Saturday, July 27, 2013

Mr. Apocalypse beats with his Walking Stick around the Burning Bushes.

Dog Poet Transmitting........

May your noses always be cold and wet.

When we consider how much we do not know... and then we find out a few things, we have to consider just how wide is the sea of our continuing ignorance. I ask that you pay careful attention to this. One of the ways that evil destroys itself, is that it is subjected to the same tactics it seeks to visit upon us. It is divided against itself. Few of the servants of evil trust each other and they are more than willingly to engage in all kinds of crimes against each other. Also, evil is far more easily compromised than good. The only reason a lot of us are looking at Croque Monsieur is because life is a club sandwich and you get 3 levels, although all of them may not be functionally operative at the same time.

What do you do when you are an internationally famous vampire and mass murderer, on your way to the pizza ovens of Hades? You get on a road show epidemic of photo-ops and... it doesn't hurt to let the world know how many government, skinhead Nazis it takes to protect you either. Yeah, when you're going down the big skid-mark highway, having been Big Kahuna at the CIA and instrumental in the killing of the most popular president ever (JFK) as well as the father of the least popular president ever; the head of the Carlyle war machine and a three term president of the United States , of which he only got elected to once, becoming president by proxy in a kinda-sorta, evil twisted way, just like numba won sun did ...through voter fraud...'”aw, lawd, lawd, I can't stop thinking about her, out dere in that cold graveyard, night after night, ngghhh! Ngghh! Ngghhh”!

There has been no more evil a clan in American history than that of the Bush Family Manson, maybe the Rockefellers were, maybe there was some other band of syphilitic sociopaths that I'm overlooking or don't know about . Seems like every single member of that Morlock brood of Bushes, had some kind of a hand in 9/11. I guess there's all kinds of trees planted in IsraHell for this family of righteous gentiles so... you got the Bushes who are the poster children for what a righteous gentile is all about. This is the kind of thing the Bushes brought to the country of America. In the words of the old mass murderer himself; “"If the American people ever find out what we have done, they will chase us down the streets and lynch us”. Here's another example of what Bush and his banker buddies did to America.

This is what America gets now in the form of leadership and he was far and away the front runner, until his serial, sexual psychopathy, reared its ugly mushroom head one more time.; course, it's New York City, where it doesn't matter what you do, where the weak are killed and eaten, it only matters who you are and who you know. Yes, weennie waggers and craven, degenerate bankers is what you get in the age of materialism. Tyranny is what you get, in capitalist nations, that are founded on the ideas of individual liberty and justice for all. What you get is a Draconian police state, where both government and law enforcement, operate for the welfare of the rich ♫I'm rich! Sonofabitch, I'm rich♫”where justice is only for the rich and it ain't justice.

What kind of a country is it, where a bank can break into your home and steal the contents and throw them away or sell them and it turns out to be the wrong house and they don't have to replace what they stole? What this calls for is the vigilante justice that didn't happen in The Grapes of Wrath. Nothing says, I am an asshole and proud of it like this does. These are the people who say, “He who dies with the most toys wins”.

What's America's favorite sandwich, really? This is America's favorite sandwich. You know, round here, it's not a posting, not an authentic jennuwine, visible bas relief of a posting, without some mention of Mr. Apocalypse. When it started out, Mr. Apocalypse was standing against the wall, near the table with the punch bowl and toxic, GMO, fake cheese filled, treats ...with a boutonniere affixed to his jacket pocket. “Blue Velvet” by Bobby Vinton was playing on the high school gym sound system, to be followed shortly by Ray Charles with “Ramblin Rose”. Those as had the stones to ask someone, or who were dancing with the ones who brung them, were cheek to cheek, during these poignant, nostalgic moments. This was before there was two guys cheek to cheek, or a couple of Sumo wrestler chicks, with miniature (not all that miniature) cinder block, nose ring piercings, hanging down as a sort of ornamental testimony to “been there and done that”.

