Dog Poet Transmitting
May your noses always be cold and wet
Back in the day, I had it in mind to visit T.S. Eliot and Somerset Maugham, two of my favorite literary figures. I never did. Add Gore Vidal to that list. For several years, I have been of a mind to go and see him in Northern Italy. He died yesterday in the Hollywood Hills. Vidal was alone when he died. Since he passed from complications related to pneumonia, one can presume there was time for people to gather. No one did. I imagine there was some medical personnel there but I don't know.
Gore Vidal was one of the great literary figures of the 20th century. An argument could be made that he was the period's greatest biographer. As impressive as his writing is, that is not what impressed me the most about him. It was his politics and public voicings that accounted for that. I'm not going to say he possessed deep courage, because he sidestepped any number of things he most certainly knew about but, in the context of his craven fellows and contemporaries in the arts, he was exceptional. He was also an accomplished actor (I remember him as Senator Brickley Paiste in “Bob Roberts”) and he will be missed.
As noted in times past, the day would come when the rats would be scurrying down the guy lines and soon after, finger pointing would become epidemic. I don't know what the degrees of difference between a liar and a fucking liar are. Possibly it has to do with malice aforethought, which, certainly in this case would be applicable. One would expect hypocrisy to be at it's zenith. I'm guessing that no one read this in the Crass Media. ♫over, under, sideways, down♫ I had an interesting dream last night that, for some reason, did not involve Ellen Page or Kirsten Stewart. The public finally rose up en masse and went to town on the bad guys. It was highly enjoyable. One hopes it was highly prophetic too.
Speaking of sleazy, which I am just about to, you will note while reading this article that it's all bullshit because TSA is still completely in control but simply moving behind the scenes. Alternative sex dominatrix, Jackass Napolitano (does my butt look big in this serial killer raingear?) reveals her cloistered interests AND has a gay themed party at the Department of Homeland Insecurity. From the looks of the text, it appears that DHS is just another Gay Rights cooperative, which would be par for the course, seeing as the entire movement is controlled by the same people who did 9/11. Once again, for the 6,456th time, this feature of the alt sex, steam engine, is the only feature I take exception to. My personal thoughts about the effect of reversed Kundalini have no real place in the public discourse and all of that is served by reincarnation and I assume everyone goes through it to lesser and greater degrees. This disclaimer will be ignored, just like the preceding 6,455 disclaimers, in favor of shrill backwash, as the intellectual plumbing is subjected to the same unique, routing schematic, as the subject under discussion but that is also par for the course and I do not play golf because, if Jesus, or The Mahdi should return at some point, I would rather they did not find me there. I suppose there are even worse places to be discovered.
In my dream, Abe Foxman was torn apart by an angry mob; indeed, “this is such stuff as dreams are made on” and all these little lives are, most assuredly, “rounded with a sleep”, rounded like an Alabama homemaker, making her elephantine way, through the dreaming aisles of a Wal-Mart. Rats! I stepped on another PC landmine. The good news is that these kinds of mines don't blow your dick off. It just rouses the perceived, victim assistive machinery, inside the heads of those resembling that remark. I'm thinking of Abe Foxman jerky, drying on a wash-line outside the ADL.
Those of you so informed, know that this agency was created, as a response to the lynching of Leo Frank, who raped and murdered a 13 year old girl. I'm assuming the dreadful irony of all this is not lost upon the reader. The operative understanding that anyone with an IQ over 100, which accounts for about 10% of the public by present measurements (but which was significantly higher only a short time ago) is that this organization was created to defend monsters from due process. No other conclusion can be taken from this. You should know what you're dealing with. The absurdity and rank psychopathy of all this is lost on those whose self interest preempts the natural activity of conscience. They walk around massive plinths and columns of darkness that conceal basilisks and other chimerical lifeforms that may have started out human but then took an alternative, devolutionary route. They are going in the opposite direction of the natural, evolutionary incline of the species but... a large portion of humanity is cruising behind in their wake; millions of antiquated Volkswagen bugs, being sucked down the super highway to Hell, in the slipstream of the tractor trailer entities, who do evil for the sheer joy of accomplishing it. So it is in Kali Yuga.
There has been much speculation about how the public could be so easily deceived by utterly transparent lies, which offend reason and all the laws of physics. How could they buy the same tired arguments, from the same corrupt sources, for one vicious war for profit after another? How can they allow their former liberties to be taken from them? How can they submit to ham handed gropings by troglodytes, whenever they seek to travel? How can they tolerate the ongoing abuse and murder of dozens upon dozens of their fellow citizen; women and children included, by police forces sworn to 'protect and serve'? How can they accept completely manipulated elections and the incremental march of greater and greater corporate control over their lives? How can they allow a tiny, thoroughly criminal nation, to create a new Soviet empire, on the ruins of their once great, former republic?
These are good questions and arguments can be made for a serious degree of collective ignorance; fear, denial, blinding self interest, drugs in the water supplies, or some kind of subliminal broadcasting network but my suspicion is that the players are locked in to their roles for the purpose of demonstration. There's latitude there and a degree of range of motion, which can increase significantly from the narrow existing parameters, given some degree of persistence and determination on the part of anyone so engaged. Locked in does not occur without assent and agreement, on the part of anyone so engaged. A corollary biggie, is degree of attachment to the conditions and items of the culture and the times, as well as to atavistic urges from the lower centers most active in these times. A great deal hinges on one's personal identification with the environment and the roles. Most of us are in a movie and are unaware that it is a movie. Some of us are in a movie and know we are in a movie. Both elements are playing their roles. The more major players; the players given the 'seeming blessing' of outrageous wealth and facility for more; positions of power, profitable celebrity, connections to the linchpins of the productions and all the other ways that Kali can set you up, are bound for decapitation and the draining of their blood, into one of her goblets, prior to their skull going on the necklace that is strung around her neck. She's a wild and sometimes mean drunk and there's nothing like goblets of blood to get her going.
The why of all this wherefore, is secondary to the consideration of whether you are personally aware of what's being said here and what hasn't been said but which can be intuited, if you are tuned to the right frequency AND that is not difficult, just time consuming and we all seem to have time for everything else. That is, until we run out of time.
It's an exhausting affair but there are secreted pools of resource for those in Fata Morgana land who have found a real oasis. It amazes me how much time and effort is required to get from the starting gate to the finish line. For some, the 'force; of discipline maintains them, within the lines necessary to get where they are going. For some of the rest of us, it's potluck and serendipity. It depends on the impression that has to be made upon the participant. A lot of the time, the participant doesn't know why he or she is subjected to what looks like whimsey, attended by recurrent and unannounced, fickle bitch slappings by some emissary of The Department of Fate. These things just happen and somewhere, no telling where, it all comes together and you get some idea why you had to march over four thousand miles of bad highway, when there were so many other possible routes. It's all tailored to the personality and the role. Some people need to be tough and some people need to be soft. Some people need to be on rails and some people need to be bounced from pillar to post.
It's past time for everyone to put their endgame face on, given the presence of game players ubiquitous, and so that you can pass for the already taken, during Body Snatcher visitation day. The Olympics continue apace with no false flag occurrence yet. Of course, they're not over yet and they may want to rake in all the revenue before they start blowing shit up. Then again, they have a dozen possible scenarios simmering on the stove. All the hoopla and predictions about anything and everything have not yet come to pass and none of them have come to pass as specified. There's some kind of redundancy in that last sentence but I can't be bothered with it now. Have a nice day.
'The Angry Clit' is track no. 8 of 12 on Visible and The Critical List's 1992 album
'Not Politically Correct'