Do you know what my Nietzschean cross to bear has been for the last twenty years and which has been an ordeal of innocence to survive? It is the web of toxic masculinity which exists in my neighbourhood… and the current state of fear by the media gaslighting the population hung-up by governments who continue to keep their heads in the technological sand…. Eye in the Sky Air Force and ASIO excepted I think they’re accountable.
This article is about my struggle to overcome the obstacle of having ‘gaslight’ in ‘the family’ and when I say that I mean people who come into your house and leave on lights and throw objects about the room as if they had imitated a poltergeist (good film series) with the knowledge they hold the aces at the local police station and within the community against those seen as ‘different’ like me and living with mental illness and its inherent vulnerability. Yes, they are a community of like-minded people who are called ‘they’ by you at your local psychiatrist as he deals you an overdose rather than tell you he can’t help you. They won’t believe you or in you.
‘They’ have their roots in the bikie gangs and the locksmiths, they are linked to the catholic church in terms of their greed (at least my local priest who bilked my neighbour of her fortune admitted beside her deathbed that he was ‘greedy’ – Good on you Father Peter you were always there for her!), they are men who delude themselves they are performing a public service by making the mentally ill kill themselves… These predators take form in self-appointed superiority and greed… They are love machines of the wrong type.
I will look at the link between a few movies such as The Prestige (2006) and Gaslight (1944) and throw in Young Sherlock Holmes (1985) as I ‘dead ring’ those toxic ‘gaslight’ men and women who will receive the shock of their lives should I pass away suddenly…. And I don’t mean that the devil will automatically deal the Apocalypse as retribution…
Have you ever heard of being hung by the foot? … Well, “the game is afoot/a foot” to quote Young Sherlock Holmes and he solves the mystery… As for being hung by the foot it is related to the tarot cards of The Hanged Man as any gypsy fortune teller will show you if you cross their palm with silver – not Long John again – and The Hanged Man is not the one who commits suicide after being hung in his closet by Big Brother, family and even your/their own ‘loving’ partner… He’s the man who sees the world from a different point of view and it is astounding what wisdom comes from being hung by the foot in terms of big brother and the criminal ‘break and enters’ via skeleton key in my/your local community. The ‘toxic avenger’ types can enlighten you despite every effort to destroy you… It all depends on your attitude to life and the inner purity of the child within… Male/Female… Masculine/Feminine … You have the choice to reject what you know about these toxic avengers who will die guilty as charged in terms of living above the law and their perceived ‘superior/Superman/Gay Science’ hypocrite morality.
The very popular movie The Prestige is essentially about security and the end of the old gaslight age in terms of gas powering lights in your home as the film opens with a whole town lit by electricity thanks to the ingenuity of the inventor Nikola Tesla (1856-1943) who invented alternative current as opposed to Edison’s direct current… AC/DC. See The Current War (2017) and Tesla (2020). In The Prestige Tesla is played by David Bowie (1947-2016 liver cancer) and his album The Man who Sold the World (early 1970s) relates to schizophrenia as well as the novel Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse…. Poor Tesla in The Prestige has been stigmatised and made enemies due to the AC/DC war – schizophrenia and bisexuality linked to Bowie, AC/DC and ‘invalidity’ in the eyes of ‘the foot’ or the ‘toxic avenger’ society – and he must live behind an electric fence with a companion who has a gun. I guess that’s the downside to celebrity as it could also drive you to join the drinking and smoking club to a ‘state’ or nation that is beyond repair!
It is Bowie who is the key to the beginning of the end of the case of gaslighting in my neighbourhood by the ‘lollypop guild’ or miscellaneous union of gas-lighters as opposed to the honourable and truly loving men who wore/wear aprons in private and didn’t/don’t gaslight – or have anything to do with the war on the planet of the apes as the gorillas lament their lack of intelligence and take it out in the current war against the mentally ill. Genius like Bowie’s must pay a price or have a cross to bear or so it seems as AC/DC and invalid-ity relates to the us/them divide… End Act One or whatever.
I was gaslit shortly after being released from hospital 20 years ago as I tried to start writing only for the pages of a novel I began to disappear from my desk and when new neighbours moved in and heard I was a bit of a w*nker decided they would use their connections within the apartment complex and the neighbourhood to steal all of my underwear and then throw a party… “Where did all your underwear go?,” said Carly, my now former neighbour, amusedly through the doors of perception of my unit door as she greeted guests next door and I minded my own business and watched television. It was around this time in Brisbane that there was a massive power blackout and for some reason the AC/DC or power supply didn’t affect my television as I watched an episode of Midsomer Murders about a mother that did not baptise her baby… Was she wrong to do so and was that baby meant to suffer on Earth as a result? Let the foot and its Catholic linked gangs in my local area decide! As they continued to gaslight and new fear and paranoia began to grip me further…
Recently, I dead rang the local family member of the gang, a light was left on in my bedroom… I was expecting them to leave the security fly wire door unlocked after I habitually locked it – common practice for a thought crime or w*nk… but no, they only left a light on in the bedroom to let me know they still had the AC/DC power to deal more paranoia… And I’m only a single person. I like to think I’m respectable but these dumb gorillas think otherwise as security/insecurity is forever linked to mental illness and the superior and corrupt Alpha reigns supreme like a pizza or round like round like a record, baby.
