Sunday, September 14, 2014

Nine - Fourteen - Fourteen

So...  Another lovely September day.  Some wispy cirrus clouds in an otherwise blue sky, temperatures in the 70s....  A good cigar burning between my fingers.... 

Anyone with even the slightest bit of awareness knows there is something wrong.  Humanity was not meant to be what it has become.  There is some force pushing us in the wrong direction.

  Call it what you will, its existence cannot be denied, except by idiots and the brainwashed.  Leaders of nations and leaders of religions do not have the best interest of humanity or our home at heart, rather they are interested in manipulation and exploitation for their own selfish ends.  This percolates down to the common man via the programming and conditioning of his mind from early childhood.  People are taught to be greedy, self-centered consumers, useless eaters keeping the big machine running for the benefit of the 1%, livestock and draft animals in abject servitude to the illuminati masters.  In order to break the vicious cycle and break free, one must first become aware of what is happening around them.  Then they must pass this knowledge on to others.

  The more who become aware, the closer we get to the overthrow of the overlords.  You can choose instead to deny the truth, even as it stands before you smacking you in the face, and to go on about your delusions.  That is unfortunate, but the programming is hard to undo.  Throughout history there have been those who try to break the chains, unlock the cages, and set humanity free...  Most of them are killed in a violent manner, often by those whose freedom they are trying to achieve, because the programmed minds are unwilling or unable to admit the truth to themselves.  This is where pride gets in the way, saying, "I'm not an idiot! I couldn't possibly get swindled into believing lies! My church/government/teachers/etc. would never steer me wrong, they are beyond reproach! How dare you insinuate such?! You must be the liar, then!" (Etc, etc, ad infinitum) This is known as belligerent denial.  I have not yet found a sufficient means of smashing that wall of denial and forcing folks to look at the truth, and without some "positive empirical proof", some "concrete evidence" that cannot by its very existence be doubted, I know no way yet of freeing humanity.  I still keep on searching.  Deep within there must be the answer I seek.
There has to be a way to smack even the most belligerent delusional mind awake.  When I find it, all will know.

It's  hard, exceedingly so, not to become jaded.  It's hard not to get angry, anger born of frustration, frustration at the seemingly dimwitted examples of sheeple who aimlessly roam thru life, sometimes speaking opinions which are not truly their own, but rather are what they have been told to believe by some "authority" figure or another.  It's difficult to make myself understand that it mostly isn't their fault, (bless em) that they have been manipulated by outside forces mind-fucking them.  To try and get thru to them is like nailing jello to a tree.  {Goddamn sonofabitch! I coulda fucked a mule!}

I try just to make my peace with The All That Is, simultaneously judging myself harshly for judging others.  I tell myself that everyone and everything is Divine and Sovereign, even those bastards that I hate.  It ain't easy carrying this sack of rocks on my back.

If I had a woman to share my burden, but no.  None of them ever quite understood.  It was always fun for awhile, getting some pussy, but then the arguments would ensue.  Who can be expected to understand the mind and the heart and the soul of a crazy person?  So I carry this sack of rocks alone.

Maybe one day that big black triangle will return, with the cute blonde who speaks to my soul with her eyes.  Maybe she will come and take me away with her.

I know there is a purpose to it all.  There has to be.
Fuck, fuckedy fuck fuck.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Muckin Puckin Motherfuckin Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck

Howdy.  Greetings.  Salutations.  Hello.

It's been a minute.  It is what it is.

When I was twenty, I never suspected that at forty eight I'd be an old, grey-haired, cigar-chomping, miserable fuck.  Yeah.  But here I be.  ...in the blogosphere, as it were.  Yeah.

So, what are they doing down in the tunnels?  I don't mean subway tunnels under any given city, either, and I don't mean highway tunnels either.  And when I say they, I mean they, them, the hidden ones, etc.  You know to whom I refer.  Mount Shasta, CA and Dulce, NM... Area 51... Yeah.

