Spaceship of Fools

As I was saying, anything can happen and also mentioned the exponential feature of disaster. By now, you know how it goes and have reacted according to your Nature and situation in this life, considering too, the proximity of the Disaster/s-of-the Day to you and yours.  Media loves disasters.  Recently I visited the east coast region of Winter Storm Jonas and was told time and again, it was not nearly what the media made of it.  In fact, everyone bore up extremely well during that, ah, epic event.  "It was just a big snowstorm, we get that every winter here".

Too often lately, if you want to read a story on the news pages, you are requested through a pop-up to open an account with your email address and make up yet another password. Who among us is not irritated and fatigued with this practice?  That seemingly small trick is designed to 1) soothe us into fantasies of privacy and 2) what one does, they all must do, an important and widespread law in the personal constitution of ladder-climbing scribes of code.   Corporate media's screeching news stories advertise themselves wherever page space permits as well as report the same stories everyone else is putting out, usually with same, lame deviations from fact. Facts which they eventually, equally, iron out to resemble what they were supposed to say.  I've been clicking them off as soon as I sense the ploy, no further proof of intent required.  It makes readers feel like ducks bred for foie gras.

What they are doing has always been their ultimate goal from the time "news" transitioned from gossip to paid for with money, printed gossip.  We do not get the same news unilaterally, we get tailored news.  We are given the option to further the tailoring to fit a personality type their bots have decided we possess if they are so fortunate to have us actually subscribe.  Imagine Scrooge McDuck rolling in his golden coin coffers while  bots haul in the daily take.  Heh, but while there are many McDucks, there are seven billion more quacking people, swallowing whole what is being stuffed down their throats.

People could easily fill up their most productive time online lost in the maze of this nonsense.   It is just another effect of overpopulation, that social problem that has no remedy.  The more Humans, the more everything.  Its Present Shock. Hungry people vying for recognition and redemption, multiplying at an astonishing rate, regardless of happy talk statistics.  What, are we not supposed to realize the greatest rape in the history of the Universe is going down as we continue as we are?  And where we are has long moved beyond crazy.   Makes you wanna weep. 

Recall how you feel when someone tells you a lie.  The trust is broken.  And yet, they continue on as if you are stupid. Which is even worse... sometimes.   Because when you are thought of as stupid, the truth is staring you in the gut.  It is impossible to not see it.  However, at the point of obvious over-saturation, they move on to something else, like junkies, ever seeking more and more powerful ladders to inflate their peer recognition. 

By that time we also will have moved on.  Its already happening.  The history of Man is proof of the pudding.  The lifeless, so-called dead planets, in whatever form life took, went down the same roads we travel, so very long ago we can't possibly imagine.  We're just the latest kids on the block relearning the universal meaning of mortality.

picking up where we left off...

On the same page as our beloved and insightful, tell-it-like-it-is friend, Bho, I ask you who among us who does not feel the craziest days and nights of all time past and to come, are heaving themselves in front of us - so that we are forced against our will to feel the hot, foul breath of the beast, the stink of his burnt tongue from slurping the fires of Hell?  We are just simple people, never asking for, never imagining, never looking for the House of Horrors on a bright, sunny afternoon kicking back in essex green Adirondack chairs on the deck overlooking the perfect beauty of Nature.  I began to count concurrent events before my hiatus, but the events rolled themselves into what began as a series of global news stories, each international, previously unheard of www.slime.rag on overtime pushing details regardless how insignificant, or false, designed purely to inspire fear and loathing, and quickly grew into a Ripley's Believe it or Not, including immediate placement in the Guinness Book of Gargantuan, Stupid and Hypocritical Earth Shattering Records.  Now, today, and for evermore, in our remaining times among the living, a monster ball of dung trails the slouching beast, growing larger and heavier, squatting on our sad blue planet, surely she, blameless, is weeping tonight. 

But her wrath is sly, her rope unlimited and she allows the Hominid species to simply hang themselves. 

If you been readin' the news pages on your device of choice, you know what I'm sayin'.
 
It goes without question, life is about learning.  We who are aware we are always learning and accept what we experience as a teaching moment, good or bad, are able to draw on those lessons because these lessons are integral (our nature) and lifelong.  If those experiences are perceived without overstanding, or fleeting, or just never acknowledged at all, where would you be now?  Probably in a maximum security prison of your own making, certain you are innocent of whatever crime that put you there, you were just going along, caught up in your materialist fantasy, accepting of your entire current life situation on the Great Plantation when WHAM.  Something happened, could be anything, you know, but you don't know what happened because responsibility of any sort was never in your vernacular.

I didn't come into this observation recently.  It seems to grow in league with population stats so that everything strongly disagreeable, ridiculous, backwards, tragic, corrupt and evil multiplied exponentially, which should mean the antithesis multiplied exponentially also, but no, it did not happen as the TAO explains the natural balance of beauty and ugliness.  It meant instead, the heinous acts of the Yang overlapped its boundary into the Yin, in doing so, the balance undone, quaked, the axis spins wildly out of control.  One could, if mathematically inclined, actually calculate where all of this is going since it continues, unabated, nothing at all on the horizon impeding its excesses. 

Sometimes we wonder how it came to be this way in the spare moments between events.  Is it genetic imbecility or is it unabated narcissism?  Or is it both and more?  I don't completely count out otherworldly.  Are we merely a proving ground, a coliseum for hostile aliens?
 
... Intermission for Meditation ...

Far away, in another land, a tropical dream where the overseers are right on the edge of legalizing weed for religious purposes, our Rasta continues to build his paradise where on warm, silvery nights you can see the moon looking into his door.

Too Hot to Handle, Too Cold to Survive

Good Evening Friends, welcome again to another episode of Lies & Diversions. Tonight, as we lean back in our office style swivel chairs, surrounded by the warmth of a glowing fireplace brightening our War Rooms, we invite you to take a little trip with us into certain, rather frightful places, some call it the unknown, but that would be only because they have not been paying attention.  They have been paying attention to the aps and features on their bluetoothed phones between absent-minded mouthfuls of whatever high cholesterol, fructosed, BHT preserved and crunchy crackling bag contents they've sequestered in their desk drawers, occasionally spraying large gulps of green Monster on the desktop.  They think you are laughing with them because they are funny, but you are laughing at them because maligning them is not spiritually healthy.

As a mood-setting prelude for tonight's episode, here are a few select lyrics from "Desolation Row" off the Highway 61 Revisited album.  Are you going to ask me who wrote them?

... They're selling postcards of the hanging
They're painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They've got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they're restless
They need somewhere to go
As lady and I look out tonight
From desolation row ...

... Yes, I received your letter yesterday

(about the time the door knob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can't read too good
Don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
From desolation row

If you'd rather listen than read poetry, visit the link and turn up your speakers, although this particular version has a skippable ad before the stills.  Why can't we view the original?  Because standards and licensing agencies appear to have found something objectionable about desolation.  "This video contains content from SME and The Harry Fox Agency, Inc. (HFA), one or more of whom have blocked it in your country on copyright grounds." Cough, cough...

It is interesting to me that Visible's recommendation of the film, Memento, so remarkably captures visually much of the same high weirdness, tragedy and romance we pondered over the years listening to Dylan's musical metaphors.  Thank you Vizzy.  In Memento, with the funky sexy Guy Pierce (also in The Road, the calming father with his family at the beach) as our protagonist who has lost his short-term memory, aka the inability to make new memories.  Check out the trailer and skip the brief Jurrasic Park-extreme ad if you like. Memento is THE perfect film for these times, crazy, backwards and forwards, completely lacking the continuity necessary for making sense in our once civilized world of dates, calendars, clocks and schedules big and small.  I suggested you see it last summer, but if you have not done so yet, let me remind you again, its very, very good.  Easy to rent too.


