The American Trinity

a chapter from Americaa

President and the sister
God, the apostle Paul, and the comedian Lenny Bruce appeared to prominent American pornographer Larry Flynt, when in 1977 he was flying over the Rockies with Ruth Carter Stapleton, president Carter's sister, in his labia-pink jet. True story, he recalls it in his memoir: >>
Flynt was thrown into that spiritual spin because he was messing too much with the Sun (ultimate powers known and unknown). When biology clocked him at thirty-five, when a man needs to straighten out and get his job done, the Sun roared. Happens to many of us maturing guys, only in less otherworldly ways. With the pink-shot sophist Flynt it took an extreme turn. Not, primarily, because he was filthy in an extreme way―many guys are―but because he had become one of the notorious agents of ill eating away at the Western world.
Flynt had had religious flashes for some time prior. Again, nothing unusual for a guy of that age and life history. But what made his case singular, was appearing to have been 'chosen' ("ultimate powers known and unknown") for mediumship to a whole race of people―the White people.
The American Trinity

By the end of the 1970s the TV magazine 60 Minutes was at its peak ratings. In one of the seasons there was a segment about a famed pornographer and another one about the evangelical sister of the evangelical president of the United States. After the broadcasts the producer called the pornographer and told him that the evangelical sister of the evangelical president of the United States had asked for the pornographer to contact her.
The pornographer almost fell off his bed.
But he did call back. In their conversation the president’s sister tried to convince him that they had a lot in common and should get to know each other. According to her, she like the pornographer didn’t tolerate sexual repression. Except that she didn’t tolerate it in the marital bed, and he anyplace. To her, this was already a good start.
The pornographer was Larry Flynt, some of you might know him from a Hollywood flick. In their phone talk the president’s sister, Ruth Carter Stapleton, insisted that the pornographer fly over to her place for dinner since he had a jet.
The pornographer nearly fell off his bed a second time.
And yet, before the talk ended, not believing his ears, he had consented. Come Friday, he flew to North Carolina with his newly wedded fourth wife aboard his famed “labia-pink” jet to have dinner with the president’s sister and her husband, a veterinarian. Over cocktails at a country club, while telling the president’s sister of his dysfunctional childhood, the pornographer’s eyes got misty. Ruth burst into tears. After dinner, Ruth and the pornographer talked at her home so long into the night that the pornographer’s new fourth wife and Ruth’s husband, a veterinarian, hit the hay right where they sat on a living room sofa.
Two weeks later the pornographer was to fly from the East Coast to L.A. Ruth also had the stuff to do in California, so he offered to drop by North Carolina and give her a lift. They were the only passengers on the plane. When they flew over the Rockies, 40,000 feet in the air, very powerful and incomprehensible emotions took hold of the pornographer. Before he knew it, he was on his knees and praying. This is no fiction, you can read about it in his autobio An Unseemly Man, plus what Ruth Carter Stapleton was later telling.
Suddenly, a bearded figure in a white robe and sandals appeared before the pornographer. In his mind, God. The pornographer spontaneously began talking to Him. Another figure appeared, a little, bearded man, the apostle Paul. With both, the pornographer started talking incoherently about obedience to God and living right. Another character joined in, the late comedian Lenny Bruce. The pornographer asked God if Bruce was in heaven or hell, but he didn’t remember the answer. Finally, in a vision, the pornographer saw himself in a wheelchair, which scared the wits out of him. At this moment, Ruth, the real one, appeared at his side, consoling and hugging him, elated too, because besides being in a profound shock, the pornographer also had a deep sense of conversion, of being born anew.
I’d like to point to the following here.
God is bearded and wears a white robe and sandals. The sandals stand out, in my view, because even in the Renaissance frescoes God has bare feet. After all, why would He, the Absolute, need footwear, right? But―hark, hark―the Son wore sandals. Now, we’re getting somewhere. Because the Son is us, only more excellent. Through that image of the God-figure wearing our footwear, we might take it as confirmation―even by way of a twisted pornographer’s hallucination―of our traditional doctrine reflecting the juncture of human and God. That has been the mystery and power seat of our highly developed Eurochristian religion: man-through-the-Son-with-the-Father. That bit in the pornographer’s epiphany was in my opinion pretty real stuff.
Now, the „little” apostle Paul. I wouldn’t think the pornographer saw how tall the apostle Paul actually was. It seems rather that the issue here was about Pharisee Saul, a homicidal persecutor of the first Christians, struck by a vision on the way to Damascus and as a result transformed into Paul. Just like the pornographer flying in his labia-pink bird 40,000 feet above the Rockies with the evangelical sister of the evangelical president of the United States had a vision of God, the apostle Paul, and the comedian Lenny Bruce. Which also resulted in a conversion, except that it didn’t quite perform, as it would soon show. It seems we’re entitled to see a broader message here: If Christianity were still a saving religion for us ethnic Europeans, the pornographer’s conversion should’ve been successful as Saul’s was. But it was not. The apostle Paul appearing “little” in this subliminal broadcast seems to confirm this assessment. 