The network of tunnels is vast, if what I have been able to investigate is any indication of surface-scratching.  In fact, it's possible that our Mother is not what she appears to be, she may not be a naturally occurring planet at all, but a manufactured one, in essence, a spaceship.  Like the Death Star.  And our Moon as well.  So what I ask is, who resides inside?  What are those little grey anthropomorphic things with the big wraparound eyes?  People use the word "alien" to describe them, but I don't think that is entirely accurate, is it?  The word alien means not from here, from elsewhere, so it could be correct if they are from another planet, or another dimension, or another time.  But what if they are from here?  What if they live underground, like mole men?  It could explain the pasty complexion and the large eyes.  What if they were here before we were?  Maybe the gods created them first, to live in tunnels underground, and mine minerals....  Then they created us to live on the surface and, I don't know, herd aminals maybe, or something else.  Maybe to be the guardians or caretakers of the surface, or to be visible for other races to observe, as opposed to the hidden.  Maybe they created man with the intent of creating a being which is capable of transporting their essence, an avatar thru which they could interface with this world.  But something went awry... Something... A fault in the system, a ghost in the machine, a glitch in the program... Somehow we became sentient on our own, capable of reason, capable of our own volition, our own freewill.

I don't know, man.  There are so many unanswered questions, so many variables, so many unknowns.
Find x.  For 1 to 1gulptillion, x=ae/y ~ EADGBE ;; DADGAD ;; EIEIO (and sometimes w) so find the motherfucker, I triple dog dare you!  And.... yeah.  There it isn't.  Good cigar, though.

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, meaning it doesn't have any weed in it.  Maybe tomorrow they'll legalize recreational marijuana consumption nationwide, in which case, a whole nother variable is introduced, and whence hereupon my cigars may contain more than just tobacco, but for this moment, yeah.

Here's a little random video clip:

Irregardless of what a cartoon character may or may not like, It's gotten into the American vulgate and it's a whole nother thing to think you can just make it go away all of the sudden like. Actually, in all actuality, I could care less about it. I could also care more, however, I don't. Webspeak, lolspeak, txtese, and ebonics have all worked their way into the everyday vulgate, which means the language of the people, regular folks, as opposed to suit-wearing yuppy fucks, or English teachers, or other hoity-toity types who walk around with their noses in the air, acting as though their shit doesn't stink. Some of it is just silly, and some of it sounds retarded, such as 'axe' for ask, or the improper usage of there, their, and they're, or your and you're, where, were, and we're, etc. But it's just a reflection of the substandard "education" rampant among products of the regimented, institutional brainwashing and conditioning machine (AKA public school system) in this country. {And presumably in others as well.}
I dropped out of high school in 1982 because I was sick of the rules and the regimented nature of the system. (The scene from Pink Floyd's The Wall with the kids marching into the grinder and coming out as worms comes immediately to mind.) And I had my GED in my hand before my class graduated. I aced a college English class afterward, so I obviously know the proper English, though I choose to use regular construction-site vernacular in my everyday speech, peppered with fuck, motherfuck, shit, goddamn, sumbitch, and other colorful words and phrases, because I feel comfortable speaking that way, and because I can. [Sticks out tongue and thumbs nose at society]
Television is mind-numbing drivel, designed to distract the sheeple from observing the world around them. I suggest reading books. Aldous Huxley's Brave New World is a good place to start.
Peace, y'all.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

You Can't Bite Your Teeth...

...Unless... If you pull them out one at a time, and bite it, but eventually you will run out of teeth, so you most definitely can't bite the last two, so you can't bite them all then, so you can't bite your fuckin teeth. Case closed.

