Censorship… ShutUp!

WEDNESDAY, JULY 28, 2010
Censorship… ShutUp!
In the Realm of the Censors, From the Coliseum to Capitol Hill

by Peter Walsh (Originally published in the February 1991 issue of Boston Review http://www.bostonreview.net/BR16.1/walsh.html - full text)

On one of the most famous censors of all times the author makes this observation which very much sounds like something borrowed directly from Livy’s mind if not from his writing:

“Despite his moral conservatism, Cato, like many conservatives today, was very much a man of his times. Cato’s values were agrarian, yet he made a comfortable fortune in the rapidly developing international economy as a capitalist and money-lender. At a time when Greek art and ideas were flooding into Rome from newly conquered territories, Cato was vociferously anti-Greek, yet not above spicing his speeches with phrases cribbed from Greek orators. He refused to acknowledge the achievements of other Romans in his books, yet sang his own praises loudly.”

Interesting and historically important as that is to the entire subject of censorship especially as it relates to one of the most famous elected censors of all times; this was not really what I had in mind when I first thought it would be good to grandstand on the concept and practice of censorship. It does make a valid point as even censors frequently are self serving whether successful or not in their censorship.

The online http://www.thefreedictionary.com/censorship definition also provided little of what I originally intended to talk about:

“cen•sor•ship (s n s r-sh p ) n.
1. The act, process, or practice of censoring.
2. The office or authority of a Roman censor.
3. Psychology Prevention of disturbing or painful thoughts or feelings from reaching consciousness except in a disguised form.”

Since Mr. Reardon taught that it was a poor definition that used the word defined in the definition; the above is therefore pretty lame with the exception of #3 which also was far from what I formerly had in mind. After a Google or two #3 seems more apt. Almost like making a right hand turn from the left hand turn lane; or what is so wrong with Left on Red After Stop?

Exactly how #3 is done is a matter of much conjecture, none of which I really give a hoot about. With practice of Eastern Meditation one can completely master Psychological censorship, that or some excellent repression.

For me what #3 is all about is falling asleep. A thought keeps bouncing around the brain. Nothing like having a bee in the bonnet when rest is needed! Mental pinball. REM sleep initiation tactics developed and deployed to vanquish these disturbing or painful thoughts or feelings from reaching consciousness (even in a disguised form) sometimes are not successful.

Unconsciousness is what is desired. Olive Oyl can not smack me on the forehead with her cast iron frying pan like Brutus. Total censorship is the only way to clear the mind, that or some kind of drugs. Drugs or the frying pan may be more expedient but both leave the brain addled the next time consciousness is desired.

Little children are taught to pray before bed. I’ve tried it along with countless other measures. The simplest thing is to read a book. Not an unusually great book... but a book that at least causes me to turn the pages rather than set it aside in disgust.

These thoughts are not David Richard Berkowitz “Son of Sam” dog commands but sometimes quite as insistent. They become extremely evil when they finally degenerate into that long train of thought about what is keeping the Sand Man from making his nightly visit. This contemplation then becomes an endless loop.

If the book is not working it is time for a redirect. A trip to the bathroom, refrigerator or sink usually works the charm. A stubbed toe in the dark replaces the previously playing loop with the new one that includes much pain and throbbing.

Then it really seems time for a greater quantity of drugs than would have been needed in the first place… or, the cast iron frying pan.

Sometimes music will fill my head. I can lullaby myself to sleep. Of course as I sing along somewhere the needle invariably hits that one scratch... the hiccup, blank place or a pause in the memory banks where some lyric is not recalled. In case that happens again, I apologize for this:



With the words written down the next time that damn song won’t get out of my head; like little children I am praying for the love of God, that if ABBA does somehow invade my neural network, it is not being sung my Meryl Streep and especially Pierce Brosnan.

At that point it really would be time for a much huger quantity of drugs. Forsaking all else, the cast iron frying pan.



Swedish Nightmare! Please! Censorship… ShutUp! I can’t believe I was sleeping all this time.

© 07.28.2010 steven d philbrick SR+ DakotaDawg