Lady Apocalypse is Coming into Bloom
Reflections in a Petri Dish Ė April 11, 2010
The planet has turned into a strip tease club. Itís not the usual fare- that removes one garment after another- until the whole body is bare (rhyming alert). This is one of those striptease clubs that might appear in a Clive Barker or John Carpenter film but thereís the possibility it might be a comedy too. Still, you canít shake the tense apprehension that crawls up your spine as you try to get comfortable in your seat.
The dancer on the stage is indistinct. You canít see her face and you canít tell for sure if itís female either. You canít even tell if itís human because there is the repeating sensation that there are more than two arms and legs in play at different times. You rub your eyes but that doesnít seem to help.
The music is chaotic and dissonant but just when you think you might run screaming into the aisle it changes to a melodic and soporific tone. Itís as if it had morphed to Pachebel Canon but at a much lower speed. The movements of the dancer change to accommodate the changes in the music. When itís frenetic you get the sensation you are watching a performance piece called, ďAx Murder WeddingĒ. When it calms, itís more like drowning in a lake but it doesnít trouble you for some reason; like the time you were driving drunk at 90 miles an hour on an unknown back road but you knew you could handle it because you were nicely detached.
The dress of the dancer is a complicated affair. Itís like a burnoose or a chador thatís been cut up vertically to the neck line every six inches or so. Areas of skin appear with frequency. Sometimes is looks like skin and sometimes it looks like darkness. Every now and then you can see it clearly. Thereís a funny side effect that kicks in whenever you are seeing clearly. Your perception and identification capacity seems to recede so that, even when you know what it is, youíre not sure; not sure at all.
Itís hard to tell if the dancer is slender or wide; young or old, beautiful or hideous and that accounts for some of the tension. Flashes of teeth that appear in the occasional juxtaposition of stage light and smile (is that a smile?) also are worrisome. You feel like thereís something you should know but you donít know what it is. Even more disconcerting is what happens when you look at the other patrons in the club. Some of them have pieces missing from their bodies and not in places youíve been accustomed to. Even more distressing is the fact that they seem to be unaware of it. The waitresses and other club personnel are not reassuring either. They donít look happy and they donít look friendly.
I could go on with this theme and probably close right out with it but Iím setting the stage for something, just the way they are in the club. We went slumming this morning over to Fox-Goblin News and saw more signs of The Apocalypse; more glimpses of flesh and we know they are all parts of the same dancing body but... not which parts or how they connect.
An Israeli (Israel is a trademark of the Rothschild banking industry) Ďleadingí newspaper, Maariv, says that the US is denying visas to Israeli, nuclear scientist from Dimona and also that the US has stopped selling nuclear-related materials to the MagogkeNazi Nation. The White House denies this. The source is a professor who doesnít work in Dimona. Well, obviously the scientists are in the business of stealing technology information because that is the way they do business in the MagogkeNazi Nation. Still, thatís always been okay.
Karzai went to Kandahar Province and it was worse than mannish Coulter in Ottawa. 1,500 tribal elders were screaming at Karzai that the coming Kandahar offensive would bring strife and not security to the region. So Karzai asked them if they were happy with that or not (grin). They said they were not. So Karzai says, ďThen until the time you say you are happy, the operation will not happen,Ē General Stanley McChrystal was sitting right behind him and itís reported that he looked really apprehensive.
McChrystal is right up on the stage with the dancer weíve been talking about, so heís seeing a little more than he probably wants to. Can Karzai say and do that? He said it. You could have knocked me over with a brick of hashish when I read that. While I was ducking the brick of hashish, I could have sworn I saw Vladimir Putin having a drink at one of the tables. When I looked again he was gone.
The lead story has Obama breaking years of protocol by sneaking out of the White House without the Press Whore(s). They said he went to watch one of his daughters play soccer but... itís said that when the press van Ďappearedí to arrive at the presidentís location, there was no presidential car, no president and... They couldnít Ďverifyí him at Ďanyí location. Not even James Gannon knew where heíd been.
438 to 437 is the tally by which Romney won the straw poll over Ron Paul. What are the odds of those numbers?
Liz Taylor is marrying a black, gay man but maybe not actually getting married depending on whatever the reason for generating the buzz might be. Like I said, This Apocalypse has a sense of humor and I defy you to pick which of these news items I think is the most amusing. This is going to put an awful lot of pressure on Madonna to turn the Hollywood toilet bowl into a crime scene; nothing takes the attention off of one act of bad taste more than the yellow police tape of an even greater act of bad taste; perhaps a rumor of her daughter Lewdes getting a Palestinian, organ transplant? Disclaimer; please note that this is Petri Dish.
Next we hear from an alternative news location that the Polish government was set to weaken their currency and the mysterious reverse serendipity the plane crash implies. The joint is jumping folks!
What this means to me; taking into consideration all that I have exampled here and the much greater bulk of what has to be going on behind the stage, is that all kinds of flaming shit in paper bags are about to be stomped on by clueless goons in Armani and it isnít even Halloween yet. The mysterious dancer has a pig bladder in one hand and a machete in the other. We canít tell whatís in the other hands or how many of them there are but it does look like Durga Night at the Bingo parlor.
I think the reason that the dancer is so hard to make out is because she looks different to everyone. To some she looks beautiful beyond compare and to others she looks like Fatal Attraction on steroids and all points between.
Massive adjustments are being made in the international, political and financial balance of power. The people who couldnít say; ďYes Sir! Can I have anotherĒ? quick enough before, have now got a paddle in their own hands. Itís a Michael Steele, party animal, kind of a moment.
The dancer seems to be everywhere; dancing, serving drinks, tending bar, watching the door and... cart-wheeling down the street. Sheís in the closet and under the bed. Lady Apocalypse is coming into bloom but... are those roses in her cheeks?
Last updated 13/04/2010