In a fairer world, where opportunity is constant and honest effort not compromised by the necessities of deceit and deal-making for advancement, a man like Karl Rove would not be smiling. A man like Karl Rove would be out of a job. Karl Rove exists because the collective dishonesty, fear and confusion of the human race have given him the tools to apply the Karl Rove formula successfully on behalf of himself and his clients.
Of course, the Karl Rove formula would not have nearly so great an impact if it did not directly benefit that portion of the world whose main intent is profit and control. This is a club of individuals. If it is a conspiracy it is a conspiracy after the fact. Quite naturally, people of a certain temperament and intent are brought together by common interest and condition. Homeless people recognize each other. Junkies recognize each other. Whores and John’s recognize each other. Criminal and spiritually minded folk encounter each other in the course of their movements. There’s a certain magnetism that exists in life. You can deny it but that doesn’t affect it.
The rich and the powerful, the ambitious and acquisitive, all gravitate to a common feeding ground. They play in the same recreation zones. They shit where they like. I call them, ‘the big dogs in the yard’
One thing everyone should realize, in order to avoid dangerous encounters and to have a pre-cognitive awareness of the events that ebb and flow like ocean tides; micro-cosmically and macro-cosmically, is that there are those among us who are not human. They wear a human mask. They walk and dress and talk like humans but they are not human. You need to know this. Power and wealth does not confer virtue. Celebrity is not indicative of intelligence or insight. Connections are not a determination of anyone’s intrinsic value.
When a people are deceived there is not much you can do for them. Events must run their course. People must suffer to learn. If they refuse to be attentive to begin with they ‘will be’ informed of the value of attentiveness after the fact.
Many of you are caught in circumstance. You have families and jobs. You have responsibilities. You have to weigh the degree to which you will allow your conscience and your honor to exist based on the possible cost to what you value. Some few have cut all connection to anything but the truth. For everyone else, the truth is an enormous and unaffordable inconvenience. It is into this space between what you have and what it means to you that Karl Rove operates.
Karl Rove fixes things for big dogs. Karl Rove is not a big dog. You may think he is a big dog but he is not. He facilitates events and conditions in the lives of small dogs in order to benefit the desires of big dogs. Big dogs are not human beings. They are not even dogs. I use that image for the sake of argument. The needs of human beings are not the same needs as those of big dogs. The needs of human beings are of no importance to big dogs. Human beings exist for big dogs for the same reason that cows exist for ranchers. As simple as that seems it is the whole of the dynamic.
It is the hope of human beings that things will not become unbearable. They hope that they will be allowed to go about their business and their lives and enjoy some part of it. Sometimes this is so and sometimes it isn’t. This particular time is not a good one for human beings; especially for human beings trapped in circumstance.
Why is Karl Rove smiling? Why do your leaders seem so certain of things in direct conflict with appearances to the contrary? They are big dogs. They do not have to abide by the rules that you assume to be in force. These rules are only in force in appearance. In practice they are in force until the big dogs decide to alter them to their needs. It has always been so.
The only way to get the big dogs attention is to realize that any one handful of small dogs can tear a big dog to pieces. There are far more than a handful of small dogs for every big dog. There are so many small dogs that most of them would never even get close to the action if it were to start to happen. Sometimes a revolution is the only way out. It becomes the only way out when the other agencies that were available to the small dogs have been nullified or compromised. When you cannot vote, you must rebel. You may not want to but you have to. The space you inhabit will get more crowded, more small, more lacking in amenities and finally so absent of oxygen that you cannot even breathe. This is how it goes.
Karl Rove and the other dogs are not going to be struck down on the road to Damascus and rise up in joyful epiphany. They are going to enslave you, hook you up to milking machines and herd you through the Judas Gate on to the killing floor. They are going to do this in concert with a number of small dogs who have taken their place in the schematic due to self-interest and survival.
Today you find yourself at a point in history. One could say that you would always find yourself at a point in history; some are more bearable than others. Some offer more hope. The world is not a perfect place but there is often enough balance to allow you to breathe and to grow and to survive in a relative harmony within the imperfections. Sometimes you can make your choices and rely upon the archetypes and intangibles to support what is collectively defined as good and decent.
When extremists and that which is not human have grasped the controls of the world there is, sadly, only one option. That option is revolution. Revolution is never pleasant but sometimes it is necessary. Sometimes a sacrifice is demanded so that all you have worked for and believed in will not be lost. Sometimes you have no choice.
There are two kinds of revolutions, violent and non-violent. History has shown that neither of these is pristine. They each will contain elements of the other. In a non-violent revolution, especially in a materialistic culture, it is enough for a majority of the citizens to refuse to show up; to just stop contributing. The world of the big dogs will grind to a halt if the small dogs don’t show up, if the small dogs just sit down. You will never get the big dogs to agree to make the world a fair and human place but you can ‘compel’ them to adjust the scales. You can force their hand. You can do this.
If Karl Rove is still smiling on November 8th then you know what happened. You should be in no doubt of it and you should just collectively agree to stop. I know that it might be tough for awhile. I know that you might have to tighten your belt. However, your relative potential for suffering in respect of this will not hold a candle to what many have suffered for the same thing in the past.
