Lowering the Moat Portcullis Against the Unseen and Unwelcome Visitor

Reflections in a Petri Dish — Nov 19, 2013

Dog Poet Transmitting…….
May your noses always be cold and wet.
The promoters of the seminar in London are offering 5 tickets for five pounds (I think that’s five pounds per ticket) for those who want to come and hear me. Details are sketchy, so I suggest that those possessing an interest contact Tahra at the Seminar webpage for details, especially if you have four people in your pocket with five pounds in each of their pockets (grin). There’s a Charles Iwanga in the seminar comments to whom this may apply. He says he’s ‘skint’ (grin).
As I have mentioned, perhaps more times than some readers might wish, I watch the NFL games on the internet. I don’t watch them simply due to their being sporting events. I watch them for insights into the culture. Since I will never again, set foot on the American mainland, for so long as the Zio-Communists and Satanic Fascists have control of it, I need to see what’s taking place there, even if it is only a limited view. It helps me find a perspective on what it’s like there in a certain demographic. There are the subtleties that come across in what the announcers say and then there are the commercials, which brings me to my first observation for the day.
Nothing is sadder than to see some movie actor, like Tommy Lee Jones, or any of them really, making a commercial for some corporate monster after having made many many millions in this lifetime and finding themselves thinking they need yet more money and not caring who they get it from. Along with Tommy (whose films I enjoy) were James Earl Jones (who has long been a fixture in commercials anyway. He’s the Walter Cronkite of Madison Avenue) and there was Malcolm McDowell, whose life is clearly marked on his face. I won’t say any more about him. It’s not my place. I guess I can understand when people like Nicolas Cage run out of money, as a result of buying up castles all over the world, during a bout of extended temporary insanity but people who get tens of millions of dollars for a film, or at least a few million every time they step in front of a camera… hmmm. When you make that kind of money, that kind of money makes more money and then you have a whole lot of money. Still, when you look like you actually emptied the cup that Hercules or Ulysses (I forget who) was challenged to empty and which turned out to be connected to the ocean, well, maybe you do need more money.
So I look into the faces of the crowds, howling like loons, faces painted, bellies bulging, minds filled with an excitement, manufactured by the culture and very much like patriotism and nationalism. You see, certain toxic mindsets are all-important to the sustenance of this ‘survival of the sneakiest’ culture. They like to do ‘end runs’ when they can; that’s a football term. Life, like football, has rules. These rules exist to give a sense of control, balance and propriety to the usual proceedings taking place, among which always appears (at intervals) the expected offenses occurring as a matter of routine. In football there are referees to spot the infractions and deliver the penalties. In life we have (selective) law enforcement. The more that the force of materialism predominates in the culture, the more frequent and the greater in number are the offenses that ensue, until (we’re getting there) it becomes a melee of a free for all, a wild-assed collective snatch and grab, where law enforcement is easily as corrupt as the very worst of the criminals and where the ordinarily honest, are forced into criminal behavior in order to survive and where weird and pointless shit like this happens. We need not look too far for the main source of almost all of the world’s ills. These lovely creatures, along with the Satanists and companion mindsets at large can be clearly seen for what they are …and how many times do I have to say that 94% of the Israelis supported Operation Cast Lead (and not just Israelis either)? Ironically, this is the same percentage of the media owned by the Baal worshiping segment of The Tribe. Another irony is the number of residents resident in The Criminal Syndicate Nation, in comparison to a similar number which has popped up all through the last century, in search of validated parking.. and which parking area was remarkable quiescent until right around the time they shot Kennedy. No, for 15+ years there was nothing to speak of being said (Hmmm that sentence seems a little odd) Then, from out some dark cavern there lumbered the largest and most effective PR machine ever seen
Lately it’s getting near as hot as that location to which so many of the elite and chosen are bound. We can start looking for incidences of spontaneous combustion. We can also start looking for serious reactions by Nature in disrespect of fracking and all those various technologies that are causing the consolidation of methane clouds in low lying areas. Where is that big electric billboard that has the countdown for Critical Mass? Where is that camel who stands patiently by the large haystack, bent to it’s knees by the weight on it’s back? In the air there is a static electricity that sounds a lot like what you hear standing next to one of those anonymous transformer buildings. These days, there’s a tape deck and speakers inside those rooms, to give the impression that transformers are humming. What’s really happening is these anonymous rooms are occupied by the civilian equivalent of drone operators who sit in front of dozens of small computer screens and who watch you pee and whatever other things you do in every room of your house
