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.
Out of Function at Armageddon Junction
Visible sings: ♫ Foolish Pride ♫
'Foolish Pride' is track no. 10 of 12 on Visible's 2007 album 'Color Ball'
Lyrics (pops up)
Jeff Rense interview with Visible.
Radio Show already linked in the posting.