***

I read Clusterfuck Nation every Monday morning.  Its just what I do, along with all the other blogs on my bloglist.  I don't usually comment there because its a crowded house and heavy on self-adverts, but Mr. K's entertaining writing style and take on our state of affairs are always interesting, often localized, you get a clear picture of what seedy desolation has overtaken upstate NY and much of small town New England.  This Monday's read contained a link it would be well worth your while to investigate.  Kunstler never links and I'm not going to give you a direct link.  I think you will find out why when you visit the sole link wedged into the middle of Kunstler's essay.  You can't miss it, it ties together more than a few billboarded and blathering diversions and puts truth to your worst suspicions, if you have them, if you allow yourself to ask the hard questions, if you are able to grasp a complex concept and follow it to its natural outsome.  Some of you may not be shocked at all.  Some of you may even have known all along the BRICS are well underway in their program.  There is no way our overlords will take this oncoming economic ostracisation sitting back, handwringing, unless action is taken before the fact - which may happen.  The MSM just ignores it, continuing on with gay marriage, the downfall of Lilo, powerball frauds and absurd employment/home sales statistics.

Decide for yourselves and feel free to comment even if you have never commented here before.  This needs discussion.  It does appear we are facing Memento on Desolation Row come round at last.  All that we have been preparing for, all along, was this.  We may not have to prepare anymore because if we've been good, loving, compassionate little persons, we might soon wind up on Pandora with our beloved Scout, ..neil..  HI NEIL! 

current conditions: lower lows and scattered highs

The dog and I were coming around a favorite city corner late Tuesday when we noticed an obvious hard luck case on the other side of the street we were just about to cross. You know the type, no shirt, filthy jeans, the mandatory satchel, long dirty yellow hair, I never saw his face, but already knew he'd have vacant glassy eyes and grey, lifeless features.   Simultaneously, a large, noisy immigrant family group was coming toward us from the opposite corner, many kids on bikes and Moms, Dads with strollers, perhaps twenty people in all.  If I wanted to avoid them, with my dog who adores children, I would have to cross over to the hard luck case, now weaving into collapse and so chose to keep walking on the other side as the family drew near.  Bernie, my dog, is in training for city walking and very young children are not only a thrilling distraction, but such a crowd can be unknown possibilities for dangerous encounters, especially where bicycle wheels are involved. It wasn't too long before the group caught up with us and Bernie and I were able to keep to the fringes.  Meanwhile, across the street, the hardlucker was exhibiting some extreme behavior, none of the group, I mean no one at all looked his way.  I was growing more alarmed as it appeared that he was having a breakdown of some sort.  I kept having to look over the heads of the crowd while reigning Bernie in closer to my body.  I saw this guy reach high up the chainlink fence and grab on, then stretch sideways so his head went all the way down fully disappearing into the satchel sitting on the sidewalk. The chainlink, by the way, happens to wrap all the way around a huge, fairly new elementary school.  After about ten minutes, the group was mostly ahead of us, but there had been no change in the hardlucker's pose, head still in satchel, arm achingly twisted above and behind him holding on in a death grip.  It wasn't making sense.  His arm was beautiful, tanned and strong.  I guess I was waiting for the fall which never came because by the time we reached the farthest corner twenty minutes away, his position had not changed.  It was as if he was somehow sculpted in place.  I could not imagine what he was doing.  The entire time he was in my vision, I felt I had to help him.  It was an awful feeling realizing there was nothing I could do but keep moving with this crowd of rollicking strangers . The questions and suppositions we make at such times are telling and alarming, was he armed, perhaps a knife, perhaps diseased and contagious, maybe a killer, rapist, a homeless zombie?  No, I am positive he was none of these absurd suggestions implanted into our suggestive psyche by the paranoiac news media.  But he was a person in trouble, trouble to himself, not to others. A sufferer in need of assistance.  He has remained in the forefront of my mind all night and I bear great guilt for not having helped him.  And while it was taking place, I knew very well the help I could have provided would have been worse than the situation he was already experiencing.


We have now come to the place where any helper agency cannot possibly do the very jobs they were created and funded to do.  What GOOD would it have done to have called 911?  To have the swat team arrive instantly surrounding the block at 7 pm with twenty squad cars in full color blinkies and screaming sirens and their particularly tidy way of grounding the so-called perps... it was, after all an elementary school where this guy absent mindedly chose to fade, help of that sort would have arrived in seconds and done exactly what we hear they do.  Can you imagine being as hopelessly lost and ill as this man appeared and being forced to his knees and shoveled off in plastic cuffs to the strip search, or at the very least dumped at the city shelter only to be told they are already full for the night and he'd better go somewhere else.  Like where? Or maybe a stretcher in the ER for an hour or two and then?  I spent a lot of time today searching for shelters of which there are a small few, but they cater primarily to foreclosure families with children, focusing largely on religious affiliation.  And if he's a vet, well, drug him up and let him go.  This was not the first time and certainly won't be the last time such a sorry scene bursts into our consciousness and therefore I sought sincere alternatives where I could, in good conscience, refer a damaged soul for authentic comfort, follow through and repair.   And yet, nothing I found can be held as bearing authentic aid because the system that has created homelessness is a system that has proven itself entirely ineffective in addressing the ugly side effects it spawns.  And these side effects are glaring, brutal and escalating the demise of innocents everywhere in a million new backwards, self-serving distortions every time you look upon it.


This is why the immigrant family that overtook Bernie and me continued staring straight ahead and laughing as if the singular misery of a sufferer in breakdown was nothing they had not experienced immeasurable times themselves as an unavoidable part of life, that the journeys undertaken to arrive and survive in the promised land where the streets are paved with gold were so incredibly noxious in savagery, shock and horror that they were drained of compassion in the process, compassion for anyone other than the bearers of their own DNA, never to look sideways again.


 I would like you to play at least four of the extraordinary videos at full volume shared on Bho's blog now, Throw down your heart and Oumou Sangare.  While you are there, be sure to spend some time with the magnificent and free at last Oliver, the Bear, as well.  Afterwards, I invite you to come back and tell me, please, what we ARE doing here? Are we just marking time or unwittingly locked into an eternity of simply passing through?


I'm cutting this post short today because visiting revelers with a multitude of large dogs are arriving shortly and time to think on why it really is that we are here will be delayed while I am there and here although comments of course will be allowed my full attention since I am not much of a reveler, notorious for hiding out with the dogs out back or running off in the rockbuggy to find whatever peace of mind is available.

The Confluence Comes Home

May your noses always sniff out evil.

Let us revisit overpopulation today.  Survival Acres has a new post up that requires our attention.  Do visit if you can clear the underbrush in your mind long enough to understand the immediacy of the situation.  Clearing the mind is not exactly an easy accomplishment during the reelection dogfights, ah, such choiceless mockeries of mockeries, shams of shams, put them in the ring with the mopmen and pressing crowds in formal attire cheering for blood.  Are these events even worthy of your attention?  Oh please.  I look at the past few hours being online as futile except for John's confirmation of what we already know and refused to voice, as stated earlier... We'd better get real and soon.  Although, getting real isn't an effortless accomplishment either, humans have some weird optimism trigger that kicks on as worse turns to dire and dire turns to imminent.  We've all experienced "the delay" in the face of disaster.  For some few, it is extremely brief, for others, a "do anything other than act" sets in which shortly is nonverbally expressed as trust and faith someone else will save your ass.