And don’t tell me that Paul was a somebody, while here we’re dealing with a slimy punk. Paul-Saul was an enabler of murder, let me remind you, that’s why I’ve never trusted him. Just check Acts 8:3, 22:4, 22:20. I do believe that some killers may recognize the wrongs of their deeds; I don’t believe in the former killers tutoring us on higher things. Saul turned Paul was a vicious NKVDist turned a neocon, carrying within an unconscious bridge back to the inbred destiny.
Finally, the third and most striking bit in the pornographer’s pop-up. The comedian Lenny Bruce. In time, after gaining some distance, the pornographer would consider such a threesome humorous: God, the apostle Paul, and the ordinary comedian. But from that it follows that during the actual apparition the comedian’s presence seemed to him as natural as of the other two. My hunch tells me this is the key facet in this whole affair, but we’ll get down to it later on.
The next 24 hours after the vision were hard on the pornographer. When they arrived in L.A. (he writes in his autobio), he was still in the throes of the vision and Ruth accompanied him to the Beverly Hills Hotel and spent the night with him in his bungalow. She sat by his bedside and held his hand the whole night through.
The next morning he called his newlywed fourth wife, wept, and admitted that he had stood for evil things and was ashamed of it, but that now the Lord had walked into his life. The wife replied that the Lord might have walked in, but 20 million dollars a year had just walked out.
Even so, the pornographer stuck to his conviction and unfolded plans to transform his famed peepzine Hustler into a Christian piczine. For starters, he doubled his employees’ minimum wage, set up a daycare for their kids, banned smoking, and, of course, studied the Scriptures in the company of his new love-weaponized friends.
But it wasn’t long before Larry Flynt would fall off his high Christian horse, as I said. Being able to afford the best psychiatrists, he later maintained, had eventually freed him from the illusion of conversion. He chalked it up to the manic-depressive states of his mind and a possible chemical imbalance in his brain due to chronic stress.
In this liberated state, he set to appear before the court in Lawrenceville, Georgia (pop. 5,200), where he had been indicted for public obscenity. The court day was March 6, 1978. He arrived determined to “fight the indictment vigorously,” his words. From the high ground of the sacredness of the First Amendment, he’d fight righteously for the whole world to see.
Returning from lunch to the courthouse he was shot twice in his centerfold gut by a gunman who escaped unrecognized.
“Somebody was sending Flynt a message that they don’t want his type of filth around,” remarked to the media the town’s eight-time mayor Rhodes Jordan.
The pornographer fought for his life for several days and survived, but was bound to a wheelchair for the rest of his time.
Now, what to make of it.
Flynt was thrown into that spiritual spin because he was messing too much with the Sun (ultimate powers known and unknown). When biology clocked him at thirty-five, when a man needs to straighten out and get his job done, the Sun roared. Happens to many of us maturing guys, only in less otherworldly ways. With the pink-shot sophist Flynt it took an extreme turn. Not, primarily, because he was filthy in an extreme way―many guys are―but because he had become one of the notorious agents of ill eating away at the Western world.
Flynt had had religious flashes for some time prior. Again, nothing unusual for a guy of that age and life history. What made his case singular, was appearing to have been chosen ("ultimate powers known and unknown") for mediumship to a whole race of people― the Whites.
Let’s go to the logbook. One of the most publicized corruptors of right-minded life in America and the Western world is having existential pains due to hitting a threshold in life. The evangelical sister of the evangelical president of the United States steps into his life. The contact verges on a near-sentient linking to the mightiest powers of the Western world, and the World, actually. Now comes the pivot: a liaison to those powers initiates a Christian, i.e., beyond reason acceptance of a demoralized to the core but also influential in his realm man. Wasn’t it him who published a photo of a U.S. president’s naked wife for the whole world to chew on, for which he only got more notorious and richer? Out of that combustive mix, the otherwise casual processes of hitting peak manhood had fused into a form of spiritual flare. Ruth Carter Stapleton certainly played a part in triggering the pornographer’s vision, including some of the casting.
Some, because the Lenny Bruce character clearly springs up from Larry Flynt’s own crassness, coupled with first-hand knowledge of the rot setting in the Western world. That’s when things get interesting for us Whites today.
Lenny Bruce was born in 1925 on Long Island and died in 1966 naked on his bathroom floor in Hollywood from an overdose of morphine. In 1964, after his arrest for using obscene language on stage, Norman Mailer, James Jones, and other “prominent intellectuals” defended him as a social satirist “in the tradition of Swift, Rabelais, and Twain.” Bob Fosse’s flick Lenny (1974), starring Dustin Hoffman, showcased Bruce to the hoi polloi as a “martyr of freedom of speech.” One of Bruce’s classic lines was: “Take away the right to say [bleep], and you take away the right to say [bleep] the government.” Another one: “If Jesus had been killed twenty years ago, Catholic schoolchildren would be wearing little electric chairs around their necks instead of crosses.”
