Thursday, May 31, 2012

Professional Courtesies for the Sharks in the Water

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet.

(As promised, here is a Petri Dish. The book is taking longer than I thought because I have to read it all again and make some subtle adjustments. I am sure the proof reading editor will not be pleased (grin) but I do want it to be the best I can do so... I'll throw out an occasional posting as I go. I totally missed my radio show last week. It didn't even cross my mind, that's how strange it's been. I'll fix that this week and there will be a radio show Friday night. Stay frosty.)

The lies just keep coming about Syria and Iran, courtesy of the wholly owned Zionist mass media. They own the music and movie machines so you can also see what's being projectile vomited into our eyes and ears. Their hired killers go round the world, killing at will, blowing up villages and towns and blaming it on whoever they want to blame it on, because they own the media that they bought with the money they took from the banks, where they own the printing presses. Here's one artist who's on to them. The consistency of highly inspired work from him has been on a downhill slide since he moved into Beverly Hills but I guess that happens to a lot of people when you get incredibly rich. I'm not knocking The Boss, I still listen to him and his recording of Steven Foster's Hard Times Come Again No More brought tears to my eyes. This is the concert where I first heard it. The Big Man died not long ago and you can see he was growing weak by that point. That must have hit Bruce hard. His latest album is all about the shit going down but has left me cold so far; none of the transport I got from The River and other offerings, but my opinion is just that and I admit to it so, if you don't agree with it, that's your right and I honor that.

The tide of revolution is coming. It can't not come because the vampire bankers will suck you into a desiccated husk otherwise. We know who these bankers are and their provenance. They are joined by the indifferent rich who can't even leave tips when they have dinner in a restaurant. Of course, the article was a noxious apologetic for the man. At MSNBC the comments were 60% in favor of his not tipping; no surprise what organized force was behind that. I've lived in Italy and especially in the good restaurants, you tip. Saying otherwise is a lie. I tip always. I owned and worked in restaurants, I know what waitstaff and kitchen workers have to put up with and how hard that job can be. Meanwhile, he and Morgan Stanley ripped off the little guy again by falsifying value of a product worth less than 30% of the offering price. Looks like they can sue but, doesn't that come down to who can afford the best sharks in suits? I guess you've all heard the joke about the lawyer who was in the ocean and a big shark was swimming around. People were screaming to get out of the water, the lawyer paid no attention. Later he was asked why he wasn't concerned, he said, “Professional courtesy”.

I watch what scrolls before my eyes as the days pass, as one venal fucked up outrage follows another. Here's what's happening in the spiritual zones. The Zio-slime have jockeyed their way into positions all through the mix, corrupting and deceiving as they go. It's what they do. Where is the justice? Where is the cleansing fire? Yeah, it's the Masons and Illuminati, sure it is. Who runs those groups? You'll hear false whistleblowers who like to say that Weishaupt was a tool of the remnants of The Templars. You hear all kinds of things out here in the reverberating wasteland, where the raven's caw and the coyote's howl. I live there and the vibrating sump pump sends it's truth through the underground caverns that form some ancient telegraph system. Nature carries the word upon the wind. Judgment is coming, whether you are quick or dead. Judgment is coming.

It can be scientifically proven that evil destroys itself. This has already been charted and rendered here a time or two. If you weren't around for that it's not my problem. Any clear mind can sort out the logistics, if they apply the principles of inquiry. Evil knows its fate and so it is determined to wrench the last bleeding ounce of suffering from the planet and the masses.

The important thing is to be here now, not get all caught up in whatever garbled historical relics and tales present themselves in their altered and butchered forms. Speculation about the future is pointless. There is only the present and the present determines the future just as the present is influenced by the past ...but to what degree? That's up to you. Change may be hard but there is nothing impossible about it. Sometimes you have to slog through miles of shit and personal failure but if you do not quit, if you do not give up, you cannot fail. Of course it's not easy. When you consider the prize, there is ample cause for it not being easy. The virtues are eternal, getting possession of them is not for the weak and temporal minded. It takes everything because it also provides everything; everything beyond the common dreams of those addicted to the trough.

It may have been years ago but everyone here has felt the promise in their hearts at some point. Everyone here has felt the hand of grace at some point. If you do not aspire, you do not acquire. If you don't do the work, you are not worthy of the hire.

I wrestle with terrible things as a common feature of my day. I cannot understand the things I am put through. They make no sense in the context of my work and my constant aspirations. What am I to do under such circumstances? Should I just give in and give up because I am surrounded and pounded by cruel and invisible hands? That would hardly satisfy or justify all of the efforts that have come before, in my own life and the lives of those who have preceded me. You don't drop the standard or the guidon just because another mountain looms in front of you and you were absolutely sure that the last mountain had been scaled. You don't accomplish it anyway, it comes by grace or so I hear, even though you can't make it, even if you are knocked down beyond the point of rising one more time, you need have no concerns on that account. There is something greater in the human spirit than most anyone realizes. You cannot realize it until it arrives and then there are no horrors or trials that can prevail against you. What really, really counts is what is on your mind and in your heart at the point of exit. Read a bit and see how often this is confirmed by every authentic tradition. I can easily find this all over the place. It consistently amazes me that some amount can't, or are always asking me for links or how come this is this and that is that.

Get this fact rooted in your mind. Things are generally fucked here and the ability of any individual to climb out of the murk is seriously problematic. It's not impossible but it takes serious, serious effort and that needs to be attended by the right kind of karma.

