Dog Poet Transmitting.......
May your noses always be cold and wet.
Before you know it, we'll be at that time of the year where Gourmet magazine will have a Caesar salad on their cover, with a bunch of tiny daggers sticking out of it, like they were rehearsing to be a swizzle stick but something went wrong at the audition. Obama would probably like to play Caesar but he's not even equipped to be Pompey. I do like the fact that the two allegedly fought over ballsacks. Well, of course they couldn't have been fighting over Balzac. He wasn't even around then. This is the point at which you explain to me how Balzac could have written all those books and never said much more about Caesar than, “Render unto”.
History is complicated and a lot of it never even happened. That is because there are many kinds of historians. There are the historians who are paid to write things that are historically inaccurate; that's most of them. Then there are the ones who write inaccurate history for free because it dovetails with why no one will pay them to write history for money. Then there is that rare breed that writes history because it, more or less happened that way. You have to go looking for these people because they are not readily found. They're usually found, ♫High on the back shelves♫, or would be if Bruce had been singing about them instead. They're in life's back catalog. They're on back order. They're in The Way Back Machine and they are definitely back to the future.
To get an idea just how fucked up history is, you only have to read your daily paper and note the enormity of the lies being told about something as close as yesterday. This is why the people who own the printing presses own them. You'll probably tumble to the fact that they own more than one kind of printing press and one of the other presses also makes the money. If you are a satanist and... they are, this is a pretty sweet deal. Generally satanism is a reincarnation kind of a thing. You develop certain behavior patterns and a syndrome. We metaphysicians call it the Hades Syndrome. This is where a certain set of louvers come down over the interior lights. This has the effect of concealing certain things and revealing certain things and it works out just fine in terms of calculated blindness.
Usually, this sort of thing is a 'big up' in the material world and leads to all kinds of access behind the velvet ropes and seats in the VIP section. As I have mentioned before, these people get really big funerals and there's a cosmic yardstick that says, the bigger the asshole, the bigger the limousine and the bigger the funeral. There are exceptions. Hundreds of crocodiles attend these funerals, with big silk handkerchiefs and they wave them in wild abandon, as the cigarette boat makes its way down the River Styx. ♫Yes, we'll all be together, yes, we'll all make a stand. Yes, we'll all be rewarded, when the shit hits the fan♫ or something to that effect.
The funerals of Henry Kissinger and David Rockefeller are coming up fairly soon and you'll get to see what I'm talking about. You'll see legions of Dr. Hyde's in top hats, talking in hushed whispers about the departed. There will be a tight circle of 'family only' and there won't be a public smile among them. They're saving that for the wake and the reading of the will. There might not be a lot of smiles then either. It depends.
Yes, a lot of the leading points of darkness, for the preceding age, are going to be getting their travel vouchers. Whole countries are going to be getting travel vouchers. They're going to have to take The QE2 out of drydock and recommission her, just to get some portion of these people down the River Styx. They might better take that false flag aircraft carrier and put it into ferry service, instead of sinking it with an Israeli submarine in The Straits of Hormuz. Well, you do know that both sides want the strait closed off, right? That's sound economic policy. Profits are highest when products are most dear.
Never before have such a collection of the very worst of us been in such wide abundance at the top of the compost heap. The compost heap looks like one of those mushroom visions; crawling and alive. That's because millions of dung beetles and hungry worms are motoring all through it. A lot of people think this is all either an accident, or the obvious result of a certain Darwinian imperative; nothing of the kind. Mr. Apocalypse has put all of them up on his Facebook page. He's friended them, although I think that's a misnomer. Mr. Apocalypse has put their names up in lights. They're going to be feasted and feted in “♫All the old familiar places, that this heart of mine embraces, all day throoooo♫” Yes, it going to be “♫A hot time in the old town tonight♫”
We are on a vast horizon, facing into the blazing sun and we have come to Armageddon, just to find the battle's won. Spread your wings, close your eyes, let your love flow, come inside and so on and so forth. Inside looks a lot better than outside at the moment; of course, that depends on your precognitive capabilities. Some got em and some don't got em.
Yes, at the moment they're all sitting around inhaling out of their Darth Vapor bottle like it was 'Rush' or some derivative thereof. They're ridiculously high on themselves. They got uniforms and rows of service medals. They got pictures of themselves with all the high toned corpses and certificates of practice and authority mingled in among all those 8X12's. “Harumph, by the power invested in me, I hereby grant you the power to abuse your fellows, in all ways contrary to the greater good, so help me... uh uh... uh, oh God, I'm coming”! Yeah, precognition aside, that's where we are at the moment. A lot of them will be at The Super Bowl, recently of Davos and soon to be in attendance at Bilderberger in June, except given what lies between then and there, June won't be soon.
Damn, they're impressive aren't they? They got trillions of dollars and armies and police forces. They got concentration camps all over the former Land of the Free. They got coffins stacked up outside Atlanta; no telling how many people have set up housekeeping in them; like they were capsule rooms in one of those unique Japanese hotels. Is your coffin wired? Yes, they're impressive and wanna be scary. They got it all covered. They got their underground, surround lounge complexes and freeze dried hookers from Ost Bloc. They got cases of McCallan scotch, that 25 year old, five hundred dollars a bottle stuff. They got military grade Viagra. They got the complete works of Barbara Streisand, Barry Manilow and The Turtles. They might even have The Chairman of the Board on Bluray. They got warehouses full of oxygen bombalas and naughty nitrous. You can be sure they've got plenty of cocaine for medicinal purposes. They got wide screens and an enormous library of DVD's. They got that bidet style, warm rinse, all water toilet paper and probably the 'invisible hands' option as well. Of course, they can't destroy everything, they need some kind of a world still standing when they crawl out of their holes. Something is definitely wrong with this picture. They know something isn't battened down somewhere. But... they don't know what that is and won't until it's standing next to them on the inside of their reinforced steel, panic rooms.
See, there's an interesting and inescapable cosmic dynamic. You take your character and your fate with you, everywhere you go. You can't escape it. It is you. The only thing you can do is change it, to some degree. Like I try to tell people who presume to read fortunes with Tarot cards, “Why fumble around in the dark, trying to predict the future, when you can change it with the same mechanism"? The symbols, like Ginseng flowers, with their phosphorescent glow, close up, when footsteps approach. It's why people hunt them with a bow and arrow. This is the case with all sacred mysteries. They go into concealment at the approach of the profane. It's an old story but one whose impact, like all the fables and allegories of times past, tends to escape the minds of those who seek out powers for nefarious application. You are under observation, from the inside and the outside. Your own vehicles of perception are utilized for this purpose. That should give some of you an extra boost of affirmation in these times. The rest of you are welcome to the paranoia which that reality implies.
Yes, they are talking out of both sides of their mouths. They are grabbing your elbow when they shake your hand. They're scratching your back as they move you through reception and asking you about your handicap. You'll all be together at the 19th hole. That's quite a hole and directly connected to the hole in your heart and the hole in your head, cause you didn't bother to 'seal the door where evil dwells'.
It will all sort itself out, differently than anyone expects, on the way to the oppositional destiny that will never rear its ugly head. It's just wraiths and shadows looking for a welcome port.
Thursday, February 02, 2012
Dog Poet Transmitting.......
Beamed from the Saucer Pod By Visible at 11:52
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