If you cannot collectively force the big dogs to make big adjustments then you are deserving of your fate. You will deserve what follows. If some honor and conscience remains in you, should events not turn out fortunate for you, then it is your duty and it is your only option to wipe that smile off of Karl Rove’s face and off of the faces of the big dogs that he serves. Whatever it takes, that is what you must do. The alternative is quite simply, unacceptable.
24 April 2014
A change of web host is now underway for all of Visible's blogs, meaning each has now lost their custom domain names (for a little while, anyway).
The blogs remain accessible at the URLS below, so please bookmark these links:
Reflections in a Petri Dish
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Thank you for bearing with us during the move!
Monday, October 30, 2006
In a fairer world, where opportunity is constant and honest effort not compromised by the necessities of deceit and deal-making for advancement, a man like Karl Rove would not be smiling. A man like Karl Rove would be out of a job. Karl Rove exists because the collective dishonesty, fear and confusion of the human race have given him the tools to apply the Karl Rove formula successfully on behalf of himself and his clients.
Beamed from the Saucer Pod By Visible at 14:47
Thursday, October 26, 2006
I close my eyes and I can see thousands of bodies scrambling over scaffolding and foundations. I hear two way radios squawking, the varied pitch of power tools and the rumble of heavy trucks as a structure begins to emerge in front of us and inside of us. It’s the new moment. It’s the brand new tomorrow.
A conveyor belt stretches from a great big pillbox of a building, where they recycle and re-constitute the past and it flows from there into another great big pillbox of a building where the clay-like, gray substance is shaped and stamped and bent to its designated need and then lifted by cranes or humped by workers to wherever it gets fitted into the scheme of things.
Looking at the thing in front of us and inside of us, it’s hard to tell what it’s going to look like at the end. It seems grand and hopeful from a distance but up close, it looks scary and intimidating. On the walls of surrounding buildings, street artists work to glorify the construction. Mostly it looks like the son’s of Diego Rivera and Tom of Finland got together to celebrate the new worker’s paradise; even if Tom of Finland never had a son. There will always be offspring. That’s what Saruman told Rick Santorum and he showed him what he meant and Rick said it was good and a lot like pro-life.
There was a common purpose and a common joy in the hearts of those who worked to build the moment, to build the future; because everyone knows that the future is now. Even if they didn’t, there were great banners proclaiming it which had been painted over the muscled forms of Tom and Diego figures as they wrestled horses and raised girders.
As I stood there I thought of the sweat pouring off of John Henry’s back and I found myself whistling, “I’ve been working on the railroad.” You can’t be there and not feel something. Whether you’re Donald Rumsfield or Alexander Solzhenitsyn, the origin of poetry is always red. It’s no matter if it sings in the blood of an aristocrat or a field-hand. The other colors, when they come dancing from the portals of the imagination, all defer to the common red of our one passion to be free or to bind. Liberty itself could have no meaning without confinement or slavery. In this sense one might say that those who enslave us are the primary architects of our freedom.
Soon, some small portion of those eligible, will exercise their right to determine the final shape of the building and the use to which the building will be put. They will vote for their agents who will become the articulation font for their hopes and dreams. At the same time, other agents will transform their primary intention with the transposition of ‘ones’ and ‘zeroes’ into some more cohesive arrangement of the total for, ‘their own good’. It’s always for your own good. It may not look like it, but remember... you have never known what it looks like. It has only been when it was shown to you afterwards that you knew what your own good looked like.
All over the country, in all of the places where the same building is rising, in another pillbox of a building, tireless workers are shaping your votes the same way that the workers are shaping the soft substance of the recycled past into the parts of the building as it becomes the whole. Your votes are being shaped to reflect the final perfection of the building as it comes to embody your collective will as it is shaped by your agents who best understand what that will intends.
Somewhere in the bowels of the machine, adjustments are being made, colors are changing, the letters in the names are rearranging and what you really wanted is being forged into the perfect image of your unspoken and formerly unknown desires.
Yes, we have often struggled with ourselves and with others. In the teeming, bubbling crucible of our times we felt it all and from this has come our certain knowing of what we most wanted and we knew it to be true in the very moment that we heard it announced through the speakers in the ceilings and in our heads. “Yes! That is what I wanted. Thank you for helping me to understand that.” Everywhere, people are embracing each other. They are dancing in the street. Bunting is whipping in the wind. Brass bands are proclaiming our joy and children with shining eyes are wondering at the import of this great moment of common understanding.
There’s not a dry eye in the house and, for a variety of reasons, there shouldn’t be. There are some who may be wondering how many divisions the Pope has and why anyone would ask a question like that. There are some who will not be happy because they were incapable of seeing how the building contained all of the things they had always wanted. You can well assume that these people never knew what they wanted and still do not. However, in this glorious time, there will be places set aside for them where they can learn, under the loving hand of those who do know, just what it is that they do not know.