Let us say that you meet a very successful and connected individual and they develop an affection for you. This individual could open many doors for you that you would never be able to open yourself. They could introduce you to all kinds of people who could help you out down here. They can show you how to get rich quickly and even make it happen for you. There's no big mystery about it. It's who you know and the opportunities they can provide. Sure, some people have the requisite industry and intelligence to pull it off on their own but they will assuredly, sooner or later, run into the people manipulating the system and then comes the deals and fealty. You might study what happened to Ted Turner. However... however...

You might also meet someone with connections and influence elsewhere. I have ...and more than once so... that brings an entirely different scenario into play. This person or persons develops an affection toward you, or has a responsibility that led to the contact in the first place. To how much of a greater degree will such an individual help you? Such individuals can also do things that the rich, connected and influential couldn't hope to pull off. There are relationships of all kinds going on at all times. There are people coming from one place and headed another and people who have developed the opportunities for the possibilities that find their way to them. It is amazing to watch how effortless it is for some and how seriously difficult it is for others. The key is which theater of operation is it difficult in. Knowing the meaning of that turns many a seeming curse into an immeasurable asset and advantage.

In these times of trial, I hope this has been useful to someone.

End Transmission.......

Visible sings: Almost A Capella by Les Visible♫ Light Up Ahead ♫
'Light Up Ahead' is track no. 1 of 12 on Visible's 2007 album 'Almost A Capella'

Almost A Capella by Les Visible

There will be a radio show this Friday night, same place, same time.

Friday, May 18, 2012

The Big Bass Drums of War are Booming

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet.

Double, double, toil and trouble, Petri Dish boil and Petri Dish bubble. Let's see, massive global economic failure, more so here, less so there, counterpointed with continuing revelations of massive financial malfeasance by the major players, check. ZATO, Zionist Atlantic Terror Organization, is in Chicago and so is Larry Silverstein's orc cousin. Rahm Anti-Emmanuel is in situ at the big board, check. The big bass drums of war are booming as the false flag is looming, check. MeK operatives are in place, while the man in blue is in your face, check. Yes, something is up. All the highly placed Zio Ogres are talking about Iran's last chance to stop doing what they're not doing, or face the wrath of those who are doing what they say they're not doing... check... check... check... same sex mate! (post dated, insensitive bon mot announcement in the retroactive).

Once again the image of the horny goats, which piss all over themselves, prior to coitus, raises its hoary head. It's not sex that has the cannibals all in a fever. It's the smell of blood. They want it so bad that they literally can taste it; these prehistoric sharks in the water, these bipedal piranha. Tearing, rending and burning, yes precious, that's what they likes.

Visions of metaphorical sugar plums dance in my head. I have a dream! I'm dreaming of a secret weapon that leaves a sea of fused glass right where it ought to be. I must apologize for that brief interlude of a red hazed insanity. The world has gone mad and there are none of us untouched. I dream of the Earth swallowing them. I dream of the plug being pulled on their powers and deceptions. I dream of them running into the desert and crying out for the stones beneath their feet to cover them; for the mountains to fall on them. I dream of a face of wrath, confronting them no matter which way they turn. I dream of surgical precision that finds its way into every boardroom and bank, every institution, where prostitution is the commerce of the day. I dream of them being marched up the thirteen steps, dressed in fishnet stockings and plastic miniskirts. I dream of a man with a scythe, whose features are concealed beneath a hood, who pulls from his voluminous sleeves, a parchment upon which a litany of their crimes are inscribed. I dream of the words taking voice from an invisible source and thundering in the air with steroidal THX. I dream of wild eyed beings on snorting horses, galloping out of rents in the fabric of this twisted reality. I see the gleams dancing on their metal breastplates. I hear them crying out in an unknown tongue. I see the Earth opening and the faces of thousands upon thousands of animated dead, crying out for their company, like the final scene in Ghost.

I can smell the foul Eau De Crypt wafting from their reeking forms. I can sense their malevolence for all living things. Nanotech maggots from the realm of Cthulhu, climb in and out of their empty eye sockets, along with dung beetles and carrion lizards. They know their end approaches, but from where? Half of them denies this inescapable truth and half of them knows that something has gone horribly wrong and it's not just them. Their apologists wring their hands, “masters, what can we do? We sold out our nations and gave you our children as blood sacrifices and you are not pleased. What is the matter? Please, take my wife”.

All the signs indicate some kind of mayhem is on the near horizon and that means in the next few weeks and days. I suppose this all deserves a kind of 'bent out of shape' admiration. They just keep on keeping on, killing stealing and raping household pets. If there is something nasty and infernal that they can get up to, they are already working on it. There's something sexual about it all. It's that kind of sexual excitement, where the passion is ratcheted up so high that something unintended is guaranteed to happen. It could be something like that premature ejaculation thing that makes serial killers a little angrier than they already are. Well, these are serial killers. It could be something like an intensity toward congress, with nothing but impotence below. It could be just one of those things where it isn't going to work, unless metal skewers and painful restraints are employed. Given that perversion is their normal, it's all too likely. I can see them masturbating over the images of burned and smoking forms of Palestinian children and well, any children they have the means and opportunity for, the motive is longstanding already.

Does some of this seem a little over the top, or a lot over the top? It isn't. In fact, it is worse than what is being said here. Anyone with the impetus to do a little research, can come up with crime after crime, some of them on a ginormous scale. The body of evidence covers more square acreage that the AIDS quilt. Only a very few people are saying anything about it because... those in a position to reach a wider audience, do not have the necessary confirmation that someone has their back AND they wouldn't be saying it very long in certain locales, which was the point of taking control of the media in the first place. The acquisition of so many critical things has been accomplished because there really is a conspiracy. You can see it playing out in real time AND because they control the currency printing presses. Amstel Rothschilds quote says it all. But you can't say these things and shouldn't even call attention to them because it's anti something or other, even though they admit these things themselves.

