church of nobody

Nothing and Everything and All Too Much

2011-10-17T14:18:00.002+10:00

Bursting. I am bursting. My heart is bursting. It overwhelms me. The energy coursing out of me will not stop. An invisible sun, it burns without heat. Too intense to stand and yet impossible to look away from. A burnt out retina for a revelling mind's eye.

The dazzling light of God - a burden, a joy, a happy strait jacket. I cannot share it with anyone, not without babbling like an idiot. And God knows I've babbled enough already. And still it pours out of me.

So I focus it back inwards upon itself, doubling and redoubling, an infinite equation. It cannot be contained but nor need it be. The sun upon itself remaining in the sky not falling. I stare but no harm befalls me.

A thousand possibilities fill my head. But in the face of this light, burning without sound, all things are put in their place. The discoverer, awe-struck at the fusion star that he holds in a magnetic field, thinks nothing of the weather. This is Shiva in a bottle - death and creation both. The best of all impossible worlds.

And what would that fellow say to mortal men? Is conversation even possible with that silent white-noise roar filling your ears? People's lips move and sound comes out but what's the point? I smile and nod. Does it matter what I say? I give them riddles and absurdities. Confused, they leave me alone to close my eyes and behold the silent sun.

It will kill me of course, but only if I become distracted. Around me life goes on. But nothing will be the same again. With such potentiality everything understood must be looked at anew. New eyes for the horizon - an horizon that meets itself again, a single thing without beginning or end.

And so I head towards it. Pick a point, any point, they all bring that future closer. A white light burning within.

With the lightest touch imaginable, The stars dance to her naive gravity

2011-09-26T22:42:00.009+10:00

There is nothing I can ask you. And nothing you can tell me. Not without we were face to face, and then I could only kiss you. And lose myself of course.

My fall will be my own. Certainly you will push me. Cruel and beatific as I, like some flightless rail, panic and wonder at all those before me winged by evolution. Or were they? How the fuck did they do that?

The bottom is nowhere in sight. This fall is to be epic. Makes the Holy Grail look like a comedy. Look at that mad creature, flailing about - flip flap flop. You thrill at the prospect.

A gold top mushroom at my feet. You guide me as I trip. The ageing neophyte and the neonate sage. Hold my hand. As I fall into the abyss.

The only thing that's real is 15,000 kilometres. A flick of your wrist, and my face wreathed in smiles. Time and space are nothing. Golden eyes gleam at me through the smoke that's left behind.

It's the devil. Hold still while I paint horns on you. Is this a mirror I see before me? I kill the Medusa and hear laughter. Silly boy, you were looking at yourself.

Who are you? Don't you know I'm nobody? And that none of this is real? Not you, not me? I really am nobody - a ghost in a crowded street. Falling, unnoticed. Is that the gutter? Oh, I hope so. Here's to seeing stars.

Cairo, Egypt: Police were called when a man attempted to attack the Sphinx with a stick. Fortunately no harm was done as the man knocked himself unconscious with the first blow. Attending paramedics laughed their arses off.

Hey Gorgeous. I'm digging an inside-out mountain. Are you impressed? Okay, not yet, sure - so far I only have half a hole. But one day...

One day, if I try very hard I know I'll disappoint you! Huzzah! The Gods are triumphant! The possible achieved. You are too much like me to be my son. Okay, but which was which?

A puzzle I never asked for. An answer I'll never understand. What was the question again? Exactly. Tantalus smiled.

Goddess I beseech you: kill me or make me you. Smash my brains to pieces and rearrange them as you will. God help me if I have to do it myself. I can't even find my head.

Dumbstruck. Too bedazzled by the stars. So effortless.

A Dear John Letter

2011-09-21T01:14:00.034+10:00

Following the stoush in the previous comments I thought it might be enlightening to see what led to it and what it all means. I expect that there are people out there who will view the whole thing as the paranoid ravings of a madman, not to mention a flagrant disregard for all rules of common decency. But that's alright - I really don't care. I'm nobody and you can kill if him you like. One day I'll no longer be here and what will it matter?

Furthermore I should also add that whilst the following is intended primarily for those of us who are anti-death cult, it will also effectively function as a debrief for spooks keen to avoid the missteps that would otherwise give them away as cointelpro. But there's nowt to be done for that and we'll just have to carry on regardless.

First up: Statcounter. For those who don't know, statcounter is a website, one of many, that one can plug one's blog into and be given details of who hits what and when. Only I can access my statcounter of course - all you get is a single number at the bottom of this page's right hand column (which at time of writing stands at 241,579).

I can understand certain people might view this with a degree of alarm. All I can say is, better you know about it than not, what with every site you go to recording details much like the ones I shall lay out here. The only difference between them and me is that I tell you about it.

Confession time: I'm a statcounter junkie. I find it beyond fascinating. But by the same token it's also a lot like trawling through shit looking for pearls. Here are some pearls I've saved with an eye to one day putting them up here:

Ah, yes. Heartwarming and good clean fun. And the DHS! The US taxpayer's dollars at work. But as if any of us are surprised. And whilst I doubt that that fellow was looking for an image of a cum-spattered Australian Prime Minister, that's what he got, ha ha.

Along those lines, I find myself fascinated by google drop-ins. God knows this blog is perversely desultory (or is that desultorily perverse? Perhaps the latter. I shan't say 'eclectic' since that would be putting on airs), so inevitably most arrivals from google, searching say for ten plagues of passover, will find themselves in amongst waaay more information than they wanted.

But for those of you who've read this far and are wondering what I make of you, would you be disappointed if I said, nothing at all? Approximately half of all hits to this blog look like this:

They read what's on the front page and don't bother with the comments and nor do they click any images or links. They just want the text and they're off. And fair enough. I invariably do the same myself as I wander around the net. And who is that person in London? Hell if I know. Not only do I have no idea, I really don't care. Even if I did, I have no means of finding out anything beyond what you see there. WYSIWYG.

The other half of my hits are best exemplified by the following two grabs:

I like these people, whoever they are. They check out a couple of images and links and otherwise spend a bit of time. Hats off. I invariably do the same myself as I wander around the net. The only thing I know about them (that I don't know about the preceding individual) is how long they spent here. A single hit gives me no idea whether someone stayed for a second or an hour. Two hits or more and I can take a guess. It has to be a guess on account of the possibility of whoever it was having left their computer to make a coffee or somesuch. And if anyone can recognise themselves in any of the preceding three, consider me impressed. The service provider I'm currently availing myself of seems to shift its virtual location so often I can't even recognise myself. Ha!

But then again, I'm not looking neither. All of the three preceding are of no interest to me at all. I grabbed them because they are to statcounter hits what John is to men's names. They're merely more of the same that I have to plough through in my search for attention grabbers like the DHS, Fort Huachuca, The House of Commons, the Whitehouse, and The Office of the President of the United States. I've had hits from all of those by the way, with the last one involving someone googling the McMartin scandal curiously enough. And sure, it could be an intern taking a break from blowjob duty but either way a hit is a hit and bragging rights ensue.

After several years of this one becomes inured to the humdrum. But one also becomes attuned to oddities, things that not only stick out like the proverbial but have you wondering at the curious logic that drives them. Like the individual in Seattle, Washington who hits the same page dating from January 2010 up to five times a day, day in, day out. What the hell is that? What's the point of hitting a page that's never going to update? A complete stumper.

---

And then there's John Friend of San Diego who, if he was to tell you one single thing about himself it's that there were no planes at 911. Did he mention that there were no planes? Because there were no planes at 911. It's interesting that, how there were no planes. Everyone talks about 911 but there were no planes there. Oh! Just remembered! There were no planes at 911! Ha ha ha, what a laugh, no planes at 911, he says.

Does anyone play that silly game Who would you invite to your ideal dinner party? I do. I'd have my faves from QI, Bill Bailey, Alan Davies, and Rich Hall, Aangirfan's schoolgirls, David Bowie, P2P, Hugo Chavez, English John, and um... Vincent Cassel! Like I'd fail to invite myself to my own party? No doubt this party might be a bit stilted at first but once the Stoly started to flow we'd hit full gear. Stories! Jokes! Smutty double entendres! Laugh! What a swell party we'd have! Right up until fucking John Friend walks in to tell us there were no planes at 911. Shit! And we were having such a good time!

---

John sure enough, has charted his own weird course through statcounter. Truth be known, on its own it would have been unremarkable. However, when you lay it side by side with what he's saying and doing in the blog, all sorts of things become clear.

I first noticed him by way of an arrival via direct link from a Mr. Friend's Blog. Hmm... curious. And sure it sounded like some creepy paedophile thing, but whatever, I go check it out. As a chap not often linked to (astounding given that I'm easily the best writer since William McGonagall) I always check such things out and then keep an eye on it to see how much traffic it generates. At time of writing: nada - just that single solitary hit. Would anyone blame me if I was to declare that that was merely John checking to see if his link worked?

So I visit his site and instantly notice he's also linked to my haiku blog. Double curious. Not a single arrival from there which means he didn't even bother checking the link. Doubtless he didn't actually care, what with never having written a haiku (that being the whole point of the place). And this after a single visit - one hit, no haiku, but he likes it enough to link to it. Sure. But let's not jump the gun and start using the word 'glad-handing' yet. We'll save it for later.

Like the haiku blog, John loved the church after his very first visit. He liked it so much he didn't need to look around, hang out in the comments, click any links, nothing. A blink was all it took and he was sold! Love at first sight - "Let's not fool around baby, let's just go to Vegas and get married!" - and he promptly pledged his troth with a link. Wow. Talk about swept off my feet! Or not. Probably not actually, now that I think about it.

On the same day, he pops into the comments for Pedophocracy Disinfo 102 which I loosely paraphrase thus -

1) Dropped Aangirfan's name, said he loved my blog.

2) Made a single para almost-on-topic comment about the twenty year old Franklin Scandal and condemns paedophiles to hell. *For those who don't know the Franklin scandal is the only scandal to have made the front page of any major US daily, albeit not in connection to any other scandal. It's also the only scandal that Mike Rivero is prepared to mention on his blog without condemnation (as he does with the McMartin scandal). And it's also the scandal which I have previously declared to be the limited hang-out fall-back position for pedophocracy disinfo spooks. Not that I'm accusing John of that, or anything. Oh, nearly forgot: John was a kid in Nebraska at the precise time Franklin was going down and associated with many of the same people and organisations that were involved. Not that he had any idea at the time of course.

3) Writes nine paras detailing how there were no planes on 911.

4) Once more tells me I am great.

5) Reappears with a second comment asking for my insight into whether Paul McCartney really is dead. No seriously, he did. Also writes 'LOL' for the third time, not that that makes me grit my teeth or anything.

John's penultimate misstep came when he arrived at the last piece wherein I discussed his favourite topic in the world. Unlike the curious people at Kenny's who checked out his no-plane links, and unlike the average 'interested' punters above, John was filled with an insatiable incuriosity and completely failed to click on a single link, pic, or movie. His utter lack of desire to check out my blog, which he professed to like so much, was here perfectly replicated by his complete uninterest in checking out an article pretty much written for him. It's all he can talk about but really, he just ain't interested. Go figure.

Did somebody says 'figures'? What with yours truly being a complete maths wizard, why don't we mathematically compare John Friend's curiosity in his professed field of interest with that of a standard punter. As we can see, as the standard punter's interest in a given topic increases, his curiosity charts a concordant rise. John Friend on the other hand follows a curve of inverse proportion. Thus as his interest in a given topic hits maximum his curiosity scrapes zero. Like that makes any sense at all. Otherwise, Descartes, eat your heart out!

As I said in the comments there, the only time I've encountered such extraordinary incuriosity in the face of professed interest is with blank-eyed zionists and pedophocracy disinfo scum. It ain't great company to be in, is it? And John's response? He did click some links! What's that John, fingers crossed and a quickly muttered, 'he durst not give me the lie direct.' Ha ha ha ha - durst I not? Bullshit. I fucking durst.

Dear oh dear. So much for that. But John wasn't done yet. He still had one last nail to hammer into his own coffin. Never mind me having called him bullshit and telling him to fuck off, nor him saying he'd knock my teeth out (yeah, yeah, you and stevieb, the apple onion, and zionists too numerous to mention) the next day he... wait for it... came back pushing his piss-weak no-planes barrow and acting like nothing had ever happened.

Huh? I shake my head. Who the fuck does that? I can imagine all sorts of responses but that's just too weird for itself. Mate, do you even know how a normal person behaves?

---

Cointelpro exists. Cointelpro is not passive. It is aggressive. They do not sit at their computers playing the ghost surfer. They go out and they pile in. That's what cointelpro is. And not in any half-arsed way. Remember they are not passive. They will do their level best to become big wheels. They will clock up hours. They will dominate the discussion. They will be tireless and busy and full of enthusiasm. They will network and make links. They will be charming and complimentary and have their gladhanding down pat. Will they want to be your friend? Abso-fucking-lutely. Hell, they've studied the art of making people trust them. They have sincerity down pat. And they depend upon your credulity and unwillingness to think ill of people.

And if you think you're safe because you only get a thousand hits a day, go read up on all those peace activist groups who warranted a full-time infiltrator who would live and work amongst them for a year, and the group only had an effective membership of a couple dozen people. The internet and blogs are not going to get a free ride. If you frequent these circles you will encounter cointelpro. It's a dead certainty. The good news is they will give themselves away. And he did!

NB. Edited 22 September as noted in the comments

911, No-Planes, and the arse-about meaning of If it Looks Wrong it is Wrong

2011-09-18T23:51:00.023+10:00

911 was three events - WTC, Pentagon, and Shanksville. WTC was two events each differentiated by time but otherwise both resembling each other. Shanksville was two mutually exclusive events differentiated by location, neither resembling the other.

Germane aspects taken at face value (loosely in order of timeline occurrence)

WTC
- Numerous and sundry witnesses and footage of wide-body jets striking buildings, exploding, and leaving plane shaped holes. Extensive media coverage.
- Numerous and sundry witnesses and footage and seismic evidence of explosions leading to the unprecedented and complete destruction of three buildings involving the pulverisation of steel-reinforced concrete and the melting of both steel and concrete. No media coverage.

Pentagon
- Numerous witnesses of a wide-body jet striking the Pentagon. Extensive media coverage.
- No footage. No plane shaped hole. Scant debris and that inconsistent with a 100 tonne wide-body jet. No media coverage.

Shanksville location A
- Numerous and sundry witnesses and footage of a small hole in a field. Extensive media coverage.
- No witnesses or footage of a crash. No debris. No bodies. No fuel residue. No media coverage.
Shanksville location B
- Numerous and sundry witnesses (no footage) of a low-flying wide-body jet breaking up in mid-air, an explosion and mushroom cloud, a white chase plane, and plentiful debris scattered over a wide area. No media coverage.

Questioning of official narrative (in loose order of argumentative usefulness, ha ha)

Pentagon
This began with Thierry Meyssan who not unreasonably asked where the 100 tonne wide-body 757 had gone. Where was the debris and litter that accompanies every jet crash ever witnessed? Why was the hole in the face of the Pentagon so small and the damage so slight? These were reasonable questions that would have to prompt any thinking person to wonder if the story of a wide-body jet inflicting such damage was factual.

There were pieces of evidence to support this idea. Flight 77 was the only flight of the four to have its course plotted as a dotted line on all maps reconstructing the courses of the four planes, this on account of it 'having disappeared from the radar'. Wide-body passenger jets, transponders turned off or no, do not disappear from radar. Usually if a given flight disappears from radar the automatic assumption would be that it is thus no longer in the sky. Furthermore the black box allegedly recovered from the plane indicated an attack angle that experienced pilots declared impossible. In addition to this the FBI confiscated all CCTV video footage of the attack and released nothing until three years later. The release consisted of two near-identical clips neither of which showed a plane of any sort.

Counter to Meyssan's question was the evidence offered by numerous witnesses some of whom saw nothing at all (and wondered at it) and some (almost entirely apparatchiks of the military industrial complex) who were adamant they'd seen precisely the plane the government had declared had been there.

It should be kept in mind that in spite of the fact that the government sat on the two clips for over a year, and in spite of obviousness of video fakery being in their best interest, it's clear that they either failed to insert any digital element into either of the clips, or they did so very badly, ie. in a fashion that it wouldn't convince anyone of anything.

Shanksville
Here too, no fakery was ever proffered. Admittedly it would've been a little bit more difficult than the photoshopping of a single frame of the Pentagon video, but not much. If I were a death cult FX guy, I'd have gone to a nearby recognisable shanksville location (after the event, sure enough), swung a simple handicam up to an empty sky as if following a streaking plane and followed the imaginary plane down to the horizon right next to the stated location. I'd then put the footage into the laptop, track in an off-the-shelf 3D model of a 757, quick textures, lighting, render with motion blur, and load to youtube. Fast, simple, cheap, 1 all-nighter = 2 days @ $500 a day (cash money), $1000 thanks very much. But as we all know, no such thing happened.

WTC
The events we saw in New York prompted many questions (mostly around buildings doing a vertical drop into their basements at free-fall speed) but in regards to planes, the first and most obvious question centred on how men who couldn't fly cessnas could successfully steer wide-body passenger jets travelling at over 700 km/h into targets 100m wide.

Extraordinarily, it turns out that the dual-Israeli financial comptroller of the Pentagon, one Dov Zakheim, who'd the day before 9/11 announced that 2.3 trillion dollars of the Pentagon's money had vanished, also happened to own a company, System Planning Corporation, that specialised in the remote control of aircraft. Further, the remote control of jet aircraft was not any kind of new science but had been perfected in the early 60's.

Given the technological advances that have taken place since then, with cruise missiles capable of following roads, turning at intersections, and hitting targets with a 5m accuracy, the guiding of a passenger jet into a 100m wide building becomes the simplest thing imaginable. Were confirmation needed, many examples of passenger planes being accurately remoted-control crashed into small targets can be found on youtube.

Regardless, many people were troubled by what they considered to be faults and errors in much of the footage of the planes that day. The first consisted of a discussion of pods. Does everyone remember that? Where is it now? Next up was talk of holograms. This too was abandoned, probably on account of the perfect stupidness of the whole idea. Finally we've arrived at a workable proposition to explain the undeniable fakery in the footage: there were no planes, or holograms, or any other thing in the sky at any time in New York and everything we saw on TV was digitally inserted, either in real time or as a post event. And all the eye-witnesses were either bullshit artists, à la the Pentagon, or mistaken.

Wait, let's rewind to the beg-the-question: ie. that the various youtube shots we all saw, displayed evidence of 'undeniable fakery'. I couldn't be fagged tearing apart all of them. I'll just do one and see if that doesn't say something about every other one. Have a look at this astounding example of obvious fake footage -

What a give-away! Such obvious fakery!

Groan. What happened to the assertion that the US military skunkworks magicians are capable of making holograms so perfect that they could be projected into clear blue sky and fool cameras, witnesses, everyone? Now they seem to be the very opposite of that. Now they seem incapable of doing something so simple that if it had been my job I'd have palmed it off to the work-experience boy and expected him to finish it before lunch. I can't tell you how basic this is as a CG shot. Something like this would qualify as tutorial 1, lesson 1, and the only way you could fuck it up is if someone hit you over the head with a pickaxe handle half way through. But somehow the vaunted US military did precisely that. Go figure. (Mind you, they do groove on violence. Perhaps they actually were beating each other with pickaxe handles and that's why it looks so bad?)

Enough of that, just go play that youtube thing again but this time don't look at the where the magician is pointing. Instead look at the top left hand side of the image. See the aerial / antenna thing at the top of the building? Watch it as the foreground leaves move backwards and forwards in front of it. And wait for the slo-mo. Wait for it! There did you see it? Holy shit! They've faked that too!

Yeah, right. Does everyone get it yet? You're looking at compression. Do we need me to explain that? Surely not. Let's just say nothing gets more compressed than youtube images. They get compressed to one step shy of complete incomprehensibility. Or beyond, as is the case here.

But the thing is, we don't even need compression. Every ad, every TV show, and every movie gets put into post because raw footage looks like shit. If I had a buck for every shot that had us remarking, 'Gee that looks weird doesn't it?' I'd have enough money to get that penis shortening surgery I so badly need. As is, I'll just have to struggle on I guess. Never mind.

The thing is, footage gets put into post precisely to clean this sort of shit up. Or to put it another way: to make it believable. And yet for the no-planers this raison d'etre paradigm is turned on its head. For them, all these artefact-laden shots are proof that they have been put into post, when the truth is, it's proof that they haven't.

How about this guy?

How's that for logic, eh?

- I can fake footage of a plane crashing into a building
- 9/11 has footage of a plane crashing into a building
- Therefore the 9/11 footage is fake

God help us. That's what Aristotle would have called a 'syllogistic fallacy'. Or to put it another way, 'crap'. It's proof of nothing beyond that silly boy's desire to show off.

But forget the little pictures. We'll be here all day otherwise. Let's gun for the big picture. This was best encapsulated by what I learned in University, year one, product design, age seventeen. The golden rule of rendering was If it looks wrong, it is wrong. And sure we were told this to stop us whinging that we didn't deserve the lecturer's criticisms because "technically it's correct". No one gave a shit. If it looked wrong, it was wrong. But forget us as spotty youths making silly arguments - it's not the output of this rule that counts, but the input. Which is to say, why did this rule exist? It existed because this sort of shit happens all the time. It's beyond common. Technically correct images can and do look wrong. All the way through college. All the way through prop and model-making. All the way through CG.

Inversely, I could take you through dozens of shots I've worked on, that would look completely normal to you but were in fact no such thing, each of them being so bent out of shape that they made no sense from any other angle. If I swung the camera around and showed you the side view you'd have been amazed at how abortionate it all looked. And the reason I had to cheat that thing was because when we did it the first time (correctly) it looked wrong. Do we get it?

In every discussion about 9/11 video fakery it's always the same - I dutifully follow the links to the examples cited and never have I found anything that impressed. All of it was the same old shit that I'd seen my entire working life and was, as far as I was concerned, the kind of thing you put into post in order to be fixed. To declare that these not-cleaned-up images were the result of fixing demonstrates an arse-about understanding of the logic of the whole process. Not to mention an eat-your-cake-and-have-it-too argument whereby the light-years-ahead, scifi-wunderkind Pentagon suddenly become hapless amateurs that couldn't organise a shitfight in a pigsty.

And this same inverse logic follows the no-plane argument from the micro to the macro. Back to me as post production supervisor: as supervisor it was my job to decide, for any given shot, what we do for real (in-camera) and what we do as CG. In-camera (no, not the latin meaning) is always preferable. It's cheaper, quicker, and the client couldn't endlessly fuck with it like he could with CG (which is to say, ruin our lives).

So! I'm in a production meeting and the brief says we need to put two planes into the twin towers and have them come down. Obviously you'd do that in post because it's not like we can use real planes and real buildings. Except, that we can. We have an unlimited budget! We can do any fucking thing we like! We're the Death Cult! Not only do we have no compunction about mass fatalities but as far as we're concerned, the more dead the better. We fucking love it.

But never mind that, just in terms of whether we go with CG or a real plane there's only one question. I turn to the RC guy -
"Can you guarantee that those planes will hit the building?"
"Mate, we've been doing it since the sixties. Have a look at these quicktimes. See that 707 nail that fucking camera? And that was in the sixties. And 707's are lumbering elephants compared to 757's and 767's. You've no idea. Think of cruise missiles. They can turn right at street corners, you know. And they're twenty years old. It's no problems, forget about it, accuracy under 5m."