As is proper, a massive shroud has been raised all around the building at this time. How can you unveil something if it is not veiled? You cannot. So... now you can hear the sounds, like a child (left in the car outside a tavern in 1958) can listen to The Shadow on the radio and see it all come alive in his head. It’s real enough. Behind this screen the final touches are being added. The excitement is keen. Soon will come that moment when the labor is done and everything waits for the thing to be seen. In the small pillbox of a building, the votes have all been shaped to the closest tolerances of those who determined the nearest approximations of the will of the people. By some strange trick of magic, as the votes were being cast, the building itself was being reshaped to accommodate the impact of each single vote as it was re-birthed in the small pillbox of a building and... it was all done simultaneously.
All of the shaping of the votes was not accomplished in the little pillbox of a building. Some votes did not need to be reshaped. Some were reshaped by events as they were manufactured in another pillbox of a building. Some were reshaped by information about the events manufactured in another pillbox of a building. Anything can be reshaped in a pillbox of a building somewhere; bodies, hearts and minds... all.
Some of the votes were shaped in pillbox buildings where education was shaping the minds that manufactured the votes that were reshaped in the small pillbox of a building. Things were reshaped in marketplaces and offices and watering holes and community events which were further shaped by events and information that had been manufactured according to the time needed for the final result of shaping the vote that shaped the building that manifested the present as you dreamed it into being with the help of your agents who articulated your intent.
It really is a perfect world and all of us helped in some small way to make it what it is, even if we only did it through our agents or only helped according to things we received that were made in a pillbox somewhere. What we wrought was all the result of what we were and what we knew after we ourselves were reformed and remanufactured by whatever it took to bring us to this point. Can’t you hear the hammer hit the steel? Can’t you feel the music in your blood? Can’t you see destiny gleaming up ahead where she sits? That shining city on the hill...
Beamed from the Saucer Pod By Visible at 14:09
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
(every now and then I feel like writing something like this, so here it is)
It should come as no surprise that the dunes in the desert resembles a woman's breasts and if you trudge enough you will come into hollows that resemble something else and you might even learn the true meaning of pounding sand and the irony attendant.
It always surprises me this thing people have about old bones and bodies evacuated of spirit- like bowels in surprised emptiness. Whoops and aloha. These stinking things. These desiccated things. These mummies of arrested development in search of a rapture. "Marines don't leave Marines behind." I'm not going to get into the mathematics of the thing but, in reality, that Marine left you behind the moment he left. And if you think that blood-soaked bag of offal is something you want to mount on the shelf of memories, be my guest.
I think Ann Coulter is a bag of Mexican diarrhea left flaming on a well deserved suburban porch but she's right about the 9/11 clueless widows in search of their Brittany Spears moment. Dead bodies are carcasses. They are worse than old clothes and they really stink; this gives some indication of the life all your loved ones lived. Now, some, they can rest in state for I give you long time G.I. and roses bloom in your mind when you pass but it doesn't include the lumpen proles.
It's a culture of death. It's roadside altars and Filipino memorials to some ill formed wretch in search of a dream. They all die by the side of the highway because the highway is all that they thought to be real. It adds special luster to Bruce, or it did before he went and decided that awful folk music was a good career move.
You get down on your knees people and you wail about migrating nitrogen. You don't miss anything but the importance these people gave you and now they are gone. You'll all be gone and you'll all wail like you lost something while you spent you whole life not looking for the only thing that matters. Sure, you were young once and you may well have had a moment of passion apart from the usual focus. Now you think your 9 year old ought to get a navel piercing and be on one of those young model sites because she'll get a college education. No, she won't. She'll get dicks galore and be a total slut competing for air time with the canon fodder that's been used up in order to give her that space.
You can't push freedom and suppress sex. I'm sure someone must have told you this but maybe not. I remind myself of one thing only while I am here; I'll be gone soon and thank God for that. I don't know how I wound up down here, I must have checked the wrong box... but going? That's a breeze.
Your careers, your loved ones, everything you ever imagined and hoped for is... dust, or sand... shaped like the mother you ignored and arched out across the landscape like forever had a fence. And she was the sugar that never stopped being sweet. She was the arched eye over the boxed canyon. She was ceaseless vigil for the incurious. She would have fucked your brains out but you went for Kellogg instead. If it doesn't rot your teeth it ain't the real thing.
And it wasn't once or twice that did it. It was thousands of times to the same Inn with no room and the knives and the blood and the security fences. Every single day along the same rails, dreaming of the woman in the dunes but never greeting her in the moment of discovery, never drinking at the deep well beside the palms; just pounding sand.
All that phony heroism. All those bad horns and all that blood. All those high blown speeches that sent children out to hang on barbed wire as if Christ had never happened at all. All of that because you were afraid of your own sexuality. You couldn't dance round the fire could you? You couldn't imagine that fucking was the prime imperative besides finding God; and we differ there too... same energy, different objective. But you know. You know every time you close your eyes and dream. You know that the REM of your waking life is composed of the unwritten sonatas of all the people you didn't fuck. So you fucked them other ways... with cluster bombs and land minds and phosphorous. There ain't no sex like the sex that literally burns away the body you admire. Young, dumb and full of cum is not a blue jeans ad.
