Yes, it's Operation Mindfuck!

The pressing reason for kicking medicine and other biological sciences out of the university is of course the abolition of mind. If you do not believe mind exists, it's hard to see what purpose you have in an institution dedicated to training it: the door is over there.

All those years in Medical School being told he shares 98% of his DNA with the chimpanzee have taken their toll on Doc Hollowhead. Knowing a little about chimps, he now thinks he knows everything about human beings. Fruit-flies are best, of course. Fruit-flies are a sure-fire guide. He looked around anxiously. Fruit-flies were reassuring, but alas there were none to be seen.

He therefore behaves like an ape. A bigger monkey has beaten his chest. Bigger monkey = power. Power = can hurt little monkey. Little monkey fwightened. Fear shuts down human mind. Being also human little monkey hastily attributes probity, rationality, goodness to bigger monkey. Bigger monkey can't possibly be lying or otherwise talking out of his arse. No need for debate. No need to check facts. Reality is whatever a bigger more powerful baboon says it is. What most people recognize about authority, namely its capacity to talk out of its arse, is lost on Doc who of course knows everything about human beings, being conversant with the DNA of the chimp.

There came the Enlightenment. What bloody garbage is this? they cried. Authority is a fellow-human. He may be right. He may be wrong. Fact and reason are the determinants. If he or she desires to exert force over you, he or she must give valid reason.

The unmitigated evil of orthodox religion is of course an equivalent reductionism: it reduces humans to helpless gibbering apes, terrorizes them into fearing thought and langugage. When a representative of the Pink Hippo speaks, there is instant suspension of all rational processes, all speech, instant suspension of all decency, all morality, because what the worshippers are taught is to be evil on command.

There is no accommodation with the suspension of reason, the suspension of morality. It's generally called Nazism or Stalinism.  It is apparently also the coming thing.  There is a manufactured hysteria concerning language and thought. We are supposed to be chimpanzees. We are not supposed to be able to deal with words and ideas. We are supposed to react like hysterical inadequates faced with words and ideas we do not like. We are not supposed either to be able to think or to be capable of accepting that others think.

We may say - what may we say? Perhaps that fact is unyielding, absolute, while the context of fact, comprehension of the reality of which it is an aspect, may change: apples do not cease to fall downwards because aspects of Newton's physics have been surpassed, nor does the horizon vanish because we now know it is not the rim of the world.

Like the religious zombie, the medical zombie functions intellectually working within a given frame of reference, regards it as frightening, evil and perhaps impossible to smash through the walls of this cage, question the frame of reference. Propositions are not considered objectively, on their merits if any, but regarded as good or evil, sane or mad, depending on whether or not they mesh with the assumptions that constitute the walls of the cage.

Monkey see, monkey touch, monkey feel. The biologist monkey is desperately ill at ease with things he cannot put in a test-tube. The whole of human intellectual history is of course contained thereout.

As it is irreligious to disparage the versions of reality given in holy books, so it is unscientific to disparage a reality confined to a test-tube. The secret of religion, as of Stalinism and Nazism, is to satisfy monkey, who is also human, with explanation for what he sees, touches, feels. Monkey is also human: monkey has mind, whether he likes it or not. Monkey imagines the world and is content, living in an imagined reality and screaming when actual reality intrudes. What was a satisfactory explanation to those living hundreds of years ago is not nor is likely to be satisfactory to us with a multiplicity of referents to which to compare the dream. Nonetheless, it is demanded of us we share the fantasy.

Freedom and democracy demand humans be human, accept the reality, the individuality of other humans, be capable of thought, be capable of choice, be capable of decency towards other humans.
 
http://www.dillsplace.com/the-abolition-of-mind.html
 
If mind does not exist, then freedom and democracy are unnecessary; both are about choosing and you can’t choose if you have nothing to choose with.
 
Anyone who hasn’t long ago worked out this is about Dust is even more stupid than even I think he or she is, if that is in fact possible.Oh, how they hate Dust and the University is Dust and the clouds Zeus gathers are yet more Dust. Yes, of course the University is other,more prosaic things and even subversion and decadence parties, though it must be admitted that, although my boyfriend of the time and I dressed for the occasion, we never actually reached the party. Consequently no pics available. Sorry. 
 
No Dust, no University. Severed. Dust is evil. Dust is to be eliminated. Consequently every dead-head of any religion or none in London on my back, not so to speak. Whatever pushes the buttons of the hearer, of course,different lies for different people, confident there will be no open examination of the facts. I think it's called Chinese whispers. 
 
No Dust, no liberty. With Dust, freedom and democracy; no Dust, fascism and slavery.This is about what people are, which I said if not on Day One then on Day Two.

