“A weekly fantasy adventure [ by Winsor McCay], Little Nemo in Slumberland featured the young Nemo (“No one” in Latin) who dreamed himself into wondrous predicaments from which he awoke in bed in the last panel. The first episode[a] begins with a command from King Morpheus of Slumberland to a minion to collect Nemo. Nemo was to be the playmate of Slumberland’s Princess, but it took months of adventures before Nemo finally arrived; a green, cigar-chewing clown named Flip was determined to disturb Nemo’s sleep with a top hat emblazoned with the words “Wake Up”. Nemo and Flip eventually become companions, and are joined by an African Imp whom Flip finds in the Candy Islands. The group travels far and wide, from shanty towns to Mars, to Jack Frost‘s palace, to the bizarre architecture and distorted funhouse-mirror illusions of Befuddle Hall.
“The strip shows McCay’s understanding of dream psychology, particularly of dream fears—falling, drowning, impalement. This dream world has its own moral code, perhaps difficult to understand. Breaking it has terrible consequences, as when Nemo ignores instructions not to touch Queen Crystalette, who inhabits a cave of glass. Overcome with his infatuation, he causes her and her followers to shatter, and awakens with “the groans of the dying guardsmen still ringing in his ears”.[b]
Although the strip began October 15, 1905 with Morpheus, ruler of Slumberland, making his first attempt to bring Little Nemo to his realm, Nemo did not get into Slumberland until March 4, 1906 and, due to Flip’s interfering, did not get to see the Princess until July 8. His dream quest is always interrupted by either him falling out of bed, or his parents forcibly waking him up.” Wikipedia.com
Winsor McCay, an American illustrator, created Little Nemo in honor of his son Robert who must have had some fantastic dreams and nightmares! When Robert went off to war he came back shell-shocked after experiencing the real nightmare of battle. FOR MORE ON McCAY AND HIS BEAUTIFUL ART: COMICLOPEDIA
I know why families were created with all their imperfections. They humanize you. They are made to make you forget yourself occasionally, so that the beautiful balance of life is not destroyed. Anais Nin
Sometimes it’s hard to read history. We look back wringing our hands. If only! If only!
I want to write about love and hope. I want to find people from the past to admire, but that is for another day. Today I sit at my computer having just milked my goats and fed my chickens. The sparrows chirp outside the window and the trees are ablaze with color, but I can’t stop thinking about damned eugenics.
Culling the unfit. Good farmers are supposed to ruthlessly do this. I suck as a farmer.
I wish when I read about the homeless, illiterate people hired to wear placards in the 1920’s that read:
I am a burden to myself and the state.
Should I be allowed to propagate?
I have no opportunity to educate or feed my children.
They may become criminals.
Would the prisons and asylums be filled if my kind
had no children?
I cannot read this sign.
By what right have I children?
that this was a sorry little story from our past.
But it’s not over. I hate bad news. I hate controversy. I don’t even want to post this, but if it’s true . . .
Before the Nazis, British and American women were hunted down to be sterilized. Babies were left to die because they seemed unfit. My stomach turns because so many of the reasons for sterilization, birth control and mass murder came from the hearts and minds of people who used science to work out their loathing of the human race.
After talking to my mother this week I’m not sure how I even came to be. My grandmother was sexually promiscuous (reason enough for some state authorities to sterilize her). My great grand mother on the other side was signed in to a mental institution by her daughter and when my great grandfather couldn’t get her released he killed himself. For a while my mother lived in a hovel and was considered dirty white trash as she read the classics by candlelight. Quite possibly I’m very unfit.
Forced sterilization continues. I don’t want to believe any of it is true. I ask myself as I read UN documents if I’ve missed something. I want evil stories to be debunked. If we’re just random living things then I guess it doesn’t really matter–but it matters to me.
Can people really be okay with this?
“War and famine would not do. Instead, disease offered the most efficient and fastest way to kill the billions that must soon die if the population crisis is to be solved. AIDS is not an efficient killer because it is too slow. My favorite candidate for eliminating 90 percent of the world’s population is airborne Ebola (Ebola Reston), because it is both highly lethal and it kills in days, instead of years. “We’ve got airborne diseases with 90 percent mortality in humans. Killing humans. Think about that. “You know, the bird flu’s good, too. For everyone who survives, he will have to bury nine”. Dr. Eric Pianka University of Texas evolutionary ecologist and lizard expert, showed solutions for reducing the world’s population to an audience on population control
“Society has no business to permit degenerates to reproduce their kind”.
“It is better for all the world, if instead of waiting to execute degenerate offspring for crime, or to let them starve for their imbecility, society can prevent those who are manifestly unfit from continuing their kind….Three generations of imbeciles are enough.”
Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.
“Malthus has been vindicated; reality is finally catching up with Malthus. The Third World is overpopulated, it’s an economic mess, and there’s no way they could get out of it with this fast-growing population. Our philosophy is: back to the village”. Dr. Arne Schiotz, World Wildlife Fund Director of Conservation, stated such, ironically, in 1984.