You let Israel drop a million cluster bomblets on Lebanon in the final four days AFTER the peace was declared and they're your buddies aren't they? How come they are your buddies since they're about 3 percent of you and blacks ain't included? Speaking of holocausts.... Speaking of holocausts.... That PR action doesn't make the meter jump at all compared to what happened to black people. Life is suffering. It ain't different nor embodying a higher quantification of pain than that of a Native American, an Iraqi or an Armenian.
Your government is riddled with whores. It doesn't matter which version of it sits in judgment of the world it wants to own. So many times you get warned and all you want to talk about is your makeup and your cellphone batteries and your boy/girlfriends. You want to go right down to the ladies only night and blow the gay male stripper because that's your fantasy. Guys want an angel that dresses like a slut. Everybody wants something that is impossible and no one takes the smorgasbord that God loaded the table with. "Thank you; I'll see the librarian with the glasses now. That will be all Mildred."
All across that reach of sand... that obscuring and gritty magnificence of dreaming jewels in their microscopic uncountable perfection of 'we the many' and out of which so many things, most ironically... glass... is made and all across that wonder of breasts and pussies with oasis reaching pubic hair and cool. Cool water and the ageless serpent, scorpion and rat...
See, people really think if you walk all the way into the desert without water you will die. People really think that nature can kill you and they think it's dangerous out there. It is, it is dangerous precisely because you are there. She likes me.
She shows me all her dark faces and she frightens me and makes me run and then she hunts me and then she rolls me around on the sand and kisses my belly. She never hurts me. You hurt me. You hurt her. And, you hurt. Well, it will all be over soon and people will be making plans for your ariva dirt nap. You'll go, others will come, you'll come back and wonder where you were and it all comes down to learning how to stay out of your way.
You're the killers and the harm this planet has. Everything else is fine except for you and when you are at your worst you are banal. And when you are banal you are really dangerous.
Beamed from the Saucer Pod By Visible at 18:30
Friday, October 20, 2006
Eighteen days and what? The drums are silent. I haven’t even seen a smoke signal. There’s this strange sensation in the air that the republicans are acknowledging the coming defeat and that there will just be a power switch and life will assume a new form. But it doesn’t jell. This party stole the presidential election in 2000 and has participated in proven voter fraud with each succeeding election. Would they really go quietly? What’s going on out there?
Those whose business it is to control the world are not concerned about Democrats and Republicans. For them it’s mix and match. It doesn’t matter which set of horses they hook up to the buckboard. They’ve got the reins and the horses go where they are told. It doesn’t matter if the blanket is red today and blue tomorrow. Still...
There’s a palpable sense of payback hanging in the air. It’s waiting for the moment. We’re all waiting on the moment. A lot can happen between here and there. This is a practical world. This is the world where they say, “Hey, its business, it’s not personal.”
So I’ve been listening to the leaders saying that they have no plans for impeachment. I don’t believe that. I can’t see how they can avoid impeachment proceedings.
The landscape is so still from where I sit. It looks like there are whole production crews at work making everything look normal. It all seems so much more normal than it is. And that’s disturbing. It feels like everyone is waiting for something. This is usually how it is before something very large rears up on the horizon. I can’t shake the feeling that this event, whatever it is, is just now having the final touches of makeup applied before it’s... Showtime!
Let’s think about it. If you believe with the majority of Americans that the administration was behind the 9/11 attacks then you know there’s not much they wouldn’t do to maintain control. If you look at the way Afghanistan and Iraq stand at either side of Iran you can see something has been planned out over a period of some years. Now, just what that is may not be entirely clear but it’s not good, whatever it is.
Boss Hogg and the smirking chimp have both got those smirks on their faces. They’re both saying that the Republicans will keep control. However, the numbers say that is impossible, at least in The House. So that means they are up to something. When you see all the small news items about voting computers that won’t boot up and purging voters along with the many pronouncements of trouble expected at the polls, you should wonder. What I can’t get my head around is this paperless voting. I understand that you don’t get a receipt but what I don’t understand is WHY. How is it that this can happen and keep happening? All their ATM machines give receipts. Why wouldn’t you get a receipt? Printers don’t cost much. Is it the paper? Is paper an endangered resource? It sounds like child’s play... zip... zip... kachung... and it’s in your hand. Where is the one who set this up? How did this happen? How come nothing has been done? That’s a very murky place. I can’t see anything.
The chimp says that ‘they’ want to attack us again. He says they’re coming. So he needed that enemy combatant thing. Then there’s the Halliburton contract for 400,000,000 to build domestic detention centers. Why would you need something like that? Is someone rioting that I don’t know about? All these things when you put them together tend to create the outline of something unpleasant. Olmert is running around Russia and other places trying to drum up the destruction of Iran. He’s not getting anywhere.
There’s so much to consider; Russia, China, Japan and North Korea... full on civil war in Iraq. Looming on the horizon is the housing crash in the first part of the New Year. I keep coming back to martial law. It’s a handy dandy fixall and has the extra bonus of being good for us. It would be for our protection.