I moved yet again a few weeks ago, thus the delay in getting up a new post.  While it may be seen as a running from, actually it was a welcome relief to hang out with more welcoming, intelligent people, not that there is anything wrong with the desert crowd, but isolation serves to distort one's perspective on just about anything.  Lesson learned: sharing is what its all about.  I've been doing things I never would have done previously and these are things such as attending open air theater under the backdrop of illustrious Spring Mountain, shown above, and back-breaking weeding on the home landscape neglected for years due to typical citizens' daily routines of ten hour workdays and drive-in takeaway before supine exhaustion.  The  idea is to help where real help is needed.  There is a swimming pool beneath the twelve foot high dandelion greens, which until recently formed a hanging jungle, all of which is gone now including dangerous dead undergrowth matted atop soil.  I still have much to do so please bear with me for another few weeks.  What is most amazing are the number of helicopters passing overhead.  They pass by in parades succeeding one another by sometimes a mere sixty seconds.  It goes on all day, probably at night too.  These are not news helicopters, these are something else and I have no idea what they are doing yet I've seen them as far away as Hoover Dam which means they are further south and then who knows where else.  I expect they will shortly turn into surveillance drones with trails conveniently blazed in advance of their arrival.  You have to ask yourself, what is the point?  Does illegal immigration matter anymore?  It seems to have given nourishment to these insane cartels which I do not think our peeps can control geographically.  Indeed, there is a long standing moral about this kind of activity, something about barn doors and horses escaping ...


Do we really need to be surveilled?  Or is this whole effort a boon to the security/weapons industries in the way healthcare is a boon to mega-insurers?  Considering the disaster rate, insurers could lose their pants immediately and live/breathe avoidance of payouts.  Perhaps to counter further failure of global economies, they've been handed the medical/pharmaceutical industries as the lifeboat of all time to stay afloat in our stormy situation.  And still more gilded life rings are passed around in spite of their obvious hastening of the planet's demise!  Do you believe this? Is it even possible? I really do not want to accept this as truth.  They are so off the wall in freely passing out destructive opportunities for financial gain they are either deaf, dumb and blind or they don't believe the very words out of their own mouths, like wooden dummies, seated on the knee of Satan, clucking sarcastically at the gullibility of the dirty unwashed, diseased, whining, broke and broken populations stuck into repetitive patterns of gimme gimme in all its indulgent guises.


The tragedy is to see it when it never should have happened and now it cannot be stopped.  In 1963, forty-nine eventful years ago, my child self asked my mother if I could use her aerosol can of hairspray to which she replied, sighing, "Well, do what you want, its your world now."  THEY KNEW THEN.  And they know now.  And they're never going to tell us either because mass chaos would ensue, the mass chaos that makes humanity the object of surveillance.  Equally sad is the gross underestimation of humanities' inherent goodness.  It is that part especially that stands out as you attempt to do something normal, something decent, like foodshopping or walking the dog, and you can't help but notice the fabric of society in vast disarray, everywhere, caring is for the stupid you know, you are supposed to be at home watching the stations' rotation of news casters, enjoying freecell on your cellphone and singling out those who are not in compliance with the program of delusion, instead of watching live scams go down block by block showing raw evidence of where the money is going and vanishing as some are obliviously unconcerned behind frescoed walls while others carry their domestic anguish into the street.  It is my observation, money is always the root of all problems.  It may not appear so, in fact it rarely will show itself, but look deeper.  It refuses to be acknowledged because such a root would be so crass.  When the means of exchange for goods and services turned into paper notes, our end was, from that moment on, written in the wind.


I certainly have enjoyed blogging with such a fine tribe of friends.  I see no reason to stop just because we've been lied to, cheated out of the future, cheated in every which way, robbed, trashed, humiliated and scammed, carpet bagged and incarcerated from birth into perpetual falseness as lifetime clowns in sad face, lingering these last few years for the distant roar of the crowd, the GMO popcorn, the Lions, what is left of them, breaking from their master's whip to foist centuries of anger denied them upon the innocent and stupid as the seams burst from overcrowding while the news choppers tape it all for the six o'clock hour where disaster is just another breathless ploy to score ratings which attract paying sponsors.

Jah Guide  - and be the good person that you are regardless of circumstance.  Do the right thing every time.  Blessings abound.

7 billion x to the power of 7 billion

Welcome to the Dark Side where the boundary between moral and immoral, good and evil, is but a childhood game of pretend, having nothing in common with typical adult behaviors in this twenty-first century cage match called life.

You are aware, of course, of the Bell Curve visually representing the rise and decline of Peak oil.  You would also then be aware of our position on the downside, sliding off peak and accelerating downhill, which naturally is the only way it would come about, through Newton's Law, even though nobody imagined it would really happen in quite the way it is happening today.

Here is the real problem that we face and here is its name, too many are locked into abject confusion about it since seldom in the human social arena is the root cause addressed for what it actually is, which is  - Overpopulation.  On one hand, speaking up, even quietly, places you into the usual Doomer-Paranoid-Schizophrenic categories while remaining silent is a compromise that won't lie down for long without unhinging your mental survival.  Others are unconcerned, more than a few are just too stupid, most by far have no idea how severe the problem is while the problem, unaddressed, only worsens by the hour.  Ah, hello, Mister Pope? Anybody home there? We've long passed unsustainable, we are peaked out, the signs screaming for attention and intentionally ignored in the face of economic growth by those whom you would think certainly know better.  As long as the ego's needs are met, there is no problem.

The next time you find yourself sitting in traffic, take a good look at your surroundings, take note of the decals emblazoned in obese fonts with neon hues on westerners' windsheilds, "American Patriot",  "I'm not a bitch, I'm THE Bitch" or the rednecks' fave, bin Laden pissing.  These indicate a desperation to stand out among the writhing masses, wouldn't you say, a loneliness so severe that attention is drawn by means of annoying hapless passersby?   You might also say its obvious they have no identity anymore (if they ever had any to begin with) and obscene decals are the best they could scrabble together in saying "I am alive, look at me, I count dammit!"

The noise and overamped illusions slam into our lives and lifestyles in competitive proportion to the ignorance, people who are capable of intellectual reasoning cannot help but question their sanity and in the questioning resort to resolve their discomfort and alienation through layers of complex adjustment which does nothing at all seriously effective towards any solution.   Can it be the clock has already run out?  It very well may be too late.   Consider your personal experience in this new world before further shrugging.  If the agenda of the CFR is curbing overpopulation, and we do not know if it is or is not, and if it is, how intense an effort is put forth, they are doing everyone including themselves a humiliating disservice by not fully disclosing the fundamentals in full required to reign in over-breeding.

The situation concerns us, must we remind you, without us, you have nothing.

Considering we are all united, (simply being alive together at this strange time is uniting in itself) from blades of grass to cleverly dexterous, manipulative predators, all of us in competition for sunlight, food and water, frankly, I am floored the subject remains so indefinite, so vague, heh, a National Geographic style series about something happening somewhere else perhaps, nothing to get excited about, after all, what can we do?  The line is more than established about what we can do and what we can not.  When your own law begins with DO NO HARM, is there really any need for further elaboration?  What we have before us is a MASSIVE, unimaginable to most, horrifying disaster unfolding as we read here today.  Everything happening to our planet, and this means happening to you personally, yes, you, in your very own skin, regardless of station or habitat, will expand in magnitude quickly far surpassing all that seems difficult and unmanageable today, and continue to exponentially spread outwards imprisoning and incapacitating every single living being, every single life, every species and landmass above and below the Earth's surface, every body of water, every resource, everything that exists, until forced oblivion by whatever means puts a halt to the madness.

