Sunday, January 20, 2013

A Fable On The LCD

The Universe is out there and it shall not go away, though the trappings of the man corrupt its rhyme. Designed to keep you thinking, it still fans the flames of will; will facilitate cognition and expand the thoughtful mind...

Though, you shall not have a lot of time to speculate and wonder!
Idle thinking is a pastime that the man must rape and plunder!
See, he alone shall take the time to satisfy his needs,
So he engineers a system that must keep you on your knees!
From the Government, through its churches,
To the corporate priest and king...
The disrespect is tactile; it becomes an obvious thing.

See, he demands that YOU be humble (while he struts behind your back), and he works to keep you *hungry*—it's his job. He'll take you to the finish like the cowboy on a horse, and he'll spur you in the gut to hear you sob.

He's mean and arbitrary—is "convenienced" as can be.
He doesn't care you're hurting...he just locks his gate, you see!
...And forget about "due process," or any "rights" you have.
It's ALL at his convenience, and he'll use you like a rag!
You're nothing but a tool for him—it's YOU who's wearing down!
And It's YOU who heats his water to be treated like his clown!!!

This BEGS for an autonomythe demand for some respect, where you've earned it by the fact that you've been born! For reasons "good" or "bad" (it doesn't matter one iota) it is you who does the dancing on his horn!

It's why you need autonomy—it's to disembowel your *kings*;
It's to strangle all the *priests* with steaming innards found therein,
And italics notwithstanding, in poetics always FREE,
I can make the intimation this is NOT hyperbole!
I'm provoked to hyperbolics! I'm betrayed!  I'm burned and shy...
While, queerly, lights keep flying in my starry, starry skies.

Shadows are abiding in official slights of hand, and the news will do its job to fog things up. See, to keep a person fretful, uninformed, and in distraction is the money in his bank and gourmet coffee in his cup!

See, there's much that he's not telling
(Back behind the black-paned glass),
And excuses rendered, plainly, are ridiculous and crass.
It's a foul recrimination that I level at the shill
Who pretends that no conspiracies can exist against our will!
Posner is a poseur who proposes you've no sense!
Doc Shermer's mechanism is contrived and facile nonsense!
Rank disinformation is the order of the day,
And *most* abuse their power... as you close your eyes to pray.


We watch him wax his *sanctity* with a hanky to his eye, looking dewy-eyed and grateful for his "Lord." A *doctor*—local red-neck with a bible in his hand, and a pot gut out to here (near on the floor!).  He's from the local School-board and is white as driven snow and he's kicking off the school years for the damned.  He says his words: a bait and switch for black kids unbelieving of the lessons inculcated as they're scammed.
He waxes words most *beautifully*—has you "sing a little song";
You felt just like an idiot that you had to string along...
Then he got into his Cadillac; he put his bible down,
And cooling off with AC, drove his house-girl out of town.
They'll visit mountain condos, where she'll try to "perk him up,"
The view is million dollar, and appointments cost a lot.
And then there'll be the *party*, and the ladies all make *nice*,
But one, of needs, will walk outside to break from sordid vice.
The remaining "powder" noses, and the rest ignore the sky,
But the house-girl heaves her dinner on the saucer hovering by...
Distracting from the vomit or the games the rich men play,
A flying saucer's flying by as plain as sin or day!
The house-girl is astonished, then filled with monstrous shame—
Lost self-respect was palpable where she would not put a name!

Like it'd caught her in the open, and it saw her sad debasementwas a witness to revulsion marred and smeared. It stopped along its track, then seemed to bob just like a cork, and then it moved back in her face to get quite near!
She was frozen in her fearfulness, transfixed with fear you bet,
Forgotten was her sickness, but not the shame as yet.
Yes, she trembled at it's size, and the ease with which it moved—
Its soundlessness and shininess, it's STAR reflecting—huge!
She can see her own reflection (!)—see the vomit on her chin!
She can see the lights behind her like a fun house mirror, spin.
Then,—just *that* fast—it's on its way, like it hadn't even stopped.
And she wondered if it happened as, well out of site, it dropped.
The man remained behind her and she climbed the redwood rail, as she'd really rather jump than go inside. Now, she knew a greater truthfulness that complicated things, and she knew she couldn't say what she'd describe.
She looked down into blackness like a yawning gulping throat,
And she teetered on the brink of what she knows she'd miss the most...
She listened to the night sound and she heard a hooting owl;
It asked her who she thought she was. It clearly sneered and scowled!
Then, pitched recriminations in the squeaking of the bats,
The muted forest's murmur coming back from silence black!
It was like a celebration that the truth had hovered passed!
She took a breath, her strength renewed. She laughed out loud at last!
The glibly hypocritical were doomed to sad despair,
And time was running out for red-neck pot-guts to her rear.
SHE would stay around to see the knashing of their teeth,
As they choked their words of *righteousness* in denial—disbelief.
She stepped down from the redwood; she squared her shoulders high!
She dressed and called a taxi. She would try again to try.