2089 Incredulity is the neglect of revealed truth or the willful refusal to assent to it. "Heresy is the obstinate post-baptismal denial of some truth which must be believed with divine and catholic faith, or it is likewise an obstinate doubt concerning the same; apostasy is the total repudiation of the Christian faith; schism is the refusal of submission to the Roman Pontiff or of communion with the members of the Church subject to him."11
Hope
2090 When God reveals Himself and calls him, man cannot fully respond to the divine love by his own powers. He must hope that God will give him the capacity to love Him in return and to act in conformity with the commandments of charity. Hope is the confident expectation of divine blessing and the beatific vision of God; it is also the fear of offending God's love and of incurring punishment.
2091The first commandment is also concerned with sins against hope, namely, despair and presumption:
By despair, man ceases to hope for his personal salvation from God, for help in attaining it or for the forgiveness of his sins. Despair is contrary to God's goodness, to his justice - for the Lord is faithful to his promises - and to his mercy.
2092 There are two kinds of presumption. Either man presumes upon his own capacities, (hoping to be able to save himself without help from on high), or he presumes upon God's almighty power or his mercy (hoping to obtain his forgiveness without conversion and glory without merit).
The Catechism of the Catholic Church

Again the Catechism:
Wounds to unity
817 In fact, "in this one and only Church of God from its very beginnings there arose certain rifts, which the Apostle strongly censures as damnable. But in subsequent centuries much more serious dissensions appeared and large communities became separated from full communion with the Catholic Church - for which, often enough, men of both sides were to blame."269 The ruptures that wound the unity of Christ's Body - here we must distinguish heresy, apostasy, and schism270 - do not occur without human sin:

Where there are sins, there are also divisions, schisms, heresies, and disputes. Where there is virtue, however, there also are harmony and unity, from which arise the one heart and one soul of all believers.271

The Church holds we are helpless without God. We cannot do good without God and so without something entering us from outside. There is no mechanism inside people capable of moral choice. What the rest of us would regard as a natural plurality of perspectives is a wound to unity.

The core of it remains that independent mental activity is considered synonymous with self, to assert the existence of a functioning mind as heart, to have one’s own views not those dictated by another, supposedly speaking on behalf of the God person, to be human, is self-will and rebellion.

Salman Rushdie called it in a Muslim framework 'the crime of being human'. 

Am I not a clever little molecule?  How about a West End spin off with a stage-set of giant fluorescent double helixes, like a trapeze act in a circus, with all the little doctors and nurses swinging gracefully from one to another,  thereby  demonstrating how truly exquisitely they  brachiate.
 
As those who can actually read know, I have lots to say about the morons of biology.  One Ring to rule them all, one Ring to find them, One Ring to hold them all and in the darkness bind them.   Do you think it's called scientific socialism, dialectical materialism for nothing?  If you think, of course.
If you do not know the relationship between a molecule and changing, questioning, creating, then the honest response is to say so. I don't know the relationship either. That's for you biologist chappies to discover. That a free and functioning mind can be annulled by fear is old news and indeed observable but to say no-one has one is pathetic.

Mind sits anterior to data. Mind sits anterior to data, questioning, synthesizing, comparing,creating and of course checking on the reality quotient.. The upper level of mentation, the capacity to select, order, analyse, question and synthesize information and that faculty called imagination which breaks down what is into its constituent parts and remakes it as something new in the world, has been denied. Call it the upper storey. They do not visit the top floor. This is what I mean by the abolition of intellect (have to spell these things out for the brain-washed).They can function, so far as they can be said to function intellectually at all, only within a given frame of reference. They are incapable of handling questioning of the frame of reference. Indeed they are the brightest stars in the University's firmament. Mind is evident in the world. Religious freaks call it the work of the devil and commie freaks call it insanityhttp://www.dillsplace.com/the-great-university-education-scam.html

And by the Triple-Breasted Whore of Eroticon Six, you can tell when it's not there.

