This week, Dear Reader, I have been mostly learning my left from my right…
*I hadn’t really thought about it before, Clicky, but it’s obvious that stage directions apply to the actors in a stage production and not the audience enthralled by it. I mean, duh..*
… Clicky put up a post the weekend before last about the Triple Goddess, who represents the three stages of womanhood – the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone…
*Robert Graves? Interesting, he wrote ‘I Claudius’, the most perfectly executed novel to play ever televised…*
… All three aspects of the Triple Goddess have grabbed social media participants’ attention in recent weeks and months – which also included the Moon fully blocking out the Sun in a total solar eclipse – and I can’t help but think that we social media users, as an audience, are participating in a production of sorts. But to what end and who is directing it? As Hamlet said, ‘the play’s the thing’…
*Yeah, kinda, but with the direction and camera work from ‘I, Claudius’. The camera in that represents both the audience (it’s what we see), and an ‘actor’, as directed…*
*Great show… Hey, Clicky, the Roman version of the Triple Goddess was Diana. What was Emperor Claudius’ relationship with her?*
*Wow. So, Claudius was like the first male feminist? You do know he was an embarrassment to his mother, dismissed by his grandmother, got married four times, cucked by two of his wives and murdered by the last. Kinda makes ya think…*
… I mean, just take the tweet, below, Dear Reader, that just appeared on my X-feed…
… The tweeter suggests to his male followers/readers that they can measure their wives, and by extension girlfriends, against the three aspects of the Triple Goddess playing out in the news and on social media. Sydney Sweeney is the Maiden, Lindsay Clancy, unfortunately for her kids, is the Mother and Kamala Harris is the Crone. Well, she is 61 and cackles like one…
*Ugh. I’m not sure if she despatched Claudius Biden from his Presidential run or if he was done in Julius Caesar style…*
… This current Triple Goddess production, or psyop, that we’re are witnessing and/or participating in starts with the literal trial and mental tribulations of the Mother aspect, one Lindsay Clancy. This Mother, who wanted for nothing, planned the murder of her three small children, strangled them to death, half-arsed some port mortem suicide attempts but broke her back in the process and has been holding social media centre stage since late July. She’s been totally silent the whole time, sitting passively a wheelchair in court, cow-eyed, while her trial lawyer, an elderly gentleman, attempted with fine rhetoric to get her off charges for the murders she confessed to by means of temporary insanity. Postpartum psychosis, to be exact, a rare affliction that only a Mother can ever experience. And don’t we all now know it!
Opposed to the calmness and boring procedural grind inside, the courthouse outside has seen large groups of noisy women, uniformly dressed in pink, matching their skin tone by happy coincidence, holding bird claw hands aloft, signing the internationally recognised virtue signal for ‘it’s okay to kill your kids’…
*I love G Prime’s work, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… He really knows how to tell a story in four blocks… /plumes smoke… You do it in 5 or 8, sometimes 9…*
… proclaiming loudly and insistently that the Mother in the wheelchair has been the victim the whole time. The effect this has had on women, amplified by social media and its hoard of TikTok influencers has been quite unbelievably toxic. I haven’t witness this level of womb-upset since, well, since POW and famous Mother, Diana Spencer died unexpectedly in a car crash in the Pont de l’Alma tunnel in Paris, France…
*And that was just the funeral. The week running up to it was just awful, Clicky. The oestrogen was off the charts and that was with only mainstream media covering the story. Imagine if we’d had camera phones and social media then…*
… I worked in the Press Office of the John Lewis Partnership (JPL) at the time and our office was entirely run and staffed by Maidens and Crones. Except for a lone male Buddhist. His devotion to his religion held him in good stead in our hormone saturated office. Anyway, some of the Maidens and Crones decided that we simply must go to Kensington Palace and lay flowers in condolence and pay homage. They saw a sea of beautiful blooms in the media; I saw a sea of future compost and plastic that probably already stunk to high heaven in the heat of the Indian Summer we were enjoying.