Uh oh... here comes the shadow Masons and Illuminati that are pulling all of the strings of the hapless pawns. Wait a minute... who founded the Illuminati? I give up. None of it is in my hands anyway. I'm just an observer passing through. Got no plans on coming back here, especially given the time frame. They are marching to perdition (cue, “Marching to Pretoria” or “Marching to Zion” as you prefer). We be marching somewhere nowhere fast. They are leading themselves into the desert, after having created a desert. They'll be getting vinegar from rocks and manna from scorpions.

The race is on. Will they plunge the whole world into a global conflict or will they be stopped by someone or something? Will those in a position to turn upon them do so? What is going on and who is doing it is not in doubt. It is no more in doubt than who was behind the Afghanistan and Iraq incursions or who did 9/11 which set them up in the first place. I can hear the sighs from the Kumbaya crowd. “Please, can't we talk about something else”? Talking about something else is like wishing to be somewhere else, while somewhere else is being wiped out by the ones we are talking about.

It must be nice and convenient for the new age crowd and their solid awareness of advaita. You can walk around in your fantasy landscapes, unified with everything and money in the bank. No one on that circuit talks about these things because then they won't let them on the circuit. No one talks about these things on stage, because they won't let you onstage except, sometimes, some people do. The thing about awakening, is that it forces certain considerations before your eyes. It is the purpose of the awakening to begin with, to bring your attention to certain things. This is another reason for that race against time. Meanwhile their financial voodoo has got Baron Samedi tripping around behind the walls and the dropped ceilings and making things hot for the ones who brought it all about.

What's going on behind the scenes is way more dramatic than what is happening in front of you. There's a force loose in the moment that is pulling levers and pushing buttons that vested interests don't want pulled or pushed. There's a joker in the deck and the joker works for the big dealer who owns the house that we play cards in. Everything is arranged for the purpose of demonstration and an unfortunate demonstration it is, in various locations, where the demonstration is committed to 'go down' a particular way.

About now, the finger pointing is going to start in earnest. Sewer rats are scrambling all over the place trying to squeeze just a little more out of the system before they hightail it out of town. They're in the position of a monkey, with his hand in the vase, holding on to the avocado or mango that he wants and can't let loose of. In The Apocalypse, there is a point where things begin to speed up and the curve of descent becomes much sharper. There is where we are. Things can be held together with chewing gum and duct tape for only so long. Sooner or later the whole stinking mess comes apart. Unnoticed by many, a new world is emerging for the purpose of continuance, in those case where continuing is in the cards.

If there were an Ides of May, we would be entering them now. The next three weeks should see the world transformed in all kinds of ways. “I'm no prophet and here's no great matter”. Still, I must say that the multiplicity of signs are pretty intense. That little Kadima maneuver certainly smacks of a sooner rather than later time table. Of course, the longer you wait, the better defensed are the people you are intending to destroy for no legitimate reason. Then again, I am certain that there are things the aggressors don't know. Oh, there are a whole lot of things they don't know and then there's all that scurrying around in haste, as if so many things had to get done real soon; something to think about when you're alone in your room.

End Transmission.......

Patrick Willis narrates:

Visible sings:

There will be a radio show this evening at 7:30 Central Time.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Dessert Toppings and Floor Waxes

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet.

Most mornings I take a cautionary (and ill advised) ramble through the slanted and manufactured, toxic treacle that passes for news, in this Kali Yuga cluster fuck (post dated profanity advisory). I don't know what else to call it. Negotiating this time sequence, is a lot like walking across glue boards, intentionally placed on the way to crumbled bits of cheese and kibble, that seem to pass for attractive and tasty fare, calculated to meet the appetite demands of those who think pink slime is “a dessert topping AND a floor wax”. Well, this introductory spiel is a little gratuitous but it all depends on the segue.

while making my rounds, with my own version of a white coat and a stethoscope, actually called a stealthoscope in my case, it has come to where the news proves incidental to the intent. The news is a flat out and often mendacious lie. The news is not fabricated by Mason's or the Catholic Church, or any of the others, whose non presence on the ownership lists and boards of directors, should signify something but signifies nothing, because the sound and fury, a transparent but necessary distraction, has sucked all the oxygen out of the room. You will note the trend of late to sprinkle the names of Indians, Asians and any number of 'affirmative distractions' implanted, to take away from the glaring evidence, of who writes the majority of most warmongering and culturally decadent garbage, that spills out of the torn garbage baggie, magically transforming into the poisoned ink that passes for a medium, if the medium is the frottage (overused term alert).

This is not to say that some amount of Masons and the upper, infernal depths of the Catholic Church, along with the Scientologists, the fundie, evangelical, faux Christian Shmoos, the military industrial persecution complex, the political prostitution stable, of brokeback horses and ho's, the lobby vampires of 24/7 corporation blood sucking, preejaculating, fascism and a host of other second string, Satan-fellatin' wannabe bad guys, haven't added their devalued two cents to the evil, carnal, banal and anal torture circus, that is the over riding theme on the road to judgment day, (cue the deadening, earfucking, brain raping, rap soundtrack, whose intent is a collective lockstep into darkness, by those who think the degradation of the feminine and the worship of gunfire and bling, is some kind of art thing) sure, they're all playing a part but they are not the central players, out of the twisted heart of the abuser in chief.

