Smoking Mirrors — Oct 8, 2013
Dog Poet transmitting…….
May your noses always be cold and wet.
500 hundred tons of dust lands on the earth every day so, if you don’t regularly clean your mirror, as a matter of critical routine, eventually you won’t be able to see yourself in it, much less everything behind you, even if all of it does appear to be in front of you. Sometimes appearances aren’t just deceptive, they’re not visible either. That’s when they start to automatically project, like economists, religious bagmen and everyone who makes money by convincing you that they are a meteorologist, in respect of their field of acumen. Generally they are cosmetologists, masquerading as cosmologists. You can get your working papers as an expert in your field and by simple disagreement with the other experts, establish yourself as someone who should be well paid for being so certain about what they don’t know.
These days, dust isn’t the only reflection liability you will encounter. There’s also the ever present, smoke from impure fires, generated by collective low level desires. This group miasma is directly related to the disappearance of manners. Once it was considered the right thing to do to admit you were wrong and strive to improve upon whatever personal failing was responsible for you trying to slip one past the distracted hordes. These days, you huff and puff and get all offended about being caught short of veracity; not even in the company of a distant relative of the truth do you find yourself and it gets harder and harder to find yourself every time you trade off a true reflection, for one more likely to generate a profitable return. That’s what we see these days about the climate change vampires. The last thing they care about are any actual solutions to the alleged problem. What they want is something like Breast Cancer Awareness month, brought to you by Dove Advanced Beauty, Clear Tone Skin Renew, Antiperspirant and Deodorant. What you want are legions of soccer moms with fluffy pink balls bouncing on the backs of their sneakers, as they march into the Angelina Jolie Mastectomy Clinic with their World War Z T-shirts, accompanied by their, every color of the rainbow, adopted progeny. This is known as the “Madonna PC Look at Me Syndrome”. There’s a whole new field branching out of the Hollywood interior decoration industry that does child placement, usually it’s cheaper to pick them to match the furniture rather than to have to replace it all later.
It’s little wonder that the general population of North America, is bristling through the abrasive sandpaper slithers of their daily contacts, with their equally pissed off fellows, dancing around like wolverines with hemorrhoid flare ups. It’s no wonder that Peyton Manning gets 12 million dollars a year encouraging children to eat death foods like Papa John’s Pizza, who refuse to list the sources of their ingredients, well, Peyton owns about 30 outlets in the Denver area. This is the age of lying pitchmen and pitchwomen, shilling for anything that will give them scads more money than they will ever be able to spend, while the majority of their compatriots, slowly and not so slowly, sink beneath the waves of contemporary, cynically manufactured want and depravity. Now we get Miley Cyrus, ‘the little hooker that could’ in a media blitz of justification for, “this is just how I am” and “I never meant to offend anyone. I mean, Jesus H. Satan, I wasn’t popping ping pong balls out of my vagina or anything!” The stench of hypocrisy and craven self justification is worse than that of the garbage pits around Guatemala City.
We’ve broken into a whole new area of blatant offenses and outrages against John Q. and Jane Q, Public as ‘the man who wasn’t there’, Bwak! Howdy Doody, Obama./// Whoa!!! Digression time, there’s the Legion of Pinked Up Two Airline Seat Women, “Yoooouuuurrr breast cancer survivors!” They’re right there on Monday Night Football just to the side of this posting in progress …this Tuesday Morning. They’re grinning and pumped up ( it wouldn’t have been a bicycle pump). As anyone in the business knows, nipples are where the pump needle gets inserted. Ain’t Nature prescient? End digression and back to Bwak!!! The petty, unfocused swatting of small and insignificant homeowners, monument and park visitors, restaurants in season and anyone he can hurt, while making sure his own corps get nicely paid is nauseating, disgusting, demonic and childishly petulant. Heck, there’s so much childish petulance going on at the moment that even I’m running into it. We’re obviously talking about a whole lot of dust-laden and smoke obscured mirrors. Well, this smogging of the mirrors has it’s benefits. When you have lost contact with your essential being, due to selling your soul for a mess of pottage and… your false self is now in the driver’s seat, the effect you want is for anyone and everyone to think it’s still you, cause that lends an appearance of veracity to the actual lying sack of shit you have morphed into. It doesn’t happen overnight. It’s like losing your hair. You could see it was thinning out and then, one day, poof! it’s all gone. The same applies to appendix like vestigial features (these days) like integrity, honor, courage when weaselly discretion might have been the better part of valor, given the general drive for avoidance of all sense of sacrifice for the greater good. “What has the greater good ever done for me? More Chicken McNuggets!!! More Chicken McNuggets!!! Hey Payton! How about some snake oil eyes and exorcism voiceovers for a few million more?