How you hate intelligence.  How you hate reason.  How you hate knowledge.  How you hate integrity, how you hate anyone who won’t go along with your evil.  Intelligence must be contained, limit itself to practical tasks, it mustn’t meddle in the affairs of its ‘betters’, meddle in how things are run, must be obedient, servile.  Only, as you perfectly well know, intelligence isn’t like that.  Rikki-Tikki Tavi, run and find out, what’s that. That makes no sense.  That’s garbage.  How does that work?  What is this thing called a planet?  What is this thing called life?  Oh how you love the stupid, the ignorant, the sly, the cowardly, the vicious, the bestial, the dishonest who do your dirty work for you, the bottomlessly corrupt who disregard all fact, reason, ethics.  I mean, you gotta do what you’re told. The ‘ruling-class’ just mustn’t be disturbed, must it, the cockroach coward ‘ruling-class’ who fix things in secret.  It has decided.  Its decisions are not to be challenged.  And all the sycophants and crawlers are rewarded for corrupting themselves by abandoning their capacity for independent thought and feeling, for becoming a creature of another’s will,  by having the pleasure of dispensing the corrupt will of the overlords, lording it over the serfs with supposed absolute power, unaccountable power, criminal power.  How the apes hate any threat to their power. Hate love and mind in equal measure, don’t you, reptiles, hate all that makes us human, want, demand a society from which both are absent, that your psychosis and irrationality rule, unchallenged, everyone obedient, enslaved, property. Do anything, won’t you, to promote, uphold, entrench evil.
 
What all these turd have in common is hatred of human.  Human threatens their pathetic monkey power-structures.  Human questions.  Human points out their pathetic monkey power-structures are so much hot air.  Human reasons.  Human treats head monkeys like other humans and remains upright and immune to the mindless chest-beatings of the alpha baboons. Human says you're talking out of your arses. Human doesn't think it requires permission to exist.  Human doesn't think it requires permission to speak.  They really don't like human at all.  

Newts do not distinguish between what people are and what they choose to be. If such distinctions are thrust up their gills, then you mustn't distinguish between kulchers. Hours of innocent enjoyment can be derived from defending the kulchers of the fox-hunter and the venture capitalist. Especially of course one must not say that the kulcher of liberal democracy and so of the West is an improvement on other kulchers because it enables a plurality of kulchers to co-exist.
The shield of the Great Lizard depicts a gelatinous object, an embryo, oversized head dominated by a single round eye and a short body tapering into a wispy tail - a photograph you have seen a hundred times in articles for or against abortion, the amphibian stage of human development to which all should aspire. The Amphibiana is bathed in a blue-green light, its walls punctuated by alcoves in which are small rock-gardens decked with algae. Old favourites are played through concealed speakers. 'The Internationale unites the newtine race…’, '…Oh, let our pond be filled with weed/To each according to his need/Though herons stalk and hawks hover/A newt is sure of safety here/From tadpole to maturity/The NHS will succour thee!'  If you gently lay aside the curtains of fronds, you may here ignite a stick of incense (though with difficulty because of the damp) to commemorate the Aldgate Seventeen, the Finsbury Two-Point-Five-Nine or the Archway Nought-Point-Four-One.  Other niches contain sacred relics such as the Dagenham Axle (over which were fought the famous Car Wars – perhaps you saw the movie and its sequel The Horse Strikes Back), the Grunswick Shroud or works of art such as the Trowel of Harlesden, the careful crusting of cement around the handle indicating the archaic period.  (Mildew, later to be Lord High Everything Else, was in those times just a smear on one of the smaller rocks.)
A dread portal leads to a dead mortal, the Sacred Cow embalmed in amber. Appropriately for one surrounded by so much bull, she is the victim of patriarchy, and also of course mummified. The Sacred Cow is the One Great Universal Victim and scratched in tiny letters on her tomb are the names of her countless enemies, chief of whom is McDonald's for the American for Sacred Cow is hamburger. Legend has it that Old McDonald once broke into the Amphibiana and tried to kidnap her for his farm. With a Muumuu here and a Muumuu there, she was saved (Muumuu is a rather feeble Sumerian god and the prototype of the Fog, a dull vapour). The Neophyte Actualizers of Muumuu are a branch of the Legion of Dynamic Discord, dedicated to forcing the Fog to take concrete form, and this is the origin of the greeting 'Hail, Eris', for what is hail but solidified water vapour?
Should you be threatened with the curse of the Great Lizard blighting thy harvest, withering thy outcrops and probably cropping thy withers, the appropriate counter-spell is non serviam (I do not serve), for newts hate being named as the enslaver. A quick word with Hecate sets the Hounds of Hell on their tails. In the myths of Newtism they become the imperialist running-dogs and capitalist hyenas against whom great heroes such as Scargill have fought. 'Cry havoc! and let slip the dogs of war.'  The Furies may also be invoked. Megaera is particularly virulent.
Newts too blame all ills on an Other. In this case it is Count Privilij. Everyone has heard of Entrenched Privilij. Like High Treason, he is never out of date. As the end drew closer, the Old Things returned, but they were mostly country bumpkins. Kipling thought England a bad place for gods and demi-, hemi and semi-deities and allegorical figures fare little better, but mythological creatures abound. The Old Things hope for a cataclysmic finale but it isn't necessarily going to be like that. History unfolds even as you get off at Kew so busy chittering into your mobile you don't notice the pair of gryphons perched on the station roof.
There is thunder. This time the lightning is forked. Privilij enters the stage in a swirl of black velvet, broad-brimmed hat reminiscent of the loucher sort of Cavalier, neat pointed black beard, mustachios tightly curled. He removes his cape with a flourish and twirls to display neat black wings polished to a shine of which an RSM would be proud. Is he not incarnate evil!  It is his Satan imitation and he is very proud of it but prefers Belgravia to the frozen ice of Lake Cocytus deep in the heart of Dis, shaggy thighs had seemed inelegant and three faces drew to him what he felt was unnecessary attention on the top of a 74 bus down Park Lane. His name he hoped had a pleasantly Central European ring, echoes of Transylvania. In the post-modern age the anti-Trinity of Hatred, Ignorance and Impotence so accurately counter-posed to Love, Wisdom and Power drew little attention, 'though one chap had asked him what he was advertising and a girl with green hair had sat down beside him and said she wanted to be an actriss and could she join his company, please. Australians were wonderful! What was the latest production? She supposed it was too much of a nuisance to remove the grease-paint between performances.
The newt has abolished the elements that may be used to counter it. Recourse to reason is elitist: it discriminates against the irrational. Recourse to knowledge is elitist: it discriminates against the ignorant. Life is simple viewed from the bottom of the pond.
The editor looked up, his red pencil hovering hungrily over the strange word.
"Newtspeak, George?"
"It feels right. Slippery.”
"People won't know what it means."
"That's the point. They don't."
"Get rid of the 't'?"
George sighed. So often artists are ahead of their time.
While other languages struggle towards precision, Newtspeak strives to confound. If there exist excellent, honest, industrious, innovative, then those who fall short of such descriptions are in some way flawed and that is not acceptable, for all are without fault (or at any rate that sub-section of all dear to the Great Lizard). Underlying this is the Hollow Gourd Theory, the Doctrine of the Empty Vessel. Criticism is meaningless because it is pointless: people can do nothing about how they are. They have no control. Obviously you can't expect much of a hollow gourd. Dynamism, innovation, moving and shaking are outside its capacity. Criticism can only traumatize it. Not surprisingly, tadpoles are notable for their passivity, what the unreconstructed call their uselessness, and there are none more hated than those who are not gourd-fearing and so bounce in with evil nonsense such as the suggestion that there is something wrong with you that you have the capacity to put right.
Oh, did they lay you on a rack and start to flay you, while applying lighted cigarettes to your genitals? You have to understand they aren't evil per se, it's just their kulcher. This masquerades as loving the sinner and hating the sin. Newtism is so besotted with absolving the sinner, who is himself or herself a victim and so guiltless, that it is indifferent to the sin. Even the most vicious totalitarian states offer some career choice in that it is unlikely people are forced to be torturers. It is an offence against the supposed natural goodness of humanity to suggest some people rather like being torturers, have a natural flair for it. And the culture of the torturer, the culture of the despot who commands him, that is an outgrowth of the primarily agricultural society that surrounds them? Newtism is among other things an attempt to deal with human evil by denying it exists.