What I most noticed, in my tiptoeing through the knife edged tulips, of the despicable press, were the comments that followed the despicable articles, written by despicable people. Especially in cases of personal misfortune, sometimes a comeuppance, where everyone forgets about, “there but for fortune goes you and I”, the comments generally reflecting a meanspiritedness that has taken over the mental and emotional climate, of the more than ordinary and often anonymous Joe's and Jane's. In a world of junk foods, junk bonds and junk culture, it's to be expected that malicious and unforgiving cretins, living in a world of spite, would spew their venom beneath the toxic ink, spilling from the torn garbage baggie. America and the rest of the west; you bobble-headed nimrods, with your cries “librals” and all the rest of the terms of diminishment; you who cry out for the death penalty, who support the midnight flights of special rendition, who support the murders of unsuspecting villagers, labeled as terrorists by the real terrorists from Tel Aviv, London and Washington D.C., whose six pack is on the coffee table and not on their abs, who shit where they eat and are proud of it, whose arrogance is only exceeded by their intransigent ignorance, who allow and permit every kind of horrible actions in their names and are proud of it... proud of it, proud of it.

Anonymity can have its reasons and justifications. It can also be an emblem of cowardice, an expression of those who are incapable of standing behind what they say, who can't put their money where their mouth is, because they are bankrupt, who cannot walk the talk but have no problem talking out of their ass, which appears to be their guidance and inspiration. The cruelty is impressive. The indifference to suffering is amazing. I understand the cause of it. When you are living an empty and desperate existence, of little and no accomplishment, the success and courage of others is more than you can bear, when you possess neither and are unlikely to attain either. I understand the impotent rage and the inability to connect, with the objects of your desire, because these objects and persons are out of your league. It didn't have to be like that but your one real triumph, the possession of cowardice, accounts for it.

A big monster or a little monster is still a monster. You become the result of the qualities you embrace. All qualities come from a source and when you are disenfranchised from the source of the most desirable qualities, it is unlikely that you will ever acquire them. What you get in their place are the shortcomings that are the living testimony of their absence.

We live on a concentration camp planet. The necessary effort required to attain a working liberation here is beyond the capacity of most people. “Whut do I get out of it”? Yes, these seemingly abstract and unimportant qualities, appear to have no bankable value. They take great sacrifice to obtain. They get you into trouble with those, who find these things interfering and offensive to their objectives. They compel you to behave in ways dangerous to your freedom and survival but those of us who have walked that road, know that there are no prisons or limitations, within or without, that can do anymore than test your determination to pass through and rise above them.

It's a trick of the mind you see. It's something done with lights and mirrors. It is set up to convince you that the safer course is the wiser and saner choice. You're convinced of 'going along to get along' and what that brings about is a willingness to believe what is not true, in order to avoid the confrontation that conscience demands. All over the world, the few are now rising up, from among the many, while the many peer out from between the curtains in their bunkers, hideyholes and homes, waiting to see which way the wind blows, convinced that it is an ill wind if they don't blow someone AND it's good for the economy.

When I read the comments of the ubiquitous anonymous, here or wherever it may be, it's credibility is reduced to not much, unless I (and I often do) sense merely a desire for privacy or good reason for the presence of it. I generally have the immediate sense that there is no conviction and less certainty or security in anything that gets said. Anonymous is the natural evolution of the stunted progeny of ineffectual and powerless parenting from government Cliff Notes. It is the legacy of the ambush and the assassin. It is the aimless and expansive malice of the clerk mind, at work in massive departments of waste, excess and restriction. It's the one who definitely doesn't get the girl or score the goal. They masturbate beneath the bleacher seats. They are the blind dates with no understanding of Braille. They are the mass consumers of breath mints and deodorants and they need them as well. They dress themselves from magazine ads. They eat while walking nowhere in a hurry. They wear rubber over-boots down shoveled sidewalks and carry umbrellas just in case it may rain but it is always raining in their lives; a decent camouflage for the Tears.

If fear guides you, it leads directly into the path of what is feared. These are the lottery ticket junkies and coupon cutters. These are those afflicted with poverty mentality. These are the resentful and private abusers of the ones they might have loved. These are the ones who despise themselves and reflexively wish ill on everyone else. These are the parrots, who find safety in numbers, on the broad road to destruction. These are the extras, in a cast of thousands, dreaming of the spotlight with no performance to give. These are the karaoke singers and slam poetry artistes, who know the names of everyone who made no real contribution but got famous anyway. These are the pattern baldness salesmen, who hawk things they don't believe in and end their nights in corner bars dreaming of waitresses with bad teeth.

I want to hope and believe in all of those with no hope, who believe in what cannot come true. I want to hope and believe they will awaken before doom comes to claim their inconsequential, unexamined and unlived lives. I know it doesn't have to be this way and I know the greatest treasures are only the things you can take with you when you go, but convincing people of the obvious seems to be the most difficult thing in the world. The arguments are instantaneous, “Yeah, what about this and what about that?” The arguments are endless and only for the purpose of argument. The subject is incidental to the necessity for strife. It is no wonder they are used as canon fodder and buried in forgotten graves, over something that didn’t' exist, which they allowed themselves to believe in, for the purpose of conformity and a reward that never arrived, only an anonymous grave and the indifferent, posturing litany of perverted and faithless ministers and priests.

The last decanate of May now approaches. The pinata of the unknown trembles from a tree branch, while blindfolded fools with heavy sticks lay about themselves with a will. We shall see what we shall see or we shall see nothing at all.

End Transmission.......

Visible sings: The Sacred and The Profane by Les Visible♫ I Love Country Music ♫
'I Love Country Music' is track no. 1 of 13 on Visible's 2007 album
'The Sacred and The Profane'

The Sacred and The Profane by Les Visible

Sunday's radio show is now available for download.