The Maidens and Crones asked if I wanted to go along, and I told them with a straight face thank you, but no as I was taking my triplets, Donna, Connor and Honor along later for the evening shift. They laughed when they worked out the joke, and so did Thoughtful Man when I told him what I’d said. However, he wasn’t laughing on his birthday, the day of the funeral itself, when my gift to him was not delivered because the Royal Mail had been given the day off to mourn. Including him, ironically. It was a pager and he got about 6 months use out of it before buying his first mobile phone.
I confess, Dear Reader. I cried once. Briefly, during that speech. It was the only time…
… 1997, the year Diana died, was the first year of our current Fourth Turning. I’ve written about it before. I’d worked at the John Lewis Partnership since leaving school in 1983 with a generous handful of ‘O’ levels. I worked in numerous departments learning all sorts of useful things, but most importantly, my time on the shopfloor cured my poor spelling, the bane of my school years. Having to correctly write out hundreds and hundreds of triplicate delivery labels in beautifully penned block capitals over my first 5 years working there was one of the most useful humdrum tasks I ever undertaken. My sense of UK geography improved no end too…
*Yes! Exactly! The JLP Miyagied me…*
… Turns out, the JLP was my university…
… And wouldn’t you know it, after writing the above last night, this morning on the way to work, the local radio station’s top story was…
*Nobody can tell me that synchronicity isn’t real, Clicky…*
… Lady Diana Spencer burst into our collective consciousness as the Maiden about to be married and has remained there ever since as the Mother, cruelly cut down in her prime. The victim Mother, never to become the Crone. Speaking of witch…
*… ‘There has to be crones. Don’t bother, they’re here’…*
… I have no doubt, Dear Reader, that the Crones in the jury of the Lindsay Clancy trial would view Diana, POW as a victim of the patriarchy. As a member of social media audience watching the fall out from the trial’s dismissal, I would have said they entered stage left, but for them that would be stage right which would probably offend them. However, for the purpose of this post, as you, Dear Reader, are my audience, the three Clancy Crones burst onto the scene stage left. After their initial splash was via mainstream media, two have receded since but one remains, touring television studios to spill all and identify the real perpetrator…
… the black man…
*Reminds my of another holdout, Clicky… /thinks…*
*How perspicacious of the Coen Brothers to cast Denzel Washington in the lead, Clicky…*
… The lone Crone looked vital and young in her first few TV interviews, but as they’ve gone on, she has lost that studio lustre…
… It’s like seeing Dorian Grey’s portrait revealed as she explains that she/they always considered the trial as a springboard for a cause regardless of whatever the evidence showed. Ugly, deceitful old women trying to re-capture their Boomer crusading youth…
… that they secretly hope will get them into the history books…
… and ultimately, heaven…
*Livia tolerated Caligula and his crimes in order to get into heaven, just as the jury Crones condone Clancy’s crimes to get what they want…*
… I am a Crone, Dear Reader, of Generation X and these Clancy women disgust me. They’re not doing it for Lindsay, they’re doing it for themselves…
… As the Crones circled the Mother centre stage, suddenly a fair maiden arrives, stage right…
*Okay, stage left. There’s no need to meme me, Clicky, I know she comes from the political Right… /stubs butt…*
… Actress and ultimate beach-ready blonde, Sydney Sweeney, launched a new sports gambling platform for men, in which she bares nearly all and in the process, yanked all the social media attention away from the victim Mother and Crones hogging the limelight. Maidens, in particular, have been exceedingly unhappy as a result. Especially the sporty ones who think nothing of posing provocatively for magazine covers and clicks, wearing nothing but their hypocrisy…
… hatefully venting their learned insecurity, so it is on full display for everyone to witness. Which put me in mind of ‘I, Claudius’ and why I think the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone is a storyline being played out for us…
…It’s the mud, you see…
*Oh, she blocked everyone, Clicky. She failed the test…*
*Ugh! The poisonous mud hatched out of her…*
*Hey, that wasn’t on my X-feed, Clicky. You just want it to be true…*
… All the feminist poison is hatching out…
… And being called out for what it is. That’s our part in this play, but who’s producing and directing it? I have my suspicions…
*Okay, we have our suspicions, Clicky. Go get a Song to end the post…*
I may come back to this subject again, Dear Reader, as it develops. But for now, have a Song…
Library of Libraries 