...And so we'd end this fable with its foot and meter proud, but what is it displayed to make it "fable"?  A lie to tell a truth and so an art form's definition, but how does it presume... the fable's label?

It's the talking animals makes it a fable... d'ja know that was required?

The house-girl, of course, is a metaphor.  We're all the house-girl; the point is that there's always more than seen, right? Nobody gets it all. Nobody. The grok of that is decidedly liberating.  It's the speaking owl...


Verily, our planet presently bobs, disrespected, a slime covered cork in a diseased and effected sea.  We who allow ourselves the arrogance of our centrist belief, our pathetic hubris, or the imagined favor of a psychotic God... are doomed to disappointment, I expect.  Such seems deserved.

On "the man..."

Some would even argue that that "necessity" for him ofttimes alluded to: to provide an efficient structure for a growing population of individuals increasingly ill suited psychologically, materially, and socially to survive that same population, is NOT a sham and a hypocrisy. On its face with only that said, one is compelled to agree, of course.  Some structure is required where a justified complication demands it. Only a fool would think otherwise.  Some structure is necessary.

Though, one finds that it is only the presumption that "the man" would have the individual's best interest at heart, in the process, and only a failing rule of efficacious if overburdened law to remotely encourage that best interest!  Law ...failing more and more and favoring the decided autocratic.  No justice there, eh?

So, structure's not the problem per se, is it...

The problem is that along with that aforementioned "necessary structure" comes an accompanying betrayal so stark and obvious that the length, breadth, and depth of it stuns the credulity of the conscientious observer. It is almost completely demoralizing. Almost. More on that in its time, but it regards a betrayal of the social common denominator so deeply egregious that one is prone to be unconscious of it, of needs.

Back at the ranch?  Government betrays us by playing to the lowest, least informed, and most common denominatorand baldly facilitating the fewestprovides an insider mechanism for its own enrichment at the egregious expense of all the rest... all the while maintaining an unstinting hypocrisy, as its standard, in regard to those ostensibly governed.  It's OK; they're never called on it.  See, we just can't believe they'd lie that much, that often, or for that long.  Ironic, given they always have, eh?

Church betrays us by playing to the lowest, least informed, and most common denominator, and, blithely inculcating unsupported and bigoted hatreds (of such depth and depravity that these depravities would provide for the immediate intervention of single persons effecting similar behaviors), there exists a standing army of frightened and deluded mob-thinkers more than willing to effect torches and pitchforks for Gawd'n'country.  Hey! ...Given a self-ballyhooing "apocalypse" we do whatever "Gawd'n'country" want, ya'all!  Black boots n' body armor only buttress that meme's support.  These accessorize its reality.

Our institutions betray us... betraying the lowest, least informed, and most common denominator, and, slaving themselves to corporate interests reptilian in aspect and psychopathic in attitude, still favor the few at the expense of the many. There can be little argument proffered as regards the betrayal by our media in every aspect of consideration here iterated, the highly spun lowest common denominator employed there is to facilitate the manipulation and control by same. Seewe are the man's handily-created "house-girl."

Society betrays the hapless majority and culture is not your friend, either; no, culture tolerates you only to the degree you serve it with seeming selflessness.  That these entities of "society" and "culture" hate the individual is plain and has ever been so. Our wholly unchecked overpopulation is abundant evidence of that. See, the more persons there are the less any one of them has to be respected, accounted for—held in regard... the more "drones" and "bitches" there are for the landed few to divide and play, one against the other, for their amusement, convenience, and profit.  It remains that this provides for a world where 25,000 kids starve to death every day.

Standing just out of the cultural firelight and perhaps as revolted by this humanity as we are found to be revolt-able is this... indefatigable ...other.  The Alien.  See, we exist, so, in a universe this large?  We must.

Call this extra-natural being "God The Father" if you must... ...that looming singularity of concrescence... ...the Clock-maker, or the flying spaghetti-monster... it remains. This *other* is extant to the evidential power of seven very compelling categories* in a calculated percentage number so close to "1" (or 100%) that the difference is entirety meaningless... ...A decimal point followed a string of nines so long that one gives up counting them as they run off the page and finally march into another country on the planet... the nines go on... to the nines!  Nines, to the nines!

I'm sure the honored reader has an unsettling intuition as regards all that, eh? In truth, we are not alone, that very confidently conjectured presence exceeds present understanding, and it is the future still. Heady stuff. But "stuff," still. ...Still!  STILL!

Smile knowingly at your opponents to a man or woman, those demanding proof they won't accept, couldn't understand, and won't look for, anyway.

...Then Restore John Ford!

Read on.