This is not a situation blameable on the twenty four hour news cycle or Wall Street or the illusions of politics or unscrupulous activities of the personhoods or the sudden appearance of encyclopedias at our disposal or terrorism, those elements among countless others are the Side Effects spawned by the Great Human Disaster.  This problem is social across the board.  We are attempting to survive, very often casually, with merrymaking and homilies, inside a worsening nightmare as the flesh eating disease ravages our planet.   It should not have been this way, wrought though denial, deceit, directed diversion, plying the gullibility of the innocent with invented fables and caricatures to live by.  Rather than bear responsibility, fingers are pointed in every direction, while the ugly root remains behind a dark veil, in the maggot-infested root cellar, unacknowledged as it must be in order maintain civil appearances cultivated though lurid nonsense.  Defrocking much of that nonsense has been the task of this blog from inception.

Truly, it perfectly parallels classic philosophy problems in its dilemma characteristics, questions without answers, contradiction and cyclical argument, intense self-examination as the seemingly impossible shifts into fact.  In debate, the dilemma is usually glossed over as too overwhelming, too conflicting, exacerbating moral hazard and the casualty of bias.  We'd better get real about this soon and start talking about it everywhere, all the time, but in order to do so, we must first accept the scope of the situation and accept where it is taking us, no easy task in the ugly face of hope and belief.

... They all know it is there, some of them have come to see it, others are content merely to know it is there. They all know that it has to be there. Some of them understand why, and some do not, but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children, the wisdom of their scholars, the skill of their makers, even the abundance of their harvest and the kindly weathers of their skies, depend wholly on this child's abominable misery. ...
from The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas by Ursula K. LeGuin

If you want to insure your handle on just how grotesque it is already, go somewhere you once lived five or ten, twenty years ago and note the changes, relate those changes to societal changes elsewhere and stack them up, with a little brief mental math the future becomes immediately predictable, and not just your own future, but that of everything else.  Not even in death with creditors freely grave robbing and Potter's Field, the notorious SoCal paupers' cemetery, legally approved for cremation clearing the land for construction, does it end.  Overpopulation will continue to startle and exceed expectation without impediment as long as we allow it.

Where are the controls?  The census, an economic tool - is not exactly a solution, now is it.  The census surely can not come close to anything accurate in these decades of belligerent fraud.  Whatever numbers they release this time around are likely absent an overwhelming amount of skilled system gamers.  Once a help, now a hindrance, just another sad vehicle keeping the truth sealed ...

It is nothing short of a shock to face this emerge-and-see in its fullness.  Considering the spectacular injustices taking place within the span of our lifetimes, it would not be a surprise to learn global warming, or whatever you prefer to call it, was not set up deliberately to deal with this issue unbeknownst to civilization at large.  You'll have to think about that one for awhile.  Think about HAARP and chemtrails while you are at it.  There is a disturbing pattern to the presentation, initially vehemently denied, now weakly acknowledged, remaining for the most part resisted, but only seemingly so and always redirected in favor of system reinforcement agendas. 

It is reality altered as all reality is altered by the individual preference to seek or to reject at any given time, thoroughly dependent on how such a variable fits into the human's personal survival plan on any particular day.

I would appreciate some sincere discussion, if possible.  There are plenty of links, I've seen them, most dare not veer into spectacular disaster territory however, lacking the direct link to our unwieldy present state of affairs.  Something's gotta give, my friends, and soon.

FYI, this subject is not about sex, pharmaceutics showed us that much with the advent of birth control.  This issue is practically unfathomable in its magnitude, it is the greatest dilemma our planet faces.   It was coming, it was predicted, the predictions are being surpassed while anyone who actually is in position to address the crisis is made a fool, subject to the off-topic censoring by economic dictates and all the accompanying falderal which equates to dillydallying.   Dillydallying only takes place when time is being bought and in this case time is working against ALL of us.

I acknowledge that it is up to the individual to live out their days as an example of what can be done beneficially, but in reality incessant consumerization utterly fails to encourage restraint.

We are standing on the edge of the end.  None of us wants to see any further increase in the horror of these times, but it is guaranteed greater and more extractive horrors awaiting just up the road will make our lives a living hell on Earth in practically no time at all. All that which we once thought we would not live to see, we are seeing now.  Are you ready for more?  No, you are absolutely not and I am not, either.  What is coming does not appear remotely survivable.

Ask yourself, does the human species possess intelligence specifically to counter Universal built-in extinction?

related: Zoos' bitter choice

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. 

Atlantis off the starboard bow

Sometimes we miss important things because we are shown something else. Now, that something else has validity too, or we wouldn't be pointed in that direction, the best action being to look everywhere and ye shall find - that is if you are interested in finding. I'm not talking intentional diversion here, I am speaking of trusted sources that want us to know what they are thinking about a situation. As always, we, the readers, are expected to make of it what we will. We've seen a lot of worthy sources slammed and you know, anything positive can be argued to its negative if you happen to be arguing truths with a good con, a better con than yourself. Me, I don't take cons well, I don't know enough about anything to be good at debating the opposite side from which I stand which means I will fiercely defend the side on which I stand. A case in point would be a site I visited until recently, recently because I've since removed any reference to him, where the author took it upon himself to point out rudely why the views belonging to a noted member in good standing with our little love community here were flawed. This pissed me off no end because it was a con job in action revealing that the con artist had never taken the time to examine our friend's views in their entirety as well as revealing the con artist's motive which was to make himself appear all knowing, all seeing which to the best of my knowledge are not exactly human traits. "Out of context" hearsay does not make a case. Another example that comes to mind is one friend with some literary weight slamming another friend's blog, a tome of nothing but hard truth on the basis that the author was a heh, spook, like who cares? If spooks are telling truths, sign me up. Whenever I run into these things, its hurts me, saddens me, to see that so many forget what we are doing here at all. Now here we are on a new post today and I'm planning on using a few links for a little more in-depth analysis and I want to make it clear, please read them with your own interpretations. Put aside hearsay and pay attention to the content. That is all I ask, make up your mind about the content under discussion for yourself. Perhaps it is best to let go forming any opinions at all and just digest the material. After you do that long enough, an opinion will come about on its own and it will be all your's, no one else's. And once you have opinions based solely on your own interpretation, you will have something fairly close to the truth. It almost doesn't matter where the information comes from as long as you've taken in a broad spectrum so that a bigger picture emerges.

Here is a typically large batch of binary numbers representing a terrible truth from a source that is somewhat questionable only because they do not, for the most part, pass the famous Wikileaks litmus test. Yet, I go there anyway and very often find something worthwhile in the mix, which today is this essay by Hirose Takashi. It is translated from Japanese and a little sketchy at first, but the message is completely clear. I liken all of us busy or not so busy human beings doing whatever we do, however we do it, to life in the final days of Atlantis. In doing so and seeing ourselves as compassionate people, can you put yourself in the shoes (gaeta) of the Japanese? Try it. Imagination is integral to compassion. Feel it? There they are, living inside the bizarre circumstance of globalism along with the rest of the developed nations and doing the best they can, as we do, with the little they have, as we do, going about the business of ordinary life, as we do, until one normal evening suddenly everything not sucked into the giant washing machine of the homicidal tsunami went up in radioactive steam. For real, my friends, as the evacuation zone widens, more and more human beings are getting the word, you can never go home again. Worse, this condition is growing exponentially as the Pacific Plate refuses to settle down and the globe is dotted with egregious cauldrons of death. Adaptation to instant annihilation is a state of existence we need to explore and grow comfortable with since there is little doubt it will happen, at anytime, anywhere, which includes it happening to every one of us. This state of existence presently binds most of the Japanese population, whether its on the schmooze or not. In fact, when it is not stated or understated, it is deliberate because in the event all the innocent and trusting simple folk get the idea they've been super-conned, who knows what could happen? A lot more people know subliminally what is going on than we realize, be assured the deniers have made a pact with themselves not to think about it. It doesn't exist. Nuclear energy is the way of the future. That much IS true since in the future entire continents will be uninhabitable.

