Smoking Mirrors

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

My your noses always be cold and wet.

It's official, insofar as I an be considered official, based on the credibility of my reasoning powers, that Snowden is a Snowjob. This is the same diversionary disinfo shit that we have seen time and time again from Liars Incorporated; a division of International Central Banks. Why anyone bothers to pay any attention to this guy or his Mossad handler, Greenwald, is beyond me. Yeah, that's the way they do it. They snag some undercover, enterprising journalist and set him up as an oracle of truth and they team him up with a renegade spy that is still a spy, for the purpose of disseminating redacted portions of half truth for the purpose of keeping the same old same old operational.

I don't know what's taking this next false flag so long. They're looking to kill at least 3 birds with the same stone is what I think. I don't know what the point of busing tens of thousands of illegal aliens into a landscape of broken economies and middle class devastation is. I can see there might be a demand for young hookers of both sexes and probably they will vote democrat and maybe it's got something to do with organ harvesting or... they just need a larger servant class. I don't know. What I do know is that it's past weird. It's gone more than 45 minutes past weird and that is pretty weird.

It is such a multi dimensional jumble at the moment that attempting to make sense of it is a senseless act.. In Jolly Old England they are tossing the geriatric paedophiles under the double decker buses. This means the heat is getting too intense for the more powerful ass bandits in The Parliament and elsewhere. They don't bother much with this in the US. Apparently the hands off policy there is more intense. So... you might think, on the one hand, Mr Apocalypse is ringing the bell big time, while the rats and cockroaches scurry beneath the harsh florescent kitchen light. It's hard to tell what is coming down via the ineffable and what is coming up via the ruling class of the loathsome zones. They say you can't tell the players without a score card. You can't tell in this case regardless, so why not just roll that scorecard up, stick it in your ass and set it on fire? Maybe it will help you focus your thinking... eh wot?

It's long past the point where it is obvious that a large portion of the small portion and a significant portion of the larger portion, needs to be wiped off the face of the Earth. Failing that, those of us who have suffered in silence and at the top of our voices, need to be relocated somewhere where it's not Shit Salad and bad music all day long. Mind you don't step in the dressing.

Of course, I and... some of you, have known that these reprobates have been evil incarnate for some time. There's nothing new here and they replenish their ranks from the battlefields and groves of Academe. The ongoing false pretence is that these self righteous vampire bats are serving their country by helping to bring down Hell and High-water on everyone else. There is no country however, there is only the vast leasehold and private property of the banks, which you move back and forth through every day, here in the Kingdom of the Doomed Serfs.

The other day the terrestrial Zionist army of His Satanic Majesties forces blew up four children playing fussbol on a beach in full view of the international journalists. They do this shit as routine. Then they shrug their shoulders and come up with some sort of non mea culpa, collateral damage rap. “Yes, it was unfortunate. It probably wasn't right but... whatta ya gonna do?” Stating the obvious, there is a special place in Hell for these freaks. For the moment, they are allowed to mount crime upon crime until the rising tower of it disappears into the clouds. Sooner or later though, payback is coming through the swinging doors, along with Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner. Boy... if I ever wished I had super powers, it's now and you may be certain that there would be no moment of hesitation on my part. I know that probably makes me less than realized but... that's how it is and I will take the job if no one else wants it.

Meanwhile... all these world crises continue apace; the food crisis, the water crisis, the environmental crises, the economic crisis, the press for war crisis, the religious insanity crisis and of course, all those other crises that don't look like a crisis until the walls fall in upon them.

Let's segue out of this same shit different day travelogue and digress into the personal; where I am now and what's up with it.

Yesterday morning they loaded me into a taxi and shuttled me 120 k south to the Czech border. This clinic is ensconced in a pristine mountain region in the bustling metropolis of a small town. It's a classy, more or less, upscale place, going by the food and the look of the inmates. Although everyone is here for some kind of rehab, I suspect that half of them just decided to come here for the company and maybe a little light calisthenics because fully half of them are strolling around with those forearm crutches which seldom touch the ground. Oddly enough, so far, I seem to be the most injured of the lot, meaning I have the toughest time getting around and until this morning I would have said my days here were numbered. There's a whole lot of constant pain in my situation and after having moderate but insufficient pain medication at the hospital, they put me on Ibuprofen here and that was about as efficient as a rope net umbrella, leading to a sleepless night and my following refusal to cooperate further. I should add that my room is at the end of a very long hallway. When you catch the elevator down you have an even longer hallway that finally leads to the dining area or anywhere else you are likely to want to, or have to, go. I'm talking hundreds of meters.

I'm only around ten days out of the operating room and only a couple out of bed, for brief attempts at movement with my Johnny (stroll) Walker and it didn't take much coming and going over these distances to reduce me to a state of mute (and sometimes not so mute) agony. So... I wouldn't leave my room and finally the doctor came by to yell at me which resulted in my getting a medication upgrade. It ain't much but I can get around now.

The people here are unfailingly polite, in diametrical opposition to the hospital and I met a young nurse who works here, who literally stepped out of the pages of a fairy tale and who, it seems, has been spending some amount of time on the internet researching me. For someone with such a small grasp of English she knows a great deal, which she was most inclined to quiz me on earlier. Something like this happens most everywhere I go and I attribute it to the ineffable tossing a certain amount of charged confetti into my environment, possibly to keep me engaged when it would begin to look like I held very little interest in going on; things being what they are. She's quite beautiful and I seldom use that term unless it's a package deal; classically sculpted features, with a radiant softness of being that understates it all.

Anyway, if you've got something functional laying about in your cabinets somewhere, email me and I will give you the address. In the meantime I am rehabbing to the extent of what my pain threshold permits. I'll be here for 3 weeks.

What I mentioned just recently brings to mind a condition that I think all of us are familiar with but which has no defining term (or maybe it does but I don't know what it is), where you encounter someone and you know immediately that you will impact on one another's life in some way. I'm not talking about anything as pedestrian as sexual attraction, though it bears a similar association to it, in that it has something to do with dynamic magnetics. Somehow this feature can build all on its own without any conscious input from either party. The encounter can be brief and not possessive of any significant amount of exchange (in an obvious sense) but there is an exchange and it continues on with you. I remember to this day other examples, where the black boxes of the ships in the night both absorbed some form of mathematical message and it integrated into the greater gestalt of it all.

Okay... I'd like to ask every reader who lives in this country I am in to email me as I have a question for you. Carry on.

Visible and The Critical List: ♫ The Clicking Mandibles ♫
'The Clicking Mandibles' is track no. 4 of 8 on Visible and The Critical List's 1987 album
'La Vierge Sperme Danceur'
About this song (pops up)