Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Relentless is as Relentless Does

Dog Poet Transmitting......

Good dog, good doggie, you're my friend.

♫Colorado Rocky Mountain High♫...cue Micheal Martin Murphy. Under certain conditions that song could be considered tedious, unless you are in the mood. I'm not knocking the song or the composers. They look like pretty decent people to me; the kind of people I wouldn't mind staying up all night writing songs with, might certainly enjoy it. You will note that John Denver had a moment with that ultralight concerning available fuel. I am the sort of person who appreciates talent. All I ever wanted to do was to be able to work with people that could do the things I can't do and add my words and even my voice but I'm okay on the sidelines; however the contribution would fit, I would be into it. Consider Jessica Sanchez, who should have been the winner and who did the national anthem about as well as I have ever heard it done, at the NBA finals. Joshua Ledet should have won too. They should have had two winners for that past season, Joshua and Jessica ...but young, white, teenage girls make that decision and so it goes as we approach the corner and come on up to the point, shortly.

Yes, I watch American Idol. I watch a few, specific things of that sort. I don't watch any of the other versions. I watch, Game of Thrones. I watch, Breaking Bad. I watched Deadwood but Dead wood went to Deadwood and never even became the theater release it was all set up to be. I don't watch much of the rest of any of that. I watch movies, often when I am writing things like this. Sometimes I will buy a world series pass. I casually follow that. Occasionally I might see a particular NBA game, I follow that less than baseball. At some point in the season I will buy the NFL ticket. I played all of those sports with varying degrees of ability from being ordinary at basketball, to being a lot better at tossing or catching a football, to tossing no hitters and hitting monster home runs in baseball, some of it has to do with the eye.

Anyway... this isn't about me, except for my tenuous connection to being an American. This is about America, that place that isn't a country, just an idea that a lot of people signed on to and had different ideas about. Among all those ideas, however differently desired and expressed, are the ideas of freedom, self expression, liberty. Give me your tired, your poor, I forget how that goes. Some win, some lose. A lot of them eat bacon and pork, because a pigs idea of liberty is a full trough and... now that I've had something to eat, you can suck my dick. Liberty? License? Where did they go wrong? Goodbye to the homestead, in a rather comprehensive way and so Colorado is on fire. What am I supposed to say? Your difficulty with romance is a pathetic, plug ugly. You're looking to go down on all fours. Have at it and you might soon be the same bacon that you enjoy so much. I guess that explains the 'whip it to me' factor.

Well what do you know? Lady Nature has got her powers back and you want to go on with your wars? We shall see what your plastic Jesus delivers, once you have bent over for the bankers who finance both sides. The bankers do indeed expect it to turn out as it always does, just like it did the last time and the time before, when the tables are turned and the same people are sitting there. Uh... no.. not this time. This time they know who you are and where you are. Even the people that work for you, know a thing or two and Mr Apocalypse is taking a stroll. He's got Lady Nature on his arm. He's using his stick to lift up all the covers. He's poking it down into those holes. “Wakey, wakey, children”. I should also add that there are all kinds of vampires and werewolves, tis true. You keep that in mind when your own note comes due. Huh, maybe that's not even a vampire when you think about but I expect the effect will be the same as if.

This guy in Turkey, Receipt-Yippie- Tayyip-Erdoğan, just goes to show you what can happen to a man. The Israelis tried to assassinate him. The Israelis killed his people on the flotilla. I had thought he might be one of the good guys but now he's in the shit fired sauna with All Fogged Up Rasmussen, playing the heavy now, cause he was reached, he got paid and he's being played. What did they promise you? I assure you it's not worth it ...but relentless is, as relentless does. You will have your wars. You will decimate the globe. You will refashion the landscape but, in the process, I suspect you will find someone standing behind you, in an unfortunate Luca Brasi moment.

There's still time to change your mind but relentless is, as relentless does. What is it about people who can see something happening to someone else and can even participate in making it happen to someone else and they just don't get that they are in line for the same thing? Once you give it up, it's not yours anymore. It's like sex, getting control of that monster can take lifetimes. But hey, once you do, you really do control the world. It's also like when you're sitting at a table and you get up to go to the bathroom, or outside for one thing or another, people might talk about you. You should remember that when you're sitting at the table and someone leaves. I suppose, given the ass and the circumstances you might watch them walk away and talk inside your head ...but then you still don't have control. It's as simple as a handshake and as complex as the implications might be. You lay down with dogs and you wake up with Paris Hilton. I remember another place something like this. I was just a player in a larger circle which now, no longer exists and one fellow, talking about Paris said, “I'd do her”. It was then that I realized there was an inseparable gulf between us, like with the people who took acid and grooved on the colors and asked for spare change in the streets. They're all about the side effects, not the principal mover. ♫Roll over Beethoven♫, let's do it doggie style and then we got Rap. It kind of helps to synchronize with the machine guns and batons, when you're only doing your job and being honorable men, while the same shit keeps happening again and and again.

