Smoking Mirrors – April 25, 2023

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

My head is heavy. The dancing sugar plum… drag-queen fairies are all obese. They are like chocolate thunder-tucked Lizzo’s in elephantine distress. The floorboards that shield the self-conscious mind from the terrors of the subconscious are not rated for this kind of weight.

Like sodden, vaccine-death floaters pulled from poisonous lakes; Lovecraftian monsters whose names can only be written in Cyrillic script, wink at me like zombie hookers from beneath the surface. I remember well… when Frodo… in a hypnotic stupor… fell into The Dead Marshes.

The God of Materialism looks like Jabba The Hutt except not so comely and graceful. The Sugar Plum Fatties dance before him like doves before a cobra, except it is a certainty these doves cannot fly. It is a sad thing to see a culture fall so abruptly and ignominiously.

You can lead a whore-to-culture but you can’t make her think.

Materialism. It’s not what’s for dinner because… in the advanced states of Materialism, you… are… what’s… for… dinner. It’s bread and circuses… 24-7… with fast food celebrities rolling across the windshield of the car humming on the concrete blocks… going nowhere, like revolving tin ducks at a carnival shooting gallery; go ahead and confuse it with that other kind of shooting gallery.

These celebrities are the ones who keep the brainless in formation. The brainless… you could call them The Mindless… are a huge demographic of millions… hundreds of millions around The World… that allows The Deep State; Globoctopus to reach its tentacles everywhere because The Stupid… who are also the brainless… who are also The Mindless… are the fastest growing demographic on Earth.

The only collective as rapidly increasing as they are… are the people who don’t know what sex they are and will sleep with anything breathing or dead, in… their… imaginations. The Grand Guignol is a reality. Hellraiser is the new Disneyland. It has its own cable television network with simulacrum shows that mimic the indigestible shit on the other channels with slight differences.

Their version of Pimp My Ride involves elementary school children with backstage mommies, and… you can guess at the content. I’m not going to tell you. It’s like “Cuties” on Pornhub.

Recently… I have been trying to understand why I am feeling the tremors of having been somewhere before… like deja-vu all over again. I can hear ♫Where or When♫ playing in the back of my head. It’s on some kind of looping playlist with ♫You Belong to Me♫ and a whole lot of other nostalgia tunes that should have been on the soundtrack for “Angel Heart.”

I get these strange sensations every time I go to a news site; be it to The Left… The Right… The Center or somewhere in the bleachers. This sensation tells me that everything comes from the same place where they make canned laughter. Is there no one telling the truth? I know there are some but they are all on The Slow Highway.

See… on the internet there are different highways. They move at different speeds, and… in some cases, they don’t move at all. I am very familiar with these highways because I can see them going by from the concertina-wired margins where I reside. I am not unhappy here. Do not get that impression. I could either care less… or actually prefer it. I have the readers I am supposed to have and I don’t need more. I used to have tens of thousands of readers per posting.

It wasn’t much different than it is now. It was just noisier with a greater percentage of trolls. A few thousand visits a post now… suits me just fine. I’m not complaining. I have no ambition to be a name presence; wouldn’t that conflict with my message of impersonality?

I’m finding it hard to believe that there is ANY media left that can be trusted at all. Fortunately, I get my news from within. Still… I get the eerie sense that ALL of the major sites from every point on the spectrum are state-processed vomitoriums. Yes… this is old news; “Jesus, Vis… don’t you know this by now?” Yes… I do, but I mean it is even more controlled than I thought it was.

Yes, it’s controlled from The Act of Creation giddy-up and there is only one thing I can do… in all the possibilities of action… there is only one thing I can do, and that… is to choose the direction the road takes me in. AND… from what I can see… at this point on the way… that means… for me… a disappearing act from The Truman Show, once my part in the affair has concluded. It’s all I could ask for, so I am not disappointed.