Having been imprinted, told who and what they are, they assume everyone else is imprinted equally and this too underpins the contempt of the fascist fake Left for individual sovereignty, their utter contempt for human beings and assumption that one imprint can be replaced by another.  The idea of ideas of one's own, arising from oneself, is meaningless to them.  In this world no-one thinks something because he or she has a functioning mind, but only because some other head monkey has told him or her to think it.

But of course the whole hornet's nest of mad mechanical monkeys descends on one if one suggest Doctor is not a godlike being incapable of talking out of his arse and indeed that waddling retard bigot nursies with degrees is a joke in rather bad taste.  Perhaps they should try real exams which one automatically fails if one is illiterate.  If anything should be burned at the stake, it's multiple-choice papers.

Thus the monkey asks itself ridiculous questions, non-questions, such as why did God let my hamster suffer?  or why did God let Mum die.  Thus providing a let-out for its need to attribute blame, responsibility.  It then  beseeches 'God' not to do all the nasty things he allows and especially not to it personally - please don't let Dad die - or it collectively - us, thy people. It really is a very sick little monkey - it has cunt-for-brains - possibly only sicker when it decides that not only it God"s will everyone is starving or has died of the plague or something but it's a punishment from God for being bad monkeys.  Even the splendid language of the Book of Common Prayer doesn't quite conceal the lunacy of its having pleased Almighty God to take to him the dead person.  God prefers the company of the aged and infirm, then?  It's a possibility.