Friday, May 11, 2012

Channeling Road Apples through a Cosmic Cider Press

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet.

This is the sort of thing the 1% gets up to and this is the sort of thing Nature does to the people stupid enough to let the 1% get away with their behavior; like Bill Gates killing children with his vaccines. Of course, as the human experiment gets more and more absurd and indifferent to anything besides dick and stomach issues, Nature is right there alongside of them with similar interests. What the heck, just to show you how strange life can be.

The thing about materialism is that it cancels out your humanity. The moral compass goes haywire and starts spinning like the clock on Twilight Zone. This man's superiors approved of his actions. They defended his kicking a 9 month pregnant woman in the stomach. They buried any and all investigation and this thug had already assaulted two other people previously. This is the kind of thing materialism brings about and who would be more about materialism than the 1%? Who does the thug enforcement arm serve? They obviously serve the 1%. They are ramping up for something and they don't care who knows about it. They'll just throw in another underwear bomber, rectal pipe-bombers, or whatever construct that permits of ever more and more invasive aggressions, against a public dumb enough to buy into the legitimacy of it. The public is best exemplified by the chickens in this video. In the beginning they look like people scurrying around and then? Well, they devolve into a travesty on whatever it was that they forgot that they were.

I've had a connection to Sirius since I was a child. Since I was in elementary school, Sirius and Betelgeuse have manifested a mysterious resonance in my consciousness. Later, Arcturus came into play and is always impacting on my thoughts. I've no idea what any of it means. So, I was a little curious to read this. I don't usually have much use for channeling. It rings funny in my head. It's always vague and pontificating. I remember running into Ramtha and that Seth character, along with Elizabeth Claire Prophet and her St. Germaine info; probably standard reading in the little bunker room machine gun nests that surround her compound, somewhere out west. I'm not saying there isn't good information somewhere in these voluminous transmissions (if transmissions they are). I'm saying I just went on my way with hardly a glance to either side.

If you've gotten something out of these things, I'm not seeking to discredit or diminish whatever you got. It just wasn't for me. I've already got major input from real life entities and don't have much attraction to the discarnate, except as it occurs inside my own head. I never had any use for “A Course of Miracles” either. It looked like something cobbled together by humanist psyche major types and told me nothing new, no matter where I skimmed and opened the book to and no matter how insistent some people were that I embrace the totality without question. Once again, this is not to say that some people might not get all kinds of useful things from it. It just didn't work for me. All the wrong bells went off, just like with that nam myoho renge kyo and Werner Erhardt, Silva Mind Control, Erika and what not. I'm into timeless and ageless things from trusted lineages.

I no longer know what to think about the immense and endlessly contradictory information I now run across daily from the alternative media. It's getting like the mass media; more and more outrageous, speculative, not backed up by concrete evidence, truly wild-assed rumors and half truths that I can't manage to swallow, because so many elements are missing from what I'm reading and hearing. Little Georgie Sorrows and the Rothschild bullshit meisters have been busy as dung beetles in the alternative press for a long time. They fuel uproar and paranoia around the globe. I don't know what to think so I just fall back on my “rely” thing and that seems to work.

Is Fukushima going to wipe out the Northern Hemisphere? Are natural disasters going to jump that gun? Is World War 3 going to preempt them both? Are massive space vehicles going to come out of the skies, having turned off their cloaking devices? We know we have had visitors from other worlds. These things are engraved in stone, in the relics of vanished cultures all over the planet. What about the Ft. Detrick type of bio warfare that evil twisted scientists can't seem to restrain themselves from engaging in?

I'm leaning toward a process of vibrationary transition; something that will be obvious to those who have done the work and been proactively engaged in their own evolution and which will go by unnoticed by the dick and stomach addicts, who are circling around the little yellow chick hoppers, being branded, burned and tagged for the purpose of demonstration, even if those so engaged are oblivious to the demonstration.

I keep hearing that whatever is coming, will arrive so quickly and fully that we'll be shocked at the speed and magnitude of it. It's that 'twinkling of an eye' thing. Something about my recent work is not meeting the approval of some and I'm hard pressed to get that either, since it's not much different than it's ever been.

It's a ticklish and nerve wracking affair. You can't do much about what you can't see and which hasn't arrived; trembling here in limbo... 'I don't know' gets more like itself every day. World leaders are batshit and as corrupt as the ambulatory corpses of rag tag and rotting zombies, rising out of the grave. They're all a bunch of stolen cars, hijacked by demons from the infernal realm. Joyriding demons are burning out the clutch, ignoring the brakes and putting the pedal to the medal, inside the heads and empty hearts of blind and lost souls, leading the blind into box canyons and dead end swamps. These are the abandoned and foreclosed homes of the victims of the alligator sharks.

The prison industry is privatized. Interstates are being sold to corporations. The Chinese are coming to town in a big way. It's expanding and replicating all over the place. Everything has been reduced to the theme and process by which Mitt Romney made his money in the first place. America is being dismantled and sold for scrap. A long hot summer looms, as the pedophile, psychopath satanists ratchet up for their false flag fever pageant. Deep in the heart of the financial center of world economics, they're drafting up some new competitions for The Olympics. There's a new category, called, “Run for your Life and Drop in your Tracks”. They got cameras watching cameras. They got wild gangs of drunken girls, who are no longer waiting for the midnight hour. It's Pin the Tale on the Muslim time, as the Zio-Ogre roars in The House of Commons and The House of Lords, in Congresses and Parliaments where the only good gentile is a dead, dismembered or incarcerated gentile.

