Hookers in Lycra and their Last Gasp Demon Pimps

Visible Origami — Oct 4, 2013

Dog Poet Transmitting…….
May your noses always be intuitive and unbroken.
In my private life, I watch sporting events (or movies) while writing posts. As a child I dreamed of playing in the pros; the tortuousness uncertainty of the times and an injury put paid to that fantasy, so… I do the vicarious thing which, given the capacity of my imagination, is sometimes almost like the real thing. It’s not just the sporting aspect of it that has my attention. It is also the insidious and relentlessly permeating, Satanism that slithers and stinks, like that Saturday smorgasbord, Pit Side of the Land of Permanent Shadows. This is how I came to notice this high end hooker in skintight Lycra short shorts and spray on top. So shes’s singing, ♫I know you gotta like it in my city! Everyone is welcome there.Welcome to my city! You’ve never had a party like that party when you party in my pants♫ I’ve heard it more than a dozen times so… whatever they are alleged to be saying, that’s how it sounds. This is one of those 4,000 dollar a night type hookers that Elliot Spitzer used to be fond of. I’ve never understood paying for that sort of thing but I do understand that there are guys who aren’t going to get it any other way. It’s that timeless tale of losses beyond measurement, based on the particular buck fevers that attend the suicidal mad pursuits of Power, Privilege, Pussy and Gold.
I once heard, probably through a Theosophical writer, that the higher up the mountain you ascend, the more powerful are the winds that assail you. There’s a contingent of know it alls that come around here, now again again, who hate all things Theosophical, or anything having to do with Alice Bailey and who have probably never read any of them; who, when they are fundies, hate all intelligent systems, like the timeless traditions of Hinduism, out of which all the rest come. It affects me about as much as water off a duck’s back, or snow on a Malamute’s tail. There are two types of seekers traipsing about these days, those who have taken the ambrosia of the gods, also known as psychedelics and those who have not but… are experts on the matter. Those of us who have taken them and… in my case, over a thousand times, have seen, again and again, that all oral and written teachings, come out of the same mysterious source and then are formed into temporal traditions, according to the cultures they appear in. In other words, the inflections, meanings and colors are all engineered for compatibility with the populations practicing them. None of them take you any further than the gates of the unknown, at which point everything that appeared to mean one thing, now means another or several. There is a big difference between gazing into an ocean you never swam in and imagining the experience, which certainly falls short of the experience. There is also the tingling apprehension, concerning the possibilities of monsters in the deep. Those who have swam know what they know. They know a portion. The rest knows nothing and the insecurity that this engenders makes them experts in the defense of their ignorance.
I don’t care if people take psychedelics or not. Some people go all the way without the need to. The darkness of any given time has a lot to do with the kinds of necessity some of us come up against. Many who do not take them, are hindered in this regard due to primal fears. I’ve seen them losing it, rolling in the dirt screaming that they are Jesus Christ. I’ve seen the ego rear up. I’ve seen them unable to break free of the lies they committed themselves to because they have convinced themselves that their life depends on them. Most of them go nowhere near these things. For them, Gin and Tonic and they themselves, neither shaken nor stirred, make the rounds with their false bonhomie, chuckling with their peers about how nicely they screwed so and so. You see them at the nineteenth hole. You see them at the country club fetes, with their phony smiles. They are talking head termites, eating themselves from the inside out. I’ve seen them at work many times, basking in the comfort of their lies.
I’ve seen them in the watering holes and singles bars, their eyes fixated on the available prey. Both sides of that equation know what they want. Both sides of the equation know the cost of everything and the value of nothing. They buy useless adamantine diamonds that grant the needed temporary affirmation for their excruciating mutual confinements, that are the guaranteed aftermath of the disappearance of both the Love and the Magic that sucked them in to begin with and then left them with the terminal absence of that which will not be coming back. They’re watching that hooker in Lycra singing about the party in her pants. Most of them don’t hear it.
I was on the rack from the moment I was born. I never went to those private schools, where you learn how important you are right off the bat. I never lived in  a catered environment, or was the beneficiary of all those programmed perversions those elite college clubs put you through in order to insure the blackmail follows you through the rest of your life. There are no videos of me doing terrible things that guarantee my obedience and silence. I used to think that if it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all. I didn’t realize how lucky I was and am.
Doing these blogs, I have met some of the best and brightest of the beleaguered and oppressed among us. It’s beyond obvious that the good souls in our numbers are being hammered and harassed with every passing day. The sold out, soulless shits among us are flush and unhindered. It doesn’t matter how wrong, how dark or how toxic are their words and deeds, it’s been smooth sailing, all the way to the abyss. There it looms in these final hours, the Event Horizon of the awaiting pit. Rank after rank of Faustian robots march down the Boulevard of the Blind. They see the projected hallucination of a shining city on the hill. It’s not there but something else most assuredly is.
I’m speaking of all of these things today because of the suffocating blanket of darkness and depression being generated by the Last Gasp Demons, knowing they are going and doing all they can do to take the unwary with them. Its been perpetual gray skies for some time now. We know what happens when  plants get no sun. We know what happens when the good gets siphoned out of life, when extremity becomes the order of the day, when houses already paid off, are stolen by mercenary mortgage banks and jobs are gone missing and replaced by part time employments, devoid of health care and pensions. We know what happens when the unions get gutted by crocodile swine zombies like the governor of Wisconsin, who is a fluffer for the Koch Brothers. Nearly all of them are in harness, pulling the chariots of demons across the blasted landscape of a condemned culture. Then there are frauds like Rand Paul, pretending to be an honest conservative, owned body and soul by Israel. I could list the degrees of various darkness for pages to come but you’re living in the midst of them. There’s no need for me to keep stating the obvious. The only thing I’m stating is that it’s all for the purpose of demonstration, out of consideration for those paying attention. Hopefully that means you.
End Transmission…….

Source

I just heard from the fellow who is giving me my new place to stay. All the work I thought I had to do he has already done! He’s an angel of light. There is no question that the divine is seriously at work here. This is truly amazing!!! He sent me pictures.

If there are any long time readers that I can be sure of out there, please consider maybe coming in with me for a couple of months soon in a warm and wonderful location where I intend to heal and grow strong, as well as spend serious time in communication with the unseen.

If several of us get together we could get a nice place and have a really good time. It is an island not too far from southern Europe.

Les Visible

Otherwise known as Smoking Mirrors, Les Visible provides a voiceover in a disintegrating culture as Reflections in a Petri Dish. While in his guise as Visible Origami, Les offers perspectives on the invisible forces shaping our world

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