In the early 1960s prosecutors from the East Coast to the West were in hot pursuit of Bruce for public obscenity. One such posse in L.A.―aware that to accuse someone of indecent speech the complaint had to be filed by a person who understood the disputed phrases, and knowing that in parts of his act Bruce shelled stuff in Yiddish―had brought in an undercover Jewish sheriff. He hardcopied the tidbits in a notebook, and so the cuffs were finally clapped around the wrists of the social satirist in the tradition of Swift, Rabelais, and Twain, and he was hauled off for booking.
In 1963 Hugh Hefner―here the ends meet―talks Bruce into putting out in installments his autobiography How to Talk Dirty and Influence People in the Playboy peepzine. Two years later, the Playboy Press treats the lower self of the good country to that content as a book. Today, five decades into the progress, the mainstream imbues the common mind with such unalienable truths about Lenny Bruce:
He was the satirist in the tradition of Mark Twain, Francois Rabelais, and Jonathan Swift.
He was the radical saint of the comedy world.
He revolutionized the comic act in the U.S. in the 1960s.
He redefined stand-up comedy.
He startled by breaking the rules of decency with freshness and bravado.
He crossed the demarcation line of decency, where others lacked the courage.
The relentlessness of the government in persecuting him for making use of freedom of expression in comparison with the actual recordings of his appearances shows in full light the ridiculousness and backwardness even then of the old-fashioned Puritan sensibility.
Forty years after Lenny Bruce’s first arrest for offending the public morality and thirty-seven since his martyrdom on the bathroom floor after an overdose of morphine, New York Governor George Pataki posthumously pardons him. It is December 23, 2003. The world took another step forward.
OK, it did. Why then in his epiphany did Larry Flynt ask God if Lenny Bruce was in heaven or hell?
Because “Lenny Bruce” in Larry Flynt’s vision 40 thousand feet over the Rockies was Larry Flynt himself. Both Lenny Bruce and Larry Flynt were simultaneously unstitching in their corresponding fields the traditional American mores. The values, the virtues, the norms, the notions, the attitudes, the moral dispositions, the convictions that shape mental habits, the habits of the heart―all those linchpins, about which the brilliant Comte in his traveling epiphany (1835–1840) concluded that without them there wouldn’t be a democratic republic. There wouldn’t be America.
And in that America a century and a half down the path the pornographer Larry Flynt in a vision over the Rockies inquires of God if the foul-mouthed comedian Lenny Bruce is in heaven or hell―in fact asking about himself. And then he “didn’t remember” God’s reply. Well, he didn’t, because the “reply” wasn’t there yet. Several months later it would flesh out alright. He will be shot in the centerfold gut by one James Clayton Vaughn Jr. aka Joseph Paul Franklin (Benjamin Franklin & Paul Joseph Goebbels combined), for promoting interracial sex.
Larry Flynt later maintained that being able to afford the best psychiatrists had eventually freed him from the illusion of conversion. He attributed the turmoil to the manic-depressive state of his mind and a possible chemical imbalance in his brain that resulted from chronic stress. That’s OK with us. It does not make a dent in the validity of his spiritual pop-up in our view. That’s how religions have been made anyway, for the most part. Thousands upon thousands of the small ones, and that handful of the big ones, too. It’s just that we’re so far away time wise from reliable eyewitness record of what was happening in that spirit-blasting era, that we don’t grasp the technical similarities between the circumstances of, say, Joseph Smith originating Mormonism, and the riders of such spirit storms in ancient past.

I said, “that’s how religions have been made for the most part.” For the most part, because we now are inevitably approaching that only hard fact in Larry Flynt’s illusion, which is this: What for crying out loud to do with this wheelchair? It was the final image of his revelation and the world-famed rake immediately was shaken to the core. It disturbed him deep down in his gut, his own words. And a few months later he’d be swiftly placed in the actual thing for the remainder of his life.
So the world’s foremost porner has a warning vision with a concluding threat of being put into a wheelchair. He has a profound conversion as a result. A few months later he turns his back on it. Soon after he gets shot in the centerfold gut. The wheelchair is made flesh. How to explain that?!
I say it was real, not coincidental. From my experiences on the trail, these things do occur. But they’re neither Christian nor Jewish nor Hindu nor Buddhist nor Anybox. They occur when they occur, there’s no rule to it as we’d wish to encapsulate it in our minds. They visit. When they do, they make sense so immediate that one has no urgency whatsoever to link them to a broader epistemological grid. Just get on a trail and see. You’ll come to the point when you say with an ease and conviction that on his fateful flight over the Rockies in his labia-pink jet American Larry Flynt did see the face of god. It was Lenny Bruce. And by God, he was the most live of the three.
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