Thursday, July 02, 2015

Pimp Rolling through the Grand Apocalypse.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet (if you are a dog).

♫Darkness, darkness, be my pillow♫ That's playing on up out of the subconscious of Metaphor Inferno. I'm giving it an 86, cause it's got a good beat and you can kill to it. Of course, as has ever been the case, ♫the knee bone is connected to the foot on the neck bone♫ You see the knee bone here and you see the foot on the neck bone here. It doesn't matter what direction you come out of, you will traverse some variation of darkness being the pillow of the evil dreamers. Then again, if, like myself you are a patterns type but not a seamstress, you are not unable to draw relationships to what has been already linked here ...and to origin focal points like this. If you are the sort that does not see patterns, you are caught up in the changing colors, spinning off of those big fabric mill rollers... endlessly spinning ...the colors are irrelevant to the cause and condition. You got to go up into the think tank cabals if you want to find out why blood crimson is the prevailing hue.

The, in your face, spectacle of ridiculous nonsense, has no limits. Certainly, you're going to hear about fantasy gas chambers, already convincingly proven to have not existed. It has been 70 years since the Hollywood concentration camp resorts got closed down. This means if you were ten years old at the time of the closing, you would be 80 now. If you were 10 years old back in their earlier time zone, you would be closer to 90 years old What is easily as magical as the 'official' fabricated death count, is the present day, hundreds of thousands, some say millions, of hollogramcaust survivors still pogo sticking up and down on that victim industry trampoline, doing back flips, front flips and even splits for those with the geriatric, pornographic, gymnastic fetish. Meanwhile, the descendants of the architects of the Holodomor, recreational mass murder spree. which is many, many, many times larger than the whole of the WW-2 concentration camp numbers, at least according to the official Red Cross numbers are still at it. The same people also were behind the Soviet mass murders which were many times larger than the Holodomor. Did I just mention this yesterday? Yeah... I did.

Inescapable facts are inescapable facts but they are meaningless if you don't give a shit one way or another. If you are being 'groomed' to get your news from Max Headroom and your history from Professors Beavis and Butthead, you're a naturalized citizen of Idiocracy. You're drinking Big Gulp's of Brawndo and you're a survivor, just like those survivors already mentioned, of the Great Garbage Avalanche of 2505, except it seems to have happened much earlier. Yes, the great garbage avalanche happened in the past, not in the future or maybe... maybe it has happened in both locations of that same river you can't step into twice. It makes me think of that short story at the back of Magister Ludi, where the guy goes to mediate on the bank of a river.

The level (that's a palindrome by the way and... ironic too?) of garbage is utterly amazing and tens of millions accept it as their daily ration, individually portioned and segmented into their little sections on the TV dinner tray. It's all the same garbage, differently colorized. Denial is a trolley car that carries them from one oasis of illusion to another. If you call attention to yourself as someone who does not see, out of the window of the car, what is being streamed for the purpose of deception, but instead see what is actually there, your bus pass gets revoked and your microphone is turned off. That's how it is at the moment. Big Time Change is before the parole board. He's coming out of the prison system. Mr Apocalypse hot-rodded his case through the appeals court and he's about to hit the street. In order for Big Change to get his walking around free card, levers had to be pulled and buttons had to be pushed in the underground factory from whence springs all manifestation, same as foliage comes up out of the ground; same process, different format.

The same old same old goes on for so long as the same blueprints get ferried from wherever the blueprints come from, down to the underground factory, via those pneumatic tubes. Nothing has come down those tubes in a long time that wasn't some permutation of same old same old. This is because every age of more or less 2200 years (and all of them are) is like a cassette stuck into a tape player or a CD stuck in a CD player. They are programmed but they are multidimensionally programmed. This means there is not just sound on the cassette or CD but also colors and shapes and people in outfits that move along the lines of progressive fashion accidents, in sequence with the particular technologies allocated for the period. You get stone age. You get bronze age and on and on, badly recorded of course but they run on up until a kind of near instantaneous is reached. Everything starts going too fast to get out of the way of it and Materialism flows like molasses, sticky and viscous but muy rapido. Night comes and darkness floods the land of cookie cutter forms, congealing into whatever the morrow brings. The sun comes up and everything is shining and glistening with the dew of the newly manifested. Comes the evening and it is all become shabby but... there's something about the way the lights hit the surfaces and it don't look all that bad through the atmosphere of glittering, narcotic dream smoke.

What the same old same old is composed of is not so much the rising and falling of replicating environments... moving to more and more lightweight synthetic compounds out of which the scenery is constructed. It's consciousness and the shared collective awareness of what is defined as real by the mass mind that wouldn't know real from a dead Elvis flash mob and that accounts for the slot car, on rails, penitentiary planet we presently inhabit where Ignorance is royalty, swanning about like gangbangers in Eight Ball jackets, pimp rolling through the apocalypse, as it were. Dumbass wears a crown. Dumbass is the emperor. You might think that that isn't Dumbass up their on the dais. Dumbass is the crowd genuflecting around Dumbass and... you could be right. Dumbass is the crowd and the emperor is whoever is the most corrupt and compromised by the puppeteers that own the currency presses. So... what you actually got is mostly Dumbass and completely Dumbass and then you got the ones that bought up Power and Light. They built the malls and the condos and the golf courses. They closed down the domestic manufacturing zones because they couldn't squeeze enough profit and they recreated the industrial base in third world countries where life and labor are cheap and the products are unsafe and creations of expedited obsolescence. When you print the money you can do anything you want and when money is your god, you cannot have too much.

Of course, your focus then becomes riveted on the high end returns and that means munitions, advanced weaponry, perpetual war ...and all the other things that used to be crimes and still are if you are not a member of the syndicate; for the privileged elite there are no punishable offenses. Disorder is the rule and disorder is a timed explosive. It doesn't have a fuse. It has an elastic wire and it follows the 'repent of the pull rule'. It's like critical mass.

All of those ages we were talking about, they got certain periods in them, sometimes it's a renaissance and sometimes it's the 60's or The Yellow Nineties. Sometimes it's a Thirty Years war or a world war. Sometimes it's an industrial revolution and sometimes... sometimes, it's an apocalypse. Every one of these has got their own rules that come embedded with the cassette. Still, they have a relative similarity and regardless of how liberal it might be in one zone, there is an intensity of the opposite somewhere else. However, with an apocalypse, everything is very different. It might start out slow but, Whoa! It will get up to speed and... when it is a Grand Apocalypse... anything can happen.

It's a blur out there. The confusion is intense. The noise of the flash bang grenades of sensation is stupefying and I'm guessing that is where Stupid comes from. You can't expect Stupid to eat right or do much of anything right. For some reason, Stupid is still around but not for long. Stupid has a poor shelf life. So does Clever, when you are in an apocalypse.

We are where we are until we are somewhere else. The latter depends of the former;


Thimk!


End Transmission........

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