Yeah, yeah, that's me being hyperbolical. Forget me. Why don't we just go to the only attempt by a no-planer to answer the question of why bother with CG when you could use real planes instead. ...impressed? No, me neither. Well, at least he tried. For comedic value why don't I paraphrase the four bullet points he gives as to why there's no way you'd use a real plane and would have to go with CG.

- what if it missed?
- what if it didn't go into the building?
- what if it missed and didn't go into the building?
- what if it missed and didn't go into the building?

And that's it is it? That's the best he could come up with as to why you'd reject forty year old technology in favour of some mad fucking idea no one has ever tried before? God spare me. It's a good thing there's no one asking the flip-side question: "So what happens when there's no planes and in the twenty minutes between the two strikes a bazillion people all grab their handicams and film a building that explodes for no apparent reason apart from air pressure? How's the FBI going to find all those fucking cameras and insert a plane in each of them?

Back to the bullet points, it's this chap's opinion that the likelihood of the plane missing its target is unacceptably high. Cue the obvious question - Well is it, or isn't it? So far it's just an assertion, something he just made up. Mind you he posts a little youtube clip to prove his point. Let's have a look at that. Blogger doesn't do animated gifs, so here's the key frame as a still. (You can see it moving at the above link).

Sure enough, it's the least accurate piece of footage of a 707 being crashed that he could find. In case anyone thinks that he might be onto something there, just think about what you're looking at. You're looking at a forty year old plane aiming at a 20m wide target and absolutely knocking the living shit out of it. It's easily accurate enough to nail a 100m wide skyscraper. And that's the best example of inaccuracy he's got is it? So much for what-if-it-missed. A pointy hat for that boy - go sit in the corner until you get some arguments that aren't crap.

And do we have to address the old 'what if it didn't go into the building' bit? I think the only sensible response to this is - What the fuck else is it going to do? Bounce off? Like a squash ball? Fuck that - you line up a 100 tonne jetliner travelling at 700 km/h and aim it at, hell... Ayer's Rock! and it's only going to do one thing and that's to pile-drive itself into oblivion. It'll have no hope at all.

As for 'no evidence of jet-liners' we all roll our eyes - it's just too desperate for words, isn't it?

Honestly, between a question that didn't need to be asked based on a shit reading of shit evidence, and a bullet-proof in-camera effect that perfectly fills the brief, what the fuck are we talking about this for? Not forgetting we're discussing a bunch of people who, when they really needed some fakery at the Pentagon and Shanksville, were utterly incapable of producing the goods. A single shot would have done it. But, nope! Not a sausage. And yet, somehow in New York, they knew where every camera was, took them, and inserted a CG plane into every bit of footage and no one said nothin' bout nothin'.

Man, I shake my head.

Now, go read this piece by Paul Craig Roberts. (Thank you Aangirfan) It's a helluva read, ain't it? Now ask yourself: what function does the no-planes meme serve within that discussion?

The answer isn't pretty is it?

Pedophocracy Disinfo 102 - A Simple Easy Trap for Simple Easy Paedophiles

2011-09-15T15:58:00.023+10:00

It's been a while but let's do it. But first a recap -

Occult power in this world consists of two pillars and each has their own disinfo campaign. Occult means hidden and were it not hidden, the death cult would come crashing down. To this end, the price of doing business is control of the media. That's why we have a bloc-media every organ of which sings from the same songbook. Certainly this is used to push memes that will herd us in the desired direction of war, fascism, and the new world order. But even more crucial than this is the disappearing of all those other memes that would otherwise have mobs in the street setting fire to public buildings and hauling the deserving, by way of lamp-posts and rope, as close to heaven as they're ever going to get.

The first and most powerful of these pillars is the Jewish, zionist, banking establishment. Subservient to this, but still untouchably powerful is the satanist, paedophile, mind-control cercle. The two memes that must be hidden, which is to say, completely absent from any public discussion are, a) the senselessness of usury and the private ownership of every nation's money supply and, b) the existence of mind-control as a real thing outside of Hollywood movies, and of satanism and paedophilia as anything other than the foolish obsessions of a disparate bunch of amateur losers.

If there are any Johnny-come-latelies out there snorting in derision at the idea of satanist paedophilia as a global organised power-trip, keep reading and see if we don't stretch your mind a little. If you want to catch up there's this, and this, and this. Those links will point you at Dave McGowan, Aangirfan, the ISGP, each of which in turn will lead you to any number of detailed and explicit exposés of the whole filthy enterprise. The main thing is - so huge are each of these black entities that otherwise large organisations like NATO, or Interpol, hell, even the CIA, are merely their servants. Don't roll your eyes, just go read.

Have we gotten rid of the wide-eyed newbies? Very good. Let's carry on.

The bloc-media is one thing and the internet is another. As it stands the net is not yet owned. They're working on it and I expect they'll get there eventually but it's easier said than done. In the meantime here on the net, hitherto deaf, dumb, and blind nobodies like yours truly are learning and in turn passing the word about topics that ordinarily demand, and get, a pitch black silence. But as things stand right now, the net represents an active threat to the death cult's ability to hide and specific tactics are called for to deal with it. For the purpose of the exercise we call this disinfo.

The disinfo programme of the bankers is very obvious. Hasbara is one of them, Megaphone is another, but really there's many and I doubt anyone here hasn't encountered some aspect of it. It's not like it's hard to miss. Jews are very noisy people who love nothing better than talking about themselves (invariably as victims) and they are as plain as a white ashkenazi face in a seething crowd of Semites.

The disinfo of the satanist paedophiles is a whole other story. Paedophiles cannot defend themselves. They cannot stick up for the rightness of paedophilia. Certainly they have tried, albeit with disastrous results. That link there will take you to Ralph Underwager's notorious Padika interview where, one assumes, he wanted to start the ball rolling on a meme that had as its end goal a society somehow comfortable with the idea of adults fucking kids. God knows what they were thinking of. Instead of a barrow to sell their ideas it became yet one more thing to be jammed into their bursting-at-the-seams, skeleton-laden closet.

And then there's the time-honoured chestnut of victimhood. And the more heinous the crime the more irresistible it is as a defence tactic. To this end a gang of ex-MKULTRA spook paedophiles created the False Memory Syndrome Foundation along with their tag-team partner, the Institute for Psychological Therapies. But without a holocaust behind it, the merest puff of air is all it takes to destroy the idea of paedophiles as victims. But that doesn't stop them - the FMSF and IPT still exist and still push their semen and blood-spattered cart full of their woe-is-me bullshit stories in the hope that those who've never heard of them will buy what they're selling. Believe it or not I bought their line, but only until I encountered Dave McGowan. Tragically (for the paedophiles that is) it only takes a single voice to smash their beyond-flimsy case to pieces.

In the face of such a woeful arsenal to wage their covert war, it's therefore necessary for the paedophile disinfo reps to function as a sort of inverse door-to-door campaign. This requires an army of individuals to act not as salesmen but as anti-salesmen. They are there to make sure you have never heard of their product. Sometimes this will involve them running a website in its entirety. If you want to see what this looks like, go check out the Sargeant's (sic) Inn, a website heavily devoted to Madeleine McCann. Oh that's interesting, I've linked to my place, but I can't to theirs, because it's gone. They don't even exist as a google cache. Wow. Anyway, at the Sargeant's Inn, fingers were pointed in every useless direction they could think of but mostly at the parents of course. And trans-national, organised paedophilia was not only nowhere to be seen but was actually dismissed as the mad ravings of crazy people. Dave McGowan? Never heard of him.

It's a shame the Sargeant's site is gone. It had been my intention to call them out. Or call him out that is. I suspect that the militarily-named Sargeants is in fact one bloke, the also militarily-named Blackwatch. Here he is in the standard black-bloc rig of hoody and sunglasses. Sure, why not? The least I could say about BW is that if he wasn't on the pedophocracy payroll he was an idiot missing out on free money. He was precisely the chap for their disinfo job description. He has If-you've-got-the-game-you-deserve-the-name written all over him. But no great loss that he's gone - there's no shortage of these fuckers and they're all as easy to take apart as each other. As we'll see...

The un-sargeants blog is the ever-mighty Caledonian collective, Aangirfan. The gang of schoolgirls there name names, make links, and otherwise lay bare the whole sordid edifice of filth that is the pedophocracy. What with statcounter numbers that make this blog look puny, it was inevitable that Aang would attract a disinfo effort. Sure enough, the abovementioned Blackwatch (posting as BW) did his level best to shepherd the discussion in the comments to sundry Aunt Sallies of his own choosing, each of course a worthless non-target. BW's problem such as it was, was that he had an identity, with that further confounded by being attached to a blog. Thus, his angles of attack were extremely limited. He could try to change the subject and point in other directions but, constrained by a requisite etiquette, it all came to nought.

Hmm... how to attack Aang?

What of the techniques of the infamous Stevieb that I discussed in earlier hit piece I did Pedophocracy Disinfo 101 and followed up with Two Disinfo Programmes Compared ? Unfortunately they work best at sites where everyone is in the dark about the pedophocracy and are easily spooked by the otherwise tired, old buzzwords of 'hysteria', 'witch-hunt', 'overzealous', 'hoax', 'debunked' etc. etc.

Time for a different technique at Aang's. And just lately we got another salutary lesson in how it's done. All it took was the simple expedient of anonymity. Thus cloaked, the disinfo merchant could attack-attack-attack and any topic would do. All of the attacks were worthless red herrings of course. But the point wasn't to invade and win. The point instead was twofold: at Aang's blog those in the comments, under the barrage of shit, would flee and find somewhere nicer to hang out; and then by taking the same shit-slinging tactics to Kenny's Sideshow (a deservingly popular site with numbers up there with Aang's) they would function to discourage the people there from giving Aang a try.

And what were these attacks? Like it bloody mattered! Anything would do. Gay something or other. Zio something or other. Censored something or other. If we wanted to sum it up in one word it would have to be 'wedge' as in 'wedge issues'. Thus everyone has to pick sides on the otherwise who-cares topic, yell and scream, and finally we all go away and stay away. The disinfo troll sure enough doesn't give a flying fuck one way or another over any of it.

It's not a bad tactic if you think about it. And sure I fell for it. But as he (or they - tag teams are beyond common) slung out different progressive wedge issues the picture of them as disinfo sharpened for me. So I made a trap. Here's the cut and paste from Aang's comments:

nobody said...

And oh look, there's a comment from anon who was just now over at Kenny's complaining that Aang had censored him. Just like he was in at my place (a poetry blog, go figure) complaining that I'd censored him there too. Truth was he'd idiotically gone to the comments page from a week earlier, where (duh!) his comment wasn't.

Mate, it's like you're hellbent on announcing as loudly as possible, and in as many forums as possible, that you are as thick as pigshit. If I had fucked up that badly I'd crawl away in shame. But not you! Over and over you continue to loudly make a complete arse out of yourself. Unbelievable.

As things stand, your criticisms make no sense, you make no sense, and I find myself being shepherded (by your goodself, ahem) towards the position of viewing you as a disinfo merchant for the satanist/ paedophile branch of the death cult. Your shtick, such as it is, is to split the crowd here on a complete furphy - zio something or other - something, anything to distract us all from Aang naming names in the satanist paedophocracy.

Hmm, I'm going to call this the 'Hey everyone! Look over there!' technique. It's pretty crummy but there aren't that many plays in the paedophile disinfo playbook are there? It's a tough gig defending the indefensible, and what's a feller to do?

But never mind all that! You can still redeem your good anonymous name yet. All you have to do is write something, anything, on global organised paedophile-based satanism. Any opinion will do. No need to fear, this is not a trap! And you won't fall in it! I swear to God.

And because I'm that kind of fellow, I'll thoughtfully provide you with some talking points. If you're Americanocentric you might want to run with:

the McMartin scandal
the Presidio scandal
Dave McGowan's Pedophocracy
the False Memory Syndrome Foundation
Ralph Underwager and Padika
The Finders
The Institute for Psychological Therapies

And if you're Eurocentric:

the Dutroux scandal
the Casa Pia scandal
Jersey and Haut de la Garenne
Kincora Belfast
Margaret Hodge Islington
the ISGP
Baron Benoix de Bonvoisin
Michel Nihoul
Jean Violet and Le Cercle

That should do for now. Anything you have to say on the subject will be greatly appreciated.

And punters who've just dropped in and are wondering what some of those things are - get googling!

PS And anon - remember, this is not a trap and there is no wrong answer.

Now he's in a bind and that was the whole idea. For a pedophocracy disinfo spook a list such as the above is precisely what he doesn't want. His job is to stamp out all discussion of the aforementioned and here it is, as a google guide for the curious. Besides which, what opinion is he meant to express on it?

The flipside of this was that I didn't care if he answered or not. Me waving a flag with the words TRAP written on it was a red herring designed to scare him into running. And he did precisely what I wanted. He fled. People can get nit-picky if they want but for me this was sufficient evidence of where his head was at. But nor is it as simple as that. His failure to answer provided me with a whip to goad him with later. And over at Kenny's he fell for the second bait which this time I thoughtlessly failed to flag with the word TRAP. But it was one, of course:

nobody said...

Is that anon wanker still declaring he's been censored? God spare us. You said the same thing at my poetry blog even though your stupid fat-head comments were right there. And there you were with the same charge at Aang's the other day and equally as wrong! You're not just disinfo but you're crap at it. You dim-witted incompetent. I guess if they pay peanuts they get monkeys.

Anyway monkey boy, after I asked you to make a comment, any comment, on a long list of satanist pedophocracy take-your-pick, and you chose to run away, I'm calling you as a paedophile disinfo spook. You got the game, you may as well have the name. You're not stevieb are you? Actually who gives a shit? Either way: Fuck Off Kiddy Raper.

And now watch him put his foot right in it:

Anonymous said...

Oh and "nobody" you talk about pedophilia almost as much as "aangirfan" does. No wonder you defend him so hard. You are projecting with all that pedo talk obviously. Creepy.

Bingo! Straight out of the paedophile disinfo playbook! Time to get vicious:

nobody said...

That's word perfect mate. You are textbook.

In the avalanche of evidence Aang provides, you have nothing to say apart from 'it's all in your head'. Pedophocracy disinfo merchants are so fucking predictable. I gave you a list of twenty things, any one of which would, for regular right-thinking people, elicit a single response, that being, 'Holy Shit! I had no idea!'

Paedophile disinfo merchants on the other hand never bat an eyelid. They been there, done that, got the thousand yard stare to go with it. Mate, you are the walking dead. In your head is a blank space and the only thing that makes you feel alive is fucking children.

Comment again, I dare ya. You are so zombified and so fucked up that you have no idea how real people think anymore. I lay a trap for you, I even tell you it's a trap and all you can do is walk straight into it.

One more time: say something, anything that wavers from a paedophile disinfo line. And to make things really crystal clear - This is a trap. Do you get it? Yeah? But guess what? It doesn't matter that I warned you since you cannot stray from the paedophile line. You can only walk on a pre-programmed path even when you know the trap is there.

You fuckers are so stupid and so predictable it's almost funny. Except for the bit about you raping kids.

And if punters out there think this is a weird conversation have a read of this [link to the stevieb piece]. It's longish but regardless you'll see a textbook example of what I'm talking about above. In that case the paedophile disinfo merchant, one stevieb, precisely fulfills the description of zombie who cannot stray from the path.

Hmm... I'm going to front page this over at my place. And professional kiddy rapers are welcome to come on down. Be warned: you will be on the menu.

So there you have it. If you have an inkling that you're talking to a paedophile disinfo scum you can tear their mask off by way of the simple expedient of asking them to express an opinion on the topic. The reason this will work is because they cannot do it. They are utterly incapable of expressing an opinion on a subject about which normal humans can only have one opinion. This opinion, this humanity, is now lost to them. They no longer possess it. All they know is raping kids and covering it up. They are perfect one-trick ponies who, hobbled by their lack of humanity, will fall at the first hurdle. Anyone who wants to take them down, it's as simple as that. There ain't nothin' to it. Attack.

I address them now -

C'mon down, you worthless dead cunts! I know you're seething with rage. Well, the comments are right here, and we'll see who's blood gets spattered on the walls. Because I tell ya - and you can't say you weren't warned - it's going to be yours. You got nothing. Nothing but the prospect of a stomping. Yeah, metaphoric, whatever - what's in your head is what's in your head.

Or, I tell you what. Stay away! It is the spook's smart money bet after all. And sure it's chickenshit, but then again, you ARE chickenshit. You know it and I know it. As if anyone who rapes kids was ever going to be anything else.

Watch me predict the future - it's easy because you got no option - you're going to run to Kenny's, and every other forum you can find, and you're going to squeal bloody murder like some vicious Thai ladyboy. You'll jabber about every thing under the sun except for that thing, the thing that can't be spoken of, the only thing in your black hole of a head, the only thing that propels your worthless zombified corpse through your dead grey world. You worthless cunts.

Poet / Priest / Warrior / Wanker

2011-09-11T19:46:00.022+10:00

My favourite Finn, P2P, wrote to me and I wrote back.

Hey P,

Ha ha ha, well, that's a bit spooky. I am precisely in the middle of the, ahem, 'priest v warrior' thing myself. To be perfectly honest I'm neither but it sounds nice to put the conversation in such terms. Very 'Grrrrrr'. And did someone say 'wannabe' just now? No? Good.

Actually, I was doing really well at the shedding-of-ego thing for a while there, right up until I started doing my blog and people began complimenting me on my writing. Then slowly but surely the ego kicks back in and I want to be seen and heard. If I'm not, then I don't exist. Perish the thought!

So I exist, and at the moment I'm in amongst the tedium of buying a van so I can kit it out to live in. I'm as slow as a Finnish Winter, ha ha. But it's easy to dawdle what with living at my Mum's. Like some kind of sitcom caricature. It's me transported back to my childhood and I dislike it intensely. Dope is the way to cope. And the way to get nothing done. But never mind all that, I’ve run out of dope now and slowly but surely everything’s getting sorted out. And once that happens I should be in a position to eat my ego cake and have it too.

Did you ever read Papillon? It was pretty good, I actually read it twice. And there's one bit in there where Papillon is sent to the smallest of the Devil's Islands which is so isolated that there aren't even any guards. The prisoners live in little shacks and look after their farm plots, chickens, and pigs which supplement the food that's brought by boat from the mainland once a week. For Papillon that was some kind of desolate hell, with him spending his whole time figuring out how to escape.

Weirdly enough Papillon repeatedly finds himself in paradise but, what with being obsessed with revenge against those that sent him there (um... to paradise) he can only think of leaving. What an idiot. For me it sounds like heaven. The only thing this Devil's-Island-of-my-imagination is missing is the internet. I don't need it as a daily gig - once a week would be fine. Okay, that sounds do-able so why don't I gun for that?

And that's what the van is for. Do you know my plan? To buy a van? And drive aran? Sorry, I was gripped by the muse there. ('Cough!' she said, ha ha ha). Anyway... I don't actually want to drive around Australia like some kind of gift-shop frequenting tourist. God spare me tourist towns. Instead, I'll be heading in the opposite direction. I want to find a place barely on the map that makes its own sense and feels right. Somewhere I can live an ascetic life without any distractions. This is the real world, you understand. The other world, the virtual world, the world of the conversation in my head, I reserve for the net. And this will be nobody.

When I was at the Zen temple in Japan the first thing the Abbot's assistant said to me was: 'Shiraberi wa dame' ~ 'Chit-chat is bad'. And that's true but the temple was full of its own contradictions and that phrase likewise. So I've refigured it. This pivots on ignorance and delusion - under these headings conversation isn't bad per se. If a discussion seeks as its goal to dispel ignorance and delusion it's a worthy thing surely? Excellent, so where do we find such conversations?

Certainly nowhere in this real world. Friends, relatives, whomever - an endless series of discussions about house prices, shopping, and a thousand other worthless topics. Of course, if it was framed in an understanding of the-world-as-falsity that would be fine. But it never is. In a world without context God help anyone who wants to reset a conversation in any context that isn't inane. Ayah, let's change the subject. The only place I find conversations that are possessed of context (and thus aren't bullshit) is on the net.

Okay then, that's what I'll do. In this world where my exterior skin is me, I'll have nothing to say. I will be that zen priest. Meanwhile in the virtual world (that people in the real world are free to visit, and do all the time) I shall be... well, let's say a 'threepenny warrior', ha ha, albeit with words as a weapon. And sure, I sound like a wanker but, you know, whatever.

God knows how it'll work. Right now, there's a certain intellectual logic to it, but the realness of the world has a way of pulling threadbare logic to pieces. In all probability I'll crash and burn but that's fine - no one ever said being bloody-minded was easy. Madness looms of course, but only if I forget why I'm there and what I'm doing it for. The thought I'll need to remember will be:

"What the fuck did you expect? You knew this was coming. Empty your head of all that whiney shit. The world is beautiful. The Buddha was just a man and what one man can do, another can also. Besides which, the only certainty is change and however you feel now, that's only now."

I've done this mindset before - like every time I quit smoking and wonder why I'm alive. And yeah I know it sounds like some cheesy Eckhart Tolle platitude but that doesn't mean that it's without utility. In many ways it's just mindfulness, a way of stepping sideways from your unhappiness and viewing it as a thing-not-you. A thing that can be let go of, sure enough.

Not forgetting of course, that the conversations on the net, even though they're possessed of a worthy context can still serve as clutter for the mind. They certainly do for me. Do you ever read Jeff Wells? He's very good, easily a better writer than I am. His latest piece, whilst being somewhat abstruse, has some interesting points not least of which are his thoughts on the effect computers have on the brain.

But all things have a flipside and computers are no different. None of us would be here, or be the people we've become, if weren't for the curiosity machine - Jeff Wells included. Paraphrasing Paracelsus, 'Everything is a poison, it all depends on the dose'. And yep, I just looked that up on the net.

So! I'm going sit out the net as a day to day thing. It's just more chit-chat, and like he said, shiraberi wa dame. Instead I'll be in the middle of nowhere writing, taking photos, painting - ideally with nothing but the wind in the casuarinas for company. It will all be about focusing as opposed to being dissipated. And then every weekend I'll drive into town, hit the local library, and load up the latest piece. I'm already prepped for this: on my hard-drive I have the OED (plus another dozen dictionaries), Wikipedia, Wikiquotes, Britannica, and an e-book and photo/art collection you could barely jump over. I am my own library, ha ha.

But this will mean the end of me as the chatty chap in the comments, my own included. I expect I'll miss it, but this and a thousand other things. No great loss.

So there you go mate. That's what I'm doing. Now all I need is a fucking van and I'm gone. Do you know anyone wanting to sell a late model, high-roof, long wheel base Ford Transit? In New South Wales? For under $15,000? No, me neither.

But never mind, I'll get there.

On Wed, Feb 9, 2011 at 3:45 PM, N's buddy C wrote:

2011-02-10T17:15:00.015+10:00

Hey N,

Thought this would appeal to you...

Xxx C

Subject: [S] Threat Levels

The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats and have therefore raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved." Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." The English have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran out Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to "A Bloody Nuisance." The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.

The Scots have raised their threat level from "Pissed Off" to "Let's get the Bastards." They don't have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.

Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."

The Germans have increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbor" and "Lose."

Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual; the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels .

The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.

Australia , meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to "She'll be alright, Mate." Two more escalation levels remain: "Crikey! I think we'll need to cancel the barbie this weekend!" and "The barbie is canceled." So far no situation has ever warranted use of the final escalation level.

**** Klein

Hullo C,

It's poor of me I know, but as I read this I knew it had been written by a Jewish person. And sure enough I get to the bottom of the attachment and there's the name L***s Klein right there. I know it's all meant to be light and frothy but I can't help but be struck by the irony of a Jewish person who thinks it's fine to make sweeping racist jokes about others but who would, in turn, view any jokes about Jewish people as an unforgivable sin.