You also can't take a bite out of a redbrick.  Go ahead and try it, I triple dog dare you.  Bite that motherfucker!  ...Ok.  Now that's out of the way,
Where is flight 370 at?  In the ocean?  In a hangar somewhere, getting repainted?  North Korea, maybe?  I'm betting on the Giant Mothership angle myself.  Swallowed up in a nanosecond, like so much space debris.  Picture a blue whale eating a prawn.  That's how a giant mothership would swallow a 777 in flight.  Gulp!
Keep in mind that these ships do not originate in this dimension, and therefore do not obey the same laws of physics.  They can become visible briefly and then vanish, taking whatever/whomever they want back with them to their realm of existence.  They could poof up in lower Manhattan and snatch up Gary Sinise, John Malkovich, David Peel, and Kevin Bacon (because everything is better with Bacon!) and then just quark off in a nanosecond, and the camera might not see anything...  David would fire up a joint for the ride...  Uh, so, where was I at again?  Oh, the giant mothership.  Right.
Yeah, and 239 Chinese folk... Ok, they weren't all Chinese, were they?  How many Thai hookers were onboard?  Any?  They should turn the investigation over to Kinky Friedman.  If he can't find it, I'm sure he can come up with at least one good reason why not.  "Ok, so why would 'aliens' snatch a 777 out of midair?" You say? Well, for the Kung Pao Duck, of course!  Or maybe just for the fuck of it.  Maybe it's Operation Northwoods.  Look it up.  Maybe all those passengers became lizard food.  Maybe they were taken for a breeding program.  Maybe they are all on Mars, working as slave labor in the mines.  The point is, Who knows?  Somebody knows.  Somebody knows, but they aren't saying.  And the ones who are doing all the talking don't know jack shit.  That's how it usually goes.  I hear some food calling me.  Later-bye.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

Musing, and Perusing the Amusing...

I have snot in my nose, and it doesn't smell like a rose, I can smell my own snot, it smells like boogers.  Can you fathom the fact?  And imagine that!  When the room smells like cat, and the house smells like dog, and the bathroom smells like ass...

People still like to fly aboard airplanes, even though airplanes have fallen from the sky and people have been killed and maimed, people still climb aboard, taking their lives into their hands, and praying to their gods, they clamber inside the great aluminum birds and set out for adventure...  Cross oceans of water, in search of tomorrow, and dreaming a theme of their journey... Better get a good attorney, your family might want to sue the airline later.

I don't fly.  I don't fly because planes tend to fall out of the sky.  I still remember flight 401, flight 427, flight 800, flight 592, flight 103... I was on a plane ride once in my life, on an Eastern Airlines L1011, when I was ten. (I refer you once more to flight 401...) Once was enough for me. I could see the clouds being sucked into the left engine.  I didn't see any gremlins on the wing, but I wasn't looking for them, either.  I won't tell you if I saw anything grey and metallic-looking, you can speculate on that, if you like.

Suffice it to say, I have no desire to fly aboard a commercial airliner.  Nor do I have any reason to.  That's why we have highways.  You may want to run off the statistics now about air safety vs highway safety, blaw-blaw-blaw... Don't bother.  I know all of that.  Bottom line: Trucks and cars don't fall from the sky! They are already on the ground!  Yes I know I could get gooshed like a grape at 100 miles an hour, {or 90, or 80...} But I'll take my chances.  When I'm driving, I'm in control of my vehicle.  I'm not flying that airplane.  Also, as I've pointed out earlier, even if I have to swerve into the grass, or whatever, at least I'm already on the ground, so there's no chance of falling 30,000 feet.  There's also slim to zero chance of Abdullah The Goatfucker hijacking me with a boxcutter and forcing me to drive into a building.

My sincere apologies and sympathy for anyone who lost a loved one on 9/11/01.  But Abdullah The Goatfucker wasn't acting on his Islamic fanaticism alone, he had lots of help.  Inside job.  False-flag operation.  Search a film entitled Loose Change, and watch it.  I have been gifted [or cursed with the gift?] with the ability to see and identify bullshit, especially official bullshit (AKA propaganda) and I have a well-honed distrust of all things pertaining to government.

Hatred is a strong word.  There are many types of hatred, most of it fear-based. (ie: racial/ethnic hatred, for instance..)  But the bitter loathing and contempt that I hold for all forms of "authority", for the king, and for the money-man, for the CEO and for the mallguard, for every thug who hides behind a badge, and every power-mad politician, this is a special kind of hatred.  Born of, "Who the fuck are you to give me orders, motherfucker?!" and "Who has the right to force their will upon anyone else?" this hatred is fact-based.  I recognize no form of "authority" and I bow before no one.
You can kill me, but you cannot make me bow.

