Humming “Silver Bells” on the Fentanyl Highway to the River Styx.

Reflections in a Petri Dish — Oct 22, 2015

Dog Poet Transmitting…….
I saw a real box office piece of shit last night called “Bridge of Spies”. I knew it was going to be crap because all the usual bloated and bombastic critics loved it. Through the movie I kept getting the impression that this was an attempt to make us hate the Russians. It was boring and that is probably one of the chief crimes any film can commit. It featured a truly constipated acting job by industry hack, Tom Hanks. Several times I asked myself, who is responsible for this piece of crap? I found out with the closing credits, Steven Spielberg; not my favorite director, whom I consider really juvenile at his craft. I would call him the most overrated director, by comparison with his level of success, pretending to be working today.
Then I saw Black Mass, actually I saw this prior to but I’m being lazy. Man! Johnny Depp can play himself some gangsta. It was pure evil and menace all through. What I like to say about Johnny Depp is, when the make up goes on, Johnny doesn’t comes out, someone else does. I can’t say I liked the film cause it was dark and displays a world I would rather not come into contact with.
Both films were about historical, real life figures …but only one of them was real or professionally done. I didn’t come here today to talk about films though. I came here to segue into Halloween, which is an easy step off from Depp. Step from Depp? Today I was in Long’s Drugs to get a prescription. It’s one of those prescriptions that only the CIA and the DEA are allowed to traffic in the product of; just like how only the real terrorists don’t get felt up by the perverts at the TSA. Anyway (digression coming), I’m sitting there and waiting and even though Halloween has yet to arrive, that odious tune, “Silver Bells” comes on, sung by the avuncular misanthropic pipe felating, Bing Crosby. The song sounds like the soundtrack playing in the minds of those wearing Fentanyl patches on their way to the mortuary. Someone I knew died of cancer in Germany and I got his remaining Fentanyl patches and I tried them out. As a fearless pioneer of the chemical frontiers, I ‘occasionally’ field test certain things on a one off basis to see what’s going on there. This particular chemical is a death compound. My intuitive nature was on full alert with it and that’s my prognosis. The Silver Bells, Fentanyl Highway to the River Styx is how it is.
I don’t like Halloween. After Halloween, I don’t like New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July, which are the two major holidays for amateur night on the highways. I won’t go into why I don’t like Halloween except to say that I don’t appreciate the celebration of the monsters within. Materialism fever generates the monsters within, the same way that other fevers can generate hallucinations. Why did I segue to Halloween if I am not going to spend any time on it? FIIK. This is Petri Dish. We talk about the culture so… so far so good except for weaving around the place like a New Year’s Eve driver on their way home, or somewhere else.
Is this an expression of the culture, or more specifically, political? I suppose it is both so that’s okay. It’s worth reading because of the dissembling of that odious, petri dish mucus composite from the bottom of a Manila landfill, Dershowitz. He’s a lot like Gerald Rivero in too many ways to go into. In these times you get a surfeit of personality types who are, forgive the language (but what else can you call them?) sick fucks from Hell. The bitter pill to swallow is the level of success so many of them have but I am not the envious sort, nor obsessed with injustices that merely reflect my own insubstantial success on the material plane. I know, in a place inside myself that is unshakable that success depends on what you have made out of yourself, not what you have made out of the world. I, like you, am in the movie of my life and simply because so much is hidden from me, I am firmly convinced that my focus MUST be on my interior being. What is being hidden from me is very significant in this regard. There is usually a very good reason that significant features of yourself are concealed beyond every effort that can be made to uncover them. We’ll see (what? Heh heh). Another feature is when out of left field bizarre things happen to you and through you and there is no defining reason for any of it. This is a red flag, metaphysically speaking.
I cannot hammer this point enough; hammer it into myself and hammer it into you, for the purpose of comprehension (grin). Life is about discovery and is composed of a programmed litany of experiences devoted to that end. If you don’t discover that, which the experiences are set up to reveal to you, you are condemned to a variation on the theme until you do get it. Here is where the number one killer of human life comes into play; no matter what the disease manifestation turns out to be, it is usually brought about by, ‘stress’. Stress is generated when you oppose the discovery that is provided to you by life experiences. You resist it. You enter into the realm of denial and the force of energy play between the poles of who you are and who you told yourself you are, generates higher and higher degrees of stress because you are doing things you don’t want to do, thinking things you don’t want to think and feeling things you don’t want to feel because this is all that is available to you, as you skirt the discoveries of the truth about yourself. It is the fear of seeing whatever that is which keeps your awareness at bay. The sad reality is that what you would discover is wonderful. It is not frightening, except insofar as the responsibility that comes with it. You are responsible for what you know and never more so than when it turns out to be true.
Even borderline intellects should be aware that Obama is a preening psychopath and that Zionism sets the tone for all political policy in The United States, The United Kingdom, Canada, Australia. Even a Schmoo should know that the official line on 9/11 and Bin Laden and his improbable demise are fatuous and impossible lies. A Schmoo might not know that Israel was behind 9/11 but they could if they had even a small amount of curiosity about the matter but the truth is, they don’t want to know, based on some variety of ‘curiosity killed the cat’. See… even if people know something is very wrong they are not inclined to find out what it is because they become responsible for it. It is much safer to make fun of those who tell the truth because in these times, lies are the negotiable currency of the day. Counterfeits trump the authentic across the board. Unless, of course you are a member of the few, the proud and the brave and I’m not talking about The Marines, who may number among their kind some solid fellows but who more often than not are composed of those who kill on command for Satanic bankers and aren’t even aware of it. They are playing video games in their minds.
This brings us to the real problem going on all over the place and that is manipulation. You’re aware of the obvious manipulations of the media in all its forms and the way the direction of the entertainment industry is skewered ever more and more into the depraved. Then there are the other manipulations that have to do with government policy and the education system and these can seem less obvious because they are made to seem necessary and are overseen by professionals, who are supposed to have our best interests at heart… but they don’t. Then there is the manipulations we perform on each other, due to these other manipulations performed on us by the aforementioned. Stockholm Syndrome is an epidemic in all kinds of ways that might not look like what it is but it is.
The whole game is about making one thing look like another and then make that other look like yet another and that is how you get to where nothing is what it seems and it’s perfectly okay, until the stress of it makes you too sick to continue. The only difference between sheep on the hooks and sheep in wingtips and high heels is a matter of appearances. The same result occurs to them both, it just doesn’t look that way. They are both consumed by someone. The sheep wind up in all kinds of culinary displays from patties to racks with a green jelly garnish and the wingtips and high heels are stuffed with particular compositions over the course of time, to please the palate of the entities who dine upon them. They are not consumed at one sitting but in stages, over time, until they look like they have been hollowed out from within by invisible fires. As Mikhael Aivanhov said, “If people were aware of who was having lunch while they were having sex they would be a lot more careful about it all.” I’m paraphrasing but that is the gist of it.
Alright my friends! We have come to the end of another posting and I’ll see you next time if there is one. In the meantime, may you find what waits in that place of discovery that is the fruit of every experience which comes before you should you be able to see it. That said, the usual salutation follow.
End Transmission…….
Sunday’s radio show is still awaiting your consideration in the usual location.