Here's a list of quotes from the talmud. Would it be okay if I tailored one of them into that gag? Never mind the Italians as feckless cowards, how about this: When you go to war do not go as the First, but as the last, so that you may return as the first? Italians - Jews - fair's fair, isn't it?

I guess the difference between me and everyone else is that I'm of the opinion that there are two racisms. Firstly there is the one which may be discussed (and condemned of course) and that is the racism of the majority against the minority. And you know me, I'm against it sure. But the other variety is never discussed with most not even aware that it exists. This other is the racism of the minority against the majority. I'm talking here particularly of any multi-generational minority that has, as central to its identity, a refusal to join with whomever it is they live amongst. They are perpetually the 'other' and possessed of an eternal, without-it-we-are-nothing 'us and them' mindset. I'm sure you know what I mean.

I actually wrote about this other racism you know. You should read that, it's quite good - I don't mention Jews at all. Oh, and the author of the book I discuss there, Amy Chua, is the same woman currently embroiled in her silly Chinese-Mums-Are-Superior brouhaha. For me I'm entirely unsurprised since I'd pegged her as a racist from day one. She married a Jewish chap by the way. Anyway, her book World On Fire is an apologia for the racism of the minority and I basically tear it a new one.

The thing is you see, is that once you acknowledge the racism of the minority everything changes and the discussion shifts into whole new realms. Indeed it's an arguable position that an us-and-them minority, hugely impressed with their own greatness and fearful of subsumation, would benefit from fostering the racism of the majority in order to stoke their own us-and-them fires and thus keep the flock together. Or to put it another way, in a wolf-free environment, with the flock wandering hither-and-yon, it would pay to manufacture one. And they do, believe it or not.

In fact it's my opinion that the majority isn't particularly racist at all and left to themselves will enjoy each other's food, marry each other's sons and daughters, and pretty much get on just fine. If they're left to their own devices, that is. But they never are. Instead we have an endless stream of people, Jewish more often than not, endlessly stoking the fires with their particular variety of under-the-radar racism. That link is just one example but it would be the easiest thing in the world to swamp you with an endless stream of more-of-the-same.

Sorry for being so tiresome mate. There you are thinking this is jolly and N will like it and what do I do? Tear strips off it! Terrible Terrible.

But it gets worse! What with not having put anything on the blog for ages it suddenly occurred to me that this was just the ticket and, believe it or not, I whacked it on the front page. If you were wondering why I was replying at such length (and in such a pompous tone) well there you go. I was addressing the masses, ha ha.

best,

n

PS. I should also mention that this gag has as its foundational starting point Muslims as crazed terrorists who hate us for our freedom. Don't argue because it's clear that as far as the gag is concerned there's nothing wrong with the idea of alert levels per se. Instead it merely wants us to laugh at the idiocy of the various races in failing to respond to them. I have told you that I think Al Qaeda is a con yeah? Bin Laden was always a CIA asset and he's been dead ten years. Did you know that the current big wheels in Al Qaeda are Jewish? I wrote about Adam Pearlman already and the other big deal, Yousef al-Khattab aka Joseph Cohen, you'll have to google for yourself. I mean honestly mate, if Al Qaeda is so desperate for mad Muslims that they have to recruit Jews, then - bloody hell! - it's as fake as a two-bob watch. Honestly!

The IMF - a statistical analysis

2011-01-20T16:20:00.007+10:00

The holiday from reality is over and now we're back into it. Whilst I try to make sense of, and hack away at, the latest absurdly long and self-obsessed piece, please enjoy this truly marvellous entry I screen-grabbed from statcounter. Click on the image to get a legible rez.

Nice one, eh? It's my opinion that if you have a blog it's worth having an entry containing the words 'israel' and 'cock' if for no other reason than to see who searches for such things. Admittedly searches for 'israeli cock' come from all over but what's odd is nearly all of the hits I get from the Middle East arrive looking for Israeli cock. In this case my conundrum is: are they Muslim or Jewish? Do Muslims dream of Israeli cock? It's possible. But then again Israelis are everywhere. They travel like a coprophiliac Tom Joad, "Wherever there's a goyim's place un-shat in, we'll be there." And when you're stuck in your hotel room with no assassinations on the horizon, and the carpet, bed, and furnishings already covered in faecal matter, what are you going to do? Get on the net and find some 'israeli cock' of course!

But thinking about it - who the fuck does that? Which is to say, who searches for a specified, non-exotic, home-brand cock? Do Australians cock-searchers specifically look for Australian cock? I'm going to call that one as no since an article entitled 'Australia sucks Israel's cock' is just as likely to deliver those searching for 'australian cock' as the israeli version, and yet I get half of fuck-all searches for it, and none from Oz (that I recall). In comparison, it's a pretty rare arrival from Israel that hasn't come in search of 'israeli cock'. Don't worry about the irony, it's running rampant and can look after itself.

Irony aside, are we surprised? Jews wrote the book on racism (it's called the Talmud, ha ha) and Israel is the living embodiment of that book. Is there anything in the Talmud about cocks? "Any Jew who takes a goyim cock up the jacksy on the Sabbath should be killed." I just made that up but it wouldn't surprise me if the Talmud didn't have all manner of proscriptions which, depending on: jewish or goyim; circumcised or uncircumcised; shagger or shaggee; sabbath or non-sabbath; etc etc. would then declare each given variation of cock-chasing a sin or a virtue. Not forgetting of course that Jehovah would be in awe of anything the Talmud would have to say on the subject. The Talmud says so.

'But!' I hear you say, "What's all this crap about the Talmud? This is just some individual from the IMF and you don't even know if they're Jewish." Well that is true. But who gives a shit? I only know two things: the only hit I ever got from the IMF was looking for israeli cock: and whoever it was was stupid enough not only to try and find it via google but to also click on my obvious non-sex site in the process.

Or to put it another way, 100% of IMF visits to this blog have been made by cock-obsessed, racist fuckwits. Don't argue, the statistics are bullet-proof. Ha!

Merry Clerihew!

2010-12-24T15:57:00.014+10:00

Well, that was the clerihew year that was: so many sparkling moments, so many of the world's movers and shakers and other sodomites reduced to four lines of nonsense poetry.

The little dog barked to see such fun, indeed. And quite right too.

May your cow jump over your moon and your dish run away with your spoon.

Merry Clerihew Christmas and a Happy Clerihew-less new year.

George Dubya Bush

And his cheerleader tush.

In the Skull & Bones Den

Was all things to all men.

Dick Cheney

Eany-meany brainy.

Best wishes of long life and health

Somehow come out as "Go fuck yourself!"

Osama Bin Laden's

Statue, Kew Gardens.

A quiet public thanking

From a grateful Global Banking.

Bono

Sunnies-A-Go-Go.

He has more of those Armani glasses

Than could be pushed up four grown men's arses.

Little Johnny Howard

Over midgets towered.

His motto as sidekick hick:

"I speaks oftly and carry a pig's dick."

David Sassoon

Was wont to dragoon

HM's navy, under Admiral Winchup,

As thugs to smack his chink bitch up.

Joan of Arc

Burned in the dark.

Sexy bovver bitch

With legs by Milla Jovovich.

"A Clerihew? Oh darling, it's... just what I always wanted!"

2010-12-21T17:15:00.021+10:00

Today in Clerihew Club we match the clerihews below with each of the famous quotes about them. First correct entry gets a free copy of The Firm-Buttocked Clerihew by Sir Joshua Reynolds.* (*not really).

"Gentlemen, I give you the clerihew! Pray do not look away!"

"Ein Volk, Ein Reich, Ein Clerihew, Ein Verrücktwerden Abwesenheit von Reim oder Versmaß."

"Bugger the humidity, it's those bloody clerihews! Won't they ever stop?"

"Every goy who studies the clerihew and every Jew who helps him in it, ought to die."

"The Thinking Crumpet's Clerihew"

Scarpia: Ascolta mi, un ultimo clerihew...
Tosca: Mori! Mori!

Hillary Rodham Clinton

Nutty for badminton.

On her Thailand travel blog

Just one word: Shuttle!Cock!

General George Petraeus,

Sure he may dismay us.

But not like Party B

In the case of Bomber v. Bombee.

It's BON-o

Doncha know.

"But Mu-u-um! Jane's parents are letting her go to the Klerihoolapalooza!"

2010-12-18T16:01:00.012+10:00

Paris Hilton is a fan. So is Miley Cyrus. Daniel Radcliffe says they're like the coolest thing ever. For those who don't know, we're talking about clerihews. Say the high priests of the time-honoured, gone-in-sixty-seconds oxymoron we call 'youth culture', clerihews are the next big thing. Frankly this is mixed news for lovers of clerihews: on the one hand there will be more of them; and on the other hand, every word will be spelt with the characters k, z, U, 8, and : )

Next year will see the massive Klerihoolapalooza!™ roadshow, Lady GaGa's clerihew CD I'm Kleri-me, Kleri-you, Kleri-who?, as well as the UN sponsored U2 ⚡ MKleriZOO world tour, a satire with the band as imaginary MKULTRA zombies tasked by their luciferian masters with the soundtrack for a genocidal new world order. And to cap it all off there's the much-anticipated cinema release of the all-clerihew Twilight - I Bight.

What with yours truly always being ahead of the grooviness curve, I thought the least I could do was give everyone a head start so that next time they talk to a teenager they may do so as shining, glib-tongued paragons of contemporaneity.

Robert Gordon Menzies

Was given to quiet frenzies.

The thought of the queen nude

Brought him quite unglued.

Henry Kissinger

Major hair singe huh?

But napalm is more explodier

When you drop it on Cambodia.

Henry Kissinger

Wasn't a cringer.

He felt no shame at all

At the Nobel Peace Prize Ball.

Richard Holbrooke

Liked to cook.

As a Kosher 'Carvier'

He carved up Yugoslavia.

Benjamin Netanyahu

Will die one day it's true.

Would it be poor of a chap to say

God speed that day?

Julian Assange

Won't use a sponge.

This seems to make the Swedish

Come over all knock-kneedish.

Helen Thomas

In hot hummus.

Doesn't she know it's an Israeli dish

Like gefilte fish?

Julian Assange: His Role in Reality Creation

2010-12-14T16:50:00.009+10:00

The people who rule us know that to behave overtly is death. Thus they are occult, which is to say, hidden. And this works brilliantly for them sure, but it's not without its downsides. Imagine the crushing irony of being a death cult god-king utterly full of yourself - self-impressed beyond all imagining - and having to keep it to yourself. What a bummer. Sure they award themselves honours and knighthoods and Nobel prizes etc. but these are all substitutes, awards they take in lieu of acknowledging their true brilliance.

If only they could crow like a rooster and brag of their real achievements, their true genius, their infinite superiority over the dim-witted masses. Happily for us sometimes they just can't help themselves and they say what they think. Does everyone remember this fine chestnut courtesy of Ron Suskind in the NYT 2004:

The aide said that guys like me were "in what we call the reality-based community," which he defined as people who "believe that solutions emerge from your judicious study of discernible reality." ... "That's not the way the world really works anymore," he continued. "We're an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality. And while you're studying that reality - judiciously, as you will - we'll act again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that's how things will sort out. We're history's actors and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we do.

That's perfect isn't it? In a real world, that would be headlining the Penguin Book of Quotations, but as things are it will never earn an entry. I actually already wrote about this quote way back when but here now I want to come at it from a slightly different angle: the idea of posited reality and the use of artifice to arrive us there, and also the created realities versus the creation itself.

With the above quote it should be kept in mind that the man saying it is undoubtedly an habitual liar. And Jewish, natch. The odds of the above sentiment being voiced by a non-Jew are so low as to be worthless. The only people to argue otherwise would be Jews - 'If a goy wants a Jew to stand witness against a Jew in a Court of Law, and if the Jew could give fair evidence, he is forbidden to do it' - and goyim who are unfamiliar with the book from which those italics were taken (which is admittedly pretty much everyone).

Where was I? Oh yeah, what with the quoted fellow lying like he blinks, the above quote, whilst telling, is not everything it says it is. For instance, 'we're an empire now' is neither here nor there. What would be more accurate? How about 'we're our own messiah', ha ha ha. The word 'now' is rubbish of course, merely there to put distance between the current shenanigans and what's otherwise been going on for centuries. His other furphy is the use of the word 'actors' to describe himself and his like-minded fellows. They are not actors - they are writer/directors. We, the Christian and Muslim bunnies fighting each other are the actors. We get given our lines and we do what we're told. And all to the tremendous amusement of our master scenarists, sure.

But never mind the lies. In amongst the above quote is a perfect discussion of the dilemmas facing anyone attempting to decipher the auteur's artifice. It's foolishness of course since the artifice is merely a vehicle. Not that we get that of course - we're all too busy with the minutiae. Meanwhile we're being carried somewhere with none of us even aware. We see the scenery outside the window constantly changing but that's what it's meant to do isn't it? It's 'progress' or something. And aren't our feet planted on firm ground same as it ever was? And sure we're moving forward but that's obviously a good thing otherwise why would sportsmen put it in every sentence?

Just now The Illusionist popped into my head. Poof! It's the perfect example of a narrative we didn't need leading us to a posited reality we were always going to get. Punters in the audience follow the plot's twists and turns - 'judiciously, as you will' - all the while utterly failing to realise it's all a con.The truth of the matter is that the film merely exists to lionise Jewish rat-bastardry and to depict those who doubt or oppose the Jewish trickster as flat-footed dimwits who deserve death. The entire film (as are most of them funnily enough) is merely artifice, a variety of reverse engineering to arrive us at the dreamt up Frank Frazetta reality of our Jewish hero triumphant with his foot planted on the corpse of his goyim victim, the deluded but worshipful trophy-shiksa on his arm, and his awe-struck shabat goy step-and-fetchit pleased to have glimpsed such genius.

Jewish people are not geniuses of course - they only imagine themselves so. But if all you get on TV is Jewish imaginings, then how would you know to think otherwise?

Long and short, the only thing worth knowing in any story coming from Jewish sources is that it's a story coming from Jewish sources. In the face of the Talmud's 'Love each other, love the robbery, hate your masters and never tell the truth,' the intricacies of any given plot were always going to be worthless - mere lies to arrive us all at the 2000 year old posited reality of Jews as masters over their goyim hewers of wood and drawers of water. 'When the Messiah comes every Jew will have 2800 slaves'. And of course in the Jewish world of us-and-them and its inevitable self-fulfilling prophecy of 'if the goyim knew what we teach about them they would kill us openly', all goyim effectively qualify as opposition and thus it's necessary we view each other as villains and make war upon ourselves.

And then there's Julian Assange! What's that, Julian? Australian ex PM KRudd said that America should attack China? And the Lebanese said that Israel should wipe out Hezbollah? And the Sauds said that America should cut the head off the Iranian snake? And the Americans said Putin is a Girl who takes it up the jacksy? And the English said the French don't wash, smell bad, and like to make love with their faces? Gosh it just goes on and on doesn't it? And of course always with Israel high and dry - no need to dance between the rain drops since since they're standing well back with their hand on the tap. Laugh? This is more fun than machine gunning Palestinian women and children.

Admittedly, Julian Assange is not Jewish. But gee whiz how many clues do we need as to whose zombified mouthpiece he is? Says Benjamin 'Three cheers for Wikileaks' Netanyahu:

“Israel has not been damaged at all by the WikiLeaks publications. On the contrary, the documents showed support in many quarters for Israel’s assessments, especially on Iran.”

Ha ha ha ha! Very good! And blow me down if Wikileaks' Assange doesn't love him right back:

"We can see the Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu coming out with a very interesting statement that leaders should speak in public like they do in private whenever they can. He believes that the result of this publication, which makes the sentiments of many privately held beliefs public, are promising a pretty good [indecipherable] will lead to some kind of increase in the peace process in the Middle East and particularly in relation to Iran."

God spare me, the butcher of Gaza as paragon of honest government. Hands up everyone who feels sick. And the dead-giveaway dirt continues to come to the fore. This via Aangirfan. Fine - me, I'm taking it as read. (PS - Oh look, the tail-wagged-dog did their bit too. Three cheers).

Not forgetting of course, that: in spite of AIPAC being the single most powerful lobby in the US (indeed none may stand against it); in spite of Israel being called the US's 'number one ally' for no apparent reason and absurdly receiving more US foreign aid than the rest of the world put together; in spite of Anne Coulter ruling herself out of the Neocons on account of not being Jewish enough, and all American policy right up until the other day being routinely described as 'neocon'; in spite of the last couple of years having seen hundreds of Israeli spies thrown out of the States for ~~espionage~~ immigration violations, easily more than every other country put together; in spite of every single one of Obama's 'czars' being Jewish and/or dual passport holders; in spite of the Jewish state seeming to wholly occupy American foreign policy it magically only seems to comprise 0.03% of the various memos that fly backwards and forwards through the Byzantine channels of the US government. The big message from Wikileaks is, 'Israel? Jews? Who? What?'

Hyperbole aside, that right there is what's known in the real world as a complete impossibility. Any punter with even the meanest understanding of the laws of probability would look at that and know that the game was fixed.

Memo
To: Mossad
From: nobody

Hey Boys and Girls, I just thought I'd drop you a line saying how much I love your work, love your gear. And big fan though I am, I thought you slipped up ever so slightly in this wikileaks caper. I mean honestly, what with Israel being the US's number one client state (Ha! Just joking, but you get it I'm sure) what with that as the facade don't you think that it looked a bit ordinary how every country seemed to be bagging out every other country but not a single person in the US had anything to say about Israel? It's a bit weird isn't it?

And sure I know Israel has to be that shining beacon on the hill with nothing bad said about it ever, but I had a thought - what if you had some US criticism of Israel but all from the basis of Israel not cracking down hard enough on the Palestinians? That would work wouldn't it? You could have whomever it is complaining that Israelis are just too big hearted, ha ha ha.

Here's an idea: what if it featured the phrase Israel is soft on terror? Tell me that that isn't the perfect soundbite? You guys of course would instantly come out in righteous indignation saying how untrue it all was and how you were selflessly leading the world in the very important battle against terrorism and to prove it you'd... I don't know, re-invade Gaza or Lebanon or something. But properly this time. None of the pooncing about like last time - imagine killing people in the six digits - wouldn't that be grand!

yours in dreams of bloodshed and carnage,

n

Okay so what was all that stuff about not getting distracted by the narrative etc? Haven't I done precisely that? Well yes, but that's the thing you see: the above chap sneering at us for playing catch-up - 'judiciously as you will' - knows that we haven't any choice. But at least we've got a head start: at least we know to cherchez le Juif. Ayah! There's an ugly phrase, eh? Who knew (back in our former lives) that we'd be uttering such things? But sure enough here we are, and sure enough here they are, hiding in plain sight, daring us to call them out.

Right, so we don't believe anything they tell us and we know that goyim being turned against each other is an inevitability, and... and... that's it, is it? We're going to be lied to and the lie will a neat, easy-to-understand one-off. Somehow I don't think so: as if the masters of the Big Lie would expend this much time and energy on a simple one-fer. Lies this big are always layered. Never mind the onion, any give Big Lie will be like a citadel with successive walls, each to be abandoned with the final never-breached inner sanctum being 'the truth is elsewhere'.

Whilst I was never a big fan of Marshall McLuhan's the medium is the message, I'm thinking it might be useful here, albeit from a sideways direction. In spite of the fact that not one single Wikileaks story went on the Wikileaks website without first being featured in (and of course vetted by) the MSM, somehow all this alleged leaking is the prompt for a discussion, not about the media, but rather the internet. Or so insists the MSM. Well they would wouldn't they?

Under this rubric, McLuhan suddenly becomes right, which is to say, the individual messages don't really count. That doesn't mean that there aren't rules about what the messages may discuss, but we can sum that up by saying that all the topics currently verboten in the media are likewise verboten in the Wikileaks' material. Or to put it another way, there is nothing in there to cause anyone any real trouble. No heads will roll. No heavens will fall.

Or to put it another way: IT'S THE END OF THE GODDAMN WORLD! WON'T SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING TO SAVE OUR INNOCENT WESTERN GOVERNMENTS FROM THIS WICKED INTERNET? OH, THE HUMANITY!

And there you have it. A medium that allows the free exchange of information cannot be allowed to live. Every other medium is in the hands of the Jews (in as precise a display of contempt for the medium is the message as could be found) and so it goes for the internet too.

Thinking about it, how much effort went into the media campaign to bring war against Iraq? Now compare war against Iraq with the taking of an entire medium. Believe it or not the latter is waay more important than the former. A people in control of a totality of falsity grant themselves the god-like ability to control the narrative and create their own reality. Thus lesser things like wars become a snap of the fingers.

The net as it stands must be taken - dead or alive, pick one. The falsity must be a totality. Everything else is second fiddle.

Thus: Julian Assange as scarlet pimpernel; the well-meaning but deluded legions rallying around him; our politicians flipping between nonchalance and high dudgeon; the machinations of Swedish justice; the endless carefully scripted talking heads; the earnest blatherings of should've-known-betters; hell, let's just say this whole fucking herculean effort is not here for any run of the mill ginned up wars. Sure they may result since everything is a two-fer minimum but really this is way beyond such lesser topics as this-or-that versions of desired reality. This is about the very ability to create those realities in the first place. Like I said, first comes the lie. Everything is subordinate to this.

The Coffee Rules > Falsity As Totality > The Big Nothing

2010-11-22T17:10:00.005+10:00

Dad - "Sam and Marg are coming over so they'll probably want coffee."

Nobby - "Er... possibly... I guess."

Dad - "Well, is it alright if I have a coffee?"

Nobby (rolling eyes) - "Oh for fuck's sake. You don't have to ask permission to have a coffee. The coffee is in there, the pot is in there, you just go and make one. I've shown you how to do it any number of times. We don't need any silly games. I've told you, I don't care what you do - you may do anything you like, go make a coffee, whatever - but just include me out of the silly games."

Dad (with a look of cold hatred in his face) - "It's not a game."

Nobby - "It is a game. If it has rules and it has roles it's a game. What are the rules? Okay, here they are, I'll tell you - The Coffee Rules:

1. (nodding head with happy face): You really, really like having a coffee.
2. (shaking head with sad face): You can't make a coffee.
3. (nodding head): Nobby can make a coffee.
4. (shaking head): You can't ask Nobby for a coffee if it's only for you.
5. (nodding head): You can ask for a coffee if it's being made for other people.

"Thus (finger goes in the air as dominoes of realisation fall), if Nobby is making coffee for other people... it's alright for me to mention it... and since I am mentioning it, if I ask very, very politely and meekly so that no one could possibly object... and besides which, I'm not asking for me, I'm asking for other people... then I can have a coffee! Yay! Victory in the Pacific!

"God spare me. And that's the coffee game. It and a thousand other variations, always this way. And for yourself within the logic of the game, the question 'Is it alright if I have a coffee?' makes sense. But if you're me and you think the game is bullshit to begin with, the question is absurd. And it is absurd. It's precisely as absurd as 'Is it alright if I turn on the TV?', and 'Is it alright if I go to bed?', and 'Is it alright if I don't finish my meal?'. And we know it's absurd because: What if I was to answer no? No, you must stay up all night staring at a black television forcing yourself to eat the cold congealed remains of your dinner. Yeah right, what obvious bullshit.

"But never mind all that. I'm going to short circuit the game. Come with me, you're going to make yourself a coffee. You make yourself twenty cups of tea a day and making coffee is no different. You're perfectly capable. You can do one, you can do the other. Let's do it."

After a momentary pause wherein he wonders if he can sulk his way out of it without looking like a complete dickhead (and quickly deciding no), he gets up and under my instruction makes himself a coffee. It takes a couple of minutes and is slightly more complicated than turning on a light switch but not much.

