They've got a Thing for the Crack in The Liberty Bell.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

‘Cry haddock and let slip the dogs of tofu’

There are many truths hidden in the symbols of this dying culture, if you know where to look. The crack in The Liberty Bell is where the truth leaked out. The signs of ancient Tantra are preeminent in The Washington Monument; a massive hard-on of hubris, pointing like a Pershing Missile at every manufactured threat abroad, so that ultimately it can be buried in the quivering minds of genus populis. As impressive as this symbol of rigid patriarchy can be, it is no match for the prophetic meaning of the Martha Washington Monument, whose location is barely mentioned in the news of our time; a five hundred foot hole in the ground located in Arlington, VA, not far away from two massive economic holes that sucked the power and virtue of the country all the way to China; The Pentagon and The CIA.

By day, the American public wrestles with hoary questions that have yet to be successfully answered; who’s buried in Grant’s tomb and what color was General Grant’s white horse? This is how it is with traditions, whose foundations and tenets lie obscured in the mist of the far past. All of these things meant something once. They must have been profound. What ever they meant is no longer clear. The meaning of the genesis and intent of the thing is buried in the dark dreams of nine ravenous vultures, which perch over the highway of a vanished time. Sulfuric acid drips from their beaky maws and pits the landscape as they dream of feasting on the road-kill of empire.

Star War stormtroopers, march across a Hollywood set in an apocalyptic fever of fascism, rampant on a field of blood and broken bodies. In millions of households, the populace sits transfixed in front of a one-eyed god, who whispers of plastic and poisoned comestibles, laid out on the smorgasbord of entropy at the end of the world and the Mississippi mirrors the tone. They dance like the characters in Childhood’s End, bathed by the warm falling, Fukushima rain.

Howdy Doody lurches to the left and lurches to the right, pointing in either direction like a Halidol basted Dr. Mengele. It’s all moot as to where he was born as we all know he was grown in a chemical bath at The Tavistock Institute; ‘not beautiful, these wasted skies, o’er amber waves of pain, for purple mountain’s travesties, above the looted plain, Amerika, Amerika’ and so forth and so on.

This is not the Smoking Mirrors I anticipated, when I arose this morning and studied the lies of the day to see how much closer we have come to a projectile vomiting Armageddon. Somewhere a critical domino trembles. Somewhere a camel groans under a mass of straw. Somewhere, terrific heat is building beneath dirty rags in the corner of Room 101. Each day that passes brings us closer to that signal moment, when the dam will no longer hold and the stew of abiding corruptions drowns the landscape and the televisions wink out.

Spain says that what’s good for Iceland is good for them. They’ve actually isolated the causes of their distress. This is good news for the rest of the world. That great ugly beast, the Zio-Ogre is panicking in its lair. It’s criminal, banking empire is being exposed in all of its bloodthirsty iniquities. It’s going to get Biblical. Finally one too many children got violated, murdered and disappeared. One too many chambermaids got chased through a luxury suite by a priapic AshkeNazi, with a feather duster up his ass. One too many brown people with Korans got flame broiled by white phosphorous and garnished with cluster bombs. The enemy of the world has been captured by a thousand iphone cameras, waving his dick in front of one too many Girl Scout troops.

One country after another is announcing that they will support the declaration of a Palestinian state. Riots are spontaneously igniting around the world, in reaction to the vampire bankers. Venal and sold out politicians are lying through their teeth but the generation of youth incarnated for this purpose are having none of it. They can’t get anywhere near the good life that the one-eyed god has promised them. They can’t work and they can’t eat but they can revolt and they will.

Throughout the police and the military, a revolution simmers and plots are made to stand aside when the moment comes. The oath-keepers are gathering in Tucson. Matt Tabbi has stuck a fork in Goldman Sachs and their stock is down 24% from a year ago. The age of darkness is crumbling, as the light of revelation pours through the cracks. The greedheads are not deterred; larger and larger bonuses for those with too much, are announced to a hungry and unemployed populace. They prance like rabid baboons upon the stages of the world. They don’t have a clue. Massive vats of tar and warehouse loads of feathers are traveling on the conveyor belts of destiny and the author of Smoking Mirrors is adrift on a sea of hyperbole and bad metaphor.

If you have eyes to see it, the whole scenario is a scripted masterpiece, half Shakespeare, half Pinter and half Stan Lee. Please don’t comment on the math. Across the dark, narcotic ocean of self interest, sails the ship of fools, bound for Lilliput and the ropes and snares of the Lilliputians. As they turn upon each other, the truth of how deep their evil runs will be revealed in all its shocking ugliness. Who would have believed that so many of the politicians, bankers and religious figures were practicing Satanists, or possessed by demons? Who would have believed they actually were engaged in child, blood sacrifices. Now we know what fears imprisoned them on the wheels of their callous actions. Now we know what they feared the exposure of. It is possibly even worse than this. We shall see.

Who knew that the slaughter of the Palestinians were actually blood offerings to Moloch and Baal? Who knew that these were ritual killings prayed over by dreadful priests, bowing and scraping before the entities of material gain? Who knew that they actually gathered in rooms, butchered babies and drank their blood? Then they cavorted in crazed orgies upon the corpses of dismembered innocence.

Who knew that police forces the world over, conspired in the kidnapping of virgin youth (‘kids’-as per the doctrine of the rituals) and possibly even delivered the bodies? ‘Who knew’, indeed? Who knew that Hollywood was awash in such crimes? Who else would they celebrate and worship? Who else would ask for such things as signs of fealty and spiritual bondage?

It’s as clear as daylight now, what has befallen us. If you cannot see it then your veils have yet to be lifted. If you cannot see this march to epic dénouement, then your fear and denial still shield you from the spectacle. They shall not long endure. Their day is arriving and even as they publicize their ridiculous claims about Iran, Russia and China nod to themselves about unknown weapons readied for response. It would be foolish to think of China as the good guys, while they assent to Lord Mandelson as the new head of the IMF. As Nietzsche said over a hundred years ago; “those whom the Gods would destroy they first make mad”. So it has come to pass, as the borders of insanity are pushed more and more outward, into the empty field of Saturn, where those so driven will gnaw on their own flesh and bones, in their solitude of endless desperate hours without end.

‘Step by step and inch by inch’, they go. They are looking into funhouse mirrors. They see a false destiny that draws them like men chasing a will o’ the wisp; the lanterns of the dead shine up from the swamps. The creatures that feed on them wait in the shadows. There will be no death for them and there will be no peace. There will be fear and apprehension, so much greater than what now impels them to ever more horrible deeds.

They are intoxicated with imaginary power. Their lies have become so preposterous that even the sleeping masses turn uneasily in their beds. The world is in transformation and soon, the domino tumbles, that last straw descends upon the camel’s back, the rags burst into flames and the house of cards is ignited in a conflagration of hungry flames. It may not look like this to you but it looks this way to me. I base my hope and faith in the future upon this and- as with everything- we shall see. We shall soon see.


End Transmission.......

Visible sings: ♫ Back in the World ♫
'Back in the World' is track no. 3 of 12 on Visible's 2007 album 'Color Ball'


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