Wednesday, August 12, 2009
The Death Cult Flying Circus!
Man: I don't know - Mr Wentworth just told me to come in here and say that there was trouble at the mill, that's all - I didn't expect a kind of global despotism.
(JARRING CHORD - The door flies open and Cardinal Ximinez-Rothschild of the City of London enters, flanked by two junior cardinals, Cardinal Biggles and Cardinal Fang.)
Ximinez-Rothschild: NOBODY expects a global despotism! Our chief weapon is monetary policy...monetary policy and the bloc-media...the bloc-media and monetary policy.... Our two weapons are the bloc-media and monetary policy...and corruption via satanism and paedophilia.... Our *three* weapons are the bloc-media, monetary policy, and corruption via satanism and paedophilia...and a centuries spanning gradualism.... Our *four*...no... *Amongst* our weapons.... Amongst our weaponry...are such elements as the bloc-media, monetary policy.... I'll come in again. (Exit and exeunt)
Does that make metaphoric sense? Well it does if you're standing on a balcony having a cig and trying to put together a sensible picture of what we're up against in terms of the death cult. Reducing a thing to senselessness ought not to be dismissed out of hand. Honestly, if a thing is senseless to begin with why not treat it that way?
For mine the essence of Python's senselessness was captured in one obscure sketch called 'Climbing the North face of Uxbridge Road' in which mountaineers with pitons, carabiners, and ropes laboriously traversed the footpath next to Uxbridge Road. For some reason this is mad, and yet doing the same thing on the side of a mountain isn't. Perhaps that was the beauty of Python - to make obvious the absurdity of all those things that we're otherwise required to discuss as if they were sensible.
No wonder there's nothing like Monty Python anymore. Now all comedy seems to be Jewish farce. Jewish farce has no point to make apart from the fact that everything can be reduced to smut. We're all Beavis and Butthead now. To hell with actually listening to anything anyone says or what it might mean. Instead we sit there blankly, our mental antennae attuned and waiting for the arrival of a smutty word - 'He said 'Bartok', heh heh heh heh....'
Interestingly, Python is actually undergoing a resurgence at the moment at the hands of Eric Idle (the least and shallowest of all the Pythons) who has reduced The Holy Grail to that most vacuous of art forms, the Broadway musical. Thus Idle becomes feted and wealthy, and the intellectual and philosophical heart of Python, Terry Jones, remains the most obscure of all his fellows. Sure, of course.
Otherwise Monty Python (with Spike Milligan's Goons as my intro) made me the fellow I am today. It taught me that arcane and otherwise intimidating topics could belong to anyone and that one might view them however one wished. There was no topic that couldn't be stripped down, turned inside out, and if necessary smashed over the head with a stout bit of reductio ad absurdum. Or to put it another way, they were the mortal enemies of 'this-is-how-you-must-think'.
When I was at university my best friend joined the army. To cheer him up whilst he was in the nightmarish world of basic training I sent him a letter (remember them?). What with both of us being silly Python fans, on the back of the envelope I put down the sender as 'Nelson Riddle and his Orchestra'. He quickly wrote back asking that I not do that again as the mail was always handed out by a corporal who never missed a trick in saying something shitty about the sender. This in an effort to humiliate and demean the recruits you understand. Have we all seen Full Metal Jacket? Okay, like that. Sure enough 'Nelson Riddle' qualified as a perfect red flag, "Does he blow your horn does he? Do you blow his? Are you a couple of fags?". Happily my friend succeeded where I would have failed and gave the right answer - "No, corporal".
Perhaps that's the military in a nutshell - Python bad, Beavis and Butthead good. God forbid anyone in the military should know the meaning of reductio ad absurdum. How would we ever get a war on if people could think for themselves and come to the conclusion that it was bullshit at its heart? Hmm... thinking about it, the military is essentially a soft form of trauma based mind-control à la Brice Taylor (Susan Ford). Those who've been through military training might want to scoff but only because they haven't read Ford's book. Compared to what she went through, military training is like Club Med.
But the principles remain the same. We are not to think: we are to blink and do. The only variations to the theme are in the intensity. From MKUltra to the military and from there to the civvy world, it all comes under the heading of mind control with the dial merely being turned from hard, to medium, to soft.
Speaking of going off to war, may I take a moment to plant a boot up the date of the Briton of the Century, Winston Churchill? Said Winston, "In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies." The sideways logic here is that it would be poor of a fellow to view them as inveterate liars just because they lie all the time about every goddamn thing. Says they, 'We possess the truth and we only lie out of the necessity of protecting this truth, do you see?'
Ha ha ha, you have to admit it's bloody clever isn't it? But the truth is that the noble war that necessitated these lies was bullshit from the get-go. In 1938, Churchill was in debt up to his eyeballs and was only saved from having to sell the family estate Chartwell by a Jewish South African gold mining millionaire, Sir Henry Skrakosch. What's Yiddish for 'quid pro quo'? And Germany's arch crime at the time of Judea's declaration of war against them in 1933 was to have wrested control of German monetary policy from the hands of the Rothschilds et al. And the yiddish for 'cui bono'?