Shortly thereafter Sam and Marg arrive, and with his coffee in front of him, and to prove he's not a bullshit artist and how necessary and right the game was, he makes a big fuss of asking them if they want a coffee. The prospect of further game playing and point scoring is cruelly crushed when they say no. Cue the eye-roll. And without looking, I know for a cold hard certainty that the old man's head is now running with pointless calculations for how he might have achieved the end result of having a coffee made for him in spite of no one else wanting one and all the while still conforming to the rules of the game. Games is all there is.

I also know with equal certainty that he will never make a coffee for himself ever again. Here, as in the real world, there is no greater crime than the calling of a game. The old man would rather do without coffee for the rest of his life, indeed never mention the accursed drink again, as long as we never go anywhere near a conversation that may involve his falsity being called out. The only thing that will put that look of hatred on his face is having a game named.

And in this regard he's nothing special. We see it all the time. Every idiotic charade will take place in order to preserve the sanctity of falsity uber alles. We will turn ourselves inside-out, say any idiotic thing, declare black to be white, whatever, and all to avoid acknowledging the mind buggering breadth and depth of the lie.

---

I realise now that when I wrote that Big Lie thing a while back I made a mistake. I declared that the great sin being protected in the bullshit discussion about Hitler and the Big Lie was usury. It isn't. Usury is merely a mechanism under the overarching ne plus ultra sin of falsity itself. The arse-about crap surrounding what we call Hitler's Big Lie exists in order to protect falsity as totality. This is the topic that may not be broached. Everything underneath it is effectively second fiddle. Even the sleek viciousness of usury must kneel at the altar of falsehood.

Whether you want to use the term or not, it's all about the continuum. That's the selfishness / selflessness continuum at the top of the page there. It's un-patented so anyone may feel free to steal it and do whatever they like with it. And ever predictable yours truly, there's nothing I like better than throwing the topic-du-jour up against the continuum to see which of them comes out of it alive.

Here we plunge into circular logic but never mind, let's just go with it. When juxtaposed against the unarguable rightness of selflessness, the concomitant 'wrongness' of selfishness becomes too obvious for itself. Further, as one travels in the wrong direction on the continuum the more obvious this becomes. Thus: the mind set that says that an accumulation of chateaux, yachts with helicopters, and under-age sex-slaves is more important than the right of entire towns not to be fire-bombed must come from a false view of the self. It must. And we're at a truly fundamental level here - the level of the self versus the not-self. This is the anti-buddha sure, and such an black beast must view himself, and everything not-him (which is to say 'all of creation') through a lens of falsity. Falsity comes first and foremost, the thing without which there is nothing, not even the definition.

It's not for no reason that one of Satan's titles is the Prince of Lies. Such a personification could never be called the Prince of Usury, or Theft, or any other lesser sin. Each of those is merely a mechanism under the totality of falsity, the falsity that comes with denying the continuum. And for anyone who wants to point to beasts and the reality of their behaviour, go and do that thing - tell yourself you're a beast and prove my point for me while you're at it. Back to Satan now: in naming the personification of evil, only one sin was ever going to cut the mustard and that was lying.

---

In the beginning was the word. Yeah, right. What are the odds that that word was a lie? With falsity at the heart of things I'd say it's somewhere in the vicinity of a certainty. And in today's discussion we take the word away (word = thought = conversation = philosophy = every goddamn thing) and what is there? What of a person is left? What of a people is left? With the lies so big, so numerous, so total, to call the lie leads where? A discussion like this of such a totality, whether for the macro or the micro, is a discussion of the self, an attack at the heart, a thing that cannot be permitted.

---

Let justice be done though the heavens fall. I admit that there's not much space in that expression for the micro but what if we substitute 'let the truth be told' for 'let justice be done'? That works doesn't it? So let's carry on - Why do we hear that phrase but never see it take place? Kevin Costner said it in JFK and what happened? Nothing - Tommy Lee Jones walked. Was anyone surprised? Of course not. The heavens cannot fall. Everything must be done to ensure that that doesn't happen.

Not forgetting the irony of course: there is no heaven. As if let justice be done though the heavens fall could escape the totality of the lie. In the beginning was the lie remember? The lie, the totality, cannot be called. God forbid. Without it we are nothing. Without it God is nothing. No word, no God, no nothing.

Excellent. Let's do it - Nothing Here We Come. There's no point being bloody-minded if you're not going to go all the way. Let's strip it to the core until nothing is left. Fuck heaven.

Everything is gonna burn.

We'll all take turns.
I'll get mine too.

Whatever the fuck it is, this thing we've constructed, this bullshit self, we'll burn it all away. Send that metaphoric monkey back to his bullshit heaven. Fingers crossed there's nothing left except for whatever there was before the word, before the lie. God knows what that'll look like. A man sitting under a Bodhi tree perhaps. Or is that too romantic? How about a burned out eucalyptus with the smell of charcoal hanging heavy?

The tax file number, the family name, the christian name, all gone with nobody recognisable left behind.

This is all bullshit of course. None of it makes a lick of sense. But since when did that ever stop anyone?

The Useful Person

2010-11-19T15:36:00.008+10:00

"Did you enjoy the trip to Brisbane?"

"It was good. The high point was when we were sitting in the waiting area for the CT scan thingy at the hospital and the old man was filling out the form and he asked me what the date was. And it was funny he asked me that because when he's at home he asks me what day it is every single day. Sometimes several times a day. In spite of the fact that the newspaper is always right there in front of him face up with the date prominent, he never bothers looking. Instead he asks me what day it is and I always lean across and say, 'The newspaper's here. What does it say?' And I point at the date and say, 'Oh look it's Thursday.' And he always says, 'Oh right,' and there we are, another conversation dealt with.

"So we're in the reception area in the hospital and he's there filling out his form and he asks me the date. The day is one thing and the date is another - I never know what the date is. So I ask the receptionist and she tells us and he writes it down. And it was good that that happened because otherwise the 12 hours I spent in the ambulance and standing around at the hospital would have been a complete waste of time with me as the most superfluous man in the world. As it was it was a good thing I was there since I saved him having to ask the receptionist himself.

"And not only that, what was really brilliant was how it cast my whole life into stark relief. What with all those hours sitting in the ambulance staring out the window (with barely five words of conversation during the whole trip) I came up with a one-page Robert Crumb cartoon that describes my life.

"It involves a man at an information window (that would be me) and on the glass it says 'Ask me what day it is'. And above the glass is a huge LED sign, it's like 2m across in bright red and it has the day and date on it - Thursday 18th November 2010. And anyway, I'm standing at the window and an old man comes up and says, 'What day is it?' and I point up at the big LED sign and say, 'If you look just above your head there, there's a big sign with the day and date on it and it says that today is Thursday.' 'Thanks very much,' says the man and shuffles off. And the next day he comes back and asks me what day it is and I point up at the sign, 'If you look just above your head...' etc. etc. And we repeat that over and over until the page is full and then in the last panel someone comes along and says, 'You're doing a great job. The old man is very lucky to have you.' "

David Sassoon - a wikipedia whitewashing for the biggest drug dealer in history

2010-11-08T09:40:00.009+10:00

David Sassoon is a most extraordinary character. During the nineteenth century he was the richest man in the world. It was said of him that "whatever moves over sea or land feels the hand or bears the mark of Sassoon and Company". And when you're that wealthy and that powerful, if a country like China declares your product of opium illegal then you merely get another country, like Great Britain, to declare war on them. Subsequently, all of that Chinese history: the Opium Wars, the theft of Hong Kong, the rampant looting and destruction of China's cultural treasures - variously depicted heroically in Hollywood pictures such as 55 Days in Peking and The Sand Pebbles, or through a lens of subjugation and humiliation in Chinese flicks like the Once Upon a Time in China series - all of that may be laid at the feet of the greatest drug kingpin in the history of the world, David Sassoon.

And astoundingly nobody has ever heard of him. He has no listing in Encyclopaedia Britannica at all - nothing, not a sausage. The only Sassoon they acknowledge is anti-war poet Siegfried Sassoon, whose idiot father got himself disinherited by the family for failing to marry a Jewess. Clearly Siegfried's dad also failed to teach his son the Talmud: "When you go to war do not go as the first, but as the last, so that you may return as the first." Oh well, never mind.

But it occurs to me that in some ways Sassoon's non-existence in the official records is par for the course. Fame in inverse proportion to wealth and power are how things are done at that level. Who was it that said, "Give me control over a nation's currency and I care not who makes its laws"? Who knows? Did anyone say it at all? It's not in wikiquotes so perhaps it never happened. Unsurprisingly, the Sassoons married into the family of whoever it was that didn't say that and who certainly don't control the monetary policy of almost every nation on earth.

Mind you, the from-on-high Britannica is one thing and the democratic Wikipedia is another. There, David Sassoon does have an entry. But the beauty of things democratic is the ease with which they may be subverted. And here (coming to the point at last) you may see that process take place right before your very eyes. The first entry here comes from my hard drive and I have it dated late 2007. This is immediately followed by wikipedia's current entry. See if you can spot the difference. Sorry, no brownie points because really it's too goddamn easy. However for those who need a hint - see if you can find the words 'opium wars' anywhere in amongst the second entry. NB. The so-called 'Legacy' section of each is a) identical, b) predictable, and, c) not worth reading, so feel free not to.*

BTW. Have a look at wikipedia's entry for the Sassoon family. See if you can spot the inbreeding. It seems the products of this inbreeding are all talmudic rabbis. Whilst I'm pretty sure you don't have to be inbred to be a scholar of the talmud, I suspect it helps.

- Wikipedia 2007 -

David Sassoon (1792 – 1864) was a prominent Bombay (now Mumbai) businessman of Jewish-Iraqi origin who is best known for monopolizing the opium trade into China and encouraging its use there.[citation needed] He was born in Baghdad into a family of Nasis, traditional leaders of the Jewish community. His father, Saleh Sassoon, was a wealthy banker and chief treasurer to the pashas, the governors of Baghdad, from 1781 to 1817. However, the Jews came under pressure from the Muslim Turkish rulers of Baghdad. Fleeing with his wife and family and a small part of the family's wealth, Sassoon arrived in Bombay in 1833.

He started business in Bombay with a counting house, a small carpet godown, and an opium business. He was soon one of the richest men in Bombay. He chose to follow the market, but he pursued all his enterprises better than his chief rivals, the Parsis. By the end of the 1850s, it was said of him that "silver and gold, silks, gums and spices, opium and cotton, wool and wheat - whatever moves over sea or land feels the hand or bears the mark of Sassoon and Company".

Role in the Opium War in China

In Bombay, David Sassoon established the house of David Sassoon & Co., with branches at Calcutta, Shanghai, Canton and Hong Kong. His business, which included a monopoly of the opium trade in China, (even though opium was banned in China) extended as far as Yokohama, Nagasaki, and other cities in Japan.

In 1836, the opium trade reached over 30,000 chests per annum and drug addiction in coastal cities became endemic. In 1839, the Manchu Emperor ordered that the opium smuggling be stopped. He named the Commissioner of Canton, Lin Tse-hsu, to lead a campaign against opium. Lin seized and destroyed 2,000 chests of Sassoon opium. An outraged David Sassoon demanded that China compensate for the seizure or Great Britain retaliate.[citation needed]

The Chinese Army, decimated by 10 years of opium addiction, proved no match for the British Army.[citation needed] The war ended in 1842 with the signing of the Treaty of Nanking. The "peace treaty" included these provisions:

1. Full legalisation of the opium trade in China
2. Compensation from the opium stockpiles confiscated by Lin of two million pounds
3. Territorial sovereignty for the British Crown over several designated offshore islands.

Legacy

Although David Sassoon did not speak English, he became a naturalised British citizen in 1853. He kept the dress and manners of the Baghdadi Jews, but allowed his sons to adopt English manners. His son, Abdullah changed his name to Albert, moved to England, became a Baronet and married into the Rothschild family. All the Sassoons of Europe are said to be descendants of David Sassoon.

He built a synagogue in the Fort (area) and another in Byculla, as well as a school, a Mechanics' Institute, a library and a convalescent home in Pune.

David Sassoon was conscious of his role as a leader of the Jewish community in Bombay. He helped to arouse a sense of Jewish identity amongst the Bene Israeli and Cochin Jewish communities. The Sassoon Docks (built by his son) and the David Sassoon Library are named after him. He also built a synagogue in Byculla.

David Sassoon died in his country house in Pune in 1864. His business interests were inherited by his son.

- Wikipedia 2010 -

David Sassoon (October 1792 – November 7, 1864) was the treasurer of Baghdad between 1817 and 1829 and the leader of the Jewish community in Bombay (now Mumbai).

Biography

Sassoon was born in Baghdad, where his father, Saleh Sassoon[1], was a wealthy businessman, chief treasurer to the pashas (the governors of Baghdad) from 1781 to 1817, and leader of the city's Jewish community.

The family were Sephardim with Spanish origins. His mother was Amam Gabbai. After a traditional education in the Hebrew language, Sassoon married Hannah in 1818. They had two sons and two daughters before she died in 1826. Two years later he married Farha Hyeem (who was born in 1812 and died in 1886). The pair had six sons and three daughters.

Following increasing persecution of Baghdad's Jews by Daud Pasha, the family moved to Bombay via Persia. Sassoon was in business in Bombay no later than 1832, originally acting as a middleman between British textile firms and Gulf commodities merchants, then investing in valuable harbour properties. His major competitors were Parsis, whose profits were built on their domination of the Sino-Indian opium trade since the 1820s.

When the Treaty of Nanking opened up China to British traders, Sassoon developed his textile operations into a profitable triangular trade: Indian yarn and opium were carried to China, where he bought goods which were sold in Britain, where he obtained Lancashire cotton products. He sent his son Elias David Sassoon to Canton, where he was the first Jewish trader (with 24 Parsi rivals). In 1845 David Sassoon & Sons opened an office in what would soon become Shanghai's British concession, and it became the firm's second hub of operations.

It was not until the 1860s that the Sassoons were able to lead the Baghdadi Jewish community in overtaking Parsi dominance. A particular opportunity was the American Civil War, during which turmoil American cotton exports declined. Lancashire factories replaced American cotton imports with Sassoon's Indian cotton

Legacy

Although David Sassoon did not speak English, he became a naturalised British citizen in 1853. He kept the dress and manners of the Baghdadi Jews, but allowed his sons to adopt English manners. His son, Abdullah changed his name to Albert, moved to England, became a Baronet and married into the Rothschild family. All the Sassoons of Europe are said to be descendants of David Sassoon.

He built a synagogue in the Fort (area) and another in Byculla, as well as a school, a Mechanics' Institute, a library and a convalescent home in Pune.

David Sassoon was conscious of his role as a leader of the Jewish community in Bombay. He helped to arouse a sense of Jewish identity amongst the Bene Israeli and Cochin Jewish communities. The Sassoon Docks (built by his son) and the David Sassoon Library are named after him.

David Sassoon died in his country house in Pune in 1864. His business interests were inherited by his son Sir Albert Sassoon; Elias David had established a rival firm.

---

*Sure enough, weathy Jews are always described as 'philanthropists' in spite of the fact that they only ever give to Jewish charities. The greatest criminal in Australian history, Dick Pratt, owner of packaging mega-corp Visy, was responsible for running a cartel that bilked customers of somewhere in the vicinity of a billion dollars. The corporate fine of $36M was the biggest in Australian history but actually represented 0.75% of Pratt's personal fortune. What with being terminally ill, all charges against Pratt as an individual were dropped, and that being the case, and he being such a fine contributor to charities (all Jewish) it was fitting and proper that he be publicly rehabilitated, with no less than that shit Johnny Howard donning a yamulka and declaring him the best thing since sliced bagels. No doubt his rehabilitation wasn't hurt by the the fact that he'd had half a dozen ex-prime-ministers and state premiers on the payroll with one, Bob Hawke (the man who publicly wept for Israel) receiving up to $8333.33 a month as 'consultation fees'.

Either way it's telling that we use the word 'philanthropist' in describing a person who only gives to Jewish charities. One would think that with the Greek base of philanthropy (γειά σου Hellene) being philos 'loving' and anthropos 'mankind', a fellow who only contributes to Jewish charities would not qualify. The mistake here of course is that, as anyone who's read the talmud would know, Jews are mankind. Everyone else (ie. we Goyim) isn't so much a human as 'a beast in human form' there to save the Jews from being served by, I don't know... donkeys or armadillos or something. Thus it is demonstrated that the description of wealthy Jews who contribute solely to Jewish charities (shabbat goy politicians notwithstanding) as 'philanthropists' is perfectly correct and proper.

PS. And one does love the irony that the very people who gave us the word anthropos, the ancient Greeks, should find themselves (along with everyone else) excluded from it. Never mind.

shit or get off the pot

2010-11-02T17:51:00.006+10:00

Craig Murray - a man who's not afraid to call a small potato, a small potato. The fans of small potatoes who populate his comments section love him for it, but me, I really have to wonder how Craig differs from a limited hangout spook. Anyway, I've been taking him to task.

Hullo Craig,

Apropos me raging at you over at a slightly earlier piece on this topic, would it be fair for me to summarise your position thus?

- Any number of tiny pissweak terrorist threats are faked (by peoples unnamed but presumably Western security services).

- That notwithstanding, the big events such as 911, the July 7 bombing, the Madrid bombing etc. are real and actually committed by real Muslim terrorists exactly as described by the same media that declares all the pissweak ones real too.

Is that right?

Because I have to tell you mate that that's an untenable position. Why would a SPECTRE/SMERSH style al qaeda carry out the biggest terrorist attacks in the history of the world and then fall down in between times thus requiring our opportunistic secret services to fill in the gaps?

It seems we're required to believe that the world's best funded, most professional security services are faking the chickenfeed stuff whilst the big stuff is done by the world's crummiest, most two-bit operation run out of caves in Afghanistan by blokes on donkeys. It's akin to having a class of eight year olds in charge of the moon programme whilst NASA gets to set off bottle rockets in the back yard. Honestly mate, it's that obvious.

C'mon Craig, seriously, when are you going to dump this unsustainable, logic-defying, wishy-washy bullshit? If you're not prepared to go full-tilt why not just pack it in? I get it that the spooks want everyone to know that David Kelly was whacked, and fair enough that you might be scared, but ditch the charade mate. As the Chinese say, 'shit or get off the pot'. Are you calling the fuckers out or aren't you?

---

Craig ignores me of course. And quite right too since that is the smart money. But were we face to face with him unable to run away, or change the subject or whatever, I expect I'd eat him alive. Last time, when I took him to task in that mental horse thing, he popped into the comments, cracked a lame gag, and took off. No surprises there since I completely monstered his idiotic argument of 'there's-no-way-911-was-a-conspiracy-since-there'd-be-too-many-people-and-someone-would-talk' and I doubt that there was a single germane thing he could have said that wouldn't have made him look idiotic.

Tricksters V Gods - Satanism V The Rest

2010-10-20T17:03:00.033+10:00

-
The Pedophocracy as Sacrament

Spare a thought for Dave McGowan. It seems he's being done over by the IRS. It was bound to happen of course - anyone as good at calling bullshit as McGowan is was always going to cop it. Still, it could be worse, he could have been hacked to death at a ranch outside of Matamoros. I touch wood/stone/steel, and God forbid and all that, but as Dave himself has made only too clear none of that saved all those others. And those thousands, as they died screaming, did they call out to their Gods? And did their killers call out to theirs?

In McGowan's discussion of serial killers / mind-control
/ the pedophocracy it seems that satanism is never far away. Struggling to think now, but is there a single case in amongst all of that monkey business that doesn't involve satanism? We call it the pedophocracy, and not without reason, but it's also a fact that any number of those involved in it were perfectly happy having sex with adults. Just ask Brice Taylor. Hmm... could we have been sidetracked by the sex? What if we've confused a sacrament for the church? Imagine if we were all het up about a cult of, I don't know... 'confessionalists', a great number of whom seem to have strong links to the Catholic Church. We swap stories about various wicked episodes of confession: rent-boy confession, confession-for-hire, confessiongate etc. etc. but the church? We don't take that too seriously. There are stories of course, but it's all bullshit...

Can you dig it? So let's turn it around again. If one was to argue that the paedophilia of the pedophocracy was merely a sacrament within a satanist totality, provided you cracked enough jokes and winked at the adjudicator you could win that debate no problems. And that might be all very well in the debating club (the debating club from hell!) but in the real world no one wants to know. It's bad enough that we're ruled by sexual preverts - but devil worshippers? Honest to God satanists? Bloody hell, there's no end to that. Whether we go so far as to clap our hands over our ears and yell LA-LA-LA-LA-LA or not, either way it's just too bloody unlikely.

Besides which we need merely read the newspapers. Satanism is just teenagers having a lark. Except that it's not just teenagers, and they're not having a lark neither. It's true that any number of them thought they were having a lark, right up until they got a knife in their neck and then had their brains smashed out with a piece of concrete - "Gosh, I didn't expect a satanist execution." - and whilst it might have come as a surprise to the dead guy it was just business as usual for his friend who introduced him to it. Apart from the bit about ending up dead, it's what his parents did for him, and theirs for them, and on and on back into history.

Fine, fine, satanism, whatever. But just because people are actually getting sacrificed with the full gory art-direction, that doesn't mean that it's real. Okay so maybe it is real, like Catholicism is real, but there isn't actually anything to it and when they sacrifice people and eat their hearts and lips and fingers etc nothing actually happens. It's just them being deluded or something. When they summon the devil he doesn't actually appear... does he?

The Exorcist and a 300mm lens

The Catholic Encyclopaedia on exorcism: "Superstition ought not to be confounded with religion, however much their history may be interwoven, nor magic, however white it may be, with a legitimate religious rite." But they would say that wouldn't they? They'd have to, otherwise... where's their monopoly?

I know it's only a movie but even within that understanding The Exorcist has some very revealing moments. Keep in mind that apart from the two stars Jason Miller as Karras and Max von Sydow as Merrin, all the priests in it were real priests with each scoring a dual credit as technical consultant. As such The Exorcist gets the Roman Catholic tick of approval. Besides which, between Ratzinger performing an exorcism right there in the Vatican, and that priest in high school who got all flustered and weird when he caught me reading The Exorcist under my desk in the middle of the class about exorcism (a complete fluke, I swear), within the church you won't find a single person prepared to declare that demonic possession is bullshit.

So, it's not bullshit - but - within Catholicism the rite of Exorcism is a truly lonely orphan. Whilst the New Testament tells of Jesus performing an exorcism, really the Church would love to see the back of the whole caper. As is, the Office of the Exorcist always stood outside the sacrament of Holy Orders, the act was never considered a sacrament, and Vatican II saw the church do its damnedest to disappear the whole thing completely. Let's imagine exorcism as some unkillable strain of underground travelling bamboo that constantly bursts out and ruins the otherwise beautiful symmetry of the church's perfect formal garden. If only it didn't exist! And if only they could ignore it! But sadly, it does, and they can't.

Back to the movie now, my favourite scene comes towards the end just after the first round of the exorcism proper. It consists merely of Father Karras and Father Merrin both somewhat shell-shocked, sitting on the stairs outside the room. Apart from the terrific performances and the immaculate composition and lighting, it contains a gem of a line: says Karras, "Why this girl? It doesn't make any sense." To which I would reply, "EXACTLY!" But I can do that because, faced with a choice between two mutually exclusive things, a demon-possessed girl and a religion that says she shouldn't exist, I have no preference. Unlike Karras, I'm happy to plump for whichever one makes the most sense.