*Yes! Wholly unconsidered and even ignored by these mainstream "scientists" inexplicably duped to insentience, apparently, by "fringe morons and intellectual lightweights," is a massive evidentiary pathway known across seven categories to include:

(1) the Historical textual documents glyphed in soot and cut into stone or otherwise writ in ancient inks on cracking vellum,
(2) the extant Artistic Historical from primitives on the walls of their caves, through Middle-Age wood-cuts, to the masterpieces of the masters on rough canvas and slick gesso later on
(3) the quality Anecdotal reports backed up by multiple vetted witnesses and corresponding radar
(4) genuine Photographic efforts prior to digital photography provided by Dr. Bruce Maccabee, et sig al
(5) extant Physical Traces of landing UFOs as laboriously outlined by Ted Phillips and others
(6) the "wholly Personal" evidence, if you have any as I do and
(7) even the Mathematical, reader, as it is described in modern physics regarding the consequences of satisfying requirements accounting for "the formality of the actual occurrence" of something physical in this multi-verse (humanity "happened" so "others" must) but, specifically, as it is described in Probability One by Amir D. Aczel, PhD.

Alien intelligence, reader, is a certainty!  Moreover, the evidence—entirely if ironically in concert with Fermi—is that they are here.  Pack that pipe and spark it.

Sunday, January 06, 2013


Is it now, at last, resolved: the tribulations Powell evolved? Or is that battle over—lost? Is Ford bullied, bowed, and crossed? Wait.. did three men, in TRUTH, contrive... to murder Powell as Powell described? Though... for what purpose; what was gained?  Where were "risk's" "rewards" "regained"?
Then did Ford plead "mental health," admitting he, in fact, used stealth... "plot a killing" with some "others"—he had met—"the stupid brothers"? Did he get the "isotope" and try to kill (like one fine dope!), with cancer as his murder weapon? Can he be that daft? It happens...  ...Though, smarter money bet as such would lose that bet; I'd bet that much.
Suffolk County says "he's guilty," forgetting Suffolk County's filthy—lost in clearly wicked schemes beyond the scope of John Ford's dreams.  It's been such for many years; it reeks corruption, still; that's clear.
John is ONE against the many. Puppets, then, condemned him plenty. To this day he's ridiculed... as a futile—facile—fool! Short and portly, described as Fudd-like, he's disgraced because he looked like... every fat kid *earning* torment in a world which LOVES conformists.
Though he got strident, and litigious—in your face ... perhaps obstreperous. He could make an enemy, and that's a fact too plain to see. What he's not, by all accounts, was a danger to himself (you louts!), or any other living thing what slinks or crawls—some human beings!
I can't believe these smirking cretins, noses running, dripping—leaking... sneering up their soggy sleeves their *judgements* (so much gas!) they squeeze. Quick to simply go along with ROT that Suffolk County's thrown, they'd *wish* away "anomaly," so bogus their *reality*.
Suffolk County's FAR from righteous! I argue that it's SPITEFULBLIGHTED! Too quick to take the "shady" road and filled with thugs who lurk like toads.
His critics, somewhat less than balanced, offer unjust SCORN on balance. They would caper at the fire as they burned him—sick desire!
Taking glee in his misfortune, laughing how he's lost a fortune, they're delighted as they crow their heartless songs... ...which suck and blow.
What can cause such fulsome hatred? What's he threatened that's so sacred? What worshiped steer will quake in fear as our John Ford comes snooping near?
John Powell's involved in kick-back schemes which filled his pocket, so it seems! Perhaps he couldn't bear inspection; perhaps "too much" foretold detection; perhaps, in FACT, a UFO came down inside that park. Who knows?
Who's to say in times like these (that knocks us to our bleeding knees!) we're forced to pray in mossy cloisters, sans all sense and smarts—or choices!!!
Why... I would live in belts we'd made of asteroids; I'd work and play. I would have my livelihood... depend on ink my pen makes good.
But, I would live a real deal beyond what some define as *real*, finding all my satisfaction... minus harmful, harsh distraction... knowing all the secrets there, and sweeping all those corners bare!
I would have the prisons "emptier"—then refilled with cops and preachers! All those cops performing graft, plus those who know it—ALL the rest! All the preachers *shaving* souls, and lining pockets (this you know!), plus the ones who witnessed this (but dummied up), yes! ...ON this list!
Pardon small hyperbole, poetic license sets me free! Not confined to raw tradition, I can trace with some precision that which jerks your chain the best. I slap some paint—it STICKS? You bet!
I don't "know" that Ford was wronged, but I suspect it clear and strong.  Check the spoor of government; it engineers our detriment!
I don't know if he is crazy—some who ARE have "INTEREST", plainly.  That they're more mental than John Ford should strike, in us, unsettling chords!
I don't CARE that he was forward, or talked like Daffy Duck—was awkward.  John Ford has a lion's heart  to give John Powell his fits and starts!
I don't CARE he stepped on toes, or threatened Powell—was up his nose!  This is what we all can do if—with Ford's courage—we're imbued!
I don't CARE that I'M derided for positions I've decided have more logic THAN those held... by piss-wits who can go to hell!
Those who wish poor John Ford ill are filled with malice, ire and swill. They can chew the bitter root; their ample asses wear my boot. ...In fact; shove it where the sun won't shine!  See?  Ford's confined by Suffolk's swine!


Heavy freaking sigh!

Restore John Ford!