Dog Poet Transmitting.......
May your noses always be cold and wet.
(I'll be on Red Ice Radio the week following this one coming. Time and day will be announced in advance. I'm only taping it this coming week. Sorry about any confusion.)
(Yesterday's radio show is now available for download.
Sometimes you don't have to look far to find something to talk about. You don't have to wait for the voice in your head, it just shows up and throws it in your face. Part of your mind, or someone's mind says that every one of these creatures should be rounded up and put on trial, followed by the quick and speedy execution of capital punishment, or life in prison, without hope of parole. That includes the oilmen performing it; the politicians permitting it, the oversight and enforcement agencies ignoring it, those explaining it and those... -
-those only concerned with milking the greatest rent from their railroad flat apartments, greasy spoons and whatever side of the road, cash hijacking machines they've set up to wring some temporary vermin profit from it, can be left to the fate of vermin, once the plunder leaves town and all that remains are wide wastes where nothing grows and deep pits of wet, stinking, death assured, hot weather swimming pools for their stunted, hillbilly heroin addicted, children.
Corollary incidentals always appear in tandem with these things and even members of the socio-political retard army can see the connection ...but what's the fun or profit in that? Isn't it just better to let this shit go on and get all righteous and weepy about the backend, drowning in a rain of hypocritical tears, as you bemoan the loss of so many things, caused by global hand-warmers at fixed football games?
The people doing these things are the spiritual offspring of serial killers and mass murdering psychopaths. They know what they're doing and they know what happens but it just doesn't matter and... maybe, at this point it doesn't. Most of the population is in bed with it on some level; some are just sleeping in better accommodations, some of them even have their own idea of environmental awareness and a love of Nature and some of them are into consciousness improving retreats, where they can take a few minutes to rationalize it all and come to peace with it. Of course, whether it comes to peace about it, with them, is another story.
Once the sleepwalking, wide load, expando-pants, shit for brains, consumer zombies can really, absolutely, no longer put “food on their families” and the ones who haven't yet been matriculated to another world, by their murderous and insane progeny, or the temporary berserker status of the head of the household, or some relative come back from foreign killing fields, who can't live with themselves or you anymore; once it finally dawns on them that they have to go live in their car and they can't afford the gas to run the heater in their car, when winter comes, in order to take a nice carbon monoxide nap, prior to a morning that never arrives, when they meant, with all good intentions, to head down to the Slurpee factory, to see if they were taking on part time, day laborers, it's possible... it's possible that enough of them will get together and storm their houses of government and drag the toads, lampreys and pigs from their paneled offices and dispense the justice they should have gotten a long time before but... there's no telling how it will all sort out. It won't sort out well in most places, that's pretty much a given.
Those who are getting just what they deserve, from the government they deserve, will keep right on nodding their heads, like plastic, bobbing flamingos on high ball glasses, while whatever infernal alien in chief that runs their slice of Idiocracy, drones on and on about recovery and a return to the good life they never had to begin with. All the now, human sized ticks, operating as bureaucratic functionaries and assholes with guns and clipboards, will be going around and knocking on doors, exercising edicts and informing the residents that one more thing they took for granted and once considered a right has now become illegal. Not only has it become illegal but the law will clearly state that they should have known what they didn't know and at least one member of the household is now to be dragged out on to the front lawn and impaled on a flaming spike, as a warning to their neighbors.
It's not like they don't lack the courage and conviction, at some level, because just as soon as whatever Zio-Orge entity who runs the joint, tells their leaders that some country, somewhere, has to be turned into a smoldering, open air graveyard, they will and do gladly deliver their children to the task. Heck, if they're still in any kind of shape, given they have no job anyway, they’ll go too. Meanwhile the wife can run some kind of hotsheet split-level home, to cover whatever taxes and penalties might ensure for whatever reason the thieves in power create to acquire it.