Merrin of course, as the man not given to doubt, offers up some waffle perfectly designed to console a predisposed fellow as long as he doesn't think about it. And unsurprisingly perhaps, William Friedkin, in what must easily be the most tedious director's commentary ever offered on DVD, does the same. It's some guff about faith, and being tested, and whatever: blah, blah, blah. It's the kind of rubbish one's forced to come up with to avoid the inevitable conclusion that perhaps they're bullshit.

Or to put it another way, in amongst everything the church has to offer there's nothing that isn't supposition. Every single thing they got, all of it, is just somebody's say-so. God, Jesus, the Trinity, heaven, hell, the devil, angels, all of it - nothing more than the word of man. The gig is: we take their word for it and then find out if it's true or not when we die. Fingers crossed. Actually, let's rewind. When I said 'everything' before, I should have said, everything except for demonic possession. In amongst it all, the only thing that's truly tangible and can reach out and grab you by the throat, the only aspect of supernature that comes in 3D cinemascope is demonic possession. You can see why they'd hate it can't you? Its unarguable realness makes them look like bullshit artists.

The Exorcist and an 24mm lens

Never mind Catholicism, let's step back and widen our view. Let's misuse that line from Dire Straits, when two men say they're Jesus, one of them must be wrong, albeit with 'God' (take your pick) standing in for Jesus. Following that logic, in this world of infinite disparate religions, each with their own version of the-world-is-thus, at least one of them has to be bullshit. That's just me being generous you understand. Most people simply by being a member of a religion would be forced to agree with the statement - every religion is false except for mine. Not that they'd care for their religion reduced to a probability, but with 'every religion' equating to a truly staggering number, and 'mine' equalling 'one', the likelihood of any randomly chosen religion being true makes picking the correct lotto numbers look like a doddle. Ayah, it's Pascal's wager arse-about. Never mind!

As for those fuzzy types keen to avoid specifics and preferring to find some vague spiritual commonality between all religions, I'll put it to you that the only hard-and-fast, cannot-be-denied thing that all religions have in common (apart from gods who are always elsewhere), is demons, possession, and exorcism. No expert me, but it seems this nasty little hairball is the universal gig - Christians, Moslems, Hindus, Jews, Buddhists, Animists, whomever - exorcism seems to take place amongst every people, on every continent, and for as long as records exist. Says I, it's the only unarguable thing every religion has in common.

Speaking of which, let's wind the clock back. To be honest, religion = priests = those with a wee bit more knowledge than the unwashed masses who feed them, provide them with somewhere nice to live, and hell... suck their dick, why not? It's good to be a priest. And way back when, what with science not having been invented, there were any number of things a priest could know about, or claim to know about, that would place him in an exalted position: why the sun comes up; why the wind blows; and why that white stuff that comes out of my willy has to be swallowed by a virgin. But never mind the gags (or the gagging, ahem), without a shadow of a doubt, in amongst this plethora of nonsense would have been the cold hard certainty of demons and possession.

I bring this up because it's tempting to argue that what with demons being real, and what with priests being the only ones capable of dealing with them, that this must speak to the priest's credibility: demons are real: priests really deal with them, thus the priest's knowledge must be real also. Sorry folks but I'm going to call bullshit on that one too. Exorcisms often as not take months. Imagine a rain-maker who did his jiggery-pokery over and over, and over and over, and over and over, and then eventually, months later, it rained. Um, okay, how impressed should we be? Press a for very, b for somewhat, and c for get fucked!

Ha! Welcome to Catholic exorcism! But don't take my word for it - I'm just taking William Friedkin at his. In his excruciating DVD commentary he says that there is in fact nothing special about the phrase that Karras and Merrin repeatedly shout at the demon, The power of Christ compels you. Apparently exorcists are instructed to repeat any phrase that seems to have an effect. I'll admit that it's unlikely, but if someone popped into the room saying, 'Hey, pull my finger!' and the demon recoiled then that would be the ideal thing to yell at it. Or to put it another way, it's whatever works and Rites of the Exorcism be damned. Best I can make out, no religion has any idea what they're doing. It's all hit or miss, and the main thing is to keep a stiff upper lip, pay no attention to the demon's lies, and be resolute in telling it to get out. That's all there is to it. And yeah, it could take months. The only reason the priests score the gig is because they long ago declared that all things supernatural belonged to them, and if they shy away from it then - shrugs shoulders - "What good are they?"

Says I, the orphan nature of exorcism in every religion is due to the fact that in any battle between a trickster / demon who's real, and a church built with nothing but the word of man, only one of them has their fingers crossed.

The Nihilist's Dilemma

So what am I saying? You'd half wonder if I wasn't declaring myself a Satanist. If demons are the only things that are real, and all the churches are bullshit, then I must be a satanist. No?

Hardly. I'm just a guy who read too much over at Rigorous Intuition to walk away thinking nothing of it. Besides which, I like to describe myself as a nihilist. Okay, so do I believe in tricksters or don't I? If I don't believe then I have to declare all those otherwise sober and honest people who've encountered them to be liars. I don't think so - they and their stories were possessed of too much credibility for me to be so flip. Besides which it's hard to argue with the 70,000 people at Fatima who saw the sun turn to silver and fly around like a UFO. Speaking of which, and apropos the above discussions of exorcism, no surprises that the Catholic Church responded to the whole Fatima affair as if they wished it hadn't happened. That's the problem with tricksters. They're too real to ignore and too unpredictable to shoehorn into a doctrine.

Why don't I lay it on the line, define what we're dealing with, and then do the full circle trick, and bring it back to the beginning. Which is to say, let's see if that doesn't tell us something about the relationship between satanism and the pedophocracy / death cult.

Let's just start with the basis that demons / tricksters are real but merely in and of themselves. Let's not plug them into any religious world-is-thus. Do that and you instantly enter the realm of Father Karras and It-doesn't-make-any-sense. Thus we view them as a non-denominational forces of nature. They just are. And never mind me concentrating on The Exorcist. It just happened to be on the telly with me deciding to make it the vehicle for the discussion. Anyone who's hung at Rigorous Intuition will know that whatever these entities are they come in every shape, size, and description: aliens, dwarves, elves, pixies, leprechauns, kitsune, coyote, djinns, demons, poltergeists... honestly, the list is endless. They exist like rainfall exists and tuppence for anything beyond that.

So, what are we talking about exactly? Rather than dwell on the differences, as per usual it's best to gun for commonalities.

- they are tricksters with a spectacular propensity to lie.
- they are not from 'here' and may come and go.
- they are not serene and are possessed of human-like egotistical attributes, even pointless and perverse ones.
- they take advantage of the young, the weak-willed, the foolish.
- they are possessed of powers and abilities that are greater than those of any individual human but this fails in the face of people acting in concert.
- they may be summoned and likewise sent away.
- they are (Mythago-Wood-style) empowered by belief, which is to say attention, ie. come the day everyone refuses to have anything to do with them, they will be gone.
- they are not an avatar of any religion, and anything they say to the contrary is merely a manifestation of the first point in the list.

So! Have I rolled over and become a believer in all things supernature? Fat chance. I'm a Buddhist of the zen variety who wishes only to cast off all desire. What could these creatures offer me? Oneness with the universe? Not bloody likely. Besides which, is there a shortcut for nirvana? And more to the point why would one believe them even if they were to offer it? If I desire nothing from them and likewise give them nothing, neither fear, nor reverence, nor awe, then not only is our business done, but it will never start. A fig for them.

At long last satanism

And then there's satanism. Unlike every other major religion satanism embraces the tricksters. The punters in a Catholic mass, say, can spend an hour and see nothing very remarkable. Satanists on the other hand...

According to Ohio vs. Estella Sexton, February 13, 1995, 1995 Ohio App. Lexis 1413, one of the children stated that family members were involved in satanic rituals, invoking spirits, and "baby thingies and things like that." “We will hold hands ... it mostly takes place after my grandmother died. They will bring her spirit back. Sometimes they bring devils back. They come out of the table and you see them floating around in the room ... we all hold hands while it’s happening.”

Has anyone reading here ever seen anything like that in any church they ever went to? No, me neither. The best it ever got for me was choir practice in an ancient church I wandered into in the middle of Venice many years ago - the acoustics were mind-buggering. And then there was that time with a gamelan orchestra accompanying four ethereal women doing a traditional dance in a temple in Ayutthaya. And I nearly fainted once from the power of a two hundred voice choir doing Carmina Burana at the Sydney Opera House. Oh wait, that's not even religious now that I think about it. But! Had I gone to a black mass, a good and proper one that didn't involve me as human sacrifice, I suspect I'd have been odds-on to see some truly spooky shit.

It doesn't mean anything of course. Yes, it is supernature but that doesn't mean it can't be a bullshit at the same time. A supernatural dog and a supernatural pony is still a dog and pony show. It'll impress the mug punters but in the grand scheme of things it isn't worth a pinch of shit. Supernature entities are not so different to human performers: if the audience has no time for them their balls will shrivel to raisins. The magic? I snap my fingers. Or I turn the house lights up. Either one will do.

And never mind me, here's as neat a summary of the real world power of satanists as you'll find anywhere-

March 25, 1998, MEXICO CITY, MEXICO, Elio Hernandez Rivera, David Serna Valdes and Sergio Martinez Salinas, Sentences for Murder, Conspiracy, Drug Trafficking and Weapons Violations. The group thought their self-styled religion, which drew from the Caribbean Santeria and the African Palo Mayombe traditions, would render them bulletproof and protect them from police and rival gang members which was the rationale for why they “sacrificed” Mark Kilroy and others.

Yeah, so much for that. And they only had to slay thirteen people to figure out it was crap.

That of course is why the occult is hidden. In fact occult means hidden. There are those who'd argue that magic is somehow naturally hidden and that's why it's right one should spend one's life searching. I don't know about that. What if I said that any hiding was done as a deliberate act by the dog-and-pony-show proprietors keen not to lose their livelihood? If it ain't hidden, there ain't no show. "Please don't take away my dog and my pony! Without them I'll have to work for a living!"

Now factor in James 'The Amazing' Randi, famous debunker, paedophilia accusee, and board member of the False Memory Syndrome Foundation. Sorry Amazing, but you hang with those fuckers you get tarred with that brush and that's all there is to it. So there's Amazing with a sign over his head proclaiming satanist spook affiliations, all the while running around debunking everyone else's magic. Sure. That's makes sense doesn't it? God forbid the wrong people should avail themselves of the tricksters.

Oh, and Satan? He's bullshit, just another lie, one that suits not just the trickster but the dog-and-pony bullshit artists who want to piggyback their way into being our masters. Thus, if one was actually to encounter Satan it's only because the trickster has settled on that as the thing we're most likely to be impressed by. Remember Satan appearing to Jesus in the New Testament? What if I said he wasn't Satan at all but just another trickster talking to him in a language he knew he'd understand? Otherwise, should anyone ever encounter a trickster there's only one thing to keep in mind: believe nothing about what they say, or how they appear. Nothing. And then you tell them to fuck off and you turn on your heel and leave.

But to hell with the dog and pony. The truth is that the heavies at the pointy end of the satanist pyramid know that it's all bullshit. The only part of it that counts is keeping it all hidden. Provided you can keep your shit hidden, you can walk on water. Believe it or not, I've done it. And I built the rig myself.

And so, the tricksters provide the initial lure for the credulous. Once in, and up to their necks in blood and illicit sex - belief, disbelief, it no longer matters - they cannot leave. And the beauty of it is, it's all non-denominational - Micks, Proddos, Jews, Mormons, whomever. And here we are scratching our heads as to whose shitfight is this? The beauty of satanism is, we'll never figure it out. 'Hidden' is the core of their DNA. And there you have satanism: the perfect recruitment vehicle, the perfect corruption mechanism, the perfect don't-argue compliance enforcer, the perfect thing-that-doesn't-exist.

Black and White, Babies and Bathwater

I understand that I might be accused of... um, 'throwing the baby out with the bath water'. ie. as in all things, there is good and bad and so it is with supernatural entities. Thus by rejecting all supernatural entities we miss out on that which is good. The key word here is 'good' - 'good' as in a baby is good and thus to throw it out would be 'bad'.

Let's stop. We'll stop because the above metaphor is bullshit insofar as it's a classic case of begging the question. And no, I'm mot 'prompting the question', rather I'm 'asking a question possessed of an assumption' and God knows 'baby with the bath water' is precisely that. The assumption is that an encounter with a spirit who is not a trickster is inherently good, good like a baby is good, unimpeachable like motherhood is unimpeachable. Yeah, says I? Bullshit.

Frankly we'd be closer to the mark if we were to compare it to throwing out the good bath water with the bad bath water. And sure, anyone hearing such a daft non-expression would rightly shake their head since it doesn't make any sense. Besides which, bathing is good isn't it? Exactly, we're still begging the question. So! Let's chuck out the baby and the bath water, certainly as an expression, and come up with a new one. Thus, me declaring that one should have nothing to do with any supernatural entities is like 'throwing out the white chess pieces with the black ones'. This will never catch on as a phrase but it's not meant to.

Rather it's a discussion of what's the point. Who in their right mind would declare that, yes, black chess pieces are bad but that white ones are good? Why not just skip chess altogether? Haven't we better things to do? And for the sake of the chess fans out there let me declare that this is an allegorical chess. Instead of being a pleasant hour long diversion, it stands for what's-in-it-for-me, with 'me' as an entity opposed to 'them'.

Forget what's-in-it-for-me. Imagine yourself in the world, and all without intermediaries. Well, not beyond the wind in your face, that is. No gods, no devils, no heaven, no hell, and yep, above us only sky. Is that too terrible? That would work wouldn't it? In the presence of nature what need is there for supernature? Apart from selfish reasons? Why would one look out on this temporal world with its infinite intensity and say they want more? ...that they want to look beneath? ...that there must be something beyond this? What is there beneath a crested bronzewing apart from the sound of its wings beating the air? Such a magical sound ...and no magic in it! Me, I rejoice. Why the hunt for belief with the world so full already?

Next on ABC - Media Watch Death Cult Love-Fest!

2010-08-17T15:32:00.026+10:00

In wondering at that timeless question, What would I do if I were the producer of the ABC's Media Watch?, I decided that I would turn it into a panel show. And in true Tarantino pastiche style, I'd make it the best damn panel show ever. Thus, it would be a bit of everything: The Daily Show, The Chaser, Spicks and Specks, The Gruen Transfer, hell, we'll even throw My Word into the mix. Bugger it, let's get hell-bent and dig up the corpse of Frank Muir - even dead he'll beat the pants off just about anyone.

Apologies to foreigners who've never seen the above-mentioned programmes. Just take it as read that I'm talking about one of those whacky panel shows peopled with clever trousers trying to crack each other up. And in this case, we focus on certain unremarked-upon strands within the media and how they manifest themselves, and how they don't, and what it all means. Or doesn't mean.

And all in adulatory terms! Bravo the death cult! We think they're tops. Here at the Love-Fest, we say a tuppence for the death cult's shy modesty. If anyone in the world deserved celebrity status, it's the god-kings of the new world order. So here we'll give them the full treatment - graphics, footage, animation, sound effects, canned laughter - the full tilterama. [note to Sal - delete - It would be great if we could get some Chinese Opera in there somehow. No reason, I just like Chinese Opera. Do you know anyone?]

Don't worry if you don't understand a given gag. You don't want to understand it. Hell, I don't want to understand it. And often as not I don't. And that's half the fun. It's like the Pixies - knowing what all their songs mean precisely, would be a mistake. I call it the joy of not understanding. Black Francis gets it, I'm sure. Anyway, this is like that. Or at least, 'the vibe is in mind'. Thus, here's my sure-fire outline for a winner show, which is to say, the kind of show I want to watch. Each of the sketches could be weekly regulars or they may be one-offs. Nothing is rigid. The only rule is to get laughs and attack from sideways.

Good News from the Good War

We start the show with a somewhat solemn segment. The panel discusses the rightness of whatever war it is we're in and backs up the latest reason given for it. "At least it's all for a good cause" etc. Mind you, we don't want this to be too po-faced, so perhaps we break the ice a little (and keep things within traditional military bounds) by treating the week's TV montage of Good War News as one of those checklist drinking games.

- Skol (drink/down/chug/whatever) one drink for any depiction of Western soldiers as Good Samaritans who are only there to help people. Skol two for any soldier wondering why the locals aren't more appreciative of the help they're being given. Skol three for any soldiers guarding poppy fields.
- Skol one for every instance of locals who love the Americans and want them to stay. Skol two for local kids who've been blown up, taken to America, and think America is great. Skol three for any Muslim woman who fell in love with an American boy, rejected Islam, got married, emigrated, and now has a top-selling line of sexy lingerie exercise videos. (I just made that up - is it too silly? Probably not).
- Skol one for any Western Soldiers who've been blown up and are now 'helping to change people's lives by serving as an inspiration'. Skol two if they appear with the Prime Minister or President. And skol three if either of the latter get the bloke's name wrong.
- Skol one for the phrase 'moving forward'. Skol two for anyone explaining how we need to be there 'until the mission/job is completed/finished' whilst failing to mention what the mission/job is, or how we'd complete/finish it. Skol three for any use of the phrase, ironic or otherwise, 'there's light at the end of the tunnel'.

Optional Oblivion-Here-We-Come Speed Version
- Skol one for any Jewish talking head. Skol two for any Jewish talking head interviewing another Jewish talking head. Skol three for any report in which every talking head is Jewish. Double up if the topic is Muslim wickedness.

And so it goes with the show barely ten minutes in and the entire panel completely rat-arse drunk already.

The Reserve Bank Snark Hunt

Sobering quickly now, the panel searches for any sight of the Reserve Bank Snark. Not that anyone knows what the Snark is exactly since no one will say, but the panel does its best. Each week they trawl the media for any mention of it to see if we might add an ear, hoof, or tail to our sketchy picture. Included would be: sightings, habits, and behaviour of component board members; backwards engineering wherein we analyse the behaviour of politicians etc. who come into contact with the Snark, to see what clues that provides; a look at Snarks through history (with dead celebrity reporter-in-effigy Andrew Jackson); a look at the latest blurry viewer photos and videos of possible snarks; interviews with psychics, baristas, prostitutes etc. [Hey Sal - delete - Ideas for accompanying music: what's that music they play whenever there's a horse race? You know what I mean? Yeah, well... that]

Manny Goldstein's Fantasy Villain League

Here celebrity reporter Manny Goldstein takes the panel through the week's action and answers the perennial (and rather proper) question, 'At whom should we be shaking our collective fist this week?' Panel members (along with viewers) can swap and trade players in their fantasy villain league with Manny providing the latest tips - precise details of foreign corruption, foreign wickedness, foreign mistreatment of women, execution by swords, stones, and other means of death that Westerners don't use, mass graves, mass starvation, as well as a quick summary of villains' bad hair, clothes, shoes, etc.

And we can all play safe in the knowledge that none of it has anything to do with us and they've only themselves to blame. Each week the prize will snowball until one lucky viewer hits the jackpot when we find out which of our villains was so evil that we had no choice but to steal his nation's shit and turn what was left into a radioactive wasteland. It's lots of fun and completely harmless. NB. Apart from the jackpot prize (which could be as much as a hundred dollars), the top player is also guaranteed a starting place in the CFR-Trilateral-Bilderberger Pro-Am Circuit.

Conspiracy Nutbar Crunchfest

Wherein the media's best derisory use of the phrase 'conspiracy theory' provides an opportunity for the panel to pile in and kick the shit out of the mad idea, as well as the tin-foil hat wearing loony who uttered it. This can be presented as a point scoring buzzer game with the panel given a list of set responses ('That's just crazy', 'He'll be talking about UFO's next', 'Anti-Semitism!', 'They would never do it', 'That's just crazy', etc), then upon hearing various 'facts' put forward by the loony, the panel members hit their buzzer to be first with the right set response (extra points for eye-rolling, head-shaking, and 'snorting'). The segment ends with the Forget-Me-Hot-List which is an easy to remember list of things one should forget. This, so as to more correctly view the week's particular crazy conspiracy theory, ie. for flight 93:

-There was no wreckage at the Shanksville site, nothing, not a sausage.
-The 'scar' in the earth was always there and was unconnected to the crash.
-Sundry non-spook witnesses describe an entirely separate and different event taking place miles away.

All of the footage would be accompanied by a laugh track featuring audience jeers, catcalls, and cries of 'That's just crazy!'

Three Cheers For Israel

This segment always begins with the traditional cry of "Three Cheers For Israel! Hip, Hip..." which is always always met with the traditional embarassed silence and slight cough from the back of the audience [note to Sal *please delete* - when we're in audio, perhaps we could sneak in a quietly muttered 'yeah, get fucked', so quiet that only we know it's there, you know what I mean? no harm in trying]. This segment has two parts - Kowtow of the Week and The Mark Regev Fan Club.

Kowtow of the Week

In which the panel picks the week's best kowtow to Israel, whether from a politician, interviewer, or news report. In the same way that The Gruen Transfer extols the virtues of selling the indefensible, The Death Cult Love-Fest ever seeks to more fulsomely laud the fulsome lauding of the world's shittiest country. The various brilliant means of doing this are discussed and praised. Of course in order to bring a sense of 'balance' the panel will occasionally offer critical tips as to how a kowtower might improve their performance and otherwise be more effective. The running-joke catch-cry: Know No Shame!

Mark Regev Fan Club

A special place for all the Mark Regev fans out there. There's no one quite like him is there? The panel variously: waxes rhapsodic about Mark's latest media appearance; admires his hair, clothes, and shoes; judges the best stories and art work sent in by the viewers; screens the latest episode of our regular FANimation™ The Adventures of Lego Mark Regev in which we see Mark have various fan-imagined Lego adventures with the fan doing their best Mark voice-over impersonation - which of course will explain the rightness of whatever our little Lego Mark is doing. Other ideas: The 'Cook Mark a Meal' Recipe Club wherein fans send in recipes that Mark might like and the panel cooks them and discusses how 'Mark' they are; Video Karaoke Singalong - send your favourite love song to Mark whilst watching the burning of Gaza and Lebanon; and various hot discussions from the website forum, If Mark Regev were Doc Ock, would he beat Spider-Man?, and the hugely popular Funny Vid! Dude lights fart while Mark Regev is on TV, and Captain_boinging is a FUCKTARD - I happen TO KNOW THat MARK REGEV bought THRILLER and LIKED IT!!!!!!!! MICHAEL JACKSON is GREAT!!!!!!!!!!! etc. etc. Honestly, the possibilities are endless.

Give Us A Wink, Rupes!

Here the panel contributes what they consider to be the best media racist wink of the week. The winner is whichever story maxes out the audience's famous Something-From-Nothing-Clap-O-Meter, as adjusted by the Duckworth-Lewis value S/N (where S = something, ie. racist mileage, and N = nothing, ie. How the most common name in the world Li/Lee is also the most common name topping university entrance scores. Wow, that just goes to show doesn't it? Anyway, you multiply that by the number you first thought of and you get a funny score). Three cheers! Speaking of scores, our guest celebrity Ezra Pound is currently in the lead with 17 points in spite of not having uttered a single word. As you can see, Ezra is there to balance Frank Muir and is, like Frank, 'no longer quick'. So, what with him lacking Frank Muir's sound-bite library, we came up with the idea of cutting up The Cantos into single sentences, putting them all in a hat, and then picking one out randomly in answer to each question. Spookily enough he absolutely nailed it every time. A big hand for Ezra! Yay!

