Dog Poet Transmitting.......
May your noses always be cold and wet.
It's almost like time-lapse photography to watch the suit buffoons, posing and posturing like drunken monkeys at the Tampa Bay Times Forum. I see it all going on in my peripheral vision. There's no need to look directly at it anymore. It isn't really there. It's fading, like the faces on an old Carte De Visite photo. They talk in Linotype, on rotting paper that might have once wrapped mummies in their sarcophaguses. They are ambulatory dinosaur shit. They are attended by scavenger hordes, who feed in the wake of the sinking ship of state. They sunk it. They sunk it with their weight and indifference to routine maintenance. They're not about fixing, they're all about feeding. They are cannibals of a certain kind. Eventually they will eat each other and then they will eat themselves. They are bipedal cancer cells, with frozen hair and skin laminated with eau de spray can. When they laugh it is like glass breaking or rats speaking. They think of themselves as free and independent but they are no more than mind control slaves for the banks. A tiny cabal of Velociraptors, herds them through the stock-pens; to what end? We can only guess.
I cannot watch them for long. Decades ago I saw them moving through the streets ...in and out of the buildings of Washington D.C. I have seen them coming in the thousands down the stairs of Grand Central Station, at the end of the working day, into the main concourse, bound for points upstate and Connecticut. They ride off to their lairs, after a day of hijinks with fountain pens that make mountains appear and disappear. Mountains of resources turn into slag pits and mountains of garbage rise somewhere else. Neither of these appear through the windows of the homes, where the suits reside. Everything there is tailored and manicured. Their hearts are manicured, just like their nails. They shape and reconstitute them in special schools and boardrooms, where empathy and conscience are career killing liabilities. Welcome to the world of GMO hearts and minds. Levels of detachment are achieved. It's like looking at life through plexiglass windows. It's like touching skin through neoprene. It's Latex and bondage at Club Fetish. Essential and ordinary practices no longer get the job done. Normal has left the building. Their progeny reflect that. We're not that far off from the McDonald's S&M Club and the Chuck E. Cheese Bind and Ride. We have entered a time where the only way to feel, is through torment, torture and humiliation; there lies redemption and epiphany. It's reverse cowboy, Kundalini in the Kali Yuga. Yee ha! Ride that cowboy!
Enter The Magic Kingdom of Methamphetamine. The Palais De L'enfants is now a child procurement agency. They're snatching them out of the homes in the UK. The thing with kinky and evil sex is that you can never get enough and you always need a need an edgier thrill. You can imagine where this leads and you don't want to but there are people who do. They imagine it all through the day in the bank offices where they work. It's why they do it. It's why they make the big bucks. Certain things cost a lot of money and are only illegal for the people in the cheap seats. The people in the cheap seats provide a punitive diversion, to distract from the monsters at the top. That's how it is.
These beached whales of The Apocalypse know how to party down, all the way down. Down to the bottom. They kill by proxy. They kill with paper and ink. They kill indifferently. They kill for the sheer weight of the numbers, who are marching to their deaths. Their minds are held together with sealing wax and chewing gum. Their minds are composed of chewing gum. They are ciphers applauding the death of ciphers. It's a cartoon. It's Tom and Jerry with hammers and nails, crucifying Bugs Bunny on cross of fiction.
Nature is outraged, violated over the centuries, now she has her powers back. The dark backward is moon-walking into the abyss. Abaddon, Asmodeus and Belial are calling; another law firm. The cellphones of the world are lighting up as they did in Lawnmower Man; “access denied”, “access denied”, “access denied” and then? And then? And then? ♫and then along came Jason and Michael Myers♫, dancing cheek to cheek on Moonlight Bay, except, there is no Moon. Some say there is no Santa Claus, ♫First there is a Santa Claus, then there is no Santa Claus, then there is♫.
Nothing is what it seems these days. Human scorpions are climbing out of the woodwork. You can only hope they sting themselves before they get to you. Sometimes we are not so lucky. They come in disguises. They pretend to be something else. The stinger goes in and you can't tell where it bit you because that's manifesting in a whole new way. You're getting gaslighted. It's enemy ops, in a new kind of camo. They come in colors; lurid pink, pornographic purple. Oh yeah, the flatulent trades are the wind in the willows. Mr Toad has gastrointestinal distress. Everything is nothing and nothing is everything. It's the end of the line. Do you fight? Do you surrender? Do you disappear? It's a personal decision.
No matter how long term enduring the ignorance has been, we never fail to be surprised at the level it can sink to and still maintain life. With everything Obama has done, seemingly intelligent people, still support him. How do they rationalize this in their minds? How is this possible? How can they not see the death and destruction in his wake? Hundreds of thousands, serve in the government agencies and assist in the killings and deprivations. Psychopaths, with arrested development, sit at computer desks and murder women and children halfway around the world, as if they were only playing a video game and it wouldn't have been all that long ago when that was the case. It's no different now than it was then. Janus Napolitano, is running an alternative sex bacchanal over at Homeland Insecurity. Class has gone out the window, although, albeit it was never 'in the house'. The daily fare is 'shit on a shingle' from the enlisted men's mess.
Behind the scenes, it is organized Satanism on the rise. The reason for this, is the same reason for the economic perversions, the sexual free for all of Kundalini in free fall, the fragmentation of society; it's cultures and religions. It stands to reason that Satan is the new crucified God. We've been too hard on him, people. He only had our best interests at heart. He only wanted to give us what we want and wanted and then he wants us to spend the after life, in his eternal summer camp, where it is always high summer in an endless, wet t-shirt party of girls (and boys) gone wild, Baron Samedhi is on the throne and you are never alone. You are never alone. That's not good news by the way.
These are strange times. Elaborate efforts are underway by those posing as other than what they are. I am reminded of Mick Jagger on the stage at Altamont. The fighting broke out in front of the stage. The appropriately named Hell's Angels were hammering the concert viewers and Mick stopped his song and started saying, “peace, brothers and sisters, peace”. Then he launched right back into 'Street Fighting Man', whipping the pentagram painted stage with his studded belt. I was there, right up close. I've been up close, at a distance, for some time. I don't see where I missed much, except for getting right down into the dark ugly and showing that twisted solidarity that makes it look like I love you, just cause I got down with it for you, in it with you, cause you were alone. You were alone and couldn't handle it and... there is nothing in life that is sweeter than the innate ability to be alone and not need anything more ♫first you are alone, then you're not alone and then you are♫.
Years ago, from the beginning, I always went that extra mile. I walked into the wilderness on high octane fuel. I did the things that brought the wolf in his shoulder boards to my door, given that I even had a door and that might have gotten me a cup of coffee in this world but this world is a shapeshifting beast in search of a cage. If that beast looks like one of the guards or attendants, they'll just open the cage and out it goes. Years later, that has stood me in good stead and I suspect that my companions of the moment, on the occasion I had companions, don't remember that much about all of it now. Anti-life has intruded upon the memory of arcane states and moments. They are in the groove of ordinary life and necessary circumstance, or it appears to be necessary. It seems to be and it gets value added from the intention invested. It gets what it gets and you get what you get, according to what you value, in order to show you the value of anything and everything, in time. So it goes.
Lyrics (pops up)