“A total world population of 250-300 million people, a 95% decline from present levels, would be ideal”. Ted Turner, in an interview with Audubon magazine
“There is a single theme behind all our work–we must reduce population levels. Either governments do it our way, through nice clean methods, or they will get the kinds of mess that we have in El Salvador, or in Iran or in Beirut. Population is a political problem. Once population is out of control, it requires authoritarian government, even fascism, to reduce it….” “Our program in El Salvador didn’t work. The infrastructure was not there to support it. There were just too goddamned many people…. To really reduce population, quickly, you have to pull all the males into the fighting and you have to kill significant numbers of fertile age females….” The quickest way to reduce population is through famine, like in Africa, or through disease like the Black Death….” Thomas Ferguson, State Department Office of Population Affairs
“In searching for a new enemy to unite us, we came up with the idea that pollution, the threat of global warming, water shortages, famine and the like would fit the bill…. But in designating them as the enemy, we fall into the trap of mistaking symptoms for causes. All these dangers are caused by human intervention and it is only through changed attitudes and behavior that they can be overcome. The real enemy, then, is humanity itself”. Alexander King, Bertrand Schneider – Founder and Secretary, respectively, The Club of Rome, The First Global Revolution, pgs 104-105, 1991
“A cancer is an uncontrolled multiplication of cells; the population explosion is an uncontrolled multiplication of people…. We must shift our efforts from the treatment of the symptoms to the cutting out of the cancer. The operation will demand many apparently brutal and heartless decisions”. Stanford Professor, Paul Ehrlich in The Population Bomb
“In order to stabilize world population, we must eliminate 350,000 people per day. It is a horrible thing to say, but it is just as bad not to say it”. J. Cousteau, 1991 explorer and UNESCO courier
“I believe that human overpopulation is the fundamental problem on Earth Today” and, “We humans have become a disease, the Humanpox”.
Dave Foreman, Sierra Club and co founder of Earth First!
“We must speak more clearly about sexuality, contraception, about abortion, about values that control population, because the ecological crisis, in short, is the population crisis. Cut the population by 90% and there aren’t enough people left to do a great deal of ecological damage.”
Is it wrong for me to wonder why population control advocates don’t just kill themselves first? Are they too valuable?
Here is the real history of the world: Good and evil exist. If we really knew how to love, population would not be an issue. Mass slaughter (whether it’s done slowly or in spectacular fashion) has never improved anything!
I read the past in Dennis Sewell’s disturbing book The Political Gene and see the future all too clearly!This guy isn’t some fringe nut job. He has credentials and his book is backed by tons of documents. I wish he were a nut job.
We’ve not escaped the evil of eugenics. I want to go back to the Gilded Age when culling and breeding and unfit humanity were just germs of an idea in the Darwin family tree, before George Bernard Shaw, HG Wells, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Margaret Sanger and Bill Gates embraced their own arrogant superiority. Before they all complained that dumb-ass Americans who still believed in the fairytale of humans created in the image of God and endowed with unalienable rights (LIFE being one of them) kept them from their scientific agenda.
There is no such thing as progress. Every generation must choose between good and evil.
Who will be the new GK Chesterton? Maybe it needs to be you and me.
Charles Francis Adams, despite being considered an authority on the management of railroads couldn’t keep the Union Pacific stable as its president. One of the reasons, according to Richard White in Railroaded, was the boys–the young men too young to have fought in the war seemed “weak, unruly, willful and hard to control.”
When the mother of one of his young subordinates (at the railroad) wrote about the hardships of his life, Adams told her, ‘You will, I fear, have to talk in vain to men of my generation . . . [T]he hardships and dangers incurred by your son seem to me quite trifling in comparison with my own recollections of four years active service, summer and winter, in Virginia.” Richard White, Railroaded.
Ouch. So here’s a few questions: Why do most cultures still value the warrior? Why do most boys play soldier? Is it possible to reach true masculinity without a battle?
“A green wrinkled sheet of thick card in his empty money pouch caught John Weldon’s eye. He pulled it out between his two long fingers. Hand-drawn timorous trees in black ink dressed the card’s message from the only care package he had ever received that first Christmas of the war . . . Christmas . . . the most dismal time of year for a soldier without family. Weldon found ways to avoid mail call, but one day someone shouted his name. He thought he heard it, but wasn’t sure so hung back. The call came again with more impatience and Weldon slunk up, with his sunken, dark eyes lowered and his crow-black hair shorn short since the summer of lice. The heavy, battered box had his name on it. His face burned. He cut the top with his knife and reached in to find soft mittens and socks—hand-knit and familiar in a way—they were like Simon McCullough’s and for a horrible moment he thought there had been an embarrassing mistake. He fumbled to close the box but noticed a tiny, hand-drawn card with funny little trees around the edge. “A friend of Simon’s is a friend of ours! Merry Christmas! Warm Regards—Scott, Sarah and Katherine McCullough.”
Hazelton sidled up and read the card. On the back in the same small script was scribbled an address in Englewood, New Jersey Simon McCullough had talked about endlessly—almost like a fairytale, being too perfect to be real—as if they had expected Weldon to write. He’d never done so, but had run his fingers over the little tree drawings many times.
“Sir, you need help and if it ain’t the hospital you’re going to then I’m going to put you on the train.”
“I don’t know them…I can’t face Simon…I…”
“Any place is better than here and Simon is your friend.”
Weldon had done everything he could think of to repulse this invasion, this toppling of his defenses but Simon McCullough wore him down. The whole world seemed to love him—no Simon pretended to love the whole world—he even played with the darkies’ children.
He remembered squeezing into his first army boots at Carlisle Barracks and then going off to the war with a commander who convinced him to volunteer for a Jersey regiment on a lark. There he met Simon and for a sparkling few years pretended at being someone else. But now fevers came on strong. He held the pus-filled flap of skin at his side a little tighter. How had he been so damned stupid? How had he ever let Simon McCullough in?—that piece of shit. What a terrible, stupid blunder. He would bring it all to him. Just shove it in the lieutenant’s face—all the suffering he caused. Weldon always expected a life of aching and scratching and he could die doing it, but not before presenting it to the one person who duped him just long enough to give him hope.”