King of the Death Cult Crawly Bum Lick

What with the panel being a pack of smart-arses who'd like to make a lot of money without working very hard, there isn't one of them who wouldn't love some kind of semi-permanent celebrity spot with the death cult. It's all very well being in at the bloody ABC but the money is dead ordinary and there's no hookers, no drugs, no nothing. Anyway, in honour of their own desire for money (and drug-fueled mad rooting) each week the members of the panel do their best to win the coveted title King of the Death Cult Crawly Bum Lick. In this competition, panel members take their weekly turn to make a pitch to the death cult outlining the genius plan they've come up with for installing them as god-kings of the new world order complete with hot and cold running sex slaves (hallowed be their names) (the god-kings, not the sex slaves). You can see why a fellow would want to dig up Frank Muir, couldn't you? He'd have made the perfect first King of the Death Cult Crawly Bum Lick.

End of Year Special

This is our annual end of the year lollapalooza drone-fest special. As a way of doing the obligatory that-was-the-year-that-was round-up thingy, we go with the obvious awards gag. The awards will come in two categories: funny ones we just made up to match the funny footage; and proper annual awards that we actually have to think of winners for. The latter categories might include - Best Arse, Best Fathead, Best Transparently Obvious Lie, Best Give-The-Game-Away, Biggest Shut-The-Fuck-Up, Best Slut, Best Insult To Our Intelligence, Best Mind Control Zombie, Best Bragging, Best Blame The Victim, and finally the top award, the hallowed Best And Biggest Big Lie.

This last award goes to the person in the world least afraid of irony, hypocrisy, or shame, with more chutzpah than God, a bold person who's prepared to embrace the perversity of taking a leaf out of Adolf Hitler's Big Lie playbook, and who, in testimony to their own brilliance, goes Hitler one better and doesn't idiotically explain how the Big Lie works before they do it - pauses, looks to camera - Instead they 'Just Do It', and they don't even have to pay Nike for the privilege. And sure enough, in fine who-was-that-masked-man style, they slip off into obscurity hoping that nobody noticed. Ever self-effacing, the Death Cult.

---

Self-effacing gentlemen and scholars! Rare geniuses and saints! Well, it just so happens that nobody did notice: they noticed, they took inspiration, and may I say that I hope the death cult funding board grabs this opportunity to pick up this sure-fire TV comedy hit, safe in the knowledge that with the proper monetary backing it can be burned in effigy, thrown into the ocean from a helicopter, or just left here on this blog (whichever gets the least attention). Honestly Death Cult, this thing sells itself! You'd be mad not to pay the very low price!

Cue audience applause! Yay!

Inevitability, the end of the world, and the many-minds juju

2010-08-03T17:42:00.026+10:00

I reckon I'm onto something here. Mind you, I always think that... but whatever! I'm writing, you're reading, let's just do it. Today's thought pivots on what I consider to be the only juju that actually possesses any power: the juju of many minds thinking the same thought. And the thought that counts here is a biggie - the 'inevitability' of the the coming apocalypse/armageddon/gotterdammerung/time-of-revelation/insert_word_of_your_choice_here.

Where to start? How about Arnie Schwarzenneger? I choose him not because he's significant - he ain't. He's just another clueless puppet seduced by the usual mansions, yachts, and mind-control pussy. Rather he stands in here as an easily understood signpost in a many-minds juju gig. To wit: the everyone-must-hate-Muslims campaign that began with his execrable/brilliant True Lies flick. Pay no attention to the in-joke mind-control title, it's the thrust of the campaign here that counts.

Now that we have a better understanding of how these things work, this particular campaign was actually fucking obvious. The death cult wanted the nations of the West at war with Muslims. Sure enough, under the many-minds juju rubric it was necessary that we believed that Muslims were mad, death-wish psychopaths who hated us for our freedom. Or somesuch. Don't worry that none of it made a lick of sense, nor that it was utterly at odds with what those who were familiar with actual non-Hollywood Muslims knew to be the truth, ie. that they are the most charming and hospitable people you could meet. Common sense, real world experience - none of that is a match for a manufactured many-minds juju.

From the deliriously racist Hot Shots Part Deux, through to the too clever for itself 24, onto the wolf in sheep's clothing Rendition, we can observe the roll-out of a long planned campaign at least twenty years in the making. With the bloc-media filling in all the gaps in between, enough of that shit bubbled through the ground water so that when the time came we were there already. Literally, now that I think about it: Have MOAB, Will Travel.

And back at home, we the otherwise right-thinking (who couldn't help but drink the water), muttered briefly, but not too much on account of that wee nagging voice telling us that Muslims aren't quite the thing are they? Honestly, they're their own worst enemy and they bring it upon themselves. But to hell with us as righteous white folk, even the very people who should have known better, which is to say Muslims, in the face of the many-minds juju ended up following that time-honoured teenage dictum If you've got the name, you may as well have the game. It's a bullshit logic, but like that ever stopped anyone before. If everybody thinks so, there must be something to it. Even Sirhan Sirhan thought he must somehow have been guilty.

Still now I can still hear that wee nagging voice in my head. For God's sake - they're only movies. Ayah, it doesn't shut up does it? It's the voice of the believer I used to be. Yeah well, they're only movies in precisely the same way that fluoride is only in the water to Make Our Teeth Strong! Never mind that fluoride is toxic waste from the aluminium and uranium smelting industries, has never (ever) naturally been consumed by humans, and in all other uses must carry a poisons warning that it should under no circumstances be ingested - here we are in a world where everyone thinks it's good. Oh dear, have I strayed again? Kinda, sorta, not really. Fluoride, Muslims, take your pick. If the bloc-media runs with it, without dissenting voices, it's a done deal. We'll drink toxic waste, commit genocide, whatever. Give them time and we'll be raping our own children. Oh look, it's Miley Cyrus' sister Noah teaching little girls how to pole dance. Isn't that adorable?

Whatever, a tuppence for the endless small time tactical shit. It's just scene setting. We're here for the big strategic juju crunch point - us being prepped for the end of the goddamn world. Sure enough, small bites will only get you so far in instituting a Rothschild uber alles one world government. Somewhere along the line Naomi (no-Rothschilds-here) Klein's Shock Doctrine will have to be deployed. Big Time. And when a thing cannot be permitted to fail, half measures will not do - it's overkill or fuck off. No one's missed the overkill have they? What have we got so far?

-The Great War On ~~Terror~~ Muslims - The GWOTM: serves to destroy the only alternative to usury's money-as-debt; provides an enemy and thus a basis for the implementation of fascism; puts the Western world in a once-you're-in-you-can't-get-out permanent war footing; and not forgetting its well proven ability to destroy an economy.

-Global economic collapse - Not over yet folks! Hell, we've barely started. The GWOTM will only destroy America's economy. Since this is a global gig, everyone must fall. Fine - get every nation in debt up to their eyeballs, pile on 500 trillion worth of derivatives, pull the pin, retreat to Switzerland. Simple.

-Global warming - I'm wondering if this isn't just opportunism? Perhaps the climate is changing. The sun is very big and we know fuck all about it. Or the whole thing is bullshit in its entirety. Who can tell? Either way bullshit is a certainty, and here the bullshit pivots on it being the fault of humans. The only thing we know for sure is that whether the climate is changing or not, the idea of a global regime and a tax based on breathing is simply beyond irresistible for the death cult. Honestly, if global warming didn't exist, they'd have to invent it.

-The coming we-told-you-so global pandemic - AKA How to kill five billion people without really trying. And all with global chaos and further reinforcement of the need for global government thrown in for free. Yee ha! A thing worth doing. If you're a death cult motherfucker, that is.

-Mike Ruppert's peak oil - Between Dave McGowan and the Gulf of Mexico disaster, I'm wondering if this one hasn't come a bit of a cropper? Still, that's the point of overkill - if one campaign fails it's not the end of the-end-of-the-world. Mind you, any number of other plans have been blown wide open and what happened? Nothing. They just carry on regardless. Perhaps it's early days for the peak oil gig? Who knows?

-The Sea Turning To Fire and other natural disasters - Gulf stream oil spills are one thing and HAARP is another. Is the former global? It's hard to know. The latter less so (technically tactical rather than strategic). But still, it's a hell of a thing HAARP - your own personal franchise of Acts-of-God 'R' Us. It's beautiful if you think about it: it's the don't-argue fear machine from hell and it's the roll-your-eyes deniable natural event. Perfect against China. Whether China gets the don't fuck with us deterrence hint, or they don't get it and are kept busy dealing with millions of casualties, it's all good. (Att: Russia and China - are HAARP pulses monitor-able? You might want to get onto that. If intelligence shows that HAARP is an earthquake maker, me, I'd declare nukes justifiable).

Did I miss anything? Oh, and did that add up to six? Yeah. Gee, I hate that number. Whatever, let's just ask the question: what do these things have in common? Apart from being made from whole cloth, and each with its own specific many-minds juju campaign? Me, I'd declare them 'piecemeal' (for want of a better word). If we were in an advertising rollout (and we are) each of these would represent a brand, or a stream, or an aspect, each within the corporate-mission-statement totality of the 'apocalypse' campaign. So where's that total branding? The umbrella meme to tie it all together? It has to be there.

Think Egypt in the bible. God didn't separately dish out one plague after another for ten separate sins. Each element of the overkill came under the single rubric of... well, let's just call it: Everyone must love Jews or die. Thus we have God imagined as an idealised expression of Jewish contempt and hatred for those not them. "What we want the public to understand here is how great we are by way of here's what happens to anyone who doubts it." No surprises then that for those imagined to have wronged the Jews, one plague is not enough. It's Crucifixion's too good for them writ large, really large, as large as God.

NB. For the record (and me back on my old hobby horse) - whatever the death cult call themselves, whether Jews, or Sabbateans, or Moloch worshipping Satanists, they're actually nothing more than anti-buddhas who've chosen the selfishness end of the continuum. Choosing that over selflessness is the most prosaic and obvious thing imaginable. It's them choosing to emulate beasts, otherwise pitiable creatures who lack the ability to do otherwise. The fact that the death cult infinitely outstrip the beasts in their beastliness doesn't make them great. Any nth degree thoughtless fuckwit cunt who's chosen the obvious and made it to the top of that particular pyramid is still a thoughtless fuckwit cunt. Yeah, death cult kiddy rapers, I'm talking to you.

Back to the business at hand! Each of these sundry campaigns have to be tied together thematically. In fact this thematic totality must come first. Everything then will follow on in simple order. The totality is obvious, really. All of the above are simply variations of Lookout! It's the End Of The World! Is anyone surprised? Of course it's the end of the world. It's always been a winner. It's the same precise logic by which salesmen tell you that an offer only lasts for a day. Don't think. There's no time. Just stampede!

Over and over, the same thing every time. Why change it? Only an idiot would reinvent the wheel. The end of the world is so reliable that even Buddhists fall for it. The list of Maitreyan rebellions is very long and very bloody. You'd think they'd know better, wouldn't you? Especially given that Maitreya will only return when the Buddha Dharma has disappeared from the face of the earth. Never mind. It's the classic meme and plugged into the power of the many-minds juju it works every time, and for everyone. Even us, the clever trousers.

Hands up everyone who thinks a not-made-by-the-hand-of-man apocalypse-something-or-other is just around the corner? I hate to say it, but the death cult gives three cheers. The more the merrier says they. And here we are thinking that the above list of disasters are all false, contrivances created to push us to a bullshit end, but... 2012! The Mayan calendar! Look at the weather! Well, of course! In amongst this jigsaw puzzle of many pieces, this is the photo stamped on the front to make sense of it all. And here we are dismissing the pieces but embracing the photo. As Su brilliantly said in the comments one time, in chess the white pieces have a purpose and the black pieces have a purpose, but the game itself has no purpose. So are we chess fans or aren't we?

Back to Hollywood. Here the death cult is telling you where they want your heads to be. On a block, ha! Yeah, yeah, cheap jokes aside, the many-minds juju machine loves the end of the world. It's not an accident that all those movies that used to involve the hero saving the world now skip that last bit. Now the world is destroyed with a Knowing Nick Cage realising that there's nothing for it but to hand his kids over to, well... whomever, and then go home and wait to die. Oh, and any resemblance between those scenes in Knowing and the people smugglers in Haiti, Sudan, etc. is purely coincidental. These were aliens for chrissakes, not Baptists, or 4WD enthusiasts, or members of the Finders. Whew! Thank God.

And thank God for Roland Emmerich and his Day After Tomorrow and 2012. Apparently those pix are all part of his noble campaign to increase awareness of 'the lack of a government preparation plan for a global doomsday scenario'. Sheesh, with good guys like him, who needs motherfuckers? And hasn't he heard of COG? That's Continuity Of Government, Roland. And don't worry mate, it's all under control: even as we speak truckloads of Krug and pâté de foie gras are being shipped into secret underground locations. Otherwise, the only 'global doomsday scenario' that's going to take place will be 100% man made. 'Lack of government preparation'? Ha ha ha ha - nice one Roland. Who said Germans weren't funny?

Hollywood loves the end of the world and we love it too. And sure Hollywood is bullshit, just another part of the bloc-media telling us to hate Muslims etc. But here, they... I don't know? What do we think? That they've accidentally tapped into the truth? Or that there's bits and pieces of Hollywood that aren't really part of a bloc-media, aren't part of the mind-control programme, and that somehow these insane budget epics escaped oversight? It's only a movie, says the wee voice.

Sorry, but I'm going to have beg off that particular chestnut. Given the nature of the death-cult campaign and how if this meme didn't exist they'd have to invent it anyway; Given that the end of the world gag has been done more times than anyone could count, and never with a lick of truth, nor to any useful purpose; Given that other campaigns that we know to be false have run the gamut from Mike Ruppert's bullshit indy cred through to the voice-of-the-Rothschilds bloc-media; Given that this is the campaign, the campaign to end all campaigns, that cannot be allowed to fail; Given all of that, why are we falling for it?

And why do we get excited about a fellow, or group of people (it's hard to know really) who say that they've somehow managed to dredge through every single thing written on the net and, by way of 'asymmetric language trend analysis', use this to distil the future? He (or they) then turn this into 40-odd pages of frankly unintelligible gibberish in which, fortune-teller style, one may happily read whatever one wants. As long as it's the end of the world, that is. Is that guy for real? I mean, really? He's not a psy-op? Even though he precisely resembles one? And even though he must either have the most staggering array of supercomputers to process it all, or he's just pulled it out of his arse?

Last week in Sydney, whilst staying with friends who have an ADSL line I succeeded in downloading all 7Gb of a text-only wikipedia. I now have an offline wikipedia on my hard drive (and it's fantastic, I love it - three cheers). But it took all night. To include all notes, discussions, and meta-data would have come to several terrabytes of data, an impossible download. And that's just wikipedia, a single (albeit large) website, one amongst millions. Okay, now imagine the impossibility of dealing with everything written on the net. This is google territory and they need acreages of computers and a town's worth of power for it. And this guy does it on what? His desktop? The computers at work during downtime? Fucking hell, I shake my head. Oh, and Les Visible gets a tip of the hat does he? Madness! In the ocean that is the internet, if all mentions of Les Visible add up to more than a single drop in that ocean, I'll eat my motorcycle. And yet, this fellow somehow finds Les in amongst the mega-magilla-gorilla-gazilla-bytes he downloads does he? Or is it just a fact that Les is on-message with the end of the world meme? Because that is a fact.

Where are our heads at? With Mike Ruppert telling us of the inevitability of mass death? Or with Dave McGowan calling him out as bullshit? (Oh look, Mike Ruppert has a book and a movie. Sure! Mike gets the bloc-media tick of approval).

Are we dizzy yet? Too dizzy to ask the question: What's he fucking on about? What's his point? My point is that if I'm prepared to call bullshit on (let's check them off): peak oil as an excuse for mass murder; swine flu as a natural event; global warming as man-made; the GWOTM as 'Muslims started it all'; natural disasters as nothing-to-be-done-for-it acts of God; and economic collapse as a couldn't-be-helped accident; why wouldn't I take that one-more-step and call out this apocalypse thingy too? It's no different. It's just more of the same, part-and-parcel. Of course they'd do it. They have to. This campaign cannot be allowed to fail. Everything that is humanly possible will be done.

And it is being done. But humanly possible is the key expression here. There is no hand of God in amongst it. There is no heavenly host cum cavalry galloping into the frame. Or to put it another way, there is no deus ex machina. And there never was unless humans put it there. The god in the machine was always a con. The 'machina' in deus ex machina is nothing more than the means of contrivance: it's the stage, the wings, and the proscenium arch; it's a thousand people operating cameras, rigs, and buildings full of computers; it's a pyramid of power with armies toiling to convince you of the reality of the 'deus'. But here, the 'deus' is as false as the 'machina'. Deus ex machina is merely a statement of what someone else wishes to achieve and how they go about convincing you, the viewer, of its god-like it-must-be-so nature.

But people may believe what they like. All I can say is, include me out. I'm too old for that shit now. Somewhere along the line I grew up. And sure, it came as a surprise but what are you going to do? Shit happens. Now I say the death cult can take their inevitability and stick it up their arse. I don't care how many people pile in declaring it to be so. Nor how well meaning they are. All I know is, if you pile in, it will be so. That's how the juju works.

The inevitability of the end of the world? Yawn. It's just a wish - the wet dream of the death cult. I ain't lending a hand to help a pack of wankers blow their wad. They can jerk off on their own time.

休暇

2010-07-24T11:29:00.005+10:00

私は1週間休暇にある。私は次の土曜日戻る。

Indiana Jones and the Salvation of the Swastika

2010-07-19T15:40:00.034+10:00

Here I step into the dark, to wonder at things I don't understand very well. I'm not much at arcana, in fact I tend to reject it all on principle. But occasionally things loom out of the dimness and, like clouds in a Hollywood cloud tank, they seem to form pictures that demand my attention.

It all started with me wondering at the swastika. No one needs me to tell them what the swastika is now - it's easily the most reviled symbol in the world. It's very depiction is illegal in most countries in Europe. Absurdly, even anti-Nazis displaying it with a Ghostbusters circle-with-red-slash were technically breaking the law. That is until Claudia Roth, a Jewish member of the Bundestag, deliberately had herself arrested campaigning for the right of people to denigrate the swastika. Never mind that nazism per se is dead and buried, and appears only to exist in invariably Jewish-led race hate organisations. Nor should we wonder at the subsequent idiocy of these neo-nazis whose main task it seems is to behave like perfectly obnoxious arseholes and leave behind a trail of swastikas so that we might know where to direct our hatred. But I'm getting ahead of myself here. First - what is the swastika? Actually, never mind that. What is a symbol?

As I learnt in that piece where I ineptly wondered at pyramids, symbols are a big deal. In the beginning there was the word. This refers to God apparently, who variously was with the word, or was the word. Whether you believe in God or not, the bible has a point in declaring words/symbols significant. Without a series of symbolic representations (at first vocal and later visual) to represent ideas, what would the ideas be? Would there even be any ideas at all? And without these what would we be? How would we differ from other higher order mammals?

Remember Koko the gorilla? She could speak by way of sign-language and had a vocabulary of 2000 words. What if Koko had a similarly capable mate? What if they were taken back to the wilds of Rwanda to have kids? And were then left alone, sure enough. Imagine this as a self-replicating ability - genes and memes hand in hand. With the kids then similarly literate, imagine Charles Darwin smiling as successive mates chose each other based on their ability to express themselves with symbols. That the gorillas would arrive at a point whereby they could remark upon their own cleverness would have to be an inevitability surely.

Never mind fuzzy counterpropositions, I declare that even without our intervention such a result is inevitable: A fist in the palm to express punishment; a skull on a stick to denote a place of bad juju; various colours daubed on a cave wall to indicate places of: hunting, gathering, feast, famine. Given enough time (and evolution has nothing if not insane amounts of time) there is only one end point to this path - a symbol based communication capable of remarking upon itself. Humans as teachers might speed things up but really, to imagine that it wouldn't happen without us says more about us than it does about the gorillas.

One millennia or a thousand, both are a blink of the eye to evolution. And within that, would we be surprised that a creature whose previous mechanism for complying with Darwin's dictums had consisted almost entirely of It's all about me, would rise to heights of self-impressed dizziness? With that as a headspace, might that creature not go on to describe its ability to deal with symbols in terms of awe, indeed to conflate them with their own monkey gods? And might they not describe themselves in such terms, and worship themselves? But do we really need the experiment? Humans, the clever monkeys, have done both of these things. Thus In the beginning was the word and the word was God could happily be described as us being impressed with ourselves. And God knows we are that, ha ha.

Oh dear, have I digressed? The question was: what is a symbol? It seems that it's either a very big deal, the equal of God, or an obvious thing that, given enough time, any monkey could think of. Well, as self-appointed loud mouth of this here clever monkey blog I hereby declare it to be... both. In this real world of nothing-is-real, symbols are a big deal and a load of bullshit. Whatever! We shrug and carry on knowing that some things just 'are'.

"To celebrate twelve consecutive months each dedicated to documentaries depicting the horrors of the Nazi era, SBS television is proud to announce the inauguration of SBS's Decade of Nazi Documentaries. Every night, each week, for 52 weeks a year, for the next ten years, SBS will be screening all 3,650 episodes of the greatest documentary series ever made. Starting tonight with Typefaces of the Nazis: The Hidden War against the Hungarian Ümlaut, all the way through to the final stirring episode Fritz Deutsch: Recognition at Last for the Man who Refused to Catch Nazi Public Transport (VO - 'I walked everywhere, It was terrible'), this series will bring a whole new level of overkill to the most overkilled period of history the world has ever seen."

In amongst this absurd deluge of detail we are aware that the swastika is an old symbol that existed in those ill-defined times before Nazis walked the Earth. But what did it mean? How old was it? Who used it? Never mind the overkill, it seems that in this instance we are short on details. Rather than me simply regurgitating what I read at wikipedia why don't I just provide a link and you may go read for yourselves. Or you can just read the following summary if you like: The swastika is over seven thousand years old and was as close to ubiquitous as symbols get. It was common coinage in: North and South America, Europe and Asia Minor, the Subcontinent, as well as the entire Orient. Astoundingly, in every place it was in use it was viewed as a symbol of felicity and good luck. The irresistible question is: Was there ever a symbol to match it? Keep in mind that it arose independently on three continents and each with the same meaning. In terms of a biblical conflating of symbols with the supernatural, the swastika is definitely spooky.

And then the Nazis lobbed up and trashed it did they? 25 years versus seven millennia. Wow. A quick calculation and it seems that the swastika was used as a symbol of 'hate' for approximately 0.35% of the time in which it's been in existence. And that, only in a single country amongst the myriad that had previously used it. With that in mind, what degree of diminution should that previous figure undergo now? Would 0.35% of 0.35% be fair? Did somebody say 'overkill' before? Oh that's right, it was me. It seems that in trashing the swastika we've not just thrown the symbolic baby out with the bath water but we've thrown out every infant everywhere, and all on the account of a single tainted bath. It's Herod Does Hygiene, ha ha.

In case anyone is sitting there thinking, 'Yeah but...' we'll make this clear: no other 'evil' symbol has copped this treatment. The Japanese imperial war flag of WWII remains unchanged on their naval vessels, and only ever so slightly changed for their ground forces, and no one gives a shit. Their WWII national anthem Kimigayo (my second favourite after La Marseillaise) remains unaltered. The Italian fasces symbol (which gave fascism its name), if it aroused any recognition at all, would more likely be associated with the Roman Empire than with anything else (and with no great opprobrium either). Not forgetting that even within Germany, Deutschland Uber Alles is still the national anthem. Does anyone get weird about that? Do they arrest people for playing it? Hardly, it just got an audience of however-many-billion-it-was that watched the world cup. Okay, so what the fuck is going on? (*Um... seems it's not quite that simple. See the note in the comments).

