Hopalong Cassidy and Mr. Silicone Skin at the Not OK Corral

Reflections in a Petri Dish – June 11, 2012

Dog Poet Transmitting…….
May your noses always be cold and wet.
The joint is jumping as bombastic, needle-dicked …and gigantic, blood-tick zeppelins, bounce off the aluminum confetti sky, like parade floats; desperate to fuck everything beneath them in the most painfully extended manner, while mindful of the possibility that, in their raging desire, for unholy forced congress, they might land on something hard and sharp themselves and simply drown the inhabitants in the volume of all of what they had previously sucked out of them.
You get your news where you can, even if you don’t always like the people delivering it. What you will hear there, but which doesn’t get completely said there, whether due to some previous, extended loyalty, fear or decorum, implies enough to convince you that that new twist on your usual breakfast, is just the latest version of the ‘same old same old’. It may look different but it tastes the same. You don’t hear much from me about Ron Paul here …and that is for two reasons. One is that I hate to be the medium of disappointment for people who want to believe so hard, with all their might …and who have worked and contributed, with all their might, to one more stalking horse, deal-maker, set into play to herd everyone a little further along into the Not O.K. Corral, where the guys in their workman overalls, wait with the captive bolt pistols, conveyor-hooks and of course, further on, are the guys on the sloping concrete floors, in the red-stained, knee length lab coats, with the big sharp knives. They’re playing Ozzie Osborne, real loud, through the moisture proof speakers.
I never got on that train and when I saw it quietly slide off the main rails, onto a storage track, with all that cash, blood, sweat and tears that the terminally hopeful donated the last time around, I was seriously not inclined to ever get on that train further up the line. Now we see that same train has slipped into the switching yard again and has parked itself on another storage track. The extended version of the ongoing deception was that they were going to work the delegate end and, ‘you had the idea’ that might lead to a brokered convention and Hopalong Cassidy, now looking even older than Dick Clark does now, would ride that big white, stuffed stallion, right out on to the convention floor, as both tears and shredded Mylar, danced and twisted and fell in the light from the cycling color filters. Yeah baby, just like in the darkest times at the back end of The Hood, “everybody’s gonna get well”.
Then you hear that they aren’t going to challenge with the delegates, they’re just going to use that, temporary mind fuck Viagra, to get your voices heard for about 15 minutes, or half an hour and then Mr Silicone Skin, will step out on to the dais, with his perfect hair and talk to you about this still great nation and what we can do if we all pull together, joined skin to skin, front to back, in a huge, way to close, conga line style …in some weird, human centipede state, of ugly sexual union, which, if you want to get colloquial about it, has something about ‘being fucked’ somewhere in whatever patois is going to be employed to get you to raise your fist and yell, “Hell, yeah! I can feel ya”! Well, I’ll bet you can.
I’ve been smelling a rat in that particular grain silo for some time but I’m not in the full time business of pissing on every parade that goes by. I don’t like this side of my job to begin with and I’m not alone with that. There are legions out there who would rather hear no news at all, unless it’s good news and that pretty much means you’ll be listening to the sounds of silence looping …without foreseeable end, for the moment.
As predicted, what’s taking place in the country as routine events, in terms of various sudden and inexplicable murders, continues to increase in pace and move inexorably to The Land of Epidemic. What this is all about, is a combination of pressure; pressure of all sorts and the last gasp of invisibly transmitting, citadels of darkness, as they get forced out into the open light. I know you want to be spared hearing about all of this but, trust me, the really ugly stuff doesn’t make it into these venues. You want to go looking on your own, trust me, you’ll find things you wish you hadn’t gone looking for.
It must be getting close, I haven’t seen a single mention about gay issues in almost two days. Sure, I probably missed them, but still, when that end of things gets quiet, shit is about to combust and that’s not just because Old Scratch’s usual method of contact with you is generally affected by the fact that his generating organ is inflamed, literally. It’s not all bad news and, if truth be told, the real and true source of ALL FORCE, is simply setting the stage for public demonstration of the most dramatic kind. You need to think of the whole operation as an immense electrical circuitry, that routes to every animate form and remember that the current can be sent in any direction, at any time and shut on or off at any time. It comes down to what you really live for and what you really believe. That’s the point of the operation in the first place and you’ll see that in all the true technicolor that the universe is preparing to present, according to that very thing. You might well wonder why all the well informed didn’t already know something like this, or why the Crass Media wants you to know stuff like this now. You might wonder and ponder and you might shit in one hand and wish in the other. You might hold fast and endure or you might be neck deep in manure and imagine what you’re getting is a pricey mudpack in some exclusive uptown spa. It’s your call. It always has been. Deception is a two way street.
You want hope. You want reassurance. You want comfort, sanctuary and security. All of that is there to be had, depending on where you think the location of residence might be. The whole point of all the ugly outside, is to force you to look inside, keeping in mind how the eyes, as an organ of sense, work in the first place. People say they want the truth, until you deliver it to them. Nothing possesses more eternal and inviolable conviction than the truth, for really good reasons …but being able to stay there… being able to resist the siren call of all the things you want …and understanding the futility of your efforts to possess any of them beyond the term limits given, well, that’s something else. Uh huh, that’s something else and there isn’t a whole lot more to it than that.
I’m sure many of you have asked yourself; how can Hillary Clinton and Leon Panetta be such total and consistent liars, devoid of conscience and empathy of any kind? How can Obama really be Howdy Doody on bad acid? How can the majority of the leaders of all ZATO countries be uniformly in lockstep, as bone deep, corruption bots, dedicated to fucking the largest majority of the public they were empowered to serve? How can The Tribe central banks, control everything these people do and all the people who work for them too? How can people who must know better, because we know better, tell the same, unchanging lies about the same things, every day, forever and ever amen? Those are good questions. If you don’t already have the answers, then you’ve ignored them, whenever they were presented to you, because you also want your piece of the action and the only reason you might be having questions is that your pissed off about not getting your end.
As comprehensively and totally as things seem to be what they are, they are not what they appear. The basic and essential point to the whole of it is to get you to believe in appearances because, if you do, you come under the power of whoever is manipulating them. It is not rocket surgery. It is what it is because it is not what it is and you are out of joint because you are out of place, because you are not you. If you were you, you would realize that not the total quantity of all evil known and unknown is anything compared to the power of the essential you. So what is it they do? They separate the essential you from the apparent you, thus rendering you powerless, based on the prevailing perspective of your heart and mind which, for whatever the reason was, bought into it.
Everything is okay if you are okay (not the same Thomas Harris …but Buffalo Bill is certainly in there somewhere) and headed somewhere other than the Not OK Corral. You can’t be okay if you’re not you. You can’t be okay, if your reliance for continuance, is upon forces whose intent is for you not to continue.
How many ways can you say the same thing and still have people convinced, or thinking you are talking about something else? Spend some time around here and you’ll find out. The whole point of theme variation is about contact with original tone. All those notes come out of one note and so does everything you will ever encounter at any time and the power maintaining it, in order for you to catch on to it, always has more in reserve than will ever, ever be manifest. It’s one of those cosmic truths. That particular sun never gets to mid-heaven. Consonantly, there is never a time that evil; given that you can identify it in the first place, ever gets into a position where it has the juice to do anything more than be one of the main items in a particular demonstration. Life itself- and the theater in which it is operative- are as they are for only one reason. That reason has retainers and associated states and conditions …but it’s really all about awareness and what you put it on.
(I’ll bet you never thought this posting would wind up here, given the way it started out.)
End Transmission…….


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