Funnily, whatever terrorists that there may be, they aren’t very well organized, certainly not as well organized as all of the global police forces and intelligence agencies. It really is just a law enforcement concern. It’s not a war; that’s just a convenience for those profiting from the conflicts.
There’s a phrase about going to the well one time too often. Voter fraud this time around won’t fly. They can’t continue as they have with only that in the playbook. They have to have something else and I don’t doubt that they do. They’re in this continuous war mode. The schematic is to have a series of endless conflicts. The parallels to 1984 are astounding.
So you see all these things. You look at PNAC and AIPAC and that whole 9/11 thing. You see “booga booga!” everywhere. Shapes are shifting but not into anything definite. It’s just a weird amorphous fog that deadens perception. There’s a heaviness, a lassitude that is cranking the wheel of time toward some uncertain destiny.
I don’t know what to think. Each day I wait for ‘that’ headline. But the suspension of event continues. It’s like sitting in the theater waiting for the production to begin. You can hear stage hands moving scenery around and the footsteps of nervous entertainers. There are metallic sounds and some desultory tuning up in the orchestra pit. What’s going on back there?
The Persian Gulf will soon be filled with ships. But why? Did Iran do something? Not that I know of. There’s no international consensus on Iran. Iran isn’t rattling any sabers, just going about their business. What would we need with all those ships there? That is a mystery.
I always hope I’m wrong. My instincts tell me that it’s any time now; one critical moment and then the chain reaction. We’ve seen their tactics and their footprints. They do have an M.O. One can ponder over many a possibility- but focused analysis always comes back to the few things that we know them for.
Well, this is just a camp follower. This series of posts is just to keep the discussion alive and to ask everyone to keep their eyes open. This critical election is far more critical than it might appear. Worlds hang in the balance. The suspension of habeas corpus and related alarming events all speak to something dark indeed. These things are not accidental or unrelated. They all have a connection to a wider plan. They are all part of making something easier. What would that be? Surely you can think of conditions that would benefit from such actions. It always comes down to cui bono for me. Things are much further along in the wrong direction than most people are aware of. Quite suddenly it could get very clear.
But right now there’s this big nothing going on. North Korea is just a fizzle. All of the news is on the back burners. You’d think there would be more electricity and hustling suits. It’s all so dead calm. Eighteen days.
Beamed from the Saucer Pod By Visible at 12:31
Friday, October 13, 2006
It’s quiet... too quiet. You could almost hear The Eisenhower and all the support and strike ships steaming toward the Persian Gulf. That is, if you knew about it, but you don’t; seems like that would be a big deal, newsworthy, certainly more newsworthy than a small plane crash in New York City. Just in case, there’s also going to be minesweepers and sundry showing up as well. Gee, I wonder what they’re going there for. Tune in the last week of October and you might find out.
Adolph ‘the butcher of Beruit’ Olmert is jumping up and down and screaming about Iran; Iran needs to be destroyed now before they start dropping nuclear fueled ski-resorts on Tel Aviv. The weird thing is that Iran doesn’t pose any kind of a nuclear threat so it’s got to be something else. Also, this has been in operation since before the Afghan and Iraq incursions, which were all about making an Iranian Sandwich; lots of Ketchup, hold the mayo ...so maybe it has to do with oil or something. Lucky North Korea, they don’t have any oil.
Iran would be in much bigger trouble if Israel had some sort of major influence in the media and a little (or a whole lot of) behind the scenes clout in powerful Western democracies. Luckily, all they’re managed is to control the small venue lecture circuit and Off Broadway theater action. So they’ve been real successful in stopping anyone who wants to complain about their genocide against the Palestinians or those who makes plays about peace activists crushed by snarling Askenazi’s in bulldozers. Thank god they’re strictly small venue. Imagine if they could convince some large super power to get involved in their “Toast Iran Now!” hysteria? That couldn’t be good.
It hasn’t come up yet that the Speaker of the House is gay and lives with his chief of staff. I’m wondering what negotiations are like in the back room? Maybe its time release, set for the first week of November. Everything that happens from now on in is timed for maximum impact according to the experts with the degrees in maximum impact.
I’m wondering if this whole Republican gays-in-the-closet thing is really just another part of their routine. See, it’s gotten to be such a piece of cake, duping the American people, stealing elections and bitch-slapping the Democrats that they just had to have a challenge. It had stopped being fun. Well, of course they knew they could win any time they wanted to, even if they went out on the rubber chicken circuit and sodomized underage immigrant children as after dinner entertainment at fundraisers (and who says they don’t?). But this gives the illusion of a horse race. Hell, Diebold has had to put extra hackers on the payroll, just like the post office does at Christmas.
Remember the look on Spurious George’s face when they told him that Florida had gone for Gore? I’ve never forgotten that. It was a telling moment and so were his comments at the time. See, he knew the fix was in. Just like he knows it now... or does he?