We are already bumping up hard against what is coming, its too obvious for the outspoken among us to stay silent for long. We are seeing the death of species, the land, the oceans, its too much to destroy all at once, and too hardy while seemingly delicate. Life is fragile after all. Without an Earth-sized asteroid crashing into our planet taking everything out at once, the hit and run style we are witnessing commits its own suicide, here, over there, in front of you and behind you. It is a miracle you have been spared to this moment. But will you be spared in the next? If we look too long, or dwell on impending and current disasters too often, are we setting our own table for disaster? No, when we look as long as we feel is necessary, we invite compassion into our hearts regardless of what may or may not happen to us.

Meanwhile, the mighty shuck and jive train keeps a rollin' as if Tomorrow, tomorrow, the sun will come out tomorrow, its only a day away. Lots of money and a purchased judiciary make fine insulators from fate, temporarily I might add. Holograms, stunt men and tinseltown special FX don't have feelings or intelligence. You can, in your hour of need, like now, just tune it all out. Oh indeed, you have that magical ability unless you are being gang-raped in the hoosegow while under interrogation from hired mercenaries. Sometimes it appears our masters of the Universe would like us to feel sorry for them and sympathize with their shameful platter of impossibly difficult decisions. And certainly, it must be a hard thing to save the people, keep everyone calm, satisfy their needs, feed the hungry, the poor, if that was actually the case except its not. The Judas' shortcuts are too easy and convenience IS the hallmark of western democracies. These so-called democracies are the exact opposite of true democracy, which we could have had and will not live to see. We could have been great, we could have done it right, we could have had peace on Earth and good will instead we exist in a flimsy multi-generational toxic bubble readying to burst.

If you have ever seen some of the Discovery Channel documentaries on how life began you would be awed that we turned out in the forms we did. We could have taken any form, or shape, we could have had two heads for example although Nature is not random, Nature is too efficient knowing two heads would spend a lifetime trying to kill each other for sole control over the one body. Evolution an interesting concept to dwell on while you are struggling to keep your one head above water, what a silly little world we have made to play on, how cleverly ergonomic we are with our digitized hands built for survival the same way Mountain Goats' hoofs work for their survival and birds/insects wings allow them to fly to nutrition atop the tallest trees, but those fingers of mankind are useful for molding weaponry, pulling triggers, yanking the joystick, slaughtering whole families and thumb texting, overdeveloping and then calling in the wrecking ball, rather like building little communities with those tiny German toy blocks in the mesh bag complete with farm animals, schools, work buildings and clock towers. It was fun, wasn't it, until somebody came along and jackbooted it all sky high. Well, it wasn't permanent anyway, nothing is, with the exception of course, being love.

There is a remarkable Oak up in the mountains where we live, it has grown itself around an old stag, a former Oak, now a Woodpeckers' acorn bank. I previously posted it uncropped when the emphasis was on the newborn Lambs. Only lately have I stood under it to figure out just exactly what happened there. The whole ensemble stands as living proof that Nature has a will of its own, and yet the ignorance and lust of humans in this tawdry epoch never gave it the credence it deserves and now it is too late. This is no longer a matter of revolution against tyrants or undergoing a revolution within ourselves. Mankind has no power over the Tectonic plates. And, hey, while we're at it, tell me what power mankind has over the sea? As a longtime sailor I can tell you what we used to tell ourselves in dread weather, no land in sight, radio broken, lost in uncharted territory, down to half cup of water per day, dreaming I was on land and waking to see sunlight pouring in the hatch above my bunk knowing the dream was a brief escape from the living nightmare, you can survive the sea, but you can never master it. Which is very much the same place we find ourselves today, on or off land, wherever you happen to be. You might survive disaster, but you can never control it. Interpret that any way you want interspersing any conditions lying in the minefield of these times.

I recommend seeing a beautiful Mongolian documentary, The Weeping Camel. You can watch it in full at the site. Leaving our roots behind and following along with the nonsense of unlimited growth and progress while warring against those who do not participate, is just one, but likely the dominate fault causing our demise. The truth is we're not good enough to deserve this planet. We didn't love it enough, and now we are losing it.
Sayonara

Oaks and Lamb photograph, c. 2011 Deep into Artlife West
Weeping Camels Photograph by Juliane/nationalgeographic.com

darkness before the dawn

There used to be an amusement park ride called the Mad Mouse. There were bright colored two person mouse cars, someone belted in front and someone belted in back, on a roller coaster-style track, high up, sliding waaay down, the whole experience at breakneck speed. The Apocalypse kind of reminds me of this ride. We paid with our lives and we can't get off once it's started. This ride will jerk you around, take you to the top and dump you on a downhill race to the bottom only to careen sideways into a detour where the track abruptly ends, you back up and then you're gone again, faster, higher, twirling into a downward spiral, slamming into another detour, yanking back suddenly to the main track and so forth. It made a lot of people sick and sometimes pretty angry. I didn't really care for it either and went once to see what all the shouting was about and again, to confirm it was as bad as I remembered.

We are in a little lull right now, while one Apocalyptic disaster unfolds planet wide another is brewing, poised to shrink Fukushima as we exhaust ourselves racing ahead of simultaneous eruptions, i.e.; the crises of corruptions gone wrong, miscalculated, underestimated, excused, weakly justified, but lucrative and layered with complex levels of extreme profit. I am shell shocked, not about anything you would assume, but about the stunning, spectacular, overwhelming stupidity and lack of foresight which has created a world of in your face greeeeeeeeed. The hypocrisy knows no bounds and Iran has a lot of oil.

Who in their right mind celebrates the 150 year anniversary of the Civil War for example? Oh, yes, let's make a parade, bring on the fireworks, let's tear down the drapes and make velvet frocks with corsets laced tightly by our beaten, whipped, raped and Stockholm syndromed human possessions and then let's drink the fruited wines they made us and lie in rows upon the railroad tracks of ancient Terminus, now a gentrified shopping mall turned tourist attraction. A century and a half after the ugly facts, we come to find the same Wetikos hangin' round, still, working the same old stories of hate and paranoia. Its all too much for the love people, I can't imagine how the rest of you are handling the latest developments. I can barely open the plastic box anymore. To visit news sites or hear the pundits screeching in the background between grotesque, high pressure come-ons must be what it is to be insane, all of it mashed together as one long monotonous vision of obsequious fakery. Who do they think they're fooling? The burger set? Maybe as that set gorges its way to the recruitment hooks and perhaps a short half-life is a better life than the life of victims, children, elders, ordinary shack dwellers who never knew the land upon which the dust twists daily is Terminus all over again. At some point, lies backfire bringing on karma, Bring it on. The wait for love people is agonizing because we feel it coming, in spite of the decrees and altruistic covers designed to keep us in rags so our pockets have irreparable holes through which every penny dribbles out as if the single copper cent lying in our tracks is a sign around our necks "Take it, take it all, and take me too." Whenever I check in with the little box, its amazing to see everyone at it still. I ask why? What are you looking for that you don't already know? Perhaps you are looking for something you don't know, something impossible and suddenly, sigh, there it is. Hmmm.

How many nuke plants exist on Planet Earth? And is each a foil for Earth shattering weaponry too? Or just some of them? Like the allies. How would we know? We would not. Especially when every headline is about prostitutes' skeletons and sports doping or Charlie Sheen or heh, the movements taking place on the campaign trail. Or the budget deficit. That's a favorite, hunh. That'll keep all those nosy armchair economists glued to their screens, keep their noses out of things that really matter cuz we down here in Loveville don't have any economy left at all. When the Wetiko plan finally comes into full bloom, we'll go first because our entire lives have been gradually stripmined to make room for the gargantuan wallets of Monopoly (tm) money. Don't look now, but the little people everywhere, the love people, the love people in-training, the good and the innocent have either lost everything held dear to them or they are in the process of having it forced away through torture, radiation, disease, through lack of awareness, empty pockets and various interesting schemes in which the person victimized is not a consideration, never was and never will be.

