The pretense of innocence in a poisoned game
By John Kaminski – email@example.com September 29, 2005
Show me a man who shoots a good game of pool and I'll show you a wasted youth. — Damon Runyon
In order that the masses themselves may not guess what they are about WE FURTHER DISTRACT THEM WITH AMUSEMENTS, GAMES, PASTIMES, PASSIONS, PEOPLE'S PALACES .... SOON WE SHALL BEGIN THROUGH THE PRESS TO PROPOSE COMPETITIONS IN ART, IN SPORT IN ALL KINDS: these interests will finally distract their minds from questions in which we should find ourselves compelled to oppose them. Growing more and more unaccustomed to reflect and form any opinions of their own, people will begin to talk in the same tone as we because we alone shall be offering them new directions for thought ... of course through such persons as will not be suspected of solidarity with us.
— Protocols of Zion, 13:3
If the media can turn murderous monsters like George W. Bush into heroes, why shouldn't they turn an angel like Cindy Sheehan — bonafide representative of the mother of us all and only preaching for the welfare of us all! — into a devil? — Johnny Barzakh
Ah, football, and the sound of a marching band, the snarfing of hamburgers and sipping of Schnapps on a crisp autumn day.
The task of the quarterback, surveying the field over the upturned butts of his linemen, is to identify obstacles to his objective, which is to get the ball into the end zone. You get "points" for that, and can "win the game." This is where we learn to regard people as obstacles rather than as actual and necessary parts of that thing we call our "self" (which means we abuse people for "points," just like in the real world, we abuse people for "money"). The concept that others are actually parts of our selves is mutilated in the newspapers every day, following the social policy that personal alienation from family and friends leads to more consumer spending; this policy makes us buy things to try and restore our shattered security. Much like the Book of Revelation, football sounds like a coded suicide mission to me. But then, life is a suicide mission. No reason to hold back. No reason not to be honest. Just understand what rituals mean and you'll score the real touchdown of connecting with the beauty of knowing.
Amid reds and golds and all the shimmering shades in between, October brings a resplendent hug of exhilarating colors to the pristinely manicured hills of Vermont. In the village, a high school marching band gayly struts up Main Street, while proud parents lean up against their pickup trucks, cradle their babies and beam. It's the day of the big game. Everyone wears their forced pride with the prescribed plasticity of a TV sitcom, and the town has practiced hating everyone connected with the archenemy, West Bumphuck Regional High School.
Yet, turnout for the fall festivities was down a bit this year owing to several families who made the trip to Washington or many other locations to protest America's insane war in Iraq. Still, not one of those present at the big parade in this small hobbit-like hamlet ever stopped to think that far away, a family just like theirs — practicing pretty much the same social rituals only using a strange language — are leaning on each other, watching their children with pride .... as American bombs rain down on their parade, while Jewish and British manipulators snicker in the background at babies bleeding in the Iraqi dust.
This is simply not talked about in Center of Town, America, and the great gray wraith hangs over the world with the heaviness of an evil too great to be confronted lest one’s life be shattered.
As human civilization hurtles toward debilitating denouements on so many levels — nutrition, thought, environmental degradation — in America, the game goes on. People look the other way when the bogus avalanches of capitalism crush their neighbors. Take a hard look in the human mirror. Thus the town marches off to the field. Let the symbolic savagery begin. Let's break a few adolescent legs, and learn how to operate those weapons of mass destruction which we always accuse others of having at the same time knowing we have the best ones ourselves. This is our unspoken hypocrisy.
We live in a society that extols heroism without having fully examined the purpose of its uses. Thus, if the true purpose of sports is to weed out the cowardly from the brave and the conscientious from the cooperative, those who triumph are necessarily robots, because they have internalized a plan given to them by people who are essentially slave owners. Consider the spectrum of purposes you contemplated as a child and observe how the field of those choices was blunted, limited, by your participation in sports.
As someone who has the Baseball Encyclopedia crammed in a musty file behind his left ear, I can truly say I would trade every last batting average in that wasted brain space for the ability to play a musical instrument or speak another language.
You need to gather things you can use in the last card game you'll ever play, that's the purpose of life.
But that’s not the game the world seems to be playing with us.
Instead, we are meat, choice cuts (and some not so choice) in the meatlocker of the Illuminati, required to be instantly available for all Bohemian Grove ritual sacrifices that are enacted throughout the world in places like Kabul and Baghdad.
We train our beef on the gridiron and other arenas, and the whole town turns out to cheer. We don’t make the connection that in learning to throw that high-arching, glorious touchdown pass what we are really deposting in the end zone is our willingness — nay, our promised allegiance — to see a mushroom cloud incinerating innocent people ....
... on the basis of what our “leaders” (coaches, teachers, spiritual advisers) have told us to do. We don’t question what they say, and we do it. Millions die needlessly, and we wave our flags, smug at the profits our lifestyles have brought us at the expense of billions of unknown others.
You scored a touchdown. Big hairy deal. What it took to get you to the game poisoned millions of people in the time it took to get you to the game.
Which is why I always say, if you’re in these games, you’re really out of the real game, which is alluded to above in the Protocols. The Protocols? Truer words were never spoken. If you have ever believed anything I have ever said, believe that.
Now we have a situation throughout the entire Middle East (and really, the world) that is serving as a prototype for our new human society, totally run by the numbers of men who cheat on their books. Justice is a hopeless cackle in a dark jail cell. Are you calculating the amount of time you have left before the hard rain hits your own house? Most people I know are.
The whole thing with Jews is that they have to choose to rejoin the human race, or they will be destroyed. The harmful attitude that afflicts them is that they believe they are better than everyone else, that they have a covenant with Yahweh, and this allows them to commit crimes against other people with impunity. In their hateful hubris that is really directed as their own shameful performance as an artificially constructed socioethnic group that was founded on several dangerous pathologies (child sacrifice being the worst), they continue to insist they will destroy the rest of the world if they don't get their way. This is what I call a childhood psychological illness that they need to cure, or it will be cured for them, guaranteed.
Mother Nature will do it to them if their fellow humans won’t.
There is the possibility that the cure for this disease will kill us all. Some people, very powerful people, would prefer that. Who knows why? The fact is real, the reasons remain partly unknown, and certainly unrecognized by the vast majority of human lemmings.
All of whom our media present as heroes have been savages, their reputations couched in purposeful palaver. We venerate their legends. They are a part of who we are, of whom we try to emulate. Usually, it is a false image. And there are exceptions. Martin Luther King. Gandhi. Hawking. Keller.
I remember that giant Mayan ball court in the ruins of Chichen Itza in the Yucatan. The fact that impressed me most was that the losing team got beheaded. Now that's real incentive to play hard. I wonder if that's how Iraqis feel, being used as a football in a geopolitical power struggle between much larger teams with only an ugly, bloody death in their immediate forecast.
It’s the prototype future for human civilization, all because you chose to believe the lies they told you, and that power you gave them is the very thing that is turning Planet Earth into the poisoned graveyard of humanity.
John Kaminski is the author of “The Day America Died: “Why You Shouldn’t Believe the Official Story of What Happened on September 11, 2001.” http://www.johnkaminski.com/
Last updated 02/10/2005