As it stands at this moment, the Republicans lose both houses of Congress. Their best case scenario is they lose The House and tie in The Senate. Meanwhile, as things go, it won’t get better for them. It just won’t. And the country is fed up. Those polls are inflated as best they can be. Meanwhile, on Main Street, America is lifting its fat face out of the mashed potatoes and wondering not only who farted but who went and shit their pants at the dinner table. You can hide a fart. If you’re good, and some of us are, you can make it convincingly clear that it was the chick in the glasses sitting next to you. If you’re legendary, and some of us are, you can run your hand up the inside of her thigh at the same time. But... when you shit in your pants at the dinner table, all someone has to do is check. And this is one of the reasons we need immigrant workers in America.
This is the Republican’s dilemma, not only did they shit their pants at the dinner table but they also shit on the living room carpet, rolled around in it and then finger-painted, “Bill Clinton made me do it.” all over the walls and stole the silverware and got caught. They didn’t do it just once. They did it day after day for six years- even Gerry Mandering can’t save them now.
So what do you do when you’re guilty of high crimes and misdemeanors AND having dead puppy porn on your computer? What do you do when it becomes common knowledge that you consider your most loyal supporters to be embarrassing idiots? And don’t start in about how that happens to be true and is also proof that the Republicans didn’t lie one hundred per cent of the time because here is a single example that makes it only 99.9999999999999999999999999999999% of the time. It doesn’t matter that they are in fact deluded sub-normal lalaland refugees in search of a heavenly Gerry Springer with a snow white double-wide coming down out of the sky. What matters is that they got nailed again. And even if these pinheads from the planet Nodwell still don’t catch on or understand what that means; and it’s fifty-fifty either or in Vegas as of 9:00AM, all kinds of other people who have been fence-sitting are going to wonder what you actually think of them and for many others it’s just one more turd in the punchbowl too many. The laws of attrition are not under review at this time. You may in fact be screwed. But, hold the phones...
Don’t worry. That’s just on paper and paper isn’t something voters are going to be taking home with them after they leave the voting booth. It’s not like they were using one of Diebold’s ATM machine where they get a receipt. You can’t make computers give up voting receipts. It doesn’t work like that. See, when you vote, the hard drive that fractates the Ethernet florin data mine has to migrate dual defecators through the FSB and present technology hasn’t gotten to that point where two of them can go in the same hole at the same time; although that's one of the things Core2Duo was supposed to fix. It’s not the same as at the ATM’s, that’s why you have to stand in line and wait for the next guy. See what I mean? Okay, moving right along.
It does look grim for The Washington Yankees and if they pull it out in the ninth against really impossible odds; meaning, no way would it be legal- and hasn’t been yet- but this time it would have to be mega-noticeable illegal and it would mean that the window dressing can come off now and you really get to see what that enemy combatant stuff was all about. But... what if... what if something really, really bad happened such as some guys from the neighborhood dress up as Iranians and blow up an enormous pig in a kosher deli? They wouldn’t have to be Iranians. They just have to look like Iranians. It’s worked lots of times before and even when the people behind the false flag ops got caught it didn’t matter; The USSS Liberty and The King David Hotel and lots of stuff.
Well then, Armageddon could get it on and they’d forget about being idiots because now they would be idiots caught up in a rapture and everybody else would be scared shitless and there would be a huge immense mess of dead bodies and screaming headlines and suddenly there would be enemy combatants all over The Homeland like rabid PacMan creatures and you can bet that would make election fraud look like unarmed donut theft and throw in the panic vote for the Fear Machine and yeah, that might work.
We’ll have to see. I don’t know myself. I know something is coming. How can it not? This is so exciting! I've already eaten all of my popcorn and the movie just started. I think I’ll just slip up into the lobby real quick and get some more and I’ll see you all later if there’s still a theater and still a later.
Beamed from the Saucer Pod By Visible at 13:44
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
I watched when a bad actor made it impossible for
the poor to have
decent lodging because crime
was a growth industry whose time had come
I watched when he created the homeless realm
when he opened the institutions and set them free in the streets
of the new institution
I watched the men who helped him
I watched the businesses turn normal life
into a stress factory treadmill with new speed settings
I watched the world compress and become a hungry mouth
I watched the world walk into its own mouth and
chew itself up
and spit itself out
and walk away in pieces searching
for what it could not find...
I saw the beginning of the end in real time
I saw a generation of vipers drinking
two thousand dollar bottles of wine in New York City
I saw the cocaine run like sand through an hourglass
I saw it fuel a bacchanalia of blood stained money
rubbed on young girls breasts
that had been pierced with nails in search of a crucifixion
I saw bodys mutilated and branded and
Tattooed without identity
Identity would not come
The mob was still the mob
a mob of mutilated and branded and tattooed nobodies
and the mouth was still open.
