reason for that. I am only nominally addressing the 'masses'. (the masses, ha ha). Pilger speaks to power 'slantwise', and good on him. What I write is directly for the 'benefit' of those who view themselves as above their fellow man. I am the tiniest insect voice in their ear, a splash of water by way of the smallest raindrop, an air molecule that is just outside of the climate-control of their air-conditioned comfort.

But do they really hear? Who knows. I have no idea how many hits my blog gets. I haven't been able to figure that out yet. But I do know that my nearly information-free profile page has taken 80 hits in the short month that the blog has been up. Who are these people? I have no idea. Me, I surf a lot. And I almost never read the profile. But some people do, obviously, and in numbers far out-stripping those who leave comments. I'm not paranoid. I have no fear. I just wonder at things.

I wondered at the leviathan MSM - a spectacular and insanely complex edifice employing countless people in countless locations on every continent - and how they sing with one voice, everyone on the same songsheet. It's almost like every star in the universe twinkled at the same rhythm. It's what did my head in in 2002 running up to the war. Realising the impossibility of the media was my red pill, ha ha.

And how is it possible that whatever ensures that the MSM sings with one voice, would not pay attention to the MSM's only competition, the net? How could the one and only voice let live another voice singing a discordant counterpoint?


Before execution comes intelligence. I consider it a certainty that money, resources and personnel are devoted to tracking those voices on the net. Before anyone rolls their eyes and says that it's too huge, forget all the Britney sites, the recipes, the 'ball in groin' videos, all the idiot teenage shit. To ignore this 99% and just zero in on the voices raised in opposition is perfectly do-able. The people who own the reserve banks of the world need merely pay the pennies required to fund however many people it takes. Frankly, five full-time people could comfortably do every site linked to by Mike Rivero. Hell, I read most of them daily in a couple of hours and I ain't even trying.

Not forgetting, there's a legion of trolls out there happy to do it for free. The early days I spent on indymedia were eye-opening. So busy and devoted were these people that you had to wonder how they had time to make a living. Invariably the first three comments on any post belonged to them. They'd usually hit the mark within five minutes of posting. Their tireless blank-eyed zealotry was educational.

So. If I were a bookie I'd be giving the shortest odds imaginable on the likelihood of those very people reading these very words. Since I'm possessed of no discernible charisma, ala Les, and shall never sway any masses, I've chosen to speak to them. Perhaps other people do this too. I have no idea. Perhaps they have better things to do with their time, ha ha ha.

The people I'm talking to are pathetic underlings, sure, but since my voice will reach no higher, they will have to do. I am doing my limited best to afflict them with (guffaws of laughter) a truth. I wish them to know that I will not buy their line, will not confirm their self-impressed delusions and will never acknowledge their genius, their superiority or any other goddamned thing. I will afflict them with a view that is at odds with their delusion and at odds with what they've been told about the people who oppose them. I am not that cardboard-cutout guy. I will do so publicly, and in terms that render impotent their standard cardboard-cutout weapons of defence. They will never be able to accuse me of being racist. I consider myself unassailably anti-racist. Nor can they accuse me of envy or any other self-serving shit. They have nothing I desire, nor any ability I would choose to emulate, nor any personality trait I consider admirable. I only admire those that shed delusion.

Sorry for the heading annemarie. Ever ambiguous, me, ha ha. I'm just making clear, ambiguously, what I'm certain the aforementioned fuckers have pretty much already figured out. And you never know, it's not impossible that I just might smash through one person's life-long inculcation and help them to (groan, here he goes again) cast off fear, realise the wrongness of their actions and wake up. Sure, in the face of thousands of years of finely honed, near perfect 'us-as-gods-them-as-beasts' paradigm, success is hugely unlikely. And when faced with a task way beyond me - I choose to be silly!

This is a snippet of Eric Toussaint's latest piece over at counterpunch -

"The response of the US and European political and financial authorities to the liquidity crisis which began in August 2007 is a far cry from the response imposed on the Indonesian authorities by the IMF, supported by these same governments, at the time of the Asian crisis of 1997-1998. In the first case, the US and European authorities saved the banks by placing liquidities at their disposal, whereas in Indonesia, the IMF enforced bankruptcy on dozens of banks by refusing to let either the Indonesian Central Bank or the IMF itself lend them liquidities. This ended in a social disaster and a huge increase in the internal public debt because the debts of the failed private banks were transferred to the Indonesian State. Another glaring difference: to stem the crisis, the US monetary authorities have since August 2007 lowered interest rates (as they did between 2001 and May 2004), whereas the IMF demanded that the Indonesian government increase interest rates, a factor which considerably aggravated the crisis. Double standards for the North and South."

