Reflections in a Petri Dish – September 16, 2011
Dog Poet Transmitting…….
May your noses always be cold and wet.
(Given my frustration with getting the TOR network to work for me and finding that the Silk Road is about as accessible as what I want to acquire there, I think I’ll just go ahead and write whatever post I was putting off for the day, since I’ve got to fill my time somehow (grin).)
I guess that false reality can be propped up and worried indefinitely. Like some kind of supernatural hangnail on the Energizer Bunny, it just grows on and on and on. Like all the robot soldiers dealing death from the skies and on the ground, with superior weapons that turn war into video game, where the victims don’t have shoulder pads or helmets and the aggressors can run around in full NFL gear. There’s no real down side to endless war when your object is attacking mostly defenseless people, living in tents and crumbling stone huts.
There’s a deep futility in what they do because it comes down to killing yourself over and over in another body, which you will certainly inhabit in another life. So that makes these robot soldiers like the Energizer Bunny that walks into a wall and then falls down and makes sideways circles, shooting in all directions, until the battery runs down and they slip into any one of the long line of lives, waiting for their appearance, as the object of their previous mendacity.
I always get that crawling sensation on my skin when I hear about the noble troops defending our freedoms, as if our freedoms were ever challenged by anyone but bankers and politicians, who send them out to die in place of themselves. I’ve been in the military, like everyone in my family. I grew up on military bases around the world. I know how soldiers talk and what they get up to. They’re like any other yahoo with a gun and a legal right to kill.
You get your parades every year, when the ones who defended our endangered freedoms, trot themselves out as symbols of something that all the politicians and bankers want the youth to hold in high regard, because there are more wars coming, because the bankers and politicians see something they want and can make more money out of. There’s no real need for war, except to enrich the ones who start them and don’t fight in them. We enshrine ignorance, dressed up as patriotism, surrounded by banners and bunting and attended by martial music that turns goose-stepping into a cash register fox trot, filled with the pomp and vanity of thundersticks, which make a ridiculous hyperbole out of an ever diminishing, time lapse cartoon of a stiff dick and its exaggerated potency. Later on they’ll be on a barstool somewhere telling each other lies about their glorious service to the realm; the realm of bankers and politicians and priests. As Diderot aptly put it, “Men will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest”.
War is commercial enterprise and it’s got jack shit to do with anything else. Surely there are those who have no alternative but war. Those would be the disadvantaged warriors of the invaded lands, such as Palestine, Iraq and Afghanistan. How many photo-ops do we need to see of psychopathic politicians, shaking the hands of Saddam and Khadaffi, prior to hunting them down and killing them, after the former understandings and business deals gave way to new arrangements where they became expendable, just like the soldiers they use to kill on their command? How many times do we need to see pictures of allied forces guarding the poppy fields that were destroyed by the Taliban? That’s the nature and purpose of war; right in your face and ignored by those taken in by the glory of their imagined sacrifices for a liberty they do not possess.
It’s a powerful institution of the deluded mind. It’s a recurrent and tawdry scene of drunken legionnaires, weeping over the memory of fallen comrades. These are the men who can’t put two and two together concerning 9/11. Seeing the truth makes a mockery out of everything they gave their lives and limbs for. It’s that intrinsic vanity of the male fetish for ribbons and metal stars. It’s a guy thing. It’s a dick thing. It’s a fucked up thing and the more fucked up it is the greater the rage of the one offended by language like this.
This is one of the mysteries of existence. It should and probably does dawn on the minds of many that they have been and are going the wrong way. However, their investment in all of the memories and paraphernalia of the past is too precious to let loose of for something as nebulous as clarity and truth. We are addicted to our myths, which we embellish with every passing year. We are noble and honorable and filled with sacrifice for country, kith and kin. Never let it be seen that it was all about our vanity, based on a primary deception as bankrupt as it is.
Peace is the province of women, that secondary appendage to the greater male realities beyond their comprehension. The wars of bankers are a rite of passage into manhood, that defining movement between, ‘young dumb and full of cum’ to ‘old, dumb and impotent’. They are the never ending descendents of Onan, spilling both blood and seed on barren ground. Something is birthed and born there, something like dragon’s teeth are sown to raise new zombie armies of the dead. They’re dreaming of the poetry of trench warfare on the Western Front and they will find their place and die there in the mud, among the rats and the lice and the cries of their fellows on the wire.
Here is the unanswerable question; “How can my sacrifice have been meaningless”? They can’t get their heads around it and they won’t. Their essential vanity will not permit it. It is better to be dead than to admit that you were wrong and that you died for the profit of bankers and their paid for politicians.
It comes down to an age of darkness. Little can be done in an age of darkness except to demure and endure. You cannot argue with the darkness or the darkness of the minds in which is resides. You can only live as an example for the few who can see the value in it and under the scorn of the many who cannot. It is better to live in the quiet apart, so long as there is an apart to be found. The wise run for the hills in these times. They know it is a part of the process, a great outworking of a collective darkness in search of light.
The truth is everywhere to be seen but cannot be observed by a mind in darkness. The truth is simple and self evident but impossible to discover when it is cloaked and veiled by ignorance and appetite. There is no real danger or difficulty except what we carry with us on our way. Every portion of ourselves is magnetized to the conditions and attractions through which we pass. You carry it all with you until you lay it down. Until you do, you have made war on Nature and every plant, insect, animal and invisible force is aware of what you are. Once you have freed yourself of the need to make war on your fellows, by whatever means you employ, in whatever field of conflict you operate in, Nature immediately knows and claims you for her own. She is the active and radiant expression of the stillness upon which she rests.
How long this will continue, I do not know. Perhaps it goes on forever in places, while the light of understanding dawns somewhere else. There’s no way of knowing how comprehensive and pervasive it will be until it arrives. For those of us in relentless anticipation, we wait and endure.