Putin went to Israel. I would have never done that but Putin is Putin and it must have been serious time about that Syrian thing, even China is willing and Pakistan too. Looks like Clusterfuck City for illustrious tools. There's no future to be independent, Gaddafi could tell you that. The foreclosures are on all levels. It doesn’t matter about deeds or documents. They own the printing press, for the moment, for the purpose of demonstration. Let's see what they'll do. Let's see what they'll do. Everything is under control. Let's see what they'll do. Einfacht, it's simple.

I can see now why it is so hard for people to get it and also why it is impossible to inform most of them, even if you could get to them. Of course there are many, many people who would respond; people who have thrown away their hard earned money on stalking horses, strawmen and whatever they call comfort in the night. They could be reached and they will be. Ah “the precious”. Look how it glitters. You can't eat it, though some people try. You can't make love to it, though some people try. For some it's the cock-ring in their eye, where imagination must pleasure the beast. Few of us know about the monsters in the deep or the rarefied Devas who dance the timeless songs.

I was born in New Jersey and lived near and around, some of the time. Lot's of interesting girls with excitable skin. I used to sell Seashell Pipes in the malls. I didn't make it to the smorgasbord table where you get to pork all the waitresses cause I was always too busy trying to finance something like this. I still listen to my early Bruce Springsteen now and again but now... now... in this Petri dish, this culture of accomplice, this indifferent... my charade... my issues!... 'have a tissue', it's a brokeback mountain and it can't be fixed, that's “aft gang agley” and kinda ties into Yeat's poem about things falling apart and the center not holding and the widening gyre, so on and so forth.

It didn't have to be like this but it was like this and now? I guess it depends on who you are and where you are and many other things factor into those considerations. Life was easy here. Life was good. I went along to get along, now I got wildfires, hurricanes, tornadoes and landslides and murderous rains. I got hookers in office who blow the bankers at noon. I got the real Godfather crime nation who wants me to die in their wars. This is the kind of criminal, lying bullshit we hear from whores who say what they are paid to say. Relentless, 24 carat assholes, down, down and away.

I got hocus pocus and aluminum, dream confetti that are supposed to be clouds, or maybe it's something else. Personally, I got a vaccination about all of that and I suppose there are others too. You are what you are and you do what you do.

End Transmission.......

Visible sings: 911 was an Inside Job by Les Visible♫ Something Good (is Coming Soon) ♫
'Something Good (is Coming Soon)' is track no. 10 of 10 on Visible's 2002 album
'911 was an Inside Job'

Lyrics (pops up)

911 was an Inside Job by Les Visible

Should be that the Red Ice Radio broadcast is coming up soon. Could be we discuss that in Origami after a bit. Now for a cup of tea!

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Souls in Dogs' Bodies and the Eternal Muse

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and.......

They're at it with a will and they are not going to stop. No one knows what's happening. You hear the one thing and then you hear somewhere else that it's not happening and it is denied. You hear about the real reasons for the wars on deck and you hear what is looming on the horizon, for the general public sooner rather than later. It's clear enough that the problem is the bankers and the infernal master that they serve. It's said that 'the love of money' is the root of all evil. That's true. We're living with it. The supporting cast includes, ignorance, indifference, wanting to be like those hosing you and obsession with material culture. We live in an age, of a population, dumber than a fence post. On the one hand they deserve what they are getting. On the other hand there are the rest of us. Maybe we deserve it too. The bankers need to be taken down anyway ...and by any means possible and necessary, to accomplish it. They're behind all this shit and the corporations and the whore governments are their lackeys to the task. You don't have to look any further ...and the centers are the crime nation of Israel, their banker felons in London and New York ...and the willing whores, in the seats power, all over. The chain of command is transparent. If you don't see it, you are a blind coward. You will see where that gets you shortly.