So much for sovereignty. Who owns and controls the Indonesian Central Bank? Not the Indonesians obviously. Who owns and controls the IMF? Seriously. I'd love to know. We seemed to be able to figure out who did what in the Enron scam (allegedly the biggest in history, ha ha) but on the subject of banking these questions are never asked. Somehow it's a force of nature, an agenda-less thing from nowhere, a variation of an act of god. But as sure as eggs is eggs there are people responsible for this. They have names and, in spite of their hubristic delusion, corporeal bodies. Their bodies, just like those guilty of infinitely lesser crimes, are perfectly capable of dangling from a lamp-post or being put on a hook in a butcher's shop window.

What is it, precisely, that The Self-Impressed are self-impressed about? I'm not talking about some low-rent, penny-ante kind of self-impressed. I'm gunning straight for the top. I'm talking about the kind of people who say things like - 'Let me issue and control a nation's money and I care not who makes its law.'


Wow. Think about that for a minute. A fellow who says this is beyond the law. He is above the hoi polloi, the bourgeois, the intelligentsia, lords and ladies, kings and queens, you name it. You don't get more self-impressed than that. Humanity will never revere, honour or love that fellow. The only hip-hip-hoorays for him are silently echoing as a dull monotone in his own head.

There's a fascinating chicken and egg aspect to this. Is the above fellow, whom I take as an archetype, self-impressed because of he will die with the most toys? Or is his possession of the most toys, or more exactly the pursuit of them, all due to his idea of his own deserving greatness? It depends on whether you ask that fellow or me. I expect that he is impressed with himself on account of the 'success' that he and his ancestors have achieved. Genius, says he. Me, I reckon he and those before him, achieved what they did because they viewed themselves as gods deserving of all and the rest of humanity as beasts deserving to give it to them.

And sure, everyone would love to have more stuff, to live lives of ease and to indulge their whims. But there is a price to this. After a certain point, such self-indulgence must require the impoverishment and/or enslavement of others. The majority of mankind will countenance a degree of this but become uncomfortable with, say, obvious slavery. 'If you prick a slave does he not bleed?' Such speeches tug at the heart strings of the human possessed of empathy. Irony banished, our self-impressed uber-man remains untouched. He is to such humdrum desires and concerns what the nth degree is to ordinal numbers. Indeed the mathematical infinity-approaching end-point of this trajectory, which is to say the aim of our archetypal fellow, is to claim all the wealth of the world for one person, himself. Ipso facto, this aim also requires that the entire population of the world, minus himself, would possess nothing at all. And yeah, I get it - this is impossible. I'm merely defining the endpoint of the continuum.

Our paragon of selfishness is not a fool. He must concede to reality and share the winnings with others. If we now posit all the wealth in the world, slaves included, as 'n', he must aim lower - 'n' minus some minimal number. This is not a blemish on his self-perceived god-like perfection. Far from it. He knows perfectly well that it is the final esoteric knowledge that actually confirms his sacred status. One wonders if he ponders on the precise number to subtract from 'n'. But never mind the maths, his necessary sharing of the spoils (with his family and the others of his tribe) serves another self-serving measure. For the most self-obsessed man in the world, it serves as a testament to his humanity, compassion and benevolence. Don't laugh. It makes a 'great' man 'greater' still. Of course a fellow perfectly convinced of his greatness would think this way. If every single thought in his head wasn't utterly self-serving he might at some point fall down and concede the humanity of others. Perish the thought!

The simple truth is our self-impressed archetype's 'greatness' is not due to his superior intelligence. Lots of people are so endowed and besides, intelligence is necessarily finite - never mind the convoluted metaphor in the Matrix. The only thing he ought be self-impressed about is his perfectly vicious disregard for his fellow human. This is limited only by his hubristic attempt to more nearly approach 'n'. Subsequently, fellow humans must be regarded as nothing of the sort. They are beasts, cockroaches on two legs or non-people who never existed. Whatever suits. That he might meet another fellow and not know if he was 'beast' or 'human' says all there is to say about the monstrous falsity of his delusion. Our archetype must remove himself, and his children, from humanity and never join them so that his delusion remains unsullied by such moments of clarity. Ordinarily empathy for others is a natural, indeed instinctive, trait. To crush it from the human spirit requires an insanely massive edifice of lies and a lifetime of inculcation. Unsurprisingly very, very few humans could possibly be so hateful were they to adopt this world-view in adulthood. Wonder no longer at the lack of proselytising. A model positing others as beasts could only ever exist in this way.


The other unknowable possibility is that the self-impressed understand this perfectly well and that everything I've said here is perfectly familiar to them. Perhaps the father sits with his son and whilst they admire the lakes, mountains and sunset, all of which they own, ha ha ha, he turns and says, 'Forget those stories of our genius. It's bullshit for those in the stalls. We're not actually smarter than anyone else. The truth is that our unrivalled pre-eminence is due solely to our perfect and unstinting lack of human empathy.'