I'll admit here that I've sort of answered my own question. Symbols are very powerful. Or to put it another way, very, very, very powerful. But who's responsible for the hate juju belonging to the swastika? The Nazis? They've been dead and buried for over sixty years. Maybe it's those Project Paperclip bastards who run America? Maybe they snapped their fingers and had their Jewish puppets in Hollywood give us movie after movie featuring swastikas ad nauseam so that we might hate the Nazis like... we've never hated... anyone... um, wait... did that idea just disappear up its own arse? A tuppence for Nazis as top dog.

This is simple stuff - Whatever power the swastika possesses in this day and age is due solely to the efforts of the Jewish owned media. Without them stuffing it down our throats all the time it would be right up there with the Japanese war flag. Or to put it another way, consigned to obscurity - just another symbol, one amongst many. Had Jews wanted to defang the swastika as a rallying-point / symbol-of-hatred they could have clicked their fingers and given it the Japanese treatment. But they didn't do that did they? Instead they rubbed our noses in it at every possible opportunity, and here we are with no prospect of it abating any time soon. Madly, the further we leave the Nazis in the past, the more movies we get and the nastier they become. Says Quentin Tarantino, "If I'm going to be a felcher for the Jews, I'm going to be the best damn felcher there ever was!"

I understand that this is all part and parcel of the Jews' need to distract us from their own anti-buddha wickedness and otherwise cast themselves as victims. Thus, the swastika is merely a means to that end. But what if we had it arse about? There's very little about the Jews that isn't false. None of them are Semitic for starters. Which is to say, they're not chosen by God so much as chosen by themselves. Then there's their symbolic miscellanea. Like the star of David! It seems that this doesn't date back to the time of David as you'd expect but to a slightly later time, um... 2700 years later, give or a take (ie. the 18th century). Its two single blink-and-you-miss-it appearances in the 11th century and the 15th century are design accidents - circles, triangles, squares, pentacles and sure, a six pointed star, why not? It's not like there was anything special about it.

And then there's the Zohar, heart of the Kabbalah, written by Shimon bar Yochai in the 2nd century (whispered into his ear by the prophet Elijah no less), and discovered in the 13th century Spain by one Moses de Leon. Eh? What's that Widow de Leon? She confessed that her husband himself was the author of the work. She had asked him several times why he had chosen to credit his own work to another, and he had always answered that doctrines put into the mouth of the miracle-working Shimon bar Yochai would be a rich source of profit. The devil you say! Pah! Doesn't matter! Chosen by God / Designed by Committee - it's all good. Jews are whatever works. If a thing furthers them in their course to becoming god-kings uber alles, it gets dropped into the metaphoric DNA and declared that it was always thus.

Oh dear, I've wandered again. Back to the mad what-if wondering: What if everything we've been told was bullshit? What if the swastika wasn't the means to an end but the end in itself? What if the point of the exercise was to crush the most singular and potent symbol of good the world has ever seen? And further, to reanimate it as a golem of death to serve its death cult masters? It's pretty far-fetched isn't it? And do we get the Steve Martin photo? "He's shooting at these cans! He hates cans!"

But symbols are very, very powerful and this one has had insane amounts of juice pumped into it to make it what it is today. Wonder again at Claudia Roth: she got herself arrested solely for the right of people to piss on the swastika, and only the swastika. Shake your head at the errant madness of that. Hell, shake your head at a people so obsessed with the number 6 that they had two holocausts both with six million victims. Then think of all those Jews who were sprung faking attacks on themselves / denigrating the swastika. No mistake they were doing one of those two things. Keep in mind they never write 'Jew Scum' on their faces, stomachs, doors, cars, tombstones, synagogues etc. It's always a swastika. Drop-ins may feel free to point to the occasional scrawling of the words 'red herring' here and there, and I'll gleefully point them at Agatha Christie.

Okay, so her works are fiction and perhaps that's what this should have been too - Indiana Jones and the Salvation of the Swastika. Starring as villain the only man ever to be born with the name of Hitler( ! ). With a cast of thousands featuring the most virulent Jew haters ever to be bankrolled by the Rothschilds. In this adventure Indy realises that the appearances of division are false and that the two hate-filled camps are actually a single entity: the Death Cult of the Anti-Buddhas! Their evil mission: to smash the world's most potent and democratic symbol of goodness and turn it into a harbinger of fear and hate ushering in a new world order of brutality, slavery, suffering, and death.

Cue the stirring music as the camera pulls back to reveal a back-lit Harrison Ford standing triumphant over the filthy racists. Drawls Ford, "You death cult scum, you're all the same. Now your bullshit charade is over. Auf wiedersehen anti-buddhas." The audiences cheer as the struck-from-the-same-mould Nazis and AshkeNazis cop their comeuppance: to run melancholy mad, awake to the horror of their own perversity. We then cut to a golden sun breaking through the clouds and follow the camera as it pans across to reveal monks, priests, and holy men from every nation on earth. We follow their gaze to see Indiana Jones standing in front of them as he restores the swastika seal to the ancient shrine. After Indy clasps his hands together and offers a silent prayer the crowd erupts, mobbing Indy and raising him to their shoulders.

Is that a what if? Ha, more like an as if, ha ha. Truth is, the latest reanimation of the Indiana Jones corpse was done for two broad memetic purposes: to awaken us all to the fact that Russians are 'it' again; and to pile in on the idea of unfriendly alien overlords (with a tip of the hat to the coming end-of-the-world destructo-palooza). We have been warned!

But to hell with the Crystal Skull. It's a figment of Hollywood's imagination as this is of mine. But one thing is true - between them, the two arms of the death cult turned the spookiest, most powerful symbol for good that ever existed into the world's most powerful symbol of hate. And that took some doing. It wasn't easy, with some very heavy juju going into the mix.

"Oh the humanity! Won't somebody save that poor swastika?" Sheesh! What's a feller to do? Me, I have no heavy juju. I just have a weeny blog with a couple hundred hits a day. But! I'm going to do my best. Here, I reclaim the happy little symbol for all those uncountable people across the millennia who used it entirely without malice and solely in a spirit of felicity. That uncorrupted swastika stood for a simple hope for a better future - no rancour, no superiority, and harm wished upon none. Given such selflessness it's no wonder it became the symbol of the Buddha stamped on every Japanese map.

I'm perfectly uninterested in what the twin pro and anti arms of the death cult have to say on the subject. No buts, I've heard it all before and I reject the message in its entirety. Here I embrace the simpleton ideal of one for all and all for one, albeit with all meaning all. Now, all stand for the anthem, Selflessness Uber Alles, ha ha ha.

Two men, a golden retriever, and a cat

2010-07-17T15:38:00.010+10:00

Given the gossip (over at Henry Makow's) that Australia's current PM Julia Gillard is a lesbian whose 'boyfriend' is actually a 'beard'; further given Macow's suggestion that Paul Keating was also gay (which would explain a lot, ie. his insanely tailored suits, his fetish for antique French clocks, as well as his curious come-from-nowhere, never-to-be-discussed divorce): what are we to make of this, courtesy of the front page of Rupes' broadsheet The Australian? (click on the pic to get a full readable rez).

Well, blow me down! Plug this into Mark Latham's disparaging of Rudd, specifically for his lack of an Australian accent, and generally for his all-round effeteness, and gee whiz, you'd have to wonder wouldn't you? Then there's Rudd's famous Milky-Bar kid manner and propensity for hissy-fits and we're really getting somewhere ain't we? Ahem, not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. Unless we're in crypto territory in which case, um... there is something wrong with it actually.

Otherwise, all things being equal, I'd have declared that this is an absolute dead giveaway. I mean honestly!

A Prayer for Rupert Murdoch

2010-07-09T16:31:00.036+10:00

"It's like Pauline Hanson never left," said Bob Brown, leader of the Australian Greens. And he's right of course, but not quite right enough. For those who don't know, Pauline Hanson was the dim-witted fish and chip shop owner (no, really!) who overnight became the voice of all those Australian voters possessed of the vague idea that everything was the fault of abos, wogs, and gooks. Finally racists could come in from the cold! In less time than it took for the soy mochaccino drinking crowd to snork the froth out their nose, she and her One Nation party had magically become the third force in Australian politics.

Truth is, she had no idea what she was doing. Her party was full of losers and crackpots, run by grasping spivs and chancers, and its tiny number of MP's became one, became none, and in no time at all the whole thing descended into a series of undignified, money-grubbing spats and court cases. Yeah, seeya arseholes, have a nice life.

In a big picture discussion of the 'Hanson Phenomenon' there's no point dwelling on 'Hanson' half of the equation - she was an idiot who confused media interest with personal worthiness - better to pay attention to the 'Phenomenon' half of things. This had nothing to do with Hanson per se. I expect if asked, she could tell you what 'phenomenon' meant (well, she'd get close anyway) but I doubt she could spell it. But Rupert Murdoch's hacks certainly could. They can spell, whistle up a racist riot, and chew gum all at the same time. They ain't paid all that money for nothing. And Hanson? She was merely the pea in Rupert Murdoch's racist dog whistle.

Of course, that shit Little Johnny Howard did his part too. Riffing off Hanson, who'd now given voice to 'the concerns of many Australians' (according to the media), he could take a giant leap to the right. Domestically, that is. Abroad we were already the idiot son's deputy sheriff in the Pacific keen to bomb whomever as long as they were Muslim. And amongst such a campaign, God forbid Afghan and Iraqi boat people fleeing the hells which we'd made for them should arrive in Australia and behave like quiet, well-mannered model citizens.

They were terrorists who deserved nothing less than to have their wedding parties blown into strawberry jam - how dare they come here and be Muslim and turn our country into a cratered shit-hole like theirs was? That's why it was only too right that Howard should lock them all up on a blazing Pacific island hell hole to rot under the pitiless gaze of the Wackenhut corporation of America. Muslims must be the enemy and racism must be fostered.

Does it really come as any surprise that new Labor PM Julia Gillard has perfectly replicated that shit Howard's 'Nauru Solution' by substituting East Timor for Nauru? "No No, this is different because it's in East Timor." Brilliant - we all roll our eyes. And so when Bob Brown says, 'It's like Pauline Hanson never left,' really he'd be closer to the mark if he said, "It's like Rupert Murdoch never quit blowing his racist dog whistle." He's a lovely chap, Bob Brown, but what with his captaining of the death cult registered HMAS Global Warming you can only expect so much sense out of him. But otherwise he's on the money. Libs, Labor, who can tell the difference? Not me.

There is only one fact that counts in the boat people debate, and that is - they comprise less than three percent of immigrants coming to this country. They are a drop in the bucket. Our immigration centres are only 'swamped' because no one is interested in emptying them. If we just got on and processed these refugees like we did with every over wave of them (Greeks, Italians, Vietnamese, Mainland Chinese), then where would the immigration ~~debate~~ shitfight be? Nowhere. To paraphrase Paul Keating, It's the shitfight we had to have. And sotto voce, ...because Rupert Murdoch said so.

As for the old coming-over-here-and-taking-our-jobs chestnut, I am the wrong fellow for that discussion. I was in the advertising biz in Sydney and drowning in a sea made up the other 97% of immigrants who aren't boat people, which is to say Poms. If there was a decent paying white collar job in Sydney, one's competitors were bound to be English.

Lovely people, the English, until they come here, ha ha. Then they would inevitably complain about the beer, invent absurd traditions about Christmas on Bondi Beach, and otherwise torture the Australian Queen's English with expressions like, You're trippin'! and I was nana-ed, and That's when it all went pear-shaped. God it was awful. Never mind taking-our-jobs, the flipside of that coin is make-no-effort-to-assimilate-into-Australian-society - I rest my case. Not forgetting Sydney's insane rental market. Go sit in a real estate agent in Sydney's Eastern suburbs (ie. near the ocean) and see if Poms don't comprise 50% of the people making enquiries. No wonder the rents are insane.

As for Afghans - good luck finding any. It seems they've all skived off to regional Australia to work in the abattoirs and consider themselves lucky to do so. Those bastards - taking the jobs that no one else wanted to do! And living in the bush! That's bloody un-Australian!

Ha! So what am I? An inverted version of Pauline Hanson? Racist against white people! Truth is I don't give a shit where immigrants come from. As far as I'm concerned the only difference between the current Muslim boat people and all those other immigrants whose kids play with ours (without anyone thinking much of it), is Murdoch's racist rabble-rousing. The immigration 'debate' we've been subject to for the last ten years is no such thing. It's merely a regional variation of the death cult's Sanctity of Banking Campaign™ otherwise known as the War on ~~Muslims~~ Terror.

A true immigration debate, ie. one that doesn't discriminate, is one that I'd be up for. The discussion would pivot on water. Droughts in Oz are really something else. Whilst this has always been the case it would also be true to say, what with the ever climbing population making ever greater demands, that it only ever gets worse. A few years ago the dams of all the major cities were scraping on empty. Any number of bone dry regional towns were trucking in water just to survive.

Add to that the fact that Australia's number one river system, the Murray/Darling, never reaches the ocean. The 'wetlands' at its mouth are arid wastelands. Sure enough, the water is taken by multi-national agricorps to grow the most absurd water-hungry crops imaginable - rice and cotton. Lunacy. The cherry on top of this insanity sundae was KRudd PM's declaration that Australia needed to double its population from 20M to 40M. Huh? Was he mad? Or did he know something we didn't know? That global warming is a con perhaps? And that under the coming global cooling Australia will become lush?

Who the hell knows? With that fucker Murdoch splitting the debate into two nonsensical shitfights: the first an anti-Muslim war for the banks; and the second, fodder for the coming You-Breathe-You-Pay global warming tax regime (with no third conversation possible) there's only one thing to look forward to - the death of Rupert Murdoch. Given that, and apropos the last couple of pieces here, why don't I offer up a prayer?

Dear God,

May I petition you on behalf of your humble servant Rupert Murdoch? What with his tireless work in having us all hate each other (so that we might more enthusiastically fight the death cult's wars of pointless conquest and slaughter), surely he must be very tired by now? He certainly looks haggard, don't you think? I expect his bones are creaky, the blood in his veins as black as tar, and his mind like some nasty, grinding abacus of death.

Just look at him: honestly, Methuselah ain't in it. Not forgetting that he's expended so much of his clapped out jism impregnating his Chinese brood mare (in order to introduce the Sabbatean agenda into China) that he's become a rattling withered husk. It's breaking all our hearts.

And so Lord, I beseech thee, will you not take pity on the man? Why let him continue to suffer in this fashion? Wouldn't it be best for all if you just eased him into the great beyond? We humbly ask that you wheel out the heavenly screens and have the angelic steward do the necessary thing and blow his brains out with a divine double barrelled shotgun. Both barrels - just to be sure.

'Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for Rupert Murdoch'. Was that a prayer before Hemingway pinched it? It sounds about right so I'm sure you won't mind if I use it. How about, 'Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!' That can either be you talking to him and then he carks it. Or him talking to you, in which case you should just kill him on principal. And divine mercy etc. etc. Otherwise may God be with you and blessed be His name, yours truly, amen and best regards, nobody.

The End of the World. Again.

2010-07-02T14:56:00.015+10:00

I shut my eyes and step off the edge. There is no ill will in this, just questions. God knows how it will end.

But first me. Where to start? Perhaps in my last year of high school. It's religion class with Brother Williams. Believe it or not, there are Catholics who aren't hateful and I was fortunate enough to be educated by some of them for the greater part of secondary school. And what with religion class mostly consisting of philosophy it wasn't as bad as you might think. Hell, a lot of it was fun. But on this particular day I was most definitely staring out the window day-dreaming. Brother Williams is up the front rabbiting on about a particular essay that had been amongst the homework he'd marked and was handing back.

Apparently this one was brilliant, the best thing he'd ever read from a student. And whilst it was too long to read out he wanted the student who'd written it to say something about it. I sit there waiting for the name of the school captain or some other worthy.
"It was written by Nobody - Nobby, do you want to tell us about your essay?" The whole class turns to look at me as I stop staring out the window and suddenly pay attention.
"Um, what? I wrote it?"
"Yes"
"Yes, right, um, sorry Brother Williams but I can't remember what it was about. Can you remind me?" All I could recall was that it was meant to be 2000 words and I'd dashed off 1500 and hoped that I'd get away with it.
"It was about belief."
"Belief. Yes, er... " To be completely honest I don't remember what I said next except that I drew a blank, with Brother Williams somewhat deflated that the kid who'd written the best thing ever was completely unable to remember what it was.

Anyway he took over and told the class why it was great. Apparently what I'd written was a backwards confirmation of a phrase that had been tossed around that term The Answer is in the Question. I think that's what it was called. To be honest it didn't make much impression on me, ha ha.

Finally I got the essay back and read it again. It all came flooding back to me. Madly, what I'd written was an attack on belief. All I'd done was to sequentially list all the things that humans had once prayed to as gods and which we now knew were no such thing. I'd finished up at the end by declaring that since science was a perpetual catch-up game there'd always be things we didn't understand and that subsequently we'd always believe in supernatural answers to otherwise mundane questions. Simplistic stuff sure, but not bad for a sixteen year old. Oh, and Brother Williams? Lovely chap, but I'm thinking he took my essay as a mirror and saw what he wanted to see.

What next? Perhaps we can jump ten years to me deprogramming my mother and brother from the Catholic church. Me, I'd given the church up as a dead loss somewhere around the time I'd written the essay. As for the two of them, I had no great opinion if they wanted to keep going to church - no skin off my nose. But on this night my idiot brother refused to let the subject drop. He wanted to convince me of the rightness of him believing - as if I cared. It was all rather sordid what with his fits of sobbing etc, but in the end I guess I won since they both stopped going to church. Years later I found all the arguments I'd used that night neatly summarised in Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion. He's a curious cove, Richard Dawkins. Best I can make out he's transferred his faith from one religion to another, the latter being called 'science'.

Jump another ten years or so to me taking up Buddhism. Why did I pursue Buddhism? I'm struggling to think. Honestly, I don't know - it appealed, I guess. I read this-book/that-book, none of them quite what I was after, until eventually I arrived at Buddhism Plain And Simple by Steve Hagen. A bombshell in the head of yours truly. Here was a Buddhism that didn't require belief - no karma, no reincarnation, no demi-gods or demons, no heaven or hell, no nothing - just an unadorned philosophy from an ancient Indian who said (I paraphrase), 'Don't believe me or take my word for it. All I know is that this view of the world, and us in it, works for me and it can work for you.' And sure I became slightly untethered for a while (the Buddha will do that to you) but it all worked out in the end with me the pointless mad bastard you see today, ha ha. But never mind, the bird-watching is good and I make sense to myself.

Or did I get ahead of things there? Somewhere along the line, the disbelief that had been reserved for things religious I found could equally be applied to, I don't know... 'every goddamn thing'. Or everything in the media, that is. Once again, it wasn't my fault - all I knew was that they were lying about Iraq, and so badly that even a Time Magazine/Economist reading zombie like me was never going to swallow it. Honestly, Saddam in cahoots with Bin Laden was an insult to my intelligence. Fuck those lying sons of bitches. So! You pull on the thread, and once you start in on that, the whole damn thing unravels until there's very little left. I won't go into the details since there's too many, and besides if you're here reading this you know perfectly well what I'm talking about.

Finally I arrive at Les Visible's Smoking Mirrors. I don't know about anyone else but for me it was significant. If you asked people why they were fans you'd get a thousand different answers. But me, I was there for the writing. Imagine Hunter S Thompson acknowledging 911 - wow. In those terms, Smoking Mirrors was not only an inspiration but it also provided a template as to how a bloke like me might go about doing it himself. It may seem obvious now, but it wasn't then, at least not to me having walked away from the hateful zionist troll infested Indymedia. Long and short - without Les I wouldn't be here ...for what that's worth, ha ha.

The writing is one thing and then there's the old disbelief chestnut. In Les' case I'd previousy kicked it into abeyance. Hunter S Thompson had always had an obsession with the Book of Revelations, and Les' writing was like that, only more so. And that was fine for a while but lately the millenarian vibe over at, well, all of Les' blogs has kicked into some kind of messianic exponential. Who can tell his temporal blog from his spiritual one? Not me. Somewhere along the line Les became his own Book of Revelations. In his latest technicolour armageddon meltdown there was time travel, UFO's, messages from the gods, public nudity, every goddamn thing. It was a grab bag for everyone who ever said I want to believe and The truth is out there.

Now I admit that Les has been good to me. He put me on his blogroll and said some nice things about me. But the catholic church did nice things for me too, and my parents likewise, but that didn't stop me from pulling that thread, you know what I mean? Okay, so that thread is just sitting there, and what's a feller to do?

Back to Les - says he, it's the end of the goddamn world and here is what the gods have told me. Deep breath, ask the question- How is this different to every other end-of-the-world, as described by whomever was in touch with those gods? Gee whiz, I'm back in high school: will I spiel off a list of millenarian cults for us all? There's any number merely amongst Buddhists beating each other with sticks over Maitreya.

That aside, we think these times are bad, yes? I mean really super-double-bad, like no 'bad' that's ever occurred before? For whom? For white people who think that 'bad' means running out of coffee? Do we want another historical list? Perhaps we'd call it, Coloured people who'd roll their eyes at the magnitude of our suffering if only they hadn't all been genocided to complete extinction. It seems the gods slept through all those other genocides but now that the Anglo Saxons are to suffer: Enough's Enough! The Gods Awaken!

Back to the expressions of supernature now - Les' gods differ from every other false idol in the history of the world, how, exactly? And what of their alleged omnipotence? Given that nothing happens without them, that is. For them to appear before us and convince us utterly of their existence would surely be the merest blink of their omnipotent eye, no? And yet they never do. It's poor of me, but I have to shake my head. It seems that these supernatural beings never cut to the fucking chase. A click of the fingers is all it would take.

I will admit that spooky preternatural shit does take place. At Fatima in Portugal in 1917, an entity whispered in the ears of three children and then when 70,000 people had gathered, a silver disk flew around the sky. What the hell was that? Beats me, but if it was an omnipotent god keen to impress us all with his unambiguous reality you'd have to call him out as an incompetent, surely? If on the other hand, the whisperer/UFO pilot's job description was that of 'trickster', who could argue? But then, I never heard of anyone keen to tell us that they were visited by tricksters. It's like bragging that you slept with Amy Winehouse. Shudder... best keep that one under your hat. Or declare that it was actually Angelina Jolie - it's not like anyone could prove you wrong.

But forget the tricksters, we're talking about full-tilterama e-ticket gods. But big-timers or no, they seem to be uneasy Gods who feel unfulfilled, or something. Insecurity is their middle name. Wait, do gods have a first name? Or a last name? Whatever. Says these gods, or rather their earthly representatives, it's very important that we acknowledge them, and specifically their omnipotence. And God forbid anyone not do this because it's this acknowledgement by His subjects that will separate the sheep from the goats. And Les is no different. Says he, nothing counts apart from us attempting to commune with the gods. A life spent in selfless giving (er... by better people than me, sure enough) would, were these gods not sought out along the way, count for nothing.

High school again: aren't these yet more in a loooong line of insecure gods who, say the priests, demand that we love them? Actually when I say long line of gods, wouldn't it be more correct to say every god ever posited? Perhaps God is Gloria Swanson from Sunset Boulevard - a hollow shell who needs the adulation of millions to be real. What was her line again? "I'm ready for my close-up Mr De Mille." Ha ha ha - spooky!

What the hell would I know? I'm just wide-eyed high school kid who doesn't know what all the fuss is about. Or I'm a dry-eyed nobody who does - it's one of those two things. If there's a proper god out who thinks I'm worth the effort, I'd be happy to ask him what he wants of me. But that insecure god who demands my love and yet madly refuses to ask for it in person, who otherwise saves his favours for those who could most accurately be described as 'the credulous': I don't know what his problem is, but he can just leave me out of it. I expect that that will piss him off but, gee whiz... he needs to get over it.