Churchill's 'finest hour' was bullshit, just like every other bullshit war. The ends justified the means, but only for a tiny handful of liars - weren't nothing in it for the rest of us. Let's tweak another quote: "Never in the field of human conflict was so much paid by so many to so few". Sure.
Since then little has changed. The wars are smaller but there's more of them and they pretty much approach 'all the time, forever' in their frequency. With never a pause the new world order's noble truth, flanked by its bodyguard of lies, marches on. That 'truth' (world peace is it?) is every bit as false an end as the means used to arrive at it. As if anything good can come from enslavement by fake money, corruption by satanistic paedophilia, and an unrelenting deluge of media black lies? Honestly. The new world order will be exactly as fucked as the old world order with the only difference being the size of the pyramid underneath those who view themselves as the worthy pointy bit at the top. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.
Under that timeless rubric, I don't know that it matters who the boss is exactly. Up until now I've been flailing about in some mad variety of death cult whodunnit. Ha! Dig it - it's Poirot trying to figure out who stabbed the victim on the Orient Express. Gosh, there seems to be evidence pointing at everyone! Sure enough, the saucy Belgian figured out that it was everyone. Hmm... if you think about it, Murder On The Orient Express is a brilliant metaphor for how the death cult works. Its only point of departure from the real world is that the authorities who went on to arrest the assorted culprits on the train would have been in on the act as well.
Back to Python now, I have a sketch in mind. Or is it too unfunny? Perhaps I should do it as one of those 'flash mob' art event thingies? Anyway, imagine a bunch of people, dozens strong, all in suits robbing a bank (perhaps wearing bowler hats, just to add a python-esque touch). Or are they bank robbers? Perhaps they're the bankers themselves? For us as mug punters cowering in fear it's hard to tell the difference. Either way, each of these suits holds a pair of shotguns, one wired to the throat of a confrere and the other waved about at us. Of course each has a shotgun wired to their own throat. They scream demands, variously fearful and angry, "Hand over your money or everyone dies! We don't want to do this but we have no choice! But if everyone does as we say, we'll all be fine!"
Where's our clever Belgian? "I say Poirot, any idea who the culprit is?"
Mind you, I'm not too sure about the aforementioned fear and anger. Maybe it would exist at first, as each participant finds a shotgun at their head, but eventually they'd each become just another exhausted thousand-yard-stare killer like everyone else in the perverse shotgun-wired rat's nest: the whole tangled mass relentlessly moving forward to wherever the fuck it is they're going, and none of them even sure why anymore.
And now for that timeless chestnut - what's to be done? As Aangirfan so sensibly pointed out, really it's always been this way. And who can argue? It's not as if the fear-driven, anti-buddha death cult ruling us are imaginative or original. It's all been done before. Hell we all did it ourselves when we were two, and our sense of ourselves expanded to gargantuan proportions, but happily we grew out of it. Along those lines of all-been-done-before, why don't we view the death cult as dinosaurs? They might have made sense when the means to cast off the old predator-and-prey model didn't exist, but that was then and this is now: with modern mass communications such as they are, and the world an interconnected global village, a new paradigm based on compassion and common sense (ie. selflessness rather than selfishness) is actually possible. Don't scoff - if the insane effort that has gone into enslaving us in this global despotism had instead been spent urging us towards the other end of the continuum (at the top of the page), we'd be there already.
But forget all that, it doesn't make any difference since it's always been this way. And the future may be better or it may be worse, but it doesn't make any difference since it's always been this way. This is the Buddha's 'here and now'. The immutable truth of here and now is that the only option for each of us is (and always has been), to embody the world we wish to live in. There's no point waiting - waiting for some event, or cause, or charismatic saviour. I'm not saying that this thing or person isn't coming, just that it shouldn't-doesn't-won't make any difference. Not if you're being that embodiment, that is. Subsequently, there's no point being fearful, angry, or dismayed (nor in losing one's sense of humour, ha ha) because who wants to live in that world? Not me.
Meanwhile the world is the world and we observe and try to make sense of it. Perhaps we'll never be giants like Darwin or the Buddha, each with their own unified field theory of human behaviour. But that's okay, we merely declare ourselves 'midget' giants. And as such, we reach for the stars, as the giants do, but find our fingers are no closer than anyone else's, were they to try. Never mind, at least we tried and at least we get the gag. Unlike that thick-as-pigshit death cult. They don't get any gag apart from from those that involve a Beavis and Butthead variety of idiot sniggering. Regardless, we whose hearts are true (well, as true as we can make 'em), and whose quills are sharp (licked with the tongue in our cheek), will carry on helpfully pointing out the senselessness of whatever the fuck it is they're on about.