I watched and then I ran
I saw a moment of great possibility
There was a moment and then
the moment was gone
and I saw
I saw the monkey son of the pedophile king march out of Texas
I saw his shiny red baboon’s ass
I saw him prance and strut and I
saw him drink blood from a silver cup
I saw children squeezed in the wine press
and their cries distilled into liquid
I saw it mixed with tears and
saved in wooden kegs
for the party at the world's end
I saw dead people
I saw the same men who had been the other men when
the whole thing started but
it started long before in the minds of the mob
from the beginning when the wheel began to turn
and spin until
it became a wheel of fire that
you could see with your eyes closed
I saw each separate moment follow-
each separate moment
I saw the undead wipe their asses with documents
that had held the world intact
I could not read the words any more they were
buried in shit
I saw people watch and play with their hair.
I saw people frown and stare into their cell-phones
I saw people shrug and go to the movies
I saw people drop their pants and bend over
I saw them wait
I saw them wait and wait and wait
I saw them scream that they were waiting
but nobody came
I saw people looking in the mirror and nobody looked back
I saw endless loops of porn
I saw stars and stripes moving in the back drop
I saw it become impossible to believe and I saw it
I ran away because
there was no power on Earth or
inside of me that could prevent people
from achieving what they desired
in order that suffering might ascend the throne
and hold them in his lap
and tear their flesh for the pleasure of his court
I saw the creatures of the dark wrap themselves in false light
and proclaim the presence of something
that sat inside the mouth
And they marched into the mouth
they ran, trampling one another on their way
into the mouth.
I saw bodies ooze like toothpaste
through chain link fences
that lined the highway into the mouth
They did not see a mouth
They saw a fairy land of things
They saw things glowing and glistening
and beckoning and they wanted to touch the things
That were not there but only waved
like luminous swamp angels from the always
The soundtrack changed
The music got hard
the laughing faces and hard eyes
watched the children undress
and then they did what they wanted to
to the children
they did it with lights and cameras
on a stage set inside their minds
they went all the way back
and fucked themselves before they could fall in love
the mouth laughed
It sounded like bells
everything sounded like something it was not
everything looked like something it was not
everyone pretended to be someone they were not
it was not hard to lead them into the mouth
In the massive cities where the millions
upon millions rubbed against each other
from the friction of their passing
there came a heat that ignited into awesome fires
that swept along the boulevards
and it was a conflagration of hunger that was
fanned by a whirlwind
water became more precious than gold
death became entertainment
the enormity of suffering became scenes in a picture book
those things that were the hinges of civilization
those virtues that had maintained the balance that
kept the underworld behind the magic gates
these things melted
and were re-forged so that whatever they had been
was irrecoverable and
could not be remembered
and they watched and they laughed
and they walked into the mouth
they looked at themselves in the mirror
they painted the face of death with
lipstick and danced with the dying flesh
in imaginary ballrooms
they dined with corpses and toasted their success
they were important
and then they were forgotten
and they never knew
they never knew
they looked back and could see only
a grainy movie playing something that was
and they could not remember if it had happened
And I ran and I hid and I woke up
and it was only a dream
but it was still happening
like the wheel of fire behind closed eyes
and i woke up again and
again and again
and so did the dream
the dream had been asleep too
each time in a different place
the dream was coiled like a serpent
and the serpent rose up and up and
the dream became a cape that concealed the serpent's body
and in the black night of the cape
you could hear cats outside the window
that looked out on the dream
they were calling
and there were noises and shapes
and everything that was a part of the dream
changed the dream
and far away where it could not be found
was the point of the origin of the dream
and it was longing
and it sang in the oceans like separated lovers
it sang between the space that could not be traversed
by those who longed for what was there
and it penetrated everything
and it made everything yearn
and the dream made the object of desire out of itself
and then it walked into the mouth
and the mouth was the gateway to the moon
and the teeth were the transport of the flesh and the data
into new objects of desire that went in search
of the faces that looked into the mirror
and some few
some nameless few became the stars
and they were self-contained and they did not long
and they shined into the dream
and they knew nothing but to shine
and all of their joy was in the shining
and they could not do more than bathe the
worlds in their light for ever and ever
they could not cry for all the inexpressible sorrow and loss
they could not change the course of things
they could only shine
and I ran
and I ran out of the market and
into the places where no one goes
and there was no one
and all that it was- was to stop
all that it was- was to stop
and the pain would go away
all that it took was to know that the pain
was in everything
and all that the pain was
was everything changing
for as long as there was a dream
things would change
and it would hurt
and everything would hurt
and somehow it was worth the pain
to hurt enough to feel alive
even though it was only a dream
that the stars shined into
it was so much more
than could be known by anything but the silent stars
who knew the place of infinite return
who were the running lights of history
who were the beacons of memory
in a forgotten land
who were the signposts and the heralds
of every golden age
that got trampled underfoot by the mob running into the mouth
it went on forever
it just went on and on
until it went on and on...
Beamed from the Saucer Pod By Visible at 03:29
Thursday, October 5, 2006
I’ve been trying to say, “Watch.” during the last several offerings. Certain things are taking place and they are all connected. Things don’t happen all by themselves, unless they’re earthquakes or tidal waves. Right now we’re looking at the human equivalent.
The Honorable Mark Foley’s laundry has been hanging on the line, unwashed, for a long time. Now he’s going to the cleaners. Lots and lots of people knew all about it. And it is surprising that it has hit like it has before the election. This is one of those October Surprises that surprises everyone; especially those who are still orchestrating their own.