We've all got our problems and shortcomings. I've got mine and you've got yours. Are these greater than our impetus and intentions otherwise? We'll see. The bankers are Satanic scum. They are the chief employees of the ancient enemy. They fund and finance all the other players. They serve the citadels of darkness, in the invisible; non corporate enemies, that broadcast into the minds, of the physical players or, at this time, actually inhabit the willing bodies of the moment; since they are being driven out from their astral nests, where they have comfortably and confidently dwelt, in this Kali Yuga. There are certain secret societies, of reverse engineered Kabala magicians and practitioners of perversion, upon the old mysteries of the light, which they have stolen from the weak and deceived, into whose hands the protection of them were placed. All of this is true but you deal with what you can deal with, on the planes where it is possible for you, according to what you are empowered and capable of performing. It's simple stuff, though confusing to the uniformed.

Several things are true about Kali Yuga and times of darkness; Extremes of appetite that also devour and consume honesty, integrity and strength; the eminence of douche-bags, because the tenor of the times, flushes the, long term persistently ugly, out of the cunt of Kali. I mean no disrespect to her but for those of this kind, coming out of her, it is only a cunt and if you are a Brit, so are they. Pardon my plain speaking, vulgar tone of the moment. That's how it is and that is what they are; doomed sailors on ships of the long night, bound toward their own islands of individual perdition.

Of course, forgiveness must be the rule. Of course, many unfortunates, unsecured upon the streets, got there by their own acts and intentions. Souls in dog's bodies... souls, especially in this particular time; rooting, honking and rutting, like snorting pigs, in the bodies of pigs, when they are not given a measure of compassion, it only decreases, the storehouse of its containment, in the hearts of those unwilling to give it. There but for fortune go you and I? Fortune? I think not, but you will each come to your own terms and understanding about it. We will each and all of us, collectively and individually come to our own terms and understanding, about the meaning of everything, in time... in time... and out of time, toward and within, whatever the destiny of our particular being so inclines to.

Free will? No will? Liberty and license, will all define their most true interpretations upon you, even as in this very moment they are doing ♫here... there... and everywhere♫

A lot of people, too dumb to know any better, think they're getting all kinds of pleasure, importance, riches, power and all else out of this clusterfucked age; talk about having no taste, or even any inclination for the higher pleasures and joys that are possible. It escapes me how people can value so many things, with so little value, next to what is possible. It escapes me but... I guess I get it somehow. Why it is that so many people, so many artists in every venue, do not court the higher muses for the delivery of what they are engaged in presenting? ...that's... that's up to them. That is between them and their own heart and what it values and there will be value and... reward, commensurate with the product. That's how it is. Say what you will. Believe as you will. There is a large and vast expanse, of many permutations, between Limp Bizkit and Shakespeare; there is a massive differential between Michelangelo and Warhol... between Stephen Foster and Kanye West. There is a geographical immensity, between the bedrooms of Kim Kardashian, Lohan and the sluts of the hour and the varieties of eternal goddess, that only the gods ...and the few know best. Either and both are the given possibilities of the human estate. Whether you ride a Harley or the Chariot of Fire, is a personal industry but... that it is possible? Only the fools who will never achieve it bring into dispute.

There's something about being higher than the angels, but you'll figure that out, or not. Far too many actually go right up into the face of the universe, or fall on their faces in submission ...and ask, “Is that all you got”?

Free will or no will is a personal affair. Some think they got it. Some think they are there. Some believe the obvious lies, about men with bombs, in their underwear. They shouldn't mind getting fondled by ham handed brutals, with zero finesse. They probably have it in real life, each time they undress. It might not be brutal. It might just be quick and lame, or not quick enough, or not even around, so that it's just you a magazine, since you can't even picture, what you need in your mind. It's no complex wonder who owns your behind ...and whatever else that doesn't work right and is there to be had ...and also not used right.

Uh huh, oh no... it can't be so. It can't be that all the things I want to have and haven't had, are nothing but disappointments too? ...or something I'll use too badly, or to quickly and which will disappear... off to the next apartment, or wild place, where appreciation is to be found. Love and real pleasure, will not stick around, for the hands and the minds, of those, who can't even see it there; not my fucking problem, not my fucking problem. That problem is yours.

