On the radio today with Robert Phoenix.
Dog Poet Transmitting.......
The bigger the press and the limousine, the bigger the asshole. Sayonara Joan. This isn't speaking ill of the dead. This is speaking ill of the undead.
Irony alert; Joe Biden says that he will go to the gates of Hell with ISIS. I take it that what that actually means is that they will walk through the gates together, probably along with John McCain and a bunch of others. 550 million bucks they paid this US trained pack of ravening beasts to murder Syrian civilians under orders from Israel... under orders from Israel, whose bankers determine both foreign and domestic policy in the US, who control the judiciary with their Noahide Nazi Nimrods, who teach and control the local police and probably all of the police forces there. Cui bono! Follow the money!!!
The things that people will do for money AND... what they won't do for the money they will certainly do under the threat of blackmail for acts conveniently filmed during Tel Aviv junkets, under the influence of state of the art chemicals introduced into their cocktails.
I can see myself standing in hyperspace, looking across a desert waste and I see what looks like massive jinns woven out of a dense dark smoke. Then I see symbols and icons moving on the black curtain of inky iniquity (can't believe I said that) and I realize that this darkness is the manufactured souls of international corporation, animated out of their official personhood by agents of Mammon. I look deeper into this darkness; for some reason that is possible and a window appears, similar to what happens during the opening of the third eye and I see a room too wide to calculate the dimensions and a room too long to calculate the distance and in that room are endless ranks of desks inside anonymous cubicles. A man or woman is mostly seated at each of these desks and each of them has a flaming tattoo of a corporate logo writ large upon their forehead.
Some of them are on the telephone. Some of them are standing at the entryway to their cubicle and are staring into the immeasurable distance behind them as if there were something that they could see. I cannot see it but perhaps their brains are wired differently than my own. On their faces both terror and wonder change places. There is a sense of something long expected on the approach. If I listen closely I can hear a low, powerful snorting and snuffling, accompanied by an ominous thudding tread of heavy, heavy feet. Sometimes it seems I can hear a squealing sound, followed by the sound of rooting in the Earth. I imagine a large furrow is left in the aftermath of each rooting action. Then you will hear a horrific scream of something human being consumed in pain and fear.
In some of the cubicles the occupant sits transfixed, awash in a blue light that flickers from their computer monitor. If you look closer you can see that their hands are below the desk and are moving frantically, as if they were occupied with solving a Rubic's cube or perhaps simply attending to an ancient itch. Some of these are dressed in suits and also in the uniforms of soldiers and police. The more I look, the more strange actions I see taking place. I do not want to be here looking at this. I feel an imminent sense of something awful about to take place. One gets the impression that the whole scene might spontaneously combust or be flooded with toxic smoking sewage. Don't ask me why that came to mind, it just did. Whatever the case, everyone in this vast and enormous room looks doomed and one senses they know this. One senses they came to terms with this at some point, though at the time, it all seemed much different than it now does.
One feels that this room, as large as it is is very cramped, hot and stifling. I get a sudden swath of images from a play in progress. It looks like London of a few hundred years ago. Twisted creatures that may have once been human are seated around a dining table and it appears to be Christmas. There are decorations hanging from what could have once been a small fir tree before it burst into flames. Whatever that is on the table in the large serving dish, it's not a turkey. The door to the kitchen opens and a demented Gollum like version of Tiny Tim limps into the room on his crutch and cries out, “God Damn us every one!” Behind him comes Little Georgie Sorrows dressed up like Santa Claws. He is followed by a line of naked rabbis whose entire bodies are covered by blue tattoos of reversed pentagrams. Then comes the Balrog, a personification of Baal. He looks fat and happy and he's picking his teeth with a child's finger bone. He lets out with a massive belch. Obviously sacramental feasting had been taking place in the kitchen. I've seen enough. It's time to go... somewhere... somewhere? Where does one go to escape the images in their own head? I've got to learn how to loop and sample a little better. Remember, if you can't do it on your own, it will be done for you. Oh yeah! We've all heard about whose workshop idle hands are but... it's really all about idle minds and indifferent hearts.