Frankly, I confess to holding out some exceptionally small sliver of faint desire that there would be some vague turnaround of humanity by now, as in a general collective-unconscious looking for the bright side, oh, how foolish of me. In fact, what has been our collective life since the awakening of the Bu-ad godzilla is now our zeitgeist-in-full, rounded out, obtuse and obese. This is the way it is. Today and evermore until no more. And being that it is this way, what, I ask you, is there to look forward to? Ah, yes, at last, the plantation overseers are back in the saddle whipping the steed faster this time aided by monster technology and mushroom clouds. Dare you let on your anguish unless you want to see the new evaporation tool microwave your entire existence into instant ash and minuscule sprays of blood and mucus running in rivulets down that velvet dress.

Every single time the Wetikos turn on their campaign shows, I've always thought, hey, its too soon. You might have noticed its never too soon. Decades before the actual festivals begin, the presidential hologramed hopefuls are plotting four, eight, twelve years ahead. In between the vast, colorful ,nauseating, corporate-funded, chain-linked urban takeovers, we get to see our falling rock stars show themselves to never have been worthy of all that adulation. Is big business to be adulated? Must they leave us too early like Stevie Ray and Bob Marley in order to get out from under the giant Earthmover's dirt dripping claws? Leaving us to stand alone in shock and awe cherishing their memory, we point still to their example, how is that different than martyrdom? Surely there are secrets there too, better we do not know. We have too much already bringing us down and deeper. Why has no one come forward to state unequivocally we are in the thick of the energy wars, which are different than the turf wars of old in that those wars ended, why hide the motivation now, everyone knows what's up. Ten days ago I bought cheap gas for $4.09 pg. If that isn't a dead giveaway, I don't know what is. Who knew so many multitudes of so-called humans are pigs. Lipsticked. Armed to the teeth. Sporting comb overs resembling wet, used mops upside down over their skulls, perhaps that is a Wetiko thing to the tune of here today, gone tomorrow. Dancing with the stars, falling off the stage, who will Lady Gaga sue? What do you think Bristol pays in property taxes? Out of who's pocket? Do these ahem, people have underground bunkers equipped for twenty four thousand-years worth of privileged living? Listen, if you don't, you'd better think about what you're doing.

Often I ask myself who is driving this ship and what happened to them that they grew up with SFbrains, why would they parade and preen before media portraying themselves in possession of expert opinion, a deluxe opinion, the opinion of better, more skillful, superior, more worthy persons? That somehow they were finely crafted human Bentleys of excellence with extra-prescient perception where everyone apart from them is unworthy, evil, atheistic, witches and warlocks, to be feared and eliminated, out of sight, out of mind? Are they all abused children acting out, finally in position to "get their's"? That they were so ill-treated in youth ruined any possibility for the existence of compassion or clarity of values? No, it isn't that. I've known personally too many people with horrible back stories and lingering scars of abuse and found them to put truth to the idea suffering creates enlightenment, so deeply feeling, so deeply understanding of the plight of others for abuse to be a core reason. More likely it is obsessive power corrupting, creating laws by the minute overriding other laws created by competing powers, all of it designed to enrich and self-sustain while creating even more control, always selectively blind to the consequences because once tainted it turns to permanent stain out of all proportion to the original act - like Ponzi schemes, like serial killing. There can be no turnaround from here, its gone too far. It is illogical to trust planting a garden and going small and local as a means of fending off nuclear winter lying not too far in the future. Its not us driving this ship my friends, unfortunately the Captain rammed the iceberg out of choice and should the ship right itself, who is to say the first mate won't attempt to complete the effort? When you see these Wetikos making their Wetiko claims inspiring hatred, prejudice and egging on the Gods of war, you see a frightened little freak worried they will run out of gas in the dark on an unlit overpass crumbling into a swift moving river, wide and deep.

postcard from Planet Backwards

We may have been transported to another planet while we slept.  A planet where everything appears as it was when you went to bed, but the rules are different.  The certainty is gone, nothing can be counted on to be what you thought it was, including mirrors which show only your preening representative-self, but these mirrors now imported from somewhere gawd only knows, are part of the new, New World lifestyles we all lead helplessly where right is wrong and black is white.  I've said it before and will say it again, no one is immune.  I'm quite sure you know how it goes, these sudden spring days give us a nostalgia, a screen door barefoot kind of summery happy sadness, something deep within the heart wants to go home again, but we don't really know where home is anymore.  Perhaps it never was real considering how much is being revealed in the present, perhaps it was only a lyric in a song you resonated with or an artwork that spoke to you in a way that touched you and you reminisced about something hazy that was just a dream on your way to partake in continuing the dream as if it was endless.  And then, BRRRRIIING BRRRRIIING, the cell woke you up with a scam call, an 800 number announcing BofA was here to help.  As if anyone needs that kind of help.  "Your social please."

I'm thinking about the recent events trying to separate my own conclusions from everyone else's observations.  The problem seems to be that so many windup clacking dental jaws make their definitive pronouncements on these situations which muddles us and it takes a lot of silence and a good amount of disgust before strange new worldie ideas come creepin' round.  In the midst of this jibber jabber, we forge on with our normal routines, so following my own advice, I make a point to remember fleeting thoughts no matter how absurd because after all, absurdity is rational on Planet Backwards.

To begin with, I labored for years upon years under one set of inviolate basics and as I matured, I took it for granted everyone else matured mentally and spiritually as well. Oh, ho ho.  I blew off the Clinton years as a single parent which takes up a lot of attention and time leaving one somewhat ill-equipped to peer into the mysterious direction our world is taking, so when 2001 came along, and the bullhorner kept harping on attacks, I was stunned.  Did he mean war?  Had we not grown beyond that?  What?  That's video game nonsense, comics, sandbox bullying.  He couldn't be serious! However, obviously we had already been transported and 2001 was the wake-up year we debarked as unwilling hostages, searched and tagged into Planet Backwards.  Was it AD, BC, or NWO time?  We can't know for sure, that's one of the chief hallmarks of this joint, nothing is what you are forced into pretending it is.  Let's take this BP hit for example, didn't they used to be that gas station outfit with Swiss-style greenie graphics?  On Planet Backwards, they are a ludicrously wealthy and universally powerful energy provider which appears to possess enough chutzpah to claw a hole in the tectonic plates holding our previous planet in place.  And you know what that means, well the plates kept a movin' and a shiftin' until all those tender, flaming tectonic platters overlapped on top of each other and BOOM, there went Japan. Tragedy of all tragedies, Japan proved itself just as ill-equipped as I was to peer into the direction the wonderful wheels of progress had taken them.  During all the years they should have known better, they were desperately balancing non-existent yen from a bone dry piggy bank rather than thinking about their rice paper villages despite the 1997 Kyoto Protocols on Climate Change.  You have to imagine those very intelligent people that studiously researched the issues got an education that may well have saved their once exquisite paradise given the opportunity to speak truthfully where it counts.  Somewhere there are some sad human beings, disoriented and displaced to shelters asking themselves why they took no for an answer.

Then I think about us, what an unholy mess was made of that sweet dream, guaranteed to get messier.  Where does it end, you'll notice it is not even paring off, not in the slightest.  Is everyone supposed to be homeless?  They say this year is a bad one for housing, the word is foreclosures this year will beat all the previous years.  Our economy is still in the toilet and the cowardly laureate only worsens the wound with a little altruistic interventionism which when you think about it, isn't this exactly what ignites the bubble bath?  Well, around the hallowed dinner tables where pundits are not allowed, a big fat dose of grisly war is just the right prescription for an ailing economy.  From Planet Backwards where war is peace, our telescopic star gazers hint stubborn Col. Qaddafi may have given the interventionists (ridiculous label alert) the gift of continuing consumptive prosperity.  Does slave labor in China make those gilded plastic coffins for export?