I saw an interview with the Australian author Tim Winton where he said he didn’t like “the gaslighting culture of toxic masculinity” and settled for true love with a woman and art instead of being a part time imagined heroic type regime who hangs people in their own homes. I mean actual suicide or a prolonging of mental illness without recovery. Anyway, from today the criminal gorilla ‘gas-lighters’ now have an “M” (1930) firmly planted on their backs just like Peter Lorre (1904-64 heart attack) as the world of Big Brother will catch up with them in the end… the faces of their cronies now forever captured not by myself but by…. Big Brother. Their guilt is obvious as they pose in the room as they can even be your own family at Xmas time. Being a self-appointed gaslight Adonis doesn’t necessarily make you a good person… But who am I to judge since I was judged and continue to be judged … It’s like these real men/women never had a dreaded AC/DC wet dream in their life as they destroy the fragile dreams of others… to death!
I won’t quote much dialogue from The Prestige which portrays Hugh Jackman as some type of gay character who is also a magician while Christian Bale is the working-class criminal and genius who can sympathise with being trodden on and can see good works.
“I care about his secret,” says the Jackman character who is obsessed with the contents of a diary which seems to hold the key to a man’s past sins and possible genius. In The Prestige is also about copyright infringement and the stealing or ideas by the upper level of society as opposed to the lower level of the gaslighting gorilla… I think pop should eat popular art.
It’s sad when you realise you have been gas-lighted by your own family. Perhaps they don’t mean to do it, some have PTSD in my immediate family… It is also freedom on a stick or an ice cream called a ‘Golden Gaytime’ in Australia … lift weights if you want to join the gas-lighters club if that’s what they tell you to do as they whisper in your ear that you are not real.
Bowie’s Tesla spark of genius leads to a Top Hat (1935) collection forming together in a forest. The film starts with a broken glass tank as the centre of attention … and my gaslighting neighbours Carly and John first made their perverse Nazi will to power present by killing my black fish named Dante in my glass tank/aquarium. “Oww, poor buddy’s dead,” said Carly through the doors of perception of my unit after I came home that evening though habit to find my fish alive but on his last legs floating in the tank as she also sang: “You are kaput.” It’s nice to have great neighbours like her but sadly she moved and hopefully was dealt karma on an international level.
The Prestige features The Wrong Box (1966) star Michael Caine and he mentions Captains Courageous (1937) cryptically which was the follow-up to MGM’s original Treasure Island (1934). Captains was one I watched with my grandfather as a bonding experience about the spoilt brat who is pushed to his death as a prank… Thank you Spencer Tracy (1900-1967 heart attack) for seeing me born and done and then dying only weeks later. Vivien Leigh (1913-67 tuberculosis) thank you too (U2) for hanging in there. There I go self-mythologizing again about being a Son of Argos!
Michael Caine says these words in the same way he says to his son Justin in the underrated father/son movie The Island (1980) when son Justin catches “the big fish” or ‘L’Ultimo Squalo’ (1981) – “Well, that’s what you got.” God Bless Michael Caine and the song by Madness by the same name and the Jaws movie with the character of Quint which L’Ultimo Squalo was based on.
The significance of the glass water booth in The Prestige is that it relates to the actor Robert Shaw (1927-78 heart attack) who I idolised in the years leading up to his premature death. He wrote a play called The Man in the Glass Booth about the kidnapping and trial of the Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann (1906-62 hanged) who was executed for his toxic masculinity and gas-lighting or gas chambering crimes against humanity.
Robert Shaw also kept a diary of his prodigious drinking and I would prefer to read that than self-confessed rapist/murderer in terms of deliberately passing AIDS to a teenager Edmund White’s (1940-) fish hook of a gay sex memoir My Lives. His Genet biography was good. It’s a worry and they say never keep a diary or write something down you shouldn’t… Yes, I know you read mine! But there.