Anyway, Mr. Apocalypse started out leaning against the wall, like the rest of the wallflowers. Then something a little faster came on and he started moving around a little and things started happening. There was just a tad more truth in the air and that led to a degree more intimacy, in the changes among the people in the gym. This wasn't all positive because neither the truth nor intimacy is always positive. Then Chuck Berry came on, probably “Maybelene”, ironically, ♫why can't you be true♫ and the atmosphere definitely changed, as invisible forces moved through the room, out the door too and up into the jetstream, where it began to proliferate all over the place. Then, I don't know, maybe something by Duane Allman or Lynyrd Skynyrd came on. It could have even been The Boss. It definitely wasn't Tom Waits and- what I'm saying- is that the mood kept intensifying, Truth keeps increasing and subsequently things kept changing to adapt to the truth and every day there was more and more of this kind of thing. Mr Apocalypse is on his way to becoming a cross between Michael Jackson and James Brown. It is inevitable and that is something else one really ought to keep in mind.

Once again, cause it gets missed, I've got nothing against most anything cheek to cheek and I have danced like a mad, intoxicated fool with drag queens and drag racers, who managed to get out of their rides for a moment. They might not have been dancing. It might have been simple tension happening, from some hours at 200 miles a hour. My point being, with all of the Minority 'pre-crime' Report, future hate crime legislation coming, I got to use humor to militate against all of that happening. The Devil cannot abide ridicule. “Laugh at the devil and he will flee from you”. This is an important point that people can look right at, nod their head and then go on about their business as usual. The truth hides in plain sight. It vibrates between the lines of inspired text. It is as near to you as you are near to it and as far away as you are far from it.

When death comes, as death invariably does ('some kind of death' (or change) comes to us all), death will scan you for the truth that is in you and then, like one of those automated, parking garage machines, it will spit out a ticket to somewhere. This world is a bus station waiting room, where some are doing more than waiting, for better or worse. Otherwise, they are waiting, which is also called, “going through the motions”. This is something that occurs at a certain point, after childhood and early adulthood have passed and then that window of opportunity closes, wherein one is given the chance to make the connection necessary, to live a life that is not composed of 'going through the motions”. This is a rare occurrence, as you can see, by taking only a superficial look around you and... we live in a world, where looking superficially around, is pretty much 90% of any looking around that takes place.

Paying more than superficial attention, makes you aware of things like this. Of course, being aware of things like that, makes you responsible for acting a certain way and living a certain way, as a result of being aware and that's why a lot of people choose the roads of denial and stupidity, to help ease the pain of going through the motions. That's where they go through the motions, down at the corner of Denial and Stupidity. There's quite a crowd there. It's nothing but elbows and assholes and glazed eyes, highlighting the fixed and frozen grins that acts as a stiff-arm, going down the sidelines to who knows where. All that matters is getting there, not where 'where' is. That might change a person's whole game plan, knowing where 'where' is and what 'where' means. Not knowing means never having to say you're sorry, until it's too late and you're already there, where 'where' is. Where is a lot like nowhere, sometimes it's a lot like Purgatory and sometimes ...it is only a barren and empty field with no one to keep you company but Saturn.

It's a bit of a dichotomy how there can be so many people stranded in their own loneliness, millions of them. It's like a dense crowd of people, who somehow manage to be all alone. Maybe it's like those ranks after ranks of cubicles, that stretch on till the view bends out of site, since space is curved; a kind of barbershop window display of the front and back of your head, going on and on and on. There's probably some kind of meaning, wrapped in a riddle there.

It's all coming down and it's all coming out and they are racing to get 'where' and they will get 'where' but it won't be what they think. No matter how fast they go, it will not be fast enough. No matter what they do, it will not be enough. That will dawn upon them with an ever greater degree of intensity and that is how it should be. That is how it should be.


End Transmission.......

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