It a personal matter, for the billions of you and you show it each hour. You show it each day. It shows itself to you in the things that... don't come your way. You're all puzzled about it. Why, you're just mystified. How did it get so, man... so messed up? What strange things are coming, on the Fukushima tide? What twists in the air? What rumbles beneath? What waits in the darkness? What slinks in the mind? What tortures the heart? What does it all mean? You might just stay dirty, since 'you' can't make yourself clean.

All aboard for the death train! All aboard for the way out! All aboard for the way in. We all got our tickets, to wherever that is. All aboard. ♫people get ready, there's a train a coming♫ Oh right, in some cases... ♫you don't need no tickets♫ In certain cases, where it really applies, you know how that lyric continues. Otherwise, you get The Big One, or variations thereof. It's up to you, speaking of free will.

All things that begin must end in some fashion. All roads lead to where they are going and there are side roads and exits, if you don't like where they're going. You got Chronos there to help you, give you time to experience and change your route, on your way, deeper into the shit, or on your way out. It gets hotter and more confining, as deeper into the matter of it you go and it get freer and cooler and wider and more open on that other avenue, that slender silk road.

The devil's in the details, but the point is not complex. It's not brain science, rocket surgery. It's not millions of trees turned to paper, where what is written makes no sense, or isn't important, or is dreadfully wrong. This posting is over and so is this song.

End Transmission.......

Visible sings: God in Country by Les Visible♫ Every Day ♫
'Every Day' is track no. 11 of 11 on Visible's 2001 album 'God in Country'
Lyrics (pops up)

God in Country by Les Visible

Monday, June 11, 2012

Hopalong Cassidy and Mr. Silicone Skin at the Not OK Corral

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet.

The joint is jumping as bombastic, needle-dicked ...and gigantic, blood-tick zeppelins, bounce off the aluminum confetti sky, like parade floats; desperate to fuck everything beneath them in the most painfully extended manner, while mindful of the possibility that, in their raging desire, for unholy forced congress, they might land on something hard and sharp themselves and simply drown the inhabitants in the volume of all of what they had previously sucked out of them.

You get your news where you can, even if you don't always like the people delivering it. What you will hear there, but which doesn't get completely said there, whether due to some previous, extended loyalty, fear or decorum, implies enough to convince you that that new twist on your usual breakfast, is just the latest version of the 'same old same old'. It may look different but it tastes the same. You don't hear much from me about Ron Paul here ...and that is for two reasons. One is that I hate to be the medium of disappointment for people who want to believe so hard, with all their might ...and who have worked and contributed, with all their might, to one more stalking horse, deal-maker, set into play to herd everyone a little further along into the Not O.K. Corral, where the guys in their workman overalls, wait with the captive bolt pistols, conveyor-hooks and of course, further on, are the guys on the sloping concrete floors, in the red-stained, knee length lab coats, with the big sharp knives. They're playing Ozzie Osborne, real loud, through the moisture proof speakers.

I never got on that train and when I saw it quietly slide off the main rails, onto a storage track, with all that cash, blood, sweat and tears that the terminally hopeful donated the last time around, I was seriously not inclined to ever get on that train further up the line. Now we see that same train has slipped into the switching yard again and has parked itself on another storage track. The extended version of the ongoing deception was that they were going to work the delegate end and, 'you had the idea' that might lead to a brokered convention and Hopalong Cassidy, now looking even older than Dick Clark does now, would ride that big white, stuffed stallion, right out on to the convention floor, as both tears and shredded Mylar, danced and twisted and fell in the light from the cycling color filters. Yeah baby, just like in the darkest times at the back end of The Hood, “everybody's gonna get well”.

Then you hear that they aren't going to challenge with the delegates, they're just going to use that, temporary mind fuck Viagra, to get your voices heard for about 15 minutes, or half an hour and then Mr Silicone Skin, will step out on to the dais, with his perfect hair and talk to you about this still great nation and what we can do if we all pull together, joined skin to skin, front to back, in a huge, way to close, conga line style some weird, human centipede state, of ugly sexual union, which, if you want to get colloquial about it, has something about 'being fucked' somewhere in whatever patois is going to be employed to get you to raise your fist and yell, “Hell, yeah! I can feel ya”! Well, I'll bet you can.

I've been smelling a rat in that particular grain silo for some time but I'm not in the full time business of pissing on every parade that goes by. I don't like this side of my job to begin with and I'm not alone with that. There are legions out there who would rather hear no news at all, unless it's good news and that pretty much means you'll be listening to the sounds of silence looping ...without foreseeable end, for the moment.