None of this is a mystery, except for those for whom it is a mystery, as to how they can pat their stomachs and chew gum at the same time. Dumb and Dumber, approach the logical bummer that is the inescapable result of stupidity on steroids. “Kiss my ass motherfucker. You can't buy no pussy. Kiss my ass. Gimmie a fish (and chips) sandwich, motherfucker”.

You look at the options and you look at the possibilities and then you look at the players and the options and possibilities go right out the window. Dreadful destiny is on rails, headed for the crash dummy walls. I troubleshoot the scenarios in my mind but it all has to be weighed against the intellectual vacuum of the players. Waking up is not a medium of optimism, when you wake up in the same state of ignorance you went to sleep in. Maybe I have the math wrong and I'm missing something and I hope I am. As much as I mention not getting fooled by appearances, I must say, they're pretty intimidating but I just keep telling myself that that is not all there is. No matter what it might look like that's not all there is. Appearances are intrinsically a lie. They are what they are in order to get you to believe in what is not. It's the applied ritual of enforced slavery and it's as old as time.

Well, it has to turn out better than it looks, because it doesn't make sense any other way. We're simply dealing with majority and minority destinies based on radically different directions. You will get where you are headed. You can count on that.

End Transmission.......

Visible sings: Color Ball by Les Visible♫ It's Changing ♫
'It's Changing' is track no. 5 of 12 on Visible's 2007 album 'Color Ball'
Lyrics (pops up)

Color Ball by Les Visible

Sunday, May 06, 2012

Out of Function at Armageddon Junction

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be tuned up another level beyond the shit being shoveled by the devil.

I know it's Petri Dish. That means some amount of strange and weird ...and occasionally the possibility of wonderful; always human, or trying to be. I was on Jeff Rense's radio show yesterday morning. It was a pleasant sojourn for me and something years in the making. I had little sleep, given I had to get up a little after 5 in the morning and it was well after midnight when I fell asleep. I think that was an asset more than anything else. The notion of being The Dog Poet came up and several mentions of this and that from other corners provoked me to google 'Dog Poet' and this is the first thing that comes up.

It's funny. This Dog Poet, who is gay and seems a really decent sort, was tiptoeing through the tulips about being racist, which he isn't. I hear Mowgli and Bagheera talking, “we be of one blood, you and I”. That could have been me, I think, dipped in pink with no offense intended. Those manipulating the gay item, for the purposes of profit, with attendant containers of agendas; similar to the ridiculously extended amplification, of the face time, of a routine novelty act, into something that would probably look like the offspring of a coupling between a bag of Cheetos and a pencil eraser, might think I am anti-gay. Of course I'm not and all of the links here don't connect in sequence. They are just part of the panorama of this multidimensional circus and... since the allopathic medical industry is another one of their investments they want to get all the bang for the buck that they can get.

Alternatively, something is going on in Peru. No doubt about it somehow being connected, to the usual pooch screwing conclave of black hats. I hate to beat an eight legged dead horse but I'm getting four part harmonies and it makes me feel like I am glad to know what use to put my sinuses to. I also have more than one nose.

This is what has confused me for so long about what is really going on, what is actually happening and I am feeling the effect. I don't want to put up any more links, apparently, some measure of people don't even click on them. What is the point of my going through the trouble to do it? I don't know. I saw something about 30,000 slaughtered elephants because somebody wants ivory to wear, or lay about as a decoration in homes when they are not even there. No, they are off snorkeling into the once blue pacific, charting the wonders of it as it disappears. The elephants are friends of mine, as are the porpoises and dolphins, pelicans and penguins. The people bringing you the big cinematic masterpiece, are making the scenery cease....causing it to die away while you watch it frolic and snack on what? Cheetos? Cheetahs? I hope you don't break a nail somewhere in the long and lonesome halls of afterthought. “Honey? Du yu wanna see what I bought? I'll leave it here on the landing if you wanna take a look”.

The same people, who brought you the thing you wanted, removed the thing you needed in the process. Life doesn't make sense most of the time and there are deeper and ever deeper, beneaths and behinds as you continue to go in your inquiry, should you chose to continue and we do continue but mostly we continue to continue. The result is that it gets more tightly pressed and darker and more confining. It also gets hotter and more constricted. I suppose you might get short of breath in that direction; probably accounts for the erection. If you were going the other way, you could call it inspiration and it moves into less confined locations, where it is cooler, wider, higher and freer. It's not rocket science and only a little more difficult than a performing blow job, unless you find that really difficult ...and in which case you are better served, according to your interests, by filing your nails.

I don't get it myself. I've never been into hookers and gambling and I'm not into horses, I could care less who wins the Kentucky Derby. Horses are my friends, if that horse won't carry me up that mountain, he ain't no horse and if I don't get off his back and walk back down alongside, him on the way down, then I'm not a man, so some say and so says I. I understand drugs, just as well as I know why the government wants to keep people from accessing them, lest those people wake up and tune in to what's been happening to them. Feed them alcohol and pharmaceuticals and close down the free range with barbed wire and barbiturates. Here's your soap on a rope for the prison shower and you'll get your shot of whiskey in Hell; just the one, of course, courtesy of the dog that pursues you.

It's not about people making choices for themselves, whether they be good or bad. It's about those choices being made for them and then defined as choices made by themselves. Then you can say you were born this way but... is that where it started? Wouldn't you think that the cradle to the grave escapade might actually be a continuance, continuing? The Xerox doesn't work because the Spandax isn't Memorex, not cause “the vandals took the handles." This is what they tell you and you believe it to be true that there is some mathematical equivilating difference between a Gypsy and an Arab and a Jew. It's the replicants that hide in the mix that put you in the shitter. If it isn't clear now, it won't be clear later. That's how it doesn't work. That is the busted accordion of our times; playing that bad Casio keyboard music with all the rearranging thumps and bumps, the dum de dumps and nodwell, up and down agreeing, to whatever lame transmission turning the queen of Heaven into a bitch and a skank and a ho. You break it, you bought it and don't come crying to me on your way back down the birth canal because that is why they say 'payback is a bitch'.