This probably sounds like satire or sarcasm to some and terrorism to others but it's all true. It might look and play out a little differently but the results will be the same and something very like all of it is going on all over the place right now or... maybe you can't see that. That is altogether possible. You won't be hearing about it where you get your news and you won't be reading about it here. I could have had a thousand times the readers I have now, if I had just put naked pictures in to accompany the text, a la Kilgore Trout. For some reason that idea never did surface here and still hasn't, even though I am mentioning it. I'm not opposed to some kinds of naked pictures but the words take care of that to begin with.
I'm sure the heinous empires of Rockefeller and Rothschild, along with all those other names, so well known to some of us, would have long ago met their well deserved fates at the hands of the mob; possibly even at the hands of a creative, patient and fiendishly ingenious mob, except for the magic powers they wield that keep their lizard skinned bodies intact. It doesn't take a whole lot of inquiry and imagination to figure out they have the protection of certain entities, brought forth by bloody rites and rituals of human sacrifice; small children preferred, to maintain their diabolical activities. Most of this is low end shit but we live in a low end Yuga so, that all makes sense. Every member of the walking wounded, probably knows by now that Wall Street and The City are a cancer as great as anything Fukushima might deliver and that they run the governments and that whatever the governments have been doing to them, comes at the order of these demon cabals.
It would have never gotten this far if so many people hadn't wanted to become lawyers in their employ; hired guns for their protection, doctors in the service of disease, scientists in the service of plague, eugenics and euthanasia, office workers who produce and ferry all manner of official paper for the promise of a particular paper, confinement specialists who would rather be out than in, even though their confinement is just defined in another way. It wouldn't have gotten this far, if most of the entertainers, artists, writers, musicians and self-deluded victims of bad inspiration, hadn't decided the best career move was to sell out the promise of everything they might have been and done, for a corporate tattoo on their ass, which they can display to the world during their moments of buggery and bacchanalia, in the ultimate public, performance art that all of this leads to.
There's nothing like state and culturally sanctioned masturbation that you can do anywhere, at any time, because baby, you have that right and you don't have to worry about drawing a crowd. They will be there and just as turned on as you are. Thousands of cellphone cameras will be clicking, or video taping and ZioTube will be waiting... ♫just anticipating♫ Well, you won't have to worry about 'all the things you never, ever will possess' because.. possession is assured. This is the time of the habitation of demons and everyone gets to be a timeshare or a permanent residence, although the former doesn't actually exist unless you get real fucking lucky. Step right up! Yeah, everybody is a winner. Don't ask why the rings don't go over the bottles or the ball doesn't go into the net. They wouldn't call it a trick if you could see what was happening. What do you know, isn't that Lady Gaga on the carnival speakers? They've all come to see the freaks, well, no worries there, freaks you will have, especially when night falls. She doesn't call them 'little monsters' for nothing, nor will 'little' be the case.
Sure, satire, sarcasm, or terrorism as you prefer. It all becomes something different anyway, when you check into the roach motel at the end of the universe and... you don't have to go any real distance. There's one close by. It's a franchise and that's just what they call it, something like putting the glimmer of romance on your already bought and sold ass. They don't really need to do that, you already gave it up without romance ever entering into the equation ...but while there's still time for you to wake up and get pissed off and still time for you to do something about it, certain forms of crowd control will be employed, even if only inside your head. You should know though that that's not all you're going to get. You do have to remember, they don't do it just for the profit. They do it for the entertainment too. All you need to think about is what you imagine they need, want and require from you in that regard. Well, take a look at the way you came and what happened around you on the way, even if it didn't happen to you yet, even if it didn't get around 'to you' yet.
Read a little history about other times like these and keep in mind that this is the time when they really let all those potentials and appetites loose. You won't have to think too hard about what that means. You won't have to worry too much about waking up or sleeping through it either. There's not nearly as much fun in it for them, unless they can wake you up to be part of the experience; if that is all the awakening you prove capable of.
'Frogman' is track no. 2 of 8 on Visible and The Critical List's 1987 album
'La Vierge Sperme Danceur'
About this song (pops up)