Crazy Horse.  William Wallace.  True Heroes are seldom seen, few and far between, and we are in sore need of one now.  How many are willing to fight "authority" to the death?  I am.  I want Humanity to be better seven generations forth from this one, and fascism stands in the way of that.
This must be dealt with.

There.  I went from smelling the boogers in my nose to fighting for freedom in seven paragraphs.  That says a lot about where my mind is actually at.  Though I attempt to lighten things up with nonsensical humor, the truth remains.  And where is the plane?  Who knows?  Not me.  I can speculate with the best of them, but speculation is still only speculation, and most of it is horseshit since it can't be backed up with evidence...  Horseshit is hard to wipe off your boot, and it tends to stink.

I'll close with this:
Guess what...

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Once upon a time I kicked a dead pigeon down the street.  I guess it had been hit by a car, maybe, I don't know, but its guts were hanging out, and each time I kicked it, more guts would come streaming out of it.  You wouldn't believe how much guts there is in a pigeon, unless of course if you gutted one, I suppose.  There had to have been twenty feet of intestine there, and other organs too.  It was bloody, but it was yellow, sort of a cheddar and tomato paste lookin mess there on the concrete.  I kept on kicking it until I lost interest in it.  I still had some of it on my shoe.  Then I went home for lunch.  And guess what lunch was...  Pizza.  Frozen Tambelini's pizza, with a mixture of mozzarella & cheddar cheeses on it, and you know what it looked like?  Pigeon guts.  I said as much.  I told my Mom what it looked like, as I was eating it.  I might've been ten at the time.  It didn't seem overly gross to talk about kicking a dead pigeon, or that fact that my lunch looked like pigeon guts while I was eating it.  It still tasted like pizza.  Moms tend to think things of that nature are gross, though.  Mine did.  She asked me why I kicked it, I said I didn't know, because it was there.  She asked me if I washed my hands, and I said that I didn't pick it up, I just kicked it down the street.  She said that pigeons are like flying rats, they're full of diseases, and a bunch of other stuff, and then she noticed that there was still pigeon guts on the toe of my shoe...  Mothers don't really appreciate the subtle nuances of pigeon guts, or the way it forms a splatter pattern on a Converse shoe.  She really didn't appreciate the fact that I wore it into the house that way, that pretty much iced that cake.  The yelling began, and I decided that was a good time to beat feet out the back door.  Fuck the rest of the pizza.  I think I might've gone back to the dead pigeon and stomped it to make its brains and the rest of its guts goosh out and splatter all over the street, but I didn't do that right away.  I think I went and stole some cigarettes from the drugstore first.  I reckon a normal kid wouldn't have done that.  The stomping, I mean.  Maybe the kicking too, I don't know.  It was already dead, it wasn't like I stomped it to death.  I did that several years later.  It isn't easy to stomp a live pigeon, or even to kick one, since they tend to fly away.  You gotta find one that's sleeping, and then you gotta be lucky.  I used to walk thru the whole flocks of them in the park when I was a teenager, just to scare them airborne, and to piss off all the people who sat around feeding them.  Well, one time there was one asleep, and I just stepped right on it, kind of a jump-stomp, but I never broke stride to do it.  Just real quick like.  Goosh.  And I kept on walking, but I heard people freaking out over my shoulder.  I guess they were shocked by my actions.  I feel bad about it now, but at the time I didn't care.  Is that callous?  Probably.  Heartless? Cruel? Sadistic?  Yes, yes, and yes.  Even though feral pigeons do overpopulate in cities, especially when people feed them, and they do carry disease, and they shit everywhere, and where they roost stinks worse than a line of port-a-johns at a big festival.  It was cruel of me to stomp a sleeping bird, and rude to do it in front of old grandmas who feed them.  So I feel remorse for doing it.  I'm not going to take a knotted rope and flagellate myself severely about the head and shoulders because of it, but I do feel some remorse for it.  And who wants to come home from work to find a mess of smashed bird in the street in front of their house, with approximately twenty feet of pigeon chitterlings trailing out behind it... ?  Not me, I reckon.