The Tucker Carlson…. great misdirection… Deep State scam… over Dominion’s election fraud antics is a marvel to behold. This is where The Stupids in their Wide-Load Jeans come in. This is what composes the crowd… the really large crowd around the Three-Card-Monte tables on the boardwalk. These are the people at the Taylor not-so-Swift concerts… at the professional sports stadiums… those watching the pay-per-view troglodytes hammer each other… and the millions jerking off to porn while eating bad pizza…

“Who ordered the 3-cheese, sliced hog-nostril combo with the blood-sausage crust?”

Apparently when you add them up with the cos-players and social media junkies… the humping Furries… the celebrity stargazers, AND… the double-latte decaf crowd; all those people with appetites seeking the impossible of a lasting satiation, well… that comes to a whole lot of people.

I guess I’m saying… in a roundabout way, that it is possible to get mesmerized by the cultural implosion taking place; all the fireworks and programmed earbuds; body parts jiggling in Spandex, and… you can forget that you are standing right there. You need to remember that when the electricity starts dancing off of the stage props and speakers, and the lead singer fries, and… the crowd panics; and… they… will… they are going to stampede in certain directions that you had best not be standing in the way of.

Now… the people who need to hear this will never hear this. They are going to go right on believing that there is some kind of a point to it all, AND… that eventually all their wishing and hoping in one hand is going to alchemically transform all the shit that built up in the other hand… into something… something… something.

All the people who think they are in control are under control, and even when conditions and events get completely out of control, they will still be under control. However; location… location… location… it’s going to be very important to you; not so much where you are standing but where your heart and mind are located because that will determine where you are standing.

If the overwhelming noise of The World is all you can hear, you will not be able to see the angels indicating the exits… at a time when mixed metaphors actually mean something. You will not hear. You will not see, what is really taking place because you are in The Land of Dreams; that amusement park of The Mind, where the face over The Tunnel of Love is the face of The Thresher.

All the noise and the lights… the dancing morons on stage… the supermarket aisles… The World of convenience and accessibility is going to be no longer convenient or accessible, and it can happen… (snap!) like that.

It’s not something coming out of nowhere with no warning at all. The Klaxons have been going off for years. You just can’t hear them. It’s like the jackhammers in the street in New York City. It’s called… accommodation. You got accommodated to something, and… as the noise level rose… you accommodated to that, and to that… and to that.

I realize that I am preaching to The Choir here. Still… better that than nothing at all. Silence and Stillness will come in due time after the gates of The Sanctuary open… and close

Real Love

Love opens things
So love would hurt as much as heal
It would hurt first

Real love-
It would confuse, disarm, weaken and destroy
Everything in its way
Everything that was, in fact,
A part of you
That would conceal
Real love

Real love lasts forever
We do not last as long
UNTIL we become
real love

Real love has come to town
Six gun blazing in a town full of lies
Now is the showdown
The duel in the street
Real love is the only one left standing

Real love rides alone
Squints out of one good eye
Nails the coffin shut
Nothing got out alive but…
real love

Real love is going to make you cry
Make it worse before it gets better
Tear you up inside

Real love-
Who would want such a thing?
It takes the atmosphere away
Breaks all your toys
Burns down your house
And steals your car
But you’re not going very far
Anyway

Real love has got its hands on you
Burns from the inside out
Nothing left

Nothing but wide prairie
And huge commanding stars

You’ve never been so alone
You’ve never been so complete

Outside this golden ring of sanctuary
The cities burn forever

And you can never fall asleep
Again…

 

End Transmission…….

Someone told me that a writer from Taki-Mag comes around here. I wonder if that is the same thing as when I ran into a journalist from Pravda and he told me Putin read Smoking Mirrors. I never heard any more about it. Anyway… Taki-Mag is one of the most amusing and entertaining sites on the internet. Kind of like Spy Magazine was. They’re not much concerned about The Higher Planes there, but… they do make me laugh.

 

Some few links are to be had at GAB=

https://gab.com/visible

 

 

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