As for copyright and Bowie gives his invention away with a warning of Caveat emptor of buyer beware in terms of your neighbours and community making a ring of you and the risks involved … How can you copyright a good idea or a joke? I just give them away as I have all I need while those with more than enough want more – as another one bites the dust via gaslight. It’s ultimately got something to do with giving back rather than taking away in terms of karma and your final date with God should it happen at all…
The Prestige sees all the copies/clones/doppelgangers of the evil magician Jackman created by Bowie’s machine all drowned in the key glass water booths/aquarium as the machine/the film contains a spark of genius which will zap the diary obsessed subversive Jackman in the end. They or the gaslight men and women will end up as a bunch of dead Hugh Jackmans or ‘The Great Dantons’, as he is known, in glass water booths/toilets/closets all possibly as a result of the murder of black fish named Dante in my aquarium in what I once called a home. This conspiracy goes right to the top and it goes unnoticed or I am totally insane. But I’m sounding ‘nuts’ as the council working men outside say as they dig up the road outside far too loudly and scare the children and the birds… The fact that Tesla sends a top hat through space into another dimension and it ends up beyond in the forest is like radio waves and the appearance of The Prestige on your Smart TV thanks to the internet. Think with your heart…
“There you are in your cell reading my diary… waiting for death,” Jackman taunts Bale’s poor genius as he is frustrated at every turn for being labelled and stigmatised as a criminal for which there is no coming back … But Bale knows good works even if they are possibly foolish … It is the plot of The Prestige as opposed to the Family Plot and the gaslight of my apartment block and neighbourhood.
And we are back to the evil Nazi Supermen of and with the ‘bad foot’ who delude themselves they are Charles Bronson in Death Wish doing their own ‘good work’ of community service by gas-lighting the poor unfortunates into a never-ending life of misery. I’ll say it once more that it is their deluded perpetual happiness and ultimate emptiness of an inferiority complex overcompensated by their union within themselves. Empty, empty… let’s gaslight! Anyway, they will soon be hung in their closets and not by the foot but by Big Brother… and by woman as they are dealt a revenge and their own tragedy “with new and terrifying possibilities” to quote a lipstick wearing and framed Jackman as the question in Bale’s mind is: “Why can’t you out think him?” I know, let’s you me and the gang gaslight him! There’s security in numbers.
The conundrum of The Prestige is that it cannot be explained in any other terms except as a repercussion of Dante’s Inferno as ‘Buddy’ the black fish was sent on his way to hell by gas-lighters who still cannot grasp the enormity of it all as they are hung up on a vital statistic, sport or otherwise. We’ll go riding with the horses, yeah-eh …
The Prestige is also about how you tie a knot and who taught you how to tie one. I prefer a double granny knot to a reef knot as it was far too complex for a simple boy like me. And I don’t know how to tie a Windsor knot despite my father knowing the secret all the time. I wasn’t good enough to be told such secrets as knots in the ‘real’ world can define a man in terms of dangling a pretty noose knot or even a rusty razor blade… or given hypnotic drugs in hospital and then given the suggestion that you jump off the nearest building… 20 years ago. End of Part Two… or the set up to The Sting (1973) installed by my grandfather.
“Free yourself from the past… Happiness is better than art,” Ingrid Bergman is told perhaps erroneously in Gaslight (1944) (possibly by your gay psychiatrist) as she recovers from a nervous breakdown… it’s the Victorian era of the gaslit lamp before The Current War of AC/DC and its worldwide proliferation. She has had a nervous breakdown and people take advantage of her inability to reboot and forget – they will never let her forget – as they twist her/your words and accuse you just to make you too cross (crucifix intended) enough to make you possibly lose your temper and doubt your own sanity and put you back in hospital for stepping on their ‘foot’ … You know what I mean!
“I enjoy a good murder every now and then,” says Dame May Whitty to Ingrid about being her new neighbour and the possibilities of Ingrid being driven to suicide by her own husband who doesn’t love her and is more obsessed with ‘gas-lighting’ and murder and money – not to mention a younger model. Is it all imagined as the gaslight dims in the room and she is told it has not by her husband? How about that light in the sky I saw the other night? Alien craft/time machine/air force. Or the picture that was obviously thrown across the other side of the room whilst I was out all those years ago.
It’s all so easy to gaslight today with the technology of tracking devices and especially phones knowing when an individual is out … In the name of the bad ‘foot’ neighbours also watch and wait as your habits give you away and you depart your unit at a regular time each day. Let’s gaslight him!
The glass booth or aquarium of The Prestige sees an old memorabilia glass case with broken windows in Gaslight instead containing curios of a lifetime… broken by vandals… It was all about A Fish Called Dante and not A Fish Called Wanda (1988) which celebrated Kevin Kline’s slightly demented Nietzschean Superman in hilarious fashion – “Disappointed!” – while its sequel Fierce Creatures (1997) has Kline playing a dead ringer of my father who is some media tycoon who farts and dies, or dies and farts… while’ Jason’s’ or my never to be consummated crush on Jamie Lee Curtis or anyone else is celebrated in pretty funny fashion by Kline’s son of a character courting disaster instead. If only the gas-lighters could see themselves! And they will!! Talk about being hung in the toot or toilet.
The whole lurid tale is told in PART TWO as David Bowie has revenge for his gas-lighted schizophrenic family