I had an amusing half an hour tripping around in that other Dog Poet's world in the hinterlands of San Francisco. I failed to shed a tear at the passing of one more non rock, non icon, whose greatest accomplishment was leaving the place worse off than he found it. Well, they do have to make a big whoop de doo about the Warhols and pinheads that deck these halls with poisoned jolly, fa la la la la the do re mi.

I'm thinking about Immanuel Velikovsky and those world's in collision; my worlds, these other worlds and how to not collide. That's the ticket, speaking of tickets out of here, which I wasn't but I was thinking about it, so it showed up anyway.

I could find you a host of unlovely shit to stretch like bunting across the arches of this tedious and malicious time; more than elephants and pelicans, more than dead wanna be rappers that wish they hadn't, more than these but if you haven't seen them, you will shortly, as they begin to appear all over the place. Evil is most definitely engaged in destroying itself. The question is whether you will go with it. Do you want to? Yeah you. I'm talking to you. I don't read hand signals, too bad you can't take those earbuds out of your head. Right, we're not doing the audio portion here but you get the idea or... you don't. You will choose or the choice will be made for you, just like it was when you stepped into this free will thing you keep telling me about. You got free will and I got freewheel, we aren't so far apart... heh heh, except for direction.

I do believe it is time for my mosey to be moseying and I'll catch you later in the audio portion; no need to click on the links, they're just there for decoration, like that argument about form over function, which they will be having all the way to Armageddon Junction. I do believe I see the signpost up ahead. You would think people would pay attention to signs and linkages but that is not my affair. My affair is the doing, some kind of doing into being as we shall see, one way or another. Good grief I can't believe this isn't pleather.

End Transmission.......

Patrick Willis narrates:

Visible sings:

"Foolish pride, we can't take back our words
Foolish pride, to give hurt for love
Foolish pride, as the wind blows empty
and the night rolls in
our love could be shining
if it hadn't been kept inside
by foolish pride..."

Radio Show already linked in the posting.

Tuesday, May 01, 2012

Mayday! Mayday! Incoming!!!

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be hoses for the crack cocaine of the unspeakable love of the cosmos; “You might as well face it, you're addicted to Love”. So... why not rub your own nose in it? Don't make me have to come down there (grin).

Sometimes, in the morning, I sit on my bed and put both feet into my jeans at the same time. I do this to prove to myself that I do not have to put my pants on one leg at a time, like everyone else. Of course, in all the ways that count, I love and am part of the common man, I just haven't lost my sense of humor, or my boundless ambition. Ambition is fine, depending on what it is based on and directed toward.

Powerful things are going on, we’re just not seeing all of them as they happen. I realize this is a very long article but well worth the reading. A lot of things come after us in this life and... how we deal with them and what we become as a result, makes all the difference; the latter depending on the former. I've had a hard road to get to wherever here is. If you look at it in terms of events, then it's pretty bad but not as bad as many lives (count your blessings). If you look at it in terms of internal struggles and the actual experiences, then it worsens significantly. However, I have to echo what Lou Gehrig said. I'll bet some of you already know what that is and have had similar thoughts to mine.

The biggest pain in the ass, in respect of what I have had to go through these years, is how it has diminished my output and enthusiasm for useful projects (who says they’re useful?) and how I procrastinate and put off so many of the things I intended to do and didn't. Sometimes, the only way to get them done (I haven't tried this yet), is to publicly embarrass myself about them. I've meant to send this bottle of single malt Scotch to Michael Rivero for a couple of months. I don't even know if he likes Scotch but I'm very sure he can trade it for something he does like. I keep putting off finishing my new novel. It's written, all I have to do is transcribe it and I demur every single day. It's not acceptable. That book needs to come out, if for no other reason than that I've never seen the novel format used that way and because it’s really funny too.

I should have been a guest of Jeff Rense on his radio show a long time ago. I didn't put the industry into it that I should have. Now I will be on his show this Friday. Well, at least I got that done, except it hasn't happened yet. I should have confronted people about their personal feuds more vigorously, or so I think (I could be wrong and therefore right). Every time I do something drama queen like, I get hammered (like the SOTT debacle). I am probably still on the outs with Jay Weidner and a certain Christian fellow, whose radio show I was on. I'm not sure where we stand. I screwed things up with both of the people who published my two books, although, in the case of the first one, I do not consider myself to be at fault but... I probably am. This is what happens when all you remember as a child is your father saying to you, “You dirty stinking hound (dog poet?), you'll never amount to anything”. Or recalling my being brought into his presence, when I was just learning to walk and having him threaten and abuse me for shitting in my diaper. That's probably why I painted one of my early masterpieces, in shit, on the wall above my crib. He beat the crap out of me for that. I lived in such fear that I wet the bed until I was 16 years old.

Once my mother went to New Jersey to visit her parents for two weeks. Since I was the only child in school, I was left alone with my father. On one occasion, after inspecting my bed, he whipped me with an extension cord and tore my flesh. I had enormous bleeding welts all over my legs. How come no one noticed? There was an upside to this; maybe it's an upside. I didn’t get pubic hair until I was nearly 18 years old and I didn’t know what sex was until I was 15 and even then I didn't get it. The first time I had sex was when I was in that mental institution in Norman, Oklahoma with another patient. She was a cutie though. Her father was a doctor. That's where I read that psychology magazine and saw the article about Timothy Leary. Well, after the LSD airwaves got polluted and my friend Peter turned me on to coke, I certainly made up for lost time. I'm not in Charlie Sheen or Wilt Chamberlain country but Young Lochinvar didn't do too badly. Well, sex and all sorts of other attractions went south on me a couple of decades ago but the cosmos found a way around that, which is nothing short of amazing, if you think about it and the unique beauty and desirability of those whose care I have been put into. Their beauty and bone deep goodness would stop a clock, in a good way.