Here is an example of how incredibly corrupt the country of America is at this time. Only the continuing presence of a mesmerizing and pervasively blanketing miasma, is keeping the populace from storming public buildings and gated communities around the country; don’t forget those urban highrises… and hauling those vacuous sociopaths from their offices, boardrooms and dwelling spaces. America has been hijacked. Presently the final looting of everything left of value is taking place by those who bear no loyalty whatsoever to anything but money and self interest. They will rue the day when the public awakens and be they in Patagonia or anywhere else, plotting their next escapades, justice and retribution will find them.
As obvious as it should be to anyone who does not have a sprouting potato for a head, keeping in mind that even though a potato has eyes it is blind, like so many who have a mind but cannot think, who have a heart but cannot feel, in whose lives everything is a simulation of something gone from their memories… what is obvious, is blindingly so, in both cases. On the one hand, unavoidably apparent and on the other hand, so present it is threatening and demanding of eyes wide shut. Ever notice how uniformly resistant a certain segment of the population is to truth? It doesn’t matter where you run into them at. One of my best friends voted for George Bush and this is a person I have traveled to other worlds with. When I tried to extract an explanation from him, I got some kind of rambling monologue wherein he completely bought into the lies tumbling from that fool’s mouth. Another very close friend will hear no ill of The Tribe in any shape or form because he is fully aware of the effect that holding certain views can have on one’s career at this point in time. Of course his arguments are the sort of fatuous gerbil shit that can only be found in the Crass Media and wouldn’t you know it? This fellow actually claims to live by the grace of the ineffable. Things like this make me laugh. He started telling me how Assad had killed 90,000 of his subjects. Even at this late date, neither of them have come to the realization of what lying sacks of shit nearly all contemporary journalists are.
I love my friends but I’ve come to accept that we are all, individually, moving at different speeds and not going to arrive at the same conclusions or places at the same time. We make different sacrifices for different reasons. I remember those various windows of time and opportunity that existed in the lives of so many of the people I knew. ♫How I wish, I wish in vain, that we could stand in that same room again. Ten thousand dollars at the drop of a hat, I’d give it all gladly, if our lives could be like that♫ I remember us being free and unencumbered, able to try our hands at anything. I remember the things that came along and got their attention. In some cases they were drawn to them and in other cases the forces or entities moved in on them. I watched some of them go from passionate idealism to the pragmatic or acquisitive. I watched their values change. In some cases I watched them disappear over the horizon, gone somewhere, in search of something. Some number of them died from excess and some from misadventure. Some got swept away by one spiritual teacher or another, though these were in the minority and some of them are still there today. Some of them are friendly but distant, as if some kind of abacus of dogma, or a curtain of belief, were stretched across the space between us. Some take a dim view of me, based on my perceived heresies and eccentric lifestyle. These are the reformed whores whose self righteousness is aflame with the projected purity of their own reflection. There aren’t many of those and if there are, I no longer remember them (grin).
I remember the music that accompanied the segments of time and lying flat on my back in a dimly lit room, with several other people, all of us tripping on acid, somewhere in Makawao, Maui, while we listened to a mix tape of memorable and moving psychedelic music put together by Steve, who was a DJ, radio announcer at the time and is now, of all things, a lawyer. He used to get angry at me and offended for the slightest of reasons. I never could figure it out.
I remember a handful of exceptional people. Some were exceptional in the moment and then gravitated to the pedestrian afterwards, making those accommodations almost everyone makes to the world, for the purpose of security and sustenance. I’ve yet to find the right fit of compromises for myself. Tragically, there may be none (grin). Unless the cornucopia appears in the sky before me, unless serendipity kisses me on the check in following months, I’ll find out about compromises and accommodations but… for some reason, it never gets to that. Something always appears, as if by magic, out of the empty desert, borne on the wind by jinns and delivered at the dark of the moon. The next day the desert is empty again but my whole world has changed in the meantime.
End Transmission…….


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