I am the Anti-Midas, everything I touch turns to shit...

Shit.  It's all shit.  "Everything is shit."
That's what one 'Gabbi Colette' said in a video entitled Interior Semiotics.
   You can find it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9lmvX00TLY ... Shit.



It's all shit.  Everything turns to shit eventually.  Nothing lasts forever in the material.  Not even the seven wonders.  I couldn't finish my supper, because it tasted like shit. {Actually, it tasted like vomit, but shit works in this context.}  It even smells like shit.  I can still smell it.  Smells like dukey.
What's brown and runs down your leg? Dukey!  So that's basically it - it's all shit.  From the time I was a little kid, all my shit breaks, I can't never have nothin' nice.  It's like they made it all for someone with a light (or gentle) touch, not for me.  If they'd've made it for me it would've been heavy duty, but it wasn't.  Toys didn't last very long around me when I was a kid.  Neither did other stuff around the house.  Seemed like everything I touched either broke, or wore out, or became unusable in a very short time. (even a puppy!)  Tonka trucks were the only thing that lasted a good minute.  Matchbox cars couldn't stand up to the rigorous gas stove test (or to a redbrick, or being thrown out a two story window, etc.) Clothing didn't last very long either.  Anything I touched, it died.  Neighbors' cars were fair game if they were parked on the street.  I got in and pulled every knob, knobs came off in my destructive little hands, antennas bent or broke off, turn signal levers snapped, mirrors twisted right off their mountings, things of that nature.  It was the same in school, pencils snapped, erasers came off, paper tore, pages came out of books, toilets backed up and overflowed, teachers screamed...

...As I grew, it was the same, things just followed suit.  Dirtbikes blew up.  Firearms misfired.  Plastic models wouldn't cooperate and go together the right way so I'd get mad and smash them.  Games I couldn't win got thrown across the room.  Sports I wasn't any good at only got played a couple times, then forgotten about. [If there was no immediate gratification, then I lost interest very quickly.]  Cars broke, or engines blew up, or transmissions shat the bed.  Seems like they just don't make stuff heavy duty enough for the abuse I put them thru, except maybe Ford trucks.  Volkswagens make good woods-buggies, but they break too easy, and when you hit a concrete wall head-on, they kinda smash.
(You may think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not.)  Apartments break.  Houses break.  Windows don't stand up to cinder blocks, and furniture doesn't stand up well to drunk humans.  Neither do walls, appliances, or sinks and commodes.  Girlfriends can break too.  Maybe they break emotionally, but it still amounts to the same state of broken.  It's like a long trail of destruction in my wake.  It's gotten better over the last ten years since I stopped drinking booze, but shit still breaks sometimes, or doesn't go my way, doesn't cooperate, and I get mad, and I yell and cuss and smash things... Hulk Smash!  Hulk Smash!   .... But my name isn't Bruce Banner.  I don't get it sometimes, why can't inanimate objects just cooperate?  Can't they see that I'm Human?  I'm supposed to be the one in charge here, not some inanimate object.  Toaster doesn't wanna cooperate?  Burn my toast?  Eat my tortilla and don't wanna give it back?  Fuck up my waffle?  I'll unplug it and smash it with a baseball bat! Pow!  There, I showed it who's boss. Goddamn motherfuckin toaster.  But then I had to go get a new one.  If it woulda just cooperated with me to begin with, then none of that woulda happened.  Why can't shit just work like it's supposed to?  Fuck.  If everything would just go my way, it would be cool.
Motherfuckingoddamnmotherfuckinfuckingoddamnmotherfuckinshit, fuck.  Fuckin, if fuckin shit would fuckin just fuckin, fuckin, do what it's fuckin made to fuckin, fuckin do, fuckin everything would fuckin be so fuckin, motherfuckin smooth, man.  What the fuckin fuck. Why fuckin can't fuckin shit fuckin just fuckin do fuckin what it's fuckin supposed to fuckin do?  Why fuckin the fuckin fuck does fuckin shit fuckin have to fuckin be such a fuckin challenge, man?  Why can't it just work right the first time?  Then I wouldn't fuckin have so fuckin much motherfuckin stress, shit would be all good, man.  My stomach wouldn't hurt.  My blood pressure wouldn't be so high.  I wouldn't want a cigarette.  And if I could hit the lottery for like a million bucks or more, then everything would be cool, man.  No more worries.  Just move to Colorado and smoke reefer all day, and build race cars.  Mmhuh. Fmpf.
 