Why am I talking about this, in Petri Dish, and what has that got to do with the culture? I don't know yet but, at least for me, nothing happens by accident. Maybe it has something to do with full disclosure, even though we are only in the preliminary stages. Maybe it's something else. We'll see. One thing I do know is that it has something to do with those free frolicking porpoises of demonstration; those dancing dolphins that seem to attend me and yourselves as well, only most of us can't see them.

A lot of our lives are pre-managed by Karma; nearly all of us actually... probably all of us. I get in these states, in respect of transiting moments and I always have to crank up “Pure Country”. The comments and reviews tell you a lot about the film but this, along with “Cool Hand Luke” has more quotable statements than any other film. You could probably make an argument for Time Bandits, Performance and One-eyed Jacks and there are others, I expect, but I think you can tell a lot about a person by the films they like, the books they read, the passions they pursue.

The hardest thing about living this life at this time, is coming to terms with the concept of Karma. The Buddhists have this thing that they call, 'unbearable compassion'. It's when you see horrible shit happening all around you and you know you can't do anything about it. It just has to run its course. I shared my copy of “The Way to the Kingdom” with a lot of people a few years back and there's a part in there, where the author describes that everything happening today, goes back to a time of dark evil. He doesn't go into detail but you get the sense of it.

I want all righteous intentions to succeed. I really do. I don't oppose anyone. I don't object to material culture, because I am a part of it and it would be dishonest. At the same time I think it depends on what you do with it; where your aspirations and ambitions lie and whether they are a lie or not and who you are telling that lie to.

When I was a kid, even though I was a gifted athlete, other kids used to beat me up all the time, spit in my face, humiliate me. Well, I was used to it, wasn't I? Then, near instantaneously, I got really good at defending myself, as I definitely have proven and I don't run into that sort of thing at all now. I used to half-assed be able to play the guitar and a little piano. Now they collect dust. I can't even do the simple things I used to be able to do on the instruments but... writing, singing and dancing were always the core issues and relate to all the rest of what I just said too. I could be an honorary black man. All of my heroes are black. I even named my daughter after one of them.

The thing is, we're only here to come to terms with something we don't understand, until we come to terms with it. Our mediums of expression can be violent and duplicitous on the way. All of my fighting styles and defense mechanisms are female, if that rings a bell (just joking!!! ...but true none the less). People really ought to study the animal kingdom to get a clue about how power works. For some reason, I'm thinking about the iron fist in the velvet glove; probably no connection there. I wish I could see better. It's probably right in front of me. Like the guy in the first link, you just don't get it at the time. It's what you do about it, when you do get it, that defines you, so, understanding and compassion have a real power in the mix. Not only were you once where they are now but, there but for fortune goes you and I. I’ve mentioned it some several times, life is a spiral staircase, don't piss over the railing. There is an Escher effect to all of this, for those of you who know a thing or two about Geometry and Trig...especially your 'shoot around the corners' theoretical sorts.

Something is about to happen now. I can feel it so close. Maybe that's why I'm saying what I'm saying today and specifically 'some of the things' I've been saying. Fuck me and my sorrows and regrets, they don't hold a candle to some of the terrific horrors I have seen and am aware of. I am blessed out of all proportion to anything I've done in this time frame. I must have been a good guy once. That is the only way I can account for it. The first thing I think about when, something good happens to me is, “Who can I share this with”? One of the things about giving everything away is that you are always poor; probably from having no sense of self but... having no sense of self makes Lady Kundalini fall in love with you. Many of our fuck ups seem to turn out righter than rain in the long run (cue The Eagles).

I had this good friend who was Jackie Lomax's wife. She was a good friend of Jimmy Hendrix and in the short months before his departure, when she used to visit him, he would complain about demons sitting on his chest. Obviously he was supine and then he died as he did; “Golden rose, color of the dream I had, not too long ago, misty blue and lilac too, never to grow old. There you were... etc.” “Waterfall, nothing can harm you at all, my world is so very small, with my waterfall”. She got into a horrible traffic accident, in her Volkswagen bug with a tractor trailer. She’s living in Ojai, Kalifornia now, or was, last I heard.

There's a lot of this memory lane stuff happening now; reflections (not always in a Petri Dish). It must mean something. I can't say I'll miss this place when I go. Don't read anything into that. Change is change, it doesn't mean death, or anything final, what it means is ...change. Certainly when you change, the world you once knew exists no longer. A lot of you always think I’m checking out, when I talk like this. That's not the case, but you can’t embrace the new, when you are still dressed in garments of old. There’s something about new wine in old bottles that factors in here, or maybe it's the other way round. What do I know? I know that I am grateful to have met you, even if I never do.

End Transmission.......

Visible sings: The eponymous Les Visible Music Album♫ Build Me a Castle ♫
'Build Me a Castle' is track no. 2 of 10 on Visible's eponymous
'Les Visible' Music Album

Lyrics (pops up)

The eponymous Les Visible Music Album

So, the radio show is actually up now. Being fucked with by circumstance and agenda is routine here. Mind how you go.

I'll reprint my comment from Mirrors for the benefit of those who missed it.