Thunderbirds, created/produced by Sylvia and Gerry Anderson. Okay. Mind blowing. [Now] classic television. That few today mention or discuss. A show with an extent of the bizarre that as an adult I wonder if the eight-year-old me only imagined. The voices of these supermarionated characters sounding as if they were in a pocketed section of space simulating echo chambers. The faces of these marionettes giving off both an officious mien and an angry, haunted, almost possessed glare. More dynamic than the best of Punch and Judy skits, less animated than Gumby, more riveting than the creepiest of Star Trek episodes.
Why is this blurb inserted into/onto a blog called MindFeelds? Because as one who does not smoke pot or drop acid or do psychotropics of any sort (anymore, I think), when I awaken to find something hitting my consciousness that [my conscious mind believes] is out of the ordinary, I just have to "share" it, lest I go mad thinking I am the only one experiencing/hearing/viewing what I am experiencing/hearing/viewing. And this morning I woke to retroactive images of Commander Norman,
Lady Penelope Creighton Ward,
and Jeff Tracy,
among others.
And the still shots in my head alone, never mind the actual show, were enough to set my day into a trend of perpetual dizziness, giddy as I was with private memories of what I then thought were unique and secret responses to a brilliant show way ahead of its time on many levels..., or spheres.
The next time I have to spare, I must share with you about waking up one morning as a thirty-something adult to a show I was sure I had to have been slipped something in my sleep--stoned as the experience was to see what I was seeing on the television left on from the late night before: Teletubbies!
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