Reflections in a Petri Dish – June 19, 2012
Dog Poet Transmitting…….
May your noses always be cold and…….
They’re at it with a will and they are not going to stop. No one knows what’s happening. You hear the one thing and then you hear somewhere else that it’s not happening and it is denied. You hear about the real reasons for the wars on deck and you hear what is looming on the horizon, for the general public sooner rather than later. It’s clear enough that the problem is the bankers and the infernal master that they serve. It’s said that ‘the love of money’ is the root of all evil. That’s true. We’re living with it. The supporting cast includes, ignorance, indifference, wanting to be like those hosing you and obsession with material culture. We live in an age, of a population, dumber than a fence post. On the one hand they deserve what they are getting. On the other hand there are the rest of us. Maybe we deserve it too. The bankers need to be taken down anyway …and by any means possible and necessary, to accomplish it. They’re behind all this shit and the corporations and the whore governments are their lackeys to the task. You don’t have to look any further …and the centers are the crime nation of Israel, their banker felons in London and New York …and the willing whores, in the seats power, all over. The chain of command is transparent. If you don’t see it, you are a blind coward. You will see where that gets you shortly.
We’ve all got our problems and shortcomings. I’ve got mine and you’ve got yours. Are these greater than our impetus and intentions otherwise? We’ll see. The bankers are Satanic scum. They are the chief employees of the ancient enemy. They fund and finance all the other players. They serve the citadels of darkness, in the invisible; non corporate enemies, that broadcast into the minds, of the physical players or, at this time, actually inhabit the willing bodies of the moment; since they are being driven out from their astral nests, where they have comfortably and confidently dwelt, in this Kali Yuga. There are certain secret societies, of reverse engineered Kabala magicians and practitioners of perversion, upon the old mysteries of the light, which they have stolen from the weak and deceived, into whose hands the protection of them were placed. All of this is true but you deal with what you can deal with, on the planes where it is possible for you, according to what you are empowered and capable of performing. It’s simple stuff, though confusing to the uniformed.
Several things are true about Kali Yuga and times of darkness; Extremes of appetite that also devour and consume honesty, integrity and strength; the eminence of douche-bags, because the tenor of the times, flushes the, long term persistently ugly, out of the cunt of Kali. I mean no disrespect to her but for those of this kind, coming out of her, it is only a cunt and if you are a Brit, so are they. Pardon my plain speaking, vulgar tone of the moment. That’s how it is and that is what they are; doomed sailors on ships of the long night, bound toward their own islands of individual perdition.
Of course, forgiveness must be the rule. Of course, many unfortunates, unsecured upon the streets, got there by their own acts and intentions. Souls in dog’s bodies… souls, especially in this particular time; rooting, honking and rutting, like snorting pigs, in the bodies of pigs, when they are not given a measure of compassion, it only decreases, the storehouse of its containment, in the hearts of those unwilling to give it. There but for fortune go you and I? Fortune? I think not, but you will each come to your own terms and understanding about it. We will each and all of us, collectively and individually come to our own terms and understanding, about the meaning of everything, in time… in time… and out of time, toward and within, whatever the destiny of our particular being so inclines to.
Free will? No will? Liberty and license, will all define their most true interpretations upon you, even as in this very moment they are doing ♫here… there… and everywhere♫
A lot of people, too dumb to know any better, think they’re getting all kinds of pleasure, importance, riches, power and all else out of this clusterfucked age; talk about having no taste, or even any inclination for the higher pleasures and joys that are possible. It escapes me how people can value so many things, with so little value, next to what is possible. It escapes me but… I guess I get it somehow. Why it is that so many people, so many artists in every venue, do not court the higher muses for the delivery of what they are engaged in presenting? …that’s… that’s up to them. That is between them and their own heart and what it values and there will be value and… reward, commensurate with the product. That’s how it is. Say what you will. Believe as you will. There is a large and vast expanse, of many permutations, between Limp Bizkit and Shakespeare; there is a massive differential between Michelangelo and Warhol… between Stephen Foster and Kanye West. There is a geographical immensity, between the bedrooms of Kim Kardashian, Lohan and the sluts of the hour and the varieties of eternal goddess, that only the gods …and the few know best. Either and both are the given possibilities of the human estate. Whether you ride a Harley or the Chariot of Fire, is a personal industry but… that it is possible? Only the fools who will never achieve it bring into dispute.
There’s something about being higher than the angels, but you’ll figure that out, or not. Far too many actually go right up into the face of the universe, or fall on their faces in submission …and ask, “Is that all you got”?
Free will or no will is a personal affair. Some think they got it. Some think they are there. Some believe the obvious lies, about men with bombs, in their underwear. They shouldn’t mind getting fondled by ham handed brutals, with zero finesse. They probably have it in real life, each time they undress. It might not be brutal. It might just be quick and lame, or not quick enough, or not even around, so that it’s just you a magazine, since you can’t even picture, what you need in your mind. It’s no complex wonder who owns your behind …and whatever else that doesn’t work right and is there to be had …and also not used right.
Uh huh, oh no… it can’t be so. It can’t be that all the things I want to have and haven’t had, are nothing but disappointments too? …or something I’ll use too badly, or to quickly and which will disappear… off to the next apartment, or wild place, where appreciation is to be found. Love and real pleasure, will not stick around, for the hands and the minds, of those, who can’t even see it there; not my fucking problem, not my fucking problem. That problem is yours.
It a personal matter, for the billions of you and you show it each hour. You show it each day. It shows itself to you in the things that… don’t come your way. You’re all puzzled about it. Why, you’re just mystified. How did it get so, man… so messed up? What strange things are coming, on the Fukushima tide? What twists in the air? What rumbles beneath? What waits in the darkness? What slinks in the mind? What tortures the heart? What does it all mean? You might just stay dirty, since ‘you’ can’t make yourself clean.
All aboard for the death train! All aboard for the way out! All aboard for the way in. We all got our tickets, to wherever that is. All aboard. ♫people get ready, there’s a train a coming♫ Oh right, in some cases… ♫you don’t need no tickets♫ In certain cases, where it really applies, you know how that lyric continues. Otherwise, you get The Big One, or variations thereof. It’s up to you, speaking of free will.
All things that begin must end in some fashion. All roads lead to where they are going and there are side roads and exits, if you don’t like where they’re going. You got Chronos there to help you, give you time to experience and change your route, on your way, deeper into the shit, or on your way out. It gets hotter and more confining, as deeper into the matter of it you go and it get freer and cooler and wider and more open on that other avenue, that slender silk road.
The devil’s in the details, but the point is not complex. It’s not brain science, rocket surgery. It’s not millions of trees turned to paper, where what is written makes no sense, or isn’t important, or is dreadfully wrong. This posting is over and so is this song.
Song: ♫Every Day♫
Lyrics (pops up)