the lady gaga fear and loathing smackfest

" ... Ah, my friends from the prison, they ask unto me
“How good, how good does it feel to be free?”
And I answer them most mysteriously
“Are birds free from the chains of the skyway?”
Dylan, Ballad in Plain D

There are many among our species more like ants than they realize.  Colonists feeding, toiling, regularly waging turf wars, the disabled, sick or different summarily dismissed for the greater good.  Where does leviathan royalty fit into this picture we ask? The Queen is their system unilaterally, interestingly similar to westernized homo sapien social orders, especially the "Disintegrate Iran into the mother of all resource/economic/hostile takeovers" Order of Wetiko Weasels.  We've heard Weasels are known for taking over the nests of other species.  One would imagine there is plenty of protective heat emitted from both sides, perp and victim and the backup choirs of both sucking the bias out of whatever justification for Weasel presence goes around.  Once the consequences of the Saturday Night Special, i.e.; primary Weasel weaponry, results of which may be infuriated bond holders, etc., no further global exchange is permitted for the original nest dwellers, at least for the duration of Phase Combat.  Although we have also heard there is a time tested, trust-based way around this. It is highly likely we'll be revisiting that particular system of exchange as the Weasels near ever closer to Full Spectrum Dominance with their unique brand of  bulldozing, garbage compacting, earth-moving genocide.  Start with clearing the property of human vegetable material, next, lay in sprinklers to soften the soil for tomorrow's state of the art interrogation basements.  I can't stand to see it, again, and again, the full body waxing formula cast in stone, Rumsfeld's pornographic dream of known unknowns come to full flower, a small and powerful coalition of roving international forces available, anytime, anywhere, quelling hotspots throughout the world on a moment's notice.  (Are you used to the former US commercial airports manager as SecDef in chief, yet? No?) And then what, when there is no more conquering to be accomplished, along with its attendant nightmares and serial slaughter, we ask, do they start over, reduced to warring over spoils among themselves, cuz we know they can't just quit and walk away? All to sustain the impossibility of infinite growth, swindling greenhorn shareholders into supporting the peak of the pyramid whose chief beneficiaries vanish from the headlines when the floor collapses, the ICC bent sideways under a burgeoning backlog of past patsy criminal investigations many of which may never see the light of justice if they want continuing economic cooperation from the global community, translated as continuing liquidity from the greater global printing press.  Geeze, its not like the joint squeaks by at all at the pleasure of Tony Soprano or something, is it? Once they get their hooks in, it only encourages more and worse of the same, forever fouling sovereign nests taken in the thrill of the kill, offing the seed of offspring to prevent any possibility future generations just might develop the temerity to look homeward as the Weasels settle in with faux Constitutional declarations and faux contractual claims to stolen fortune, unearned, undeserved. Rinse and repeat. 

"Everything is on the table."

When you read that sentence, or hear it, even typing it, it manifests an eerie cloudiness, a porous bamboo spear sizzling though razorwire, generating fabrications that nobody believes and eventually learns its too flammable to even whisper in most social interactions.  Who talks like that anyway?  What kind of mindset sashays atop the prized Persian carpet, hands in pockets, necktie pinned tightly in place, smears on a dour face melting into pockmarked pixels under the global lights and pronounces such a bizarrity?  With a pause before and after the sentence as if the weight of those words has long been calculated in the digitized, fusion funneled versions of Probabilities and Statistics which comes after Calculus if you're any good at it.  Or if you have a bit of the linear brain in you.  This action leads to this result, all of these actions lead to all of these results, one plus one equals two, questions are not permitted, nor is close examination, metaphorical comparisons are to be shot on sight or better, annihilate the entire region, apply chemtrails so we can breathe without gasping for CO2 by the time contracts are let.  A quadrillion zillion tiny slivers of colored glass and marbled mirror reflect the story echoing throughout pillared halls and archways in centuries old architectural splendor where all gather at dawn, on their knees, heads to the ground, genuflecting in unison, complete oneness in brotherhood with collective faith, collective unbearable loss and victimization bearing up under insane pressures, abandoned of all hope all ye of the formerly God-given right to exist in peace.  The man is on the move, Collaterals, beware, your time nears.  We urge you to locate refuge and  enact your evacuation plans as the No-fly Zone banner flutters into place above the shifting dunes and tightening straits, white phosphorus, escalating extreme munitions and eye in the sky surveillance portends the impossibility of any later exodus.  Cellos weep in minor, string sawing bass, intermission is over, the curtains part, Apocalypse Now, part two-redux, the part with body parts and streaming blood, guts and gore, little people flaying arms, running tear-streaked scattering,  the smell of Napalm in the morning ...

... The foreign sun, it squints upon
A bed that is never mine
As friends and other strangers
From their fates try to resign
Leaving men wholly, totally free
To do anything they wish to do but die
And there are no trials inside the Gates of Eden... 
Dylan, Gates of Eden

We will never go forward if we cannot cease revisiting the past, the past being an Objects in the mirror are larger than they appear mix of gelatinous thought balloons and scratchy black and white home movies, scripted by early childhood patterns where the stars are the entire cast, seen through your lens, molded by antiquity, in memory lock-boxes, broken into simple paragraphs for easy recitation should the need arise, as it sometimes will, complete with peak special effects and categorized under autobiographical summaries.   If you took a microscope to the stills you would discover unidentifiable ghostly figures lingering in the background, beyond the camera's frame, mocking the events, cattle branding their own version of reality in challenge to yours.  Is this time going to be any different than any other time in all of history?  It is always the same Trail of Tears expanded to suit seven billion needy, seeking souls adjusting, adapting each with his own past and pregnant future, the movement of Jah people. 


*****

In dissection of the Instamatic public relations campaign surrounding the serial killings stirred with peyote bitters flavoring the cruelty wars on top of resource wars on top of wars of suppression and out of favor with the agency strawdog wars, it is stupefying once again to fully digest the utter lack of respect or appreciation for the mentality of ordinary citizen bystanders going about their lives hungering for normalcy, in spite of normal having lost any credibility as a lifestyle in sadsack Beetle Bailey's Fear and Loathing Smackfest.  We are pressed into "compassion without choice" for the untreated alkie, he is today portrayed as fallen hero, just another little person helplessly trapped exactly as millions of others suffering financial woes, foreclosure, a father of toddlers, the hero's marital union blissful, but stressed under economic hardship and loathing the separation of repeated Middle East deployments.  Amazing, huh?  We are tortured through media to love our homegrown Ted Bundies. Only three days ago, his alcohol problem and anger management arrests saturated the airwaves, including a brief mention of Major Someone you know from somewhere else attempting a sneak-in under the fence upon reaching base post slaughter, somehow he emerges to recover from one damning image only to morph into the confusing demeanor of victim.  Excuse me?  And those sixteen heinous acts of pointless murder?  Nine children, three women included, are they not the victims?  It becomes even harder separating fact from psycho fiction after pouring the entire situation into the re-election machine, coating the most merciless extinguisher in dripdry vote worthy good boy sheen, tell me again, God is on whose side today? Watch for the defense to A) plea post traumatic shock and B) cop rehab as justice.