Maybe it would have been more clever to save this entry for April Fools' Day, but many bloggers actually write posts in advance, and with the never ending advent of technology one simply clicks the mouse and posts appear at some exact time and date of their choice.  I always wondered on every April 1st, who is the fool?

the Kids are alright

Amos keeps an eye on his family from the big house

Mother Scarlett watches too

The sheep are doing very well.  All the kids are behaving like human children, busy, curious, enchanted, hungry, frolicking, joyous.  They never just walk, they leap and hop.  These particular sheep really have it good on Planet Backwards.  If we just had wool coats and three-chambered stomachs, we could graze our hearts away too, never having to worry about anything other than staying dry in rainy weather.  Although, with their extreme super-coats, rain water bounces right off.  The day pen was moved much closer this morning and they are practically grazing at our door.  I moved my drawing table right up to the corner windows for some gesture drawings of these guys.  Gesture drawings are quick, (one minute is too long) rough pencil sketches for the purpose of loosening one's hand as well as improving the eye's understanding of anatomy so that you learn to see what IS and how it feels, rather than what you thought it was or surmised how it felt.  Any art school worth its tuition fees spends the entire foundation year on Nicolaides gesture drawing techniques with live, nude models.  This is known as Life Drawing 101.  If you don't get to do this, you are condemned to spend your years on Planet Earth doing scritchy scratch on ruled notebook paper.  Heh, I am a purist. not.

Allow me to close this post with sincere condolences, comfort and love to the Beageant family and to our brilliant and talented friends, Brian and Chickory, on their recent losses.  Joe and those adored Mothers (great women who raised great people) are free at last.  Praise Jah and His compassionate benevolence, when we have finally had enough He is there.

Listening to the wind

Flying in the very face of spectacular, breath-taking, unimaginable-if-you-aren't-in-it, triple whammy catastrophe, the Wetiko-infected push for more guaranteed disaster.  What does this say?  Have they not by now read any news, seen a TV, been party to a press conference, spoken with or heard another suit hand-wringing over le conversation du jour?  Not at all, they are busy showing off their spoils, ordering around the staff, meeting heart attack inducing deadlines por nada, slamming china coffee cups on the inlaid ceramic tile imported sideways from East Asia, I don't care what it costs dammit, they fail to notice when the radiation level creeps between the sheets.  That multiples of thousands are already dead or dying, dispossessed and locked into sure contamination, or is that kind of utter chaos just another day in the life?   It makes you want to cry. I remember during my sojourn in the desert, the Vets, the cowboy bikers, world weary and tired of it all, I was the person who took them to their VA appointments and waited until we could get out of dodge, back to Elephant Rock which had a natural trunk you climbed and sat up high listening to the wind.  When you are on Elephant Rock, there are no questions, silent knowings whisper about your body and blow across your face.  Most of these gentlemen were very ill from existing too long downwind the waste dump and from exposure to agent orange.  Some were cured (that means not healed) only to get worse.  Austin passed.  It was not a happy ending.  I recall him showing me a strange growth coming from his calf on which a four inch long tube of flesh had grown out like an unnecessary appendage.  We couldn't figure it out and yet, during his VA visit, they removed it in the examining room avoiding even a cursory explanation of what it was or WHY it happened, but everybody knew anyway.  It wasn't long afterward Austin went to Heaven.  Once the desert predators heard he was ailing, they were all over him like feeding vultures.  He felt he had no options and simply caved.

Is there any difference between catastrophic natural disaster and HAARP disaster?  Is there any difference between anthropogenic climate chaos and natural changes within a fluid Universe?  No, the outcome is the same, but there was once a difference, we had time then, time to change the course, set sail for calmer seas, pursue directions that brought joy to ourselves by bringing joy to others.  And now?  In stark contrast to what we could have been, we are silenced before the Great Tsunami of Evil.  Perhaps more than care to be known as evil enthusiasts actually follow evil doings the way Octomom followed Brangelina.  They never see themselves in that light.  They instead see themselves as interested patriots, active or inactive, using talking points interspersed with half-truths formulated as they finished the morning commute in their restored Porsche 911, entered the glass and steel monolith and huffed it over to the post, sipping Latte.  But for the love people, this isn't their cup of tea at all.  Nothing wrong with Latte, what is wrong is the direction that is being pursued only perpetuates more and worse evil.  At this moment in real time, evil has seemingly broken itself like dropped Limoges, each shard growing arms and legs in order to continue adding insult to injury, once, twice, three times is never enough no matter how ghastly the items on the evil checklist appear.  I try to remember what we hear and see is multiplied by the increasing populations everywhere holding remotes to a thousand channels of nonsense. thus nonsense increases in tandem.  This is heh, a special kind of growth.

Its never them that take the hit, you"ll notice.  Its the people, the little people, many of them love people and love-people-in-training. The poor people just hanging laundry or riding a bike to collect wood for heat, children doing what children do, fishermen, farmers, the uncelebrated ones, the ignored, are the ones deemed expendable.  They have long been exploited in unimaginably gruesome fashion, most of which is unknown and through bubble aftermath which you might notice qualifies as a prolonged state of shock, and possess nothing of worth, just ask the homeless what happened that ruined everything for the remainder of their time on Earth.  What is more loss when you already lost everything and there are no means of ever getting it back?   For that matter, what is loss when you've been brought to your knees in acknowledgment of the existence of a superior man because you hurt so bad there is no other way to make it stop, and it didn't really stop, it just costumed itself as TBTF.  You have to wonder sometimes, if the secret societies have small scale plug-in Ferris Wheel desk accessories complimenting the leather armchairs complimenting finely polished rotating globes.  "Get Hillbilly on the phone sweetheart." Maybe this is so, maybe it is not, but the idea would not have come up if there were not some reason to think ...  High on Elephant Rock one accepts the state of all of humanity, the good, the evil are just life's infinite variety of vegetation.  Warning: you may go there in a typical everyday state of shock, but you will leave in love.

Who among us really knows what will happen, anywhere, anytime?  Apparently nobody  knows despite a handful of smug reports of warnings given which were apparently not actually transmitted to anyone not invested in catastrophe before whatever event occurs?  Now let's go back in time for a minute and recall the bodies floating in flood waters like unleashed rivers of blood streaming through New Orleans.  And the towers, or AIDS, yes it goes way back, there were always things happening somewhere on the planet and we became inured as if we were purified from conception merely by our nationality.   Well, not completely inured, it was a surreal confusion and no amount of tranquilizing  pronouncements made it right.  To my Father's credit, when I was freaking out after reading Sophie's Choice, he looked me in the eye and said "You think that was something, you should see what we did to the Indians", meaning Native Americans. 

In catastrophe, there are always earnest, well intentioned inventors desirous of fame and fortune with their solutions.  One of them managed to secure an interview on CNN yesterday with a Tsunami Ark.  His  ark holds (only) 50 to 70 people he says, but they are nothing more than floating orange capsules tethered to cement supposedly able to withstand tsunami force. Can you see it?  Its perfect, its time has come!  It is yet another layer of complexity gone wild to sustain the fantasy.  Right away you can punch a tsunami of holes in the plan, principally just how long and longer will these tethers become as the wave heights increase and what if these tethers are too short and for cryin' out loud, what tether can withstand the most recent tsunami doing drive-bys at every port around the shores of the Ring of Fire?  While we're on the subject, let us also mention the immoral developers who manage to arrange zoning approval to create entire towns which quickly grow into overpopulated cities on stilts to better retain a minuscule slice of ocean view which as an aside also determines property taxes.  What happened to preplanning?  If a tsunami aimed itself at Malibu or Montalk, there would be no more tinseltown players and no more beachfront architectural amusements regardless of how many orange arks dotted the sands.  Especially when the warnings were half-truths and speculations.  There is a weird part of human nature that gets lost in happy memories of better days when faced with the real possibility of immediate annihilation. That weird part is never taken into consideration because we are expected to snap to attention instantly at the ear-shattering blaring trumpets of the Schmooz.  Everybody Listen Up!  Shake, tremble and speculate!  You can always tell when someone is fear mongering because they tell you so up front, "Now, I'm not fear mongering, but ..."