These days, an expression of caring, especially if it's a choreographed action, is all you need when it comes to public service. It's not important that you actually help anyone. What is important is that you appear to be doing so and don't forget the lip service. It is especially important for you to talk about what you didn't accomplish, that you wring your hands with concern and maybe squeeze out an FX tear or two, such as one might imagine from The Walrus and the Carpenter, chatting up the young oysters.
They say that war is a racket and that's true. However, charity is also a racket. It's just one more way that the same people suck the life's blood resources out of the pockets of those with too little to spare, if any. Religion is a racket. The New Age is a racket. The music and entertainment businesses are a racket through which youth is groomed into varieties of indolence and perversion. Say anything about sluttish behavior and Zionist and government brainwashed stooges will flash mob all over the place with “I'm a proud slut” painted on their naked chests. They'll be screaming about hate crimes against sluts and their rights to be a slut because license really is liberty, just as notoriety is fame. Now... the slut business is none of my business. I just know what happens any time someone is unwise enough to call attention to anyone exercising their personal freedom of expression; whether they're butt-packing gerbils, or asphyxiating swans in orgasmic leg-locks where the force of orgasm is amplified by the knowledge of the death of an unwilling partner, it's all about being 'born free!!!'. Let anyone criticize any of this and college professors and all sorts of learned professionals will leap to the lectern and let you know that none of these things are any of your business.
Behind the scenes, Zio-funded paedophile orgs are screaming that the age of consent should be lowered to 2. Bought and sold psychologists are arguing about the benefits of this for all concerned. Commentators with faces that look remarkably like Niki Minaj's butt implants are talking about the social good that such policies will bring. As absurd as all of this may seem, it's just how it is. Meanwhile... meanwhile the once fertile earth of the California agribusinesses is cracking and splitting from the drought. I see a desiccated Bugs Bunny crawling across the powder dry landscape croaking, “What's up Doc?” gurgle... “What's up Doc?” Haven't you heard Bugs, down is the new up?”
So... when things get desperate, as they always do when a tiny minority of psychopaths controls public policy, there's nothing like world war to get the engines of finance cranking. Insane is as insane does.
Lab manufactured Ebola is devastating the Dark Continent so as to make it all the more easier for human featured anthropomorphic corporations to harvest the resources and minerals that are everywhere to be found. No one knows how many minerals and resources are buried in the Caucasus and Ural mountains, as well as Siberia but we certainly know why the Zio-owned EU and the Zio-owned US are beating the drums of war. Geo-political madness makes for strange bedfellows and that explains why the world's biggest consumer nation (China) is signing up for slices of pie from the world's largest resource rich nation. It's all a textbook case for a world in which no one reads textbooks any more and where 40 American states now no longer teach elementary school children cursive writing.
Arrrrrghhhh!!!! Here it comes. Here comes that long anticipated winter of our discontent. Food shortages? Expect a fuel and heating oil and gas shortage as well. Do they raise the prices due to manufactured shortages? What that means is that they then raise the prices on everything else as well.
Hold fast my friends. Seek within yourself for the strength necessary to carry on. Succor is there for the persistent and the whole of one's existence is a trial of faith. The Zio-owned press is awash with fecal laced praise for Joltin Joan Rivers who has now departed this plane via the down escalator. Don't look in that direction for help or inspiration. Look within yourself. Find the inner self which automatically rules the outer world.
Remember, money, big money, corrupts, regardless of who you are. In this case, the Muse packed her bags and headed back home. Gucci Gucci goo! Who's you're daddy!!! Satan! Ahahahahahahah.
'You could Dance with Me' will be feature on a forthcoming Visible album, in 2014
Lyrics (pops up)
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