Perhaps they should be put in a cage and publicly exhibited, Sturridge, Black, Abraham, O'Mahony, Wilson, Logan, Lenz, Jackson, Hughes.  After all they belong behind bars, attempted murder and maiming generally being considered crimes, but no, we have become sufficiently civilized not to make public display of the raw criminal animal, and indeed we have progressed further than that - back to the forest floor where the ape is not responsible for its actions, cannot be expected to be capable of either self-command or self-control. responds to a stimulus like Pavlov's dogs, where it is normal to consider oneself the centre of the universe, where it is normal to force one's dull, dirty disgusting little self on anyone who upsets one, to seek to annul the external threat because one is intellectually and emotionally incapable, an animal, where words and argument are not required.

Such distress as words or indeed pictures inflict one is doing to oneself.  One has choice.

Such distress as physical force inflicts is being done to one by others. 

You are all pathetic. Depthlessly, filthily, vilely, obscenely - pathetic, as you jabber and whine and crawl around in filth and squalor drivelling your garbage.  You create nothing and only destroy, all capering apes can do, destroy, feverish little monkey fingers fixing and manipulating and scheming and thinking you're so fucking clever. 

You will of course recall The Story of Ung:

ONCE, on a glittering ice-field, ages and ages ago,
Ung, a maker of pictures, fashioned an image of snow.
Fashioned the form of a tribesman—gaily he whistled and sung,
Working the snow with his fingers. Read ye the Story of Ung!

Pleased was his tribe with that image—came in their hundreds to scan
Handled it, smelt it, and grunted: “Verily, this is a man!
“Thus do we carry our lances—thus is a war-belt slung.
“Lo! it is even as we are. Glory and honour to Ung!”

Later he pictured an aurochs—later he pictured a bear--
Pictured the sabre-tooth tiger dragging a man to his lair--
Pictured the mountainous mammoth, hairy, abhorrent, alone--
Out of the love that he bore them, scribing them clearly on bone.

Swift came the tribe to behold them, peering and pushing and still--
Men of the berg-battered beaches, men of the boulder-hatched hill--
Hunters and fishers and trappers, presently whispering low:
“Yea, they are like—and it may be— But how does the Picture-man know?”

“Ung—hath he slept with the Aurochs—watched where the Mastodon roam?
“Spoke on the ice with the Bow-head—followed the Sabre-tooth home?
“Nay! These are toys of his fancy! If he have cheated us so,
“How is there truth in his image—the man that he fashioned of snow?”

Wroth was that maker of pictures—hotly he answered the call:
“Hunters and fishers and trappers, children and fools are ye all!
“Look at the beasts when ye hunt them!” Swift from the tumult he broke,
Ran to the cave of his father and told him the shame that they spoke.

And the father of Ung gave answer, that was old and wise in the craft,
Maker of pictures aforetime, he leaned on his lance and laughed:
“If they could see as thou seest they would do what thou hast done,
“And each man would make him a picture, and—what would become of my son?

“There would be no pelts of the reindeer, flung down at thy cave for a gift,
“Nor dole of the oily timber that comes on the Baltic drift;
No store of well-drilled needles, nor ouches of amber pale;
“No new-cut tongues of the bison, nor meat of the stranded whale.

“Thou hast not toiled at the fishing when the sodden trammels freeze,
“Nor worked the war-boats outward through the rush of the rock-staked seas,
“Yet they bring thee fish and plunder—full meal and an easy bed--
“And all for the sake of thy pictures.” And Ung held down his head.

“Thou hast not stood to the Aurochs when the red snow reeks of the fight;
“Men have no time at the houghing to count his curls aright.
“And the heart of the hairy Mammoth, thou sayest, they do not see,
“Yet they save it whole from the beaches and broil the best for thee.

“And now do they press to thy pictures, with opened mouth and eye,
“And a little gift in the doorway, and the praise no gift can buy:
“But—sure they have doubted thy pictures, and that is a grievous stain--
“Son that can see so clearly, return them their gifts again!”

And Ung looked down at his deerskins—their broad shell-tasselled bands--
And Ung drew downward his mitten and looked at his naked hands;
And he gloved himself and departed, and he heard his father, behind:
“Son that can see so clearly, rejoice that thy tribe is blind!”

Straight on the glittering ice-field, by the caves of the lost Dordogne,
Ung, a maker of pictures, fell to his scribing on bone
Even to mammoth editions. Gaily he whistled and sung,
Blessing his tribe for their blindness. Heed ye the Story of Ung!