Bella's little girls, 15 minutes into the world

Watching are Scarlett's twins, Arnie and Adele at two weeks

Stella working on a treat

As all was becoming a nightmare of Karmic return while in mourning for the Japanese villagers who in these crazy days cannot possibly look forward to a brighter day, I took Bernie out as usual and noticed Scarlett the Ewe, recent new mom, gathering her lambs about her in a rather frantic manner.  I rushed to see Bella, her sister, standing over two tiny wet charming puppy-size blobs of black.  Two females this time.  It was helpful I'd seen Scarlett's twins developing so quickly this week so I knew whomever was not able to stand up yet would be soon running and getting into everything that attracts their attention.  I spent more time again with Amos, the father, the Ram, as always, because I know as a brother being, he wanted to help, grazers are genetically designed that way, although he was kept in his penthouse to prevent backbreeding.  And of course, with Stella, the Mustang Princess, evermore lovely in mist and fog, glowing as her winter fur is brushed to a shine and her mane resembles Lauren Hutton's messy golden highlights... They all know me very well and are insatiably curious about my person-ness.  Not a single thought about anything else other than being witness in the magnificence of birth including amplified love and compassion for all species was the Divine antidote to whatever else is going on anywhere.

So Jah seh

...What's wrong with you my brother
So jah seh
Ye are the sheep of my pasture
So verily, thou shall be very well
So jah seh... Bob Marley

It is in keeping with the general Wetiko hallmarks that Rogue Planet Niburu would be the cause of all these recent disasters.  Yeah, right.  This absolves them (they think) of any responsibility for anthropogenic climate change which in turn allows them to pump up the fantasy.  And as long as people believe it, because it is on woo CNN, it must be gospel.  Drop by Dublin Mick's office for some reality.  He's in session at this moment.  If Niburu goes into the archives, all you have to do is click on the previous post arrow.  He makes it all so simple.  Indeed, there are some of us perhaps a little vacant on the Niburu story, as we are on a few other stories, because there is SO much going on in Mother's house lately, it is a little hard to be on top of it all, all the time.  Dubs doesn't seem to miss a trick.

Last night the man on the couch with his feet on what passes here for a coffee table, his rectangular plywood slab on a round wicker base because carousing dogs broke the former top, jumped up to announce "That coward is going to attack Libya!"  He then went back to what I thought was TV watching, but apparently his mind was wrapped around extra external events in that interesting way which later on proves he was solving mysteries with facts.  This is why I've said in the past he's always right.  I know, its not easy when the only other human in the household is always right, however, I've learned to listen, coupling it with my own observations, it looks like we are going to undergo yet another erasure of a functioning society.  You know how it goes by now.  I sped by a headline recently about Gadaffi's coffers emptied by the you-know-whos, I can't verify it with a link, but again, as I said, financial weapons of mass destruction are the first and last resort.  But what do we know really?  If we don't see a Saddam in the spideyhole/headlice exam followed by the noose, how would we know all these guys and their stand-ins are not living it up in Paraguay soaking up the Guarani Aquifer while sitting in a Cialis bathtub on Ecstasy.  Between the very real possibility humanity will vanish from the face of the Earth in a nuclear winter and the prevailing Wetiko paranoid fantasies, anything we might have to say about it is not a consideration.  Somehow, like circus performers learning how to walk the tightrope, we have gradually steeled ourselves knowing anything can happen ... at any time.

I caught Rachel Maddow's interview with Naomi Klein tonight.  You might like to read the transcript which does not yet exist on MSMBC's site.  Here is where it will show up in its own good time.   Naomi really has her act together.  Not a single blank stare or "Um", just straight shooting drawing from her book The Shock Doctrine, the rise of Disaster Capitalism and how disasters are perfect for a Wetiko strike during which everyone in the shock of disaster is already disoriented by what is happening on the ground, thus they are in no shape to grasp the scale of their losses. I'm sure you are familiar with Naomi's works.  Of course there is more to it, the Wetikos are relentlessly busy and they have all sorts of secret compartments in which they labor, all designed to produce the most from the least without the responsibility of having created mass destruction, horrific losses, each event taking us further into that alarming possiblity I mentioned earlier. While we're at it, let me just mention here that as long as they are into farming disasters, just like big ag, there is no stopping the escalation.  This naturally creates a mental chart with a red line going straight through the top where it says Implications of Universal Imbalance.  Well, somehow you could get the idea if they keep it up, even climate chaos pales in comparison.  Certainly, we do not want to let our imaginations get carried away, but you will recall Newton's Law of Motion:  Every action has a reaction. 

First hour on planet Earth

We, meaning us, not them and us, actually have a choice in these areas.  Several.  Ignore it and love your life.   Or, listen with one ear and watch with one eye while loving your life.  The other choice is to succumb to hyper paranoia and make yourself a sandwich board to wear at the main intersection in your locale.  That last one will definitely get you into diversionary hot water or at least squashed by a tea party bus on its way to an Alaskan meet-up.   

Day three on Planet Earth

I chose the second coping strategy.  Scarlett the sheep had her two babies on the morning of March 3rd. It was and is one of the most holy experiences I've ever had just to witness the miracle of something old ranch hands with huge corrals of livestock probably take for granted.  It seems that Scarlett is a most fortunate ewe in that she was not just one of thousands, but surrounded by great love and joy.  We expect Bella to repeat the holiness next week, hopefully producing two lambs because three means you have to feed the third.  Ewes have only two nipples.  I have been spending time holding the lambs which puts real truth to the phrase "gentle as a lamb".  Over the past few days, they have grown thicker coats and are up wandering around testing the limits of their pen which is growing larger everytime I visit.  There are a lot of things to watch for out here, coyotes and the occasional mountain lion, however, every precaution and protection has been taken and predators don't really want to take on Dad, Amos the Ram, who is a sweetheart underneath his unsheared wool.  Stella the Mustang miscarried two days earlier and could see everything going on over at the Sheeps' mansion, so I spent extra time with her and gathered huge bags of grass as a diversion from her loss.  I've been talking her through it, we all know its best to honestly address another's sorrow, especially those among us who can't speak for themselves, still she made herself clear that nothing will be exactly back together until she has a foal of her own.  This will happen, but not this year. Horses are in gestation for eleven months. 

Meanwhile. I'd like to express gratitude to the people who continued commenting during my sabbatical in ag science.  I used to feel a self-imposed pressure if something new didn't make it to eblogger at least every week, but no more, thanks to chickory who once said the time inbetween posts doesn't matter and to Scrap Wood who gave me permission to quit blogging altogether.  There are many other things out there calling us and we should take advantage of those most promising spiritual growth however possible, although sometimes we don't know what surprises we shall meet, whatever they may turn out to be, the opportunity to create spritual growth exists everywhere.  When you find yourself stacking logs you are participating in the real history of humanity, most of all you are joyously weaving yourself into stewardship of God's intent.

How do I know God's intent, I don't, I wouldn't begin to presume, but everyday we are made more aware of what was not intended.