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Wedgie Comment

This is a comment I just left on a post I discovered by accident on an environmental blog. I will include a link to the page as well, and the picture from it: http://www.treehugger.com/corporate-responsibility/beware-the-environmental-wedgie.html
Wow. The wedgie picture brought me here. Seriously, my ex had a friend who used to ask me to pick her wedgie, it was her way of flirting, I guess. I see this post is a few years old now. It's January 2014. The cutback on coal usage has resulted in a lot of miners losing their jobs and now adding to the unemployment lines, and at least a few states where coal is a major industry are not happy with the current administration. Some aspects of it, such as strip-mining and especially mountaintop removal are horribly destructive to the land and should be stopped, however, these families have been deep coal miners for several generations, they don't know any other way of life, and thanks to the new regulations they are now fucked. How does anyone justify that fuckery? As far as aggressive climate management, I'm not sure what that means exactly. When I traveled westward in 2008, I fully expected to see large herds of Bison along the highway, and I did not. Even on the res I didn't see any, I saw horses, and black Angus cows, but no Bison. At Crazy Horse mountain I saw a herd of what looked like hybrid Bison/Hereford, but not just Bison. This bothers me a great deal. There should be herds everywhere, and there are not. I also did not see one Puma, or one Wolf. I saw lots of beef cattle, which I'm sure are aggressively managed. I've also read about Arctic Wolves and endangered Polar Bears being aggressively 'managed' via the "Sara Palin method." (Run them half to death with a chopper, then shoot them from above, AKA aerial murder.) Socialist/Communist approaches to things are traditionally not easily accepted in America, although that seems to be changing somewhat in the Obummer days, could that be the "change" he promised? I do not approve of mandatory insurance, and I do not intend on signing up for it, it amounts to fascism, big brother forcing you under duress to buy something you don't want. What are they gonna do, put me in jail because I refuse? Fuck the government, and fuck their laws. Now, gun control, yes, politicians love gun control, politicians like Josef Stalin, Adolph Hitler, Idi Amin, Saddam Hussein... Look at this Sandy Hook crap, a false flag operation just like 9/11, except this time around it was done to sway public opinion towards gun control, but it didn't work like they thought it would, so watch out for still more false flag ops. We don't live in a "free" country, that is an illusion invented by the illuminati in the 1770s, convince the livestock/serfs that they are free, and they will be more productive. Maybe it's something in my DNA, maybe it's my Native Blood, maybe it's my Celtic Blood, I don't really know, but I have this natural ability to see thru walls of government bullshit. Paper currency is fiat money, not worth the paper they print it on, the whole system is set up to favor the uber-rich 1%, because their forebears set it up that way. It's not much different than if you gamble at a casino, the odds always favor the house, because they planned it that way. In their eyes we are all just oxen, beasts of burden which can quickly be converted to steaks on the barby without much effort on their part. Believe it or don't.

That's it.  I decided to copy/paste it over here because it has to be approved over there before it will post, and I don't know how long that takes, or if anyone over there even cares, since the original post was from six and a half years ago.  So here it is, I posted it here, if for no other reason than so my words will not be lost in some cloud of cyberspace somewhere, haw haw.

Remember, more will be revealed.  You must excuse me now, I have cats and dogs staring at me, seeking my attention.