The real sickness making the rounds isn’t physical. Most people recover from colds. Those afflicted with severe mental illness, on the other hand, often need years of therapy.
Many never recover.
A particularly sick example of what’s been going around etiolates in the person of Barry Mehler, who is the founder and director the Institute for the Study of Academic Racism (of course he is) at Ferris State University, in Michigan.
He made the news the other day by posting a video of himself wearing a Chin Speedo while also wearing a helmet, like an astronaut – double-plus-good protection against the cold he lives in dread of getting. All that was missing was the oxygen backpack.
What wasn’t missing was the effusion of profanity-speckled insane rage toward the “vectors of disease” – he refers here to his students – whom he “doesn’t want to be anywhere near” and so “keep your fucking distance.”
It’s hear-warming to read of such affection so articulately expressed by a teacher for his for students, whose parents probably spent exorbitant sums to have their children taught about “academic racism” . . . by a man like Mehler.
“I work in a paid f**king union job and no limber-dick c**ksucker of an administrator is going to tell me how to teach my classes. Because I’m a f**king tenured professor,” he said. “So if you want to go to complain to your dean, f**k you, go ahead, I’m retiring at the end of this year and I couldn’t give a flying f**k any longer.
A schizoid homeless person pushing a shopping cart full of debris and screaming at passers-by. Only this one sits behind a desk – in front of a computer – berating paying customers.
The Agora, it isn’t.
I is a college student – once a popular T shirt slogan that was funny on account of the obvious absurdity – is now the fulsome scurvy truth only it’s the professor who “is.” Hysteric. Ignorant. Profane.
But wait. Doesn’t that helmet – and that Chin Speedo – keep him safe? If not, why does he wear them? For the same reason the schizoid homeless person can often be seen wearing the same – or similar.
Both being very ill, indeed.
This isn’t the problem, however. Or rather, it is the lesser problem. It is one thing to have badly gimped-in-the-head people on the loose rather than in . . . institutions.
That is merely a logistics problem. How to house them all.
The much worse problem is that these very ill people – there are millions of them on the loose – regard themselves as completely sane, which they do because they’ve been told they are by the “health” experts at CNN and MSNBC. By doctors – of manufactured mass insanity – such as he-who-does-not-practice-medicine but plays the part on TeeVee. These confirm the lunatic in his lunacy, a thing which hasn’t been seen on a mass scale since those wonderful searchlight-lit rallies held at Nuremburg, all those years ago.
Those crazies thought they weren’t, either. Wir folgen Der Fuhrer!
The question, then, is – what do we who aren’t insane do? How do we “stop the spread” of this insanity? How do we contain it? The crazies-who-think-they’re-not aren’t just going to go away. They are out there. Nursing their elaborating psychosis, waiting for the green light to be given to act out against those whom they are convinced with the infallible certainty of the deranged are “just vectors of disease” – and who, therefore, present a mortal threat to their physical health as well as their psychological “health,” as it were.
That is to say, their badly gimped peace of mind – which remains held hostage by a perpetual sense of panic that will never abate because it was never real, to begin with. How do you treat someone who is terrified of the Bogey Man? You can tell him there is no such thing as the Bogey Man; you can show him there’s no Bogey Man under the bed. You can provide him with a night-lite and a bedtime story.
He will still dread the Bogey Man.
And – strangely enough – become that very thing, for real.
For us, the sane. Who have reason to dread the presence of these “disease vectors,” of insanity. Who number in the millions. Who are not safely tucked away in padded rooms, where their illness can be treated and – far more important – is acknowledged to be the illness of our times.
. . .
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