What puzzles me is, since it’s an observable fact that the media- regardless of any and all opinions to the contrary, is in the republican neo-cons hip pocket... why would they be all over this when it’s a given that they print only what they want to print; only what their masters tell them to? Their zeal at this juncture is highly suspicious. It’s as if the whores on the corner suddenly found Jesus and started doing rap gospel instead of selling their ass.
Something’s fishy and it isn’t just Ann Coulter’s underwear. Nothing short circuits the sexually repressed American culture like sex. Nothing gets the pit viper neo-con fundie religious nuts into a mouth foaming frenzy like sex. Sex is from the devil, just ask them. And nothing gets all of the self-righteous sanctimonious talking heads and columnists and opinion writers as hot and bothered as sex. When its sex involving a political figure AND when it involves young boys, it goes right off the Richter Scale. Conservative organs everywhere are harder than they’ve been in twenty years just thinking about...THE OUTRAGE. A great many evangelicals won’t be going to the polls. It’s a heaven sent disaster for the Republicans and on paper it seems one of the nicest things to happen for the human race since the last Bush left office. What are we to make of it?
This guarantees the election and the leadership to the Democrats, except for Diebold, except for whatever is coming up on the false flag terror front, except for whatever the reason the press did this in the first place.
Call me paranoid, something doesn’t look right. It could be that the corporate masters, seeing the writing on the wall, have just switched horses and are going to ride the Democrats now but... given that the committee chairmanships will change, given that the commissions will be Democratic and given the certainty that Bush will be impeached and given the exhaustive efforts at voter fraud and the WTC and the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq; the massive disinfo, the torture manifestos and god knows how many things I could list until I run out of space... something doesn’t smell right and I’m not talking about Rush Limbaugh.
As I was writing this, another message came in from A. Magnus alerting me to massive ‘put option’ activity on the DOW, NASDAQ and S&P. I am not the guy to go looking at why there is so much action in gold and diamonds and platinum right now. Of course, during the false flag WTC and 7/7 London Bombing there was enormous activity in this respect, a lot of it coming out of a small Middle Eastern Country that will remain nameless. Some millions of dollars worth from the WTC action have yet to be collected.
Most of us who have studied the strange history of the last 6 years know something of what has been going on, as opposed to those who haven’t studied it at all and have rock solid opinions based on something or other.
Are these ‘put options’ a reality? Given how many of us are aware of what happened before, how come I get only two Google hits when I search for ‘put options’
for October 6th?
Another thing is that the catchy date. We had 9/11 and we had 7/7 and now we got 1066 or the Battle of Hastings, sort of. It makes you wonder.
You and I know these suckers are nothing if not blatant. They count on the collective stupidity and incurious nature of the hoi polloi. They count on the fear and confusion and they count on the belief of most, that their government would never do certain things even while they are doing them right in front of your eyes. They lie constantly and get caught constantly and it doesn’t seem to matter...UNLESS IT CONCERNS SEX. They just got found out as the source for the Mohammed Atta laughing gas video. It doesn’t matter.
Those of us who have researched the matter know that pedophilia is a massive operation through governments around the globe. Certainly the Dutroux case and the various British scandals as well as The Franklin ‘call-boys in the Reagan White House’ cover-up have shown this. It’s a given that one of the reasons so many members of congress are silent when they should cry out and why they will vote for the nastiest legislation that might not even float in the Klingon Empire is that blackmail over such things is rampant.
Certain government intelligence agencies from certain countries are engaged full time in arranging scenarios where influential politicians are trapped by their weaknesses and videotaped for posterity.
Yes, it all sounds like those conspiracies that never happen. It’s better to believe the illogical and absurd explanations given for things that COULD NOT have happened that way. I guess most don’t realize that ‘government’ is a conspiracy, or that all of us conspire every day about something or another.
What is it in people that makes them blind themselves rather than look for the truth? I don’t understand that. What is it in people that allows them to believe their government would never do this even when we see them doing it in front of us; when we hear them lying about it, when they are caught lying about it. What is it that makes us deceive ourselves into accepting the comfortable lie? What’s wrong with us?
They lied about the WTC. They lied about the basis for the Iraq incursion. They phonied up the Intel. They lie just about every time they move their lips and yet, people bob their heads up and down and become roused to their own deaths as ignorant canon fodder at the mere sound of horns and a passing parade.
This is a mystery to me. I am not made like this. I often wonder whether there is some gas, something in the water, some subliminal pulse that beams out across the land and which some of us have a built in immunity to.
Today comes the massive world wide demonstration against the fascists. Tomorrow comes 10-6-6 and those ‘put options’, or not- I’m not that informed about it. I know they’ll do something and blame it on somebody, probably Iran. And it will probably be outrageous enough to justify their doing what they really want to do and you know what that is. Or it may all pass or come on another day. For this writer it is just to say again and again, “Keep your eyes (and your mind) open and watch.
Beamed from the Saucer Pod By Visible at 16:06