As predicted, what's taking place in the country as routine events, in terms of various sudden and inexplicable murders, continues to increase in pace and move inexorably to The Land of Epidemic. What this is all about, is a combination of pressure; pressure of all sorts and the last gasp of invisibly transmitting, citadels of darkness, as they get forced out into the open light. I know you want to be spared hearing about all of this but, trust me, the really ugly stuff doesn't make it into these venues. You want to go looking on your own, trust me, you'll find things you wish you hadn't gone looking for.

It must be getting close, I haven't seen a single mention about gay issues in almost two days. Sure, I probably missed them, but still, when that end of things gets quiet, shit is about to combust and that's not just because Old Scratch's usual method of contact with you is generally affected by the fact that his generating organ is inflamed, literally. It's not all bad news and, if truth be told, the real and true source of ALL FORCE, is simply setting the stage for public demonstration of the most dramatic kind. You need to think of the whole operation as an immense electrical circuitry, that routes to every animate form and remember that the current can be sent in any direction, at any time and shut on or off at any time. It comes down to what you really live for and what you really believe. That's the point of the operation in the first place and you'll see that in all the true technicolor that the universe is preparing to present, according to that very thing. You might well wonder why all the well informed didn't already know something like this, or why the Crass Media wants you to know stuff like this now. You might wonder and ponder and you might shit in one hand and wish in the other. You might hold fast and endure or you might be neck deep in manure and imagine what you're getting is a pricey mudpack in some exclusive uptown spa. It's your call. It always has been. Deception is a two way street.

You want hope. You want reassurance. You want comfort, sanctuary and security. All of that is there to be had, depending on where you think the location of residence might be. The whole point of all the ugly outside, is to force you to look inside, keeping in mind how the eyes, as an organ of sense, work in the first place. People say they want the truth, until you deliver it to them. Nothing possesses more eternal and inviolable conviction than the truth, for really good reasons ...but being able to stay there... being able to resist the siren call of all the things you want ...and understanding the futility of your efforts to possess any of them beyond the term limits given, well, that's something else. Uh huh, that's something else and there isn't a whole lot more to it than that.

I'm sure many of you have asked yourself; how can Hillary Clinton and Leon Panetta be such total and consistent liars, devoid of conscience and empathy of any kind? How can Obama really be Howdy Doody on bad acid? How can the majority of the leaders of all ZATO countries be uniformly in lockstep, as bone deep, corruption bots, dedicated to fucking the largest majority of the public they were empowered to serve? How can The Tribe central banks, control everything these people do and all the people who work for them too? How can people who must know better, because we know better, tell the same, unchanging lies about the same things, every day, forever and ever amen? Those are good questions. If you don't already have the answers, then you've ignored them, whenever they were presented to you, because you also want your piece of the action and the only reason you might be having questions is that you're pissed off about not getting your end.

As comprehensively and totally as things seem to be what they are, they are not what they appear. The basic and essential point to the whole of it is to get you to believe in appearances because, if you do, you come under the power of whoever is manipulating them. It is not rocket surgery. It is what it is because it is not what it is and you are out of joint because you are out of place, because you are not you. If you were you, you would realize that not the total quantity of all evil known and unknown is anything compared to the power of the essential you. So what is it they do? They separate the essential you from the apparent you, thus rendering you powerless, based on the prevailing perspective of your heart and mind which, for whatever the reason was, bought into it.

Everything is okay if you are okay (not the same Thomas Harris ...but Buffalo Bill is certainly in there somewhere) and headed somewhere other than the Not OK Corral. You can't be okay if you're not you. You can't be okay, if your reliance for continuance, is upon forces whose intent is for you not to continue.

How many ways can you say the same thing and still have people convinced, or thinking you are talking about something else? Spend some time around here and you'll find out. The whole point of theme variation is about contact with original tone. All those notes come out of one note and so does everything you will ever encounter at any time and the power maintaining it, in order for you to catch on to it, always has more in reserve than will ever, ever be manifest. It's one of those cosmic truths. That particular sun never gets to mid-heaven. Consonantly, there is never a time that evil; given that you can identify it in the first place, ever gets into a position where it has the juice to do anything more than be one of the main items in a particular demonstration. Life itself- and the theater in which it is operative- are as they are for only one reason. That reason has retainers and associated states and conditions ...but it's really all about awareness and what you put it on.

(I'll bet you never thought this posting would wind up here, given the way it started out.)

End Transmission.......