Yes, the blog contents and concerns have shifted temporarily because we’re halfway between the Slog of Despond and the Dark Beyond. Something strange is rising in The Event Horizon. It all comes down to what is really going on behind the scenes. All we see are effects made difficult to interpret because the cause is hidden under the dust on the mirror. Far too few of us are at the mirror in the day to day with Windex and a towel. At first, the dust is just a static overlay but eventually, the dust adheres and coagulates into a hard surface that hides you from yourself for however long it takes for temporary fate to achieve it’s manipulated permanence; more Chicken McNuggets? How about a nice slice of Papa John’s Acne Breakout Pizza? Afterwards we can head down to that Asian eatery at the mall for some Duck A La Agent Orange. Sooner or later all the flavor enhancements and preservatives are going to preserve you just like all those martinis did the Queen Mother. She still looks exactly the way she did when they put her six feet under. Anything that tries to eat her dies from cirrhosis of the liver before they can even get going. It’s permeated the ground for yards around. You don’t even need a liver to succumb to the force of it.
People, just keep reminding yourself, no matter how bad it gets,”At least I’m not John Kerry. At least I’m not Hillary Clinton. At least I’m not Jenna Bush. At least I’m not Miley Ray Cyrus. At least I’m not Ben Affleck’s understudy, Justin Timberlake. At least I’m not Mila Kunis. At least I’m not an insanely genocidal Israeli. At least I’m not a Hollywood agent. At least I don’t wake up each morning confronted by a reversed pentagram on my ceiling.” I could go on and on. That is the unfortunate truth of these times. I am reminded of an old joke. A Hollywood agent is sitting in his office when The Devil Walks in. The Devil says, “I’m here to cut a deal with you. I am prepared to make you the most powerful agent in town and all I want is your soul and the souls of your wife and children.” The agent looks at The Devil and he sits there thinking for a moment. Then he asks, “Okay… but what’s the catch?” This is precisely where most people are at these days. It’s all that dust on the mirror. It skewers priorities and values. It moves you closer and closer into the Land of Moral Relativism. First it screws up the bearings on your moral compass. Formerly True North now begins to point you in the direction of True South, along the lines of ‘gone south’. What happens along with this, due to the dust on the mirror, is that your surrounding environment adapts itself into a supporting role that affirms all the bullshit you start to believe, in order to grant you a conscience free passage into the trackless wastes of the Gone South Swamplands. These do not end like the Tamiami Trail, no matter what the signage at the entrance says, cause that’s just demon graffiti written into the mirror that conceals the actual message of ‘abandon hope all ye who enter here.’
You might think that your life is no more than the days of waiting between your weekly Friday Night Poker Game. The truth is that you are playing in a high stakes game but this is also hidden from the attention of most people; more Chicken McNuggets? Yes, you are playing in a high stakes game and the chips are symbolically representative of your most priceless possession. You’ll be able to figure out what that is by simply taking a little stroll through the Toxic Media of the Times… no, I’m not talking about your ass, since that will be the first thing that comes to mind, as you witness the storming crowds of witless celebrities and power shakers, pressing the people up front like tuna fish for brains groupies, storming the stage, at a Justin Beiber concert, waving those paddles like they have at a Tribe owned Southeby’s art auction and screaming at the top of their lungs, “My ass is for sale! My ass is for sale!” No… that’s just a physical metaphor for something else you can’t see, due to the dust on the mirror. I don’t see where I have to name it for you, rather let me describe what it does. It’s a containment vehicle that travels the metaphysical universe and is the only vehicle that makes it possible for you to do that. Without it, your range of locations are extremely limited and confined to only a few very undesirable destinations and locations. It is the most important thing you will ever possess besides the resonant proximity to the force that assisted you in its construction.
These times, at the end of a grand cycle of 26,000 years are created specifically for the purpose of separating you from this priceless component or… in the rarer instances, it is a singular time sensitive period, in which you can make leaps forward, which far exceed what is possible at any other time. This is a living truth that you are in the midst of; another slice of Papa John’s GMO laden, Full blown Acne Pizza? How about some Wasabi coated Rat Turds? You can just settle back on the couch with all those solid and liquid poisons and pop that hot oil mudwrestling marathon into the DVD player. Or maybe you just want to kick back with a copy of Fifty Shades of Gray Porn. The critics say its literature. Given the level of your reading skills it might well qualify as literature.
I never imagined I would see whole generations turn into clueless nitwits over such a short expanse of years. It’s mind blowing. I am finding it very difficult to love the human race, or the fact that they came in in last place. I haven’t given up but I would love to find a solitary living zone to pass the time in between now and whenever they get around to destroying themselves.
Well, it’s not all bad. A goodly number of the formerly sleeping classes has woken up and gone into action. A million truckers are headed to DC to protest and ‘arrest’ members of Congress (yahoo!). Twitter shut down their communication threads. All over the place, revolution is brewing. This is a conflict the elite cannot win. They may kill a lot of people (they’re already doing that) but eventually they will be torn to pieces, as cosmic justice closes the window on the compassion timeline. It’s inevitable. It is becoming unavoidable. When you are an irreversible shit, what you should do becomes what you won’t do and this results into you cornering yourself in an indefensible position. It’s all easily predictable metaphysics. Sooner or later, it’s later.
I don’t mean to stay overly long in the state of mind I have chosen to temporarily occupy. Certain things need to be said and then… it’s on to something else. Be well.