Global War and Hunger Porn on the way to Fat City

Smoking Mirrors – January 31, 2012

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

May your noses always be filled with joyful smells.

You vicious, heartless, selfish, feckless fools. You, who have voluntarily surrendered your humanity to an organized gang of satanic psychopaths. Was it for gain? Was it the bad end of a compromise gone wrong? Was it out of fear, after having come into a position, of losing the position and then you assume the position? Were you up for it anyway, you who bring the unwilling world to the doorstep of global war? You who are arranging the tableau, like a dinner table for the damned, ferrying ships bound for salvage, to be evidence in yet another false flag, waving blood red above the burning bodies of the duped and deluded who went into combat for bankers. The pens move and the weapons fire. Iran has done nothing to you. Their restraint has been admirable. In the mountains, ordinary human beings are skiing. They are walking through the pistachio orchards. They are dreaming their individual dreams, within the parameters of the collective dream. They are people like you and I. They have children, families and friends. They are not making war. We are.

The most powerful agency for calculated death and destruction is the fundamentalist, Christian right. Their sanctimonious, demagogic preachers, whip them into a lather of self righteous hate, manipulated and inspired by the very ones who committed the crimes that others are blamed for. These millions of deceived lemmings, march off the metaphorical cliffs of their own ignorance; titanic edifices of tamasic stone. They kneel before their crucified God and then proceed to crucify entire nations for the crime of being different. They are the ones who make it all possible, who cannot comprehend the meaning of the words they read from the book they claim to be infallible. Like rats in a maze, searching for the cheese, which bears no resemblance to the genuine article. There is no maze. These are the same people who would crucify the man again if he showed up today. These are the people from Big Hair Country. They came here to be led astray, while being informed that they should not be led astray. They came here to be selfish and indifferent, while reading about charity and good works. The only time they are inspired to do the right thing is when they can be observed, or champing at the bit to tell everyone about it.

Their missionaries go off to Africa, where they paint sugar water under the eyes of starving children, so that the flies will land there during the photo op. They are the merchants of Hunger Porn. They get hard looking at the centerfold. They dream of and wish for disasters so that they might weep crocodile tears. They’re soap actors under the camera eyes of their cartoon associates. They’re good decent people, just ask them. They are dumber than a retarded rock and proud, boy are they proud of themselves. Tell them the truth and watch their eyes catch on fire. Scratch the thin veneer of facsimile smiles and watch them bear their teeth, uh huh, Jesus is just alright with me.

Jesus is like a bad relative that you have to lock in the basement when company comes over. You can’t let the real Jesus into the living room. It’s a given that he will piss in the punchbowl, or you might be bobbing for road apples. It’s a given that he would kick everybody’s ass for twisting the timeless beauty of the awakened heart, into an ugly nightmare for anyone who isn’t dressed up to celebrate the fruits of a poisoned mind. No, you’d have to lock him up, the same way you’ve locked him out. It wouldn’t take long for what you say he says and what he actually says to develop into a free for all, where everyone runs around punching themselves in the face and taking a grim satisfaction at having gotten some good licks in; never, ever catching on to whose ass is being kicked and by whom.

There’s nothing quite like the righteous fundie. There’s no limit to the possibilities of disassociated and dissonant cogitation. There he stands on the doorstep, pointing toward the highway for the young girl with the child in her arms. There he stands, expounding on the welfare families and needy people who ought to go out and get a job like the one he has. It’s obvious they are in that situation because they don’t love Jesus. They love Jesus though and Jesus loves them, even if he does have to sleep in the basement or out in the garage.

In about six weeks we come to Dead Man’s Curve, on the thruway of time and circumstance. Seemingly intelligent people have rationalized it as necessity. They have no choice, do they? Iran is all that remains of The Middle East in any independent way. They destroyed Libya and one of the modern wonders of the age, along with the most solidly constructed ‘people first’ system in the area. They bombed Afghanistan back into the stone age, which was no great distance to traverse. They beat the living shit out of Iraq and then, ah what the hell, they poisoned all of the unborn generations as well.

Look at it from their point of view, after having destroyed the domestic economies and looting everything in reach, there really is no alternative besides a world war. It’s the one thing that will take people’s attention off of their other crimes. They did it all. They’re no slouch when it comes to 24 hour criminal focus. They’re so bent they can roll from place to place. They sat around with their glasses of scotch and they tossed around the big ideas. Then they drafted the blueprints. Then they signed off on the construction and there it sits, stinking to high heaven. They went from PNAC to 9/11. Then they went to war but not before they went into official mourning, so as to jack up the outrage, like a monster truck. How did these special people get into the position where they could do all of these things? They are part and parcel of a particularly heinous symbiosis. One faction prints the money. The other faction receives it. If you don’t go along with the program, you don’t get any money. It’s as simple as that and it’s as serious as a heart attack.

They got sky box seats at the dream coliseum. What they see is what they see, from the position they are in. The perspective is what it is and it’s colored by invisible gases that tailor the perceptions to end game result. The hired help moves around them, giving them the certain assurance that all is right with the world and that they are central to whatever is taking place. There’s a special kind of thrill in sending other men off to die and to kill all sorts of people just cause they told them to. You and I are denied this form of rare delight. Oh, it could have been ours had we not gotten sidetracked by something.

At the end of any particular age, where technology has outpaced morality, you always get the religious wars. You get that caveman mentality taking place in a Star Trek environment. You get the disconnected video game effect, of bodies smoking and burning on a screen somewhere. You get nuclear technicians who don’t anticipate pipes freezing in the winter, during a meltdown. You get millions of people with headphones on, isolating their contact from their fellows. You get riots in department stores, during seasonal periods celebrating the joy of giving. You get the tiniest religion in the world, dictating to one of the largest religions in the world about what you can call your religious holidays and what you can and cannot celebrate, while they promote theirs without a second thought and then laugh at you in the bargain. They have been the motive force behind every conflict in recent memory and somehow that’s okay because of all the retarded rocks and Jesus in the basement.

It’s predictable. It’s pro forma. It’s a definite guarantee that very soon, very bad shit is going to be very, very apparent. In the meanwhile, approaching weeks, days and minutes, our gifted craftsmen are setting the stage, placing all of the pieces and strategizing all of the strategies, into a fail proof, fool proof, fait accompli with no damage to themselves. They’ve crunched the numbers and locked ‘what if’ in the basement with Jesus. However, history and certainly recent history, has shown us that all the planning in the world, doesn’t mean anything when the people doing the planning aren’t right in the head. This is one of the classic realities that accommodates evil in its unwitting suicide.

Thomas Cole, is a painter from the Hudson River School. He did a four part set of paintings called, “The Voyage of Life”. Great art is one of the chief defenders of faith in times of darkness. It reminds us of the dignity, beauty and possibilities of the inspired soul. It reminds us that things pass through us. They don’t originate with us. Great art is proof of an invisible presence. Great art moves us and changes us by our exposure to it. It especially reminds us of what we have been and what we can be. It is a testimony to the struggles and triumphs of the human spirit, while surrounded by the wreckage of temporary defeats.

End Transmission…….

Sunday’s radio show is now available for download and so are a couple of others you might have missed for not having been made accessible at the radio blog. Just scroll down to the bottom and check the dates. I’ll get that together in the course of my inconsistency.

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