---

This is the first part of two. The second part follows immediately below.

A head full of Clint Eastwood

2010-07-02T14:55:00.028+10:00

Okay be warned. This is where it gets ugly, or as Clint Eastwood so succinctly put it in Gran Torino, Fuckin' Ugly. And we all know how that ended. Yeah well... so be it.

So be it! In a discussion of Millenarian cults, how many do we think are well-meaning efforts led by people who earnestly believe everything they're on about? Perhaps we should put that in the past tense. In all of those end-of-the-world cults that found themselves still extant when the world didn't end, what percentage would we describe as good-hearted and benevolent? I'm not talking about the followers here: our opinion of them would be very low. Instead I'm talking about the charismatic people at the top of each respective pyramid, the ones who'd talked everyone into it. In fact, for any such group or cult that might be described as millenarian/messianic/
apocalyptic, what other words would ordinarily pop into our heads in describing them? Would they be good ones?

Otherwise, who am I describing here: "social outcasts adrift, making no sense of society as it stands, and yet seeking a purpose in life. Having rejected society, and society having rejected them they float hoping for a guru, a teacher who can lead them to rightness, fulfilment, salvation." Am I talking about the losers in the Raelians? Or Scientology? Or Jim Jones' People's Temple? The Children of God perhaps? Or am I talking about us, the hell-bent, truth-seeking extremities of the internet? Ha! As if those other sorry losers are anything like us. They all fell for bullshit CIA mind-control cults and we... well, we're too smart. There's no way we'd fall for some smooth talking spook bullshit artist.

Hell, thanks to Dave McGowan we even have the spotter's profile. He's demo-ed it over and over again - we see keep seeing the same guy always popping up. Run through the checklist with me now: born into a military family; physically abused as a child; joined the military; spent time in psych-wards; spent time in jail; hung out at Laurel Canyon; is musically gifted; met Charlie Manson; took every drug known to man; is super charismatic with true-believers hanging off his every word; talks to the gods with himself as interpreter; demands our belief. Yeah well, if we see that guy we'll know him for sure.

I know that there are people who think Dave McGowan is bullshit. Like m_astera! Which is interesting, very interesting. I wrote about m_astera before. Now I'll happily admit that I know nothing about the guy apart from what he asserts about himself in Les' various comments sections (and lately most of that unread). I'll also admit that what I wrote in that demolition piece could be off the mark. All I know for sure is that there's something wrong with that picture - something off-kilter, something photoshopped out, an unlikely element lit from the wrong direction. Or perhaps it's just a smell? Hard to say, either way he makes the hairs stand up on the back on my neck. I note with interest that I'm not the only one to have violent reactions to him. Honestly, he's that kind of guy.

Anyway he's come a long way now but still lives in the shadow of others I notice. Which is to say, Les's. But still, within that shadow he's achieving great things. Seems he's become Les' own personal co-pilot: astral travelling and seated at Les' right elbow as the two bravely fly into weirder and weirder territory. With an image of him as joystick-clutching aviator may I dub him m_aster_vator? He's got a hide like a rhinoceros, so why not? And hide or no, underneath it all he's a man for all seasons: arch sycophant, platitude spouting sage, and charmless and unforgiving foe of all who doubt him. Like I said - something wrong with that picture, man. And Dave McGowan is bullshit he says. Yeah right, where's Mandy Rice-Davies when you need her? In Israel? Whatever...

Second fiddle bullshit artists aside, in wondering at curiosities it always pays to come at things from the opposite direction. Given that the CIA/mind-control/satanist/paedophile crowd has never given up on the religion/cult gag, and given that every medium that exists is considered fair game, does anyone really imagine that the internet would get a pass? Between - 'Gosh, that's a bit a head scratcher. Let's skip it' and 'How do we make this work for us' one of them is an inevitability, a 100% lock in. Okay dandy, the question now is: What would that internet version of a charismatic cult leader look like? And don't worry about differences between the versions that came in other times and other places. There's no cookie cutter here. It's whatever works.

What other clues are there? Where does Les stand in this blink/blink twin pillar world of duelling entities? In this world there's only ever one bad guy, and in spite of idiotic overlaps you have to choose your camp and then point your finger in the same direction as everybody else. EITHER - It's Mike Rivero (et al) declaring It's all the Jews, and if you listen to the pin drop silence you can almost hear the hypnosis-tape refrain Satanists? What satanists? Repeat after me, there's no such thing. OR - It's Jeff Wells (et al) certain that It's all the Satanists. And the Jews? No Jews here says he, apart from the utterly marvellous and endlessly quotable Robert Zimmerman and Leonard Cohen, bless their souls.

Les, with his perpetual spot at WRH, is definitely amongst the former of these two. But with his background he could hardly be the other, could he? I'll admit that McGowan, mind-control, and paedophilia have copped mentions at Smoking Mirrors but I think the word 'cursory' would be appropriate. What meagre mentions they do get are as likely to be condemnatory as anything else. Perhaps 'short shrift' would be the right expression. Ever eager tag-team partner m_aster_vator clearly knows which way the wind blows.

Finally there's that old chestnut, money. People have to make a living you know. Does no one ever wonder how some people seem perpetually able to devote themselves full time to the internet with no visible means of support? (yeah yeah, pun). Oh alright, I admit it, I live at 'home', I don't work, and I bludge off the old man's pension. But I'm happy to point to my spotty output. If you want an example of a blogger who makes sense in this regard, you need only to look to Craig Murray. A drib here, a drab there. Who's got time for more? Not me that's for sure. I'll admit that there are people out there who are driven, who tirelessly work and work and have an output that shames everybody else. Still, where does the money come from? How do they pay the bills? Really I'd like to know because after my gig here with the old man is over, I'm out on my arse. And me, I couldn't think of anything nicer than to write all day and not have to work for a living - like a dream come true...

Well, there's everyone's daily dose of bad ugliness. I recommend you all go rinse your mouth out to get rid of the taste of shit. I told you it'd be fuckin' ugly. Which is to say, I would be ...balls out without a stitch of common decency. And that's the problem when you pull on a thread - the whole thing unravels and you're standing there stark bollock naked. Yeah well, I came into the world that way and I ain't got nothin' to hide otherwise, so... what the hell.

Oh, is that the bell? Thank God. Class dismissed. Or is it me ringing at the door? It's hard to know... regardless there won't be any Hail Mary's...

If you meet an anti-buddha on the road, who should kill whom?

2010-06-23T16:24:00.010+10:00

If you meet Buddha on the road you must kill him. Excellent, but what if you meet an anti-buddha? And what if he's a pissweak fool of an anti-buddha who only wants to spend the rest of his life eating chocolates and cakes and watching Fox Sport on the TV? Can you kill him? Or is that too harsh? Me, I piked out. Instead I've spent the last four years aiding and abetting this anti-buddha (er... that would be my father) by keeping the fridge full of chocolates and cakes, and perpetually resetting the TV back to Fox Sports when he gets in a tizz and moronically sits there watching the steak knife channel. Ain't life swell.

Be warned, I hereby give the game away. Forget all that stuff about me as self-declared Buddhist railing at the death cult etc. Truth be known I'm a fellow with a heart full of hate who wishes his father was dead. If he carked it tomorrow I'd sing hallelujah. God, that's dreadful. Who the hell says such things? Perhaps I'm a small time death cult member? Or just a mamby-pamby bullshit wannabe? Perhaps I'm the death cult's Walter Mitty? Pocketa-pocketa-pocketa went his slippers as he shambled off to the toilet again and put paid to me wondering if he's dead yet. I tell you what, this dying caper would be so much quicker and easier if one didn't have to keep getting up and going to the toilet all the time. But then, thirty cups of tea a day will do that to you. Here, tea drinking, like going to the toilet, like every goddamn thing, qualifies as pathological.

What does it mean that my answer to the perennial question, 'How is your father?' has become, 'Don't ask me because I don't care. He's still alive it seems, but he's been that way for quite a while now. And shall continue, I expect, until we've all run melancholy mad. Or at least until I have...' Actually, that's the clever me. The real world me says, 'Don't ask me. I wish he was dead.' I apologise for saying it of course - I mean you have to what with the shocked look on the face of whoever's asking me. But really I'm past it now - I've ceased caring. Every second in this place has become perfectly and utterly hateful. I haven't hated a thing this much since my first year in China.

It's the mind games that got to me in the end. It's his idiot pretence that he's doing it all for other people, which is to say me since there's no one else here. Nearly four years of this shit and he's still asking me if I mind if he changes the channel. Which sounds normal until you realise that I've declared in no uncertain terms that I detest Fox Sports, that if it was up to me I'd throw the TV out the goddamn window, and that he should never ask me about changing the channel again. Ever. He's just being polite he says.

There isn't a single question I can ask him about what he'd like to do that isn't answered with, 'Well, what were you having?' I ask him if he wants any more salt and pepper and he says 'Well, what were you having?' Seriously, I'm not making that up. Now I no longer unravel the idiocy of such an answer and instead just shout at him - 'For chrissake, it's a simple question. Did you want more salt and pepper or not?' 'Er, no thank you.' Goddamn! It's like pulling fucking teeth! Every fucking time! Sign me up for the fucking death cult! Jesus!

The perversity is that I'm the author of my own misery. The only reason he's alive is because I keep calling the bloody ambulance. He'd have been dead at least four times over except for me. Trips to the emergency room aside, in between his truly insane consumption of processed sugar and grease, I pointlessly feed him healthy food. He eats half, throws out the rest and then has a piece of cheesecake. His thirty cups of tea a day is made with water I distil for him. Actually, I distil it for me but he drinks it all, about four litres a day. And that's the game we play. His role is to speed his demise and my role is to prolong it. The irony runs rampant what with him not quite wishing to die and me not quite wishing him to live. But as if anything ever made any sense here.

And then there's the retroactive aspect to it all. The nth degree perversity of my life here has cast in stark relief the fact that it was always this way. The only thing that was missing was that last little wafer thin mint to take us to the obvious conclusion. It's clear to me now that he was always a self-obsessed, self-pitying fool. I doubt that there was a man more cuckolded than my father, nor one who deserved it more. With every aspect of my childhood now viewed through this glass darkly, the family snapshots have turned into a series of Ralph Steadman illustrations.

For the last couple of years I've been wondering what I'd say at his funeral and just lately I've decided that I'm not even going to go. Fuck it. The only people who'll be there are my brothers and I've long since ceased caring what they think. Besides which, God spare me having to listen to their mawkish efforts.

Like I said - the world's crummiest Buddhist, me - a man who talks about selflessness all the time, and who goes through the motions, yet all the while his veins run with a fetid black ichor. Compassion? Compassion... I don't even know what it means anymore. Is it compassion to assist an anti-buddha in his delusional self-obsessed spiral into zombiedom? To feed him another spoonful of ashes and him with his mouth already full? The TV sport, the sweety bonbons, the silly mind games, all of it fodder for a hungry ghost who eats and eats, tasting nothing, and never to be sated. What's the point? It's all so purposeless.

Perhaps the right answer is to be possessed of limitless patience and to devote myself to his happiness. But what if the only way to make him happy was to sit and watch Fox Sport with him, be his chocolate buddy, and play the designated role in each of the various mind-game charades he perpetually comes up with? Or to put it another way, join him in his anti-buddhadom? While I'm at it, I'll buy the latest fashions, get a haircut, sign up to facebook, learn how to twitter, and join the Liberal (conservative) Party. God, I'd make his day.

He's everything I want to leave behind and yet here I am shackled to the fucker. Buddha left his wife and kids you know. Easy for him - if I left the old man would be dead in a week. If I stay he could live for years. Hoo-bloody-ray. Would anyone be surprised if I said my hair is falling out and my face is covered in a stress induced eczema? No really, I look like hell.

Oh shit, he's up now. There goes the morning. Ah, Fox Sports news. Fantastic. A fifteen minute bulletin that gets repeated over and over. And within that bulletin is a riff that gets repeated 50? 100 times? Who knows. I'd do the math except I can't think straight. How marvellously loud it is. Sing along - ♫ Dundun dader daderda dundun ♫ Dundun dader daderda dundun ♫ Dundun dader daderda dundun ♫ ad nauseam...

Run Away! Run Away! Down at the library it's time to tie things up - cue the soaring conclusion, the rolling rhythmic build up, and the step-off-the-precipice ending! Or maybe not. Nothing is a lock in and patchiness is the best you can hope for. I gotta tell you, I can barely think straight and it just gets harder and harder. So! Lest anyone wonder what's going on round at nobody's place, it could well be insanity because I've just about fucking had it.

---

But then again, the nature of monkey is irrepressible. No doubt I'll be back in a couple of days with a new peice and no one will ever know that I've secretly been going bonzo zonko. Whew! And let's hope they never find out!

a mundane path to the great whatever

2010-06-21T16:12:00.010+10:00

I am not spiritual. The thoughts that flow through my head would more accurately be described as mundane. It's an interesting word that, mundane. It's meaning of dull or tedious is actually brand-spanking new, dating from the 19th century. Prior to that it was a precise antonym for spiritual. Sure enough, it derives from the Latin mundus meaning world. Put it all together and I think it describes me nicely: I am worldly, without spirituality, and dull. Don't argue - you should see my dreams when I have them. They are tedious beyond all imagining.

The thought of spirituality appeals of course - I recall watching a Buddhist nun on the television describing her life of complete ascetic isolation and thinking, bravo that sounds fantastic, but mundane fellow that I am, I couldn't get past the question: how did she do it? Where did her food come from? If I wanted to do the same thing, how would I go about it? She provided no answers but I expect it's actually quite simple. She was part of an order and probably lived a couple hundred metres up the mountain at the back of the temple. Or something like that. I expect there was a person tasked with taking food to her a couple of times a day.

Anyway, whatever we call that journey, I'm doing it, albeit in a mundane fashion. For me there is no magic, there is no feel-good. I simply do without things and see if I crash and burn. So far, so good. I now drink nothing but water (and fresh fruit juice occasionally). I've pretty much ditched processed food and anything with sugar in it. And just lately I've made a rather large step and done away with bread. My stomach has been a disaster since forever and rather than try and figure out if I had coeliac disease, or irritable bowel syndrome, or wheat allergy (or any of those grab-bags of symptoms in search of a name) I just thought fuck it, I'll take the lot. Thus I no longer eat wheat or bread or gluten or yeast or any of that stuff. It's do-able and I've done it and it's fine. I haven't wigged out and nor do I sit around pining for anything. By the same token, there is no pay-off. I do it and that's all there is to it.

Is that selflessness? Perhaps we could call it training for selflessness? All I know is I can wander past shops and cafes and feel no desire. And there's no magic to this. I did it just by doing it. It's my mundane best at attempting to emulate the Buddha. Or it's just a diet, ha ha - The man who mistook his diet for spirituality.

Food is one thing, and everything else is another (Phwooar! I kick the arse of truth!). And in amongst all that, I've dispensed with an entire field of human endeavour - nightlife. Or is that social life? For many it's the same thing. Whatever it's called, I no longer have the clothes for it. Speaking of which - whilst I'd prefer not to look like shit, I've utterly ceased attempting to impress. Fashion is a thousand years ago. Now I just wear thongs (which Americans call flip-flops, and yes, I understand that this is hysterically funny but... only for you), where was I? Oh yes, thongs, Thai fisherman's pants, and whatever logo-less t-shirts I find at the charity shop (easier said than done in this bullshit corporate world). And my hair is long, not because I like long hair - I don't - but because anything else would necessitate me choosing a style and maintaining it every month.

Sure enough, in this bullshit tourist town with its beach esplanade that distinguishes itself from every other beach esplanade in no way at all, I am the fellow that isn't meant to be there. The spruikers don't even bother with me now. As I walk back from the supermarket with my granny trolley full of groceries, somehow they just know that I'm not going to come into their restaurant, or buy a time-share unit, or contribute to the fat-cat surf life saving club. I am the wrong guy and obvious with it.

It's all about sex, you know. Looks, that is. Charles Darwin, the serene and impassive avatar of life and death (as I imagine him) was right - for any entity that self-perpetuates, everything is subservient to the sex drive. He doesn't declare that to be bad - it just is. And it's this understanding that has driven a great deal of what I write here, particularly in regards to the death cult. But back to today's topic - for anyone wishing to shed desire, sex is the biggie to end all biggies. This topic too I approach in a mundane fashion.

For an unattractive fellow it's surprising how many women dig me (or dug me, at any rate). With almost no effort on my part women who fancied me seemed to keep turning up. It was never A Hard Day's Night (in spite of what I said in that Arundhati Roy thing), but it was okay. Yet sadly whatever appeal I might possess deserts me the moment the tables are turned and I attempt to pursue someone. It's a special knack I have. Thus the world of nobody's romantic entanglements divides into two groups: those who fancy me; and those I fancy - and never the twain shall meet.

Besides which, without any intent of cruelty I've broken too many hearts. It doesn't take much - honesty is all you need. They ask me if I love them and I answer no. Keeping in mind that for any number of women (and don't tell them this but...) I only went to bed with them out of politeness, ie. I didn't wish to make them unhappy by saying no. But whatever the intent, one way or another unhappiness would be the end result. And if there's one thing that kills me dead it's a woman weeping and all on account of me. As for the other way around, I don't mind getting dumped. It's nothing special.

Honestly, how many decades do you have to be crap at something before you give it up as a dead loss? Weirdly enough, in spite of my head being filled with the standard general-issue lust, I don't really miss it. I just file it in the same box as x-ray specs. Remember them? As a kid I'd see the ads for x-ray specs in the Spider-Man comics and be mesmerised - Gosh! Imagine being able to see ladies' bosoms! - but they were from some place far far away and never to be mine and that was fine. It really wasn't worth expending time or energy on, so I'd just 'file it'. In terms of dealing with desire, perhaps this is cheating? But does it matter?

Hmm... it just occurred to me that all this is the polar opposite to The Secret™. Remember that? It was huge on Oprah apparently. In the wee clip I saw, the boy who wanted a bicycle was instructed to obsess over it - cut out the ad, draw pictures of it, plaster your room in pix of the bike, and obsess, obsess, obsess. And magically you'll get the bike! God spare us - a primer for anti-buddhas. The corporations give three cheers. Was The Secret™ a psy-op? Sure, why not?

Never mind all that. For a mundane fellow, I'm doing pretty well. No spirituality, but the check-list of desires crossed off is really getting somewhere. Does it matter that the means by which I do so are so dull, so antithetical to everything in every ad ever? As the Buddha said, everything is here and now. And me paraphrasing: there's no heaven or hell. Nor gods, nor devils. The Buddha is dead and Maitreya ever in the future.

Others say otherwise of course, but people say lots of things. I'd love it if all that stuff were true, but who wouldn't? It occurs to me that a desire for magic says more about desire than it does about magic. Who am I calling? What do I want with them? What would they want with me? Besides, if one was seeking selflessness, how would that be granted? Ting! You are now selfless! Me - Yay, that's great! Just what I always wanted! Never mind the contradiction - somehow I don't think so. Somehow I think that a sheer dull slog is all that there is.

And you know what, perhaps there's not any spirituality to be arrived at, and me, I'll never find it - doomed to spend the rest of my life as a mundane toiler striving for some kind of DIY whatever. But whatever! If there's nothing in it for me and none are harmed, what's the problem?* (*Oprah Winfrey, the owners of the little ™ that comes at the end of The Secret™, along with other assorted corporate motherfuckers and death cult members are excused from answering.)

And so I continue. One foot goes in front of the other and all as unmagical as can be.

In which I make an obsequious apology

2010-06-14T12:31:00.007+10:00

Well, no one ever said I wasn't rash. It seems that the last piece was written in a tone of certainty rather than one of probability. Thus it's time for yours truly to do the mea culpa macarena and admit the following: As far as Israelis faking attacks on themselves to appear victims and thus justify their own talmud approved brutality, I will happily declare that in this single instance of the Mavi Marmara attack I got it wrong. What with their tactic of using helicopters to shoot people on the deck of the boat and thus provoke those on board to retaliate, the variety of fakery suggested by those photos was in all likelihood unnecessary and most probably did not occur.

What was I thinking of? Did I really think that the Israelis would go to all that expense and shell out the shekels to hire the sister ship and effectively double the production costs of military personnel, boats, choppers, camera crews, and post-production, when on the actual day they could just stand off and shoot some Goyim and thus provoke them into doing the same job for free?! I'll admit that there's the cost of a box of ammunition, but gee whiz, that's money well spent for the opportunity to kill some Goyim. Honestly, put an Israeli in a gunship and pretty much the whole world qualifies as a free-fire zone amusement park. "Get some! Get some! You should do a story about me because I'm so fucking good!"

Forgetting Full Metal Jacket for a minute, where I came a cropper in this case was in thinking of all those other examples of Jews attacking themselves to appear victims without realising the other obvious commonalities. Um, we're all familiar with this aren't we? I actually have a collection of fake attack stories on my hard drive. Holy shit! I just checked and there's over twenty of them, and I only ever spent a blink of an eye looking for them.

My fave is that French woman who claimed six North Africans on the Metro mistook her for being Jewish and beat her up and threw her baby out of the ~~humidicrib~~, sorry, pram. Ha ha ha ha, 'mistook her for being Jewish' - bloody marvellous, I love it. And special Jewish Brownie points to her Jewish boyfriend for getting an idiot shiksa to do all the work. "A Jew may do to a non-Jewess what he can do. He may treat her as he treats a piece of meat," and quite right too. Otherwise it was very poor of the French police to drag the Jewish boy into it. How was he meant to know they'd check the cctv cameras and be able to see that nothing happened at all? Besides which, every thing he did was sanctioned by the talmud. Hell, he could have shot every one of those ill-mannered cops right there in the interview room and it would have been blessed by God. Don't they know they're not even human?

But never mind that one single case, there's been many, many, many: gravestones smashed; synagogues burnt; swastikas daubed on everything from cars, buildings, Morton Downey Jr, and pretty much everything in between, and all done by Jews to paint themselves as victims. And God forbid anyone should ask the question: if anti-semitism is so rife, why are so many Jewish people running around faking it all the time? It would be ungracious of me to ask it, so I shan't. The important thing is, I missed the main point - in all of these cases of Jews as false victims, the money spent was nickel and dime.

So yes, my instinct to assume that uppermost in the Israeli mind would be how to make themselves appear to be victims whilst callously murdering people in cold blood was correct. But. Where I went wrong was in imagining that they'd go about it in a profligate fashion. Even in elaborately prepared cases like 911, where significant sums were outlaid, it was only because the payout was assured and everyone was going to make out like bandits. Just ask Larry Silverstein and Australia's very own Frank Lowy, now in South Africa copping blowjobs in his role as head of Australian soccer. Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Oi Oi Oi Vey!

Oh dear, have I strayed again? Back to the mea culpa. Yes, I was wrong. I was foolish, I was stupid, I was naive. I prostrate myself in front of those self-righteous, drenched-in-blood, Israel-uber-alles defenders of the indefensible and say, please forgive me for imagining you'd spend a penny more than was necessary. More fool I.

Mavi Marmara - Internet sleuths 1, Mossad bullshit-artists 0

2010-06-12T14:54:00.017+10:00

God I love this picture. Hats off to the legends who put it together. And thanks also to AP at Twelfth Bough for pointing me at it. (Post Scriptum: The original pic is an animated gif. Best I can tell animated gifs don't play on blogger. Or maybe it's just here, who knows. Regardless I've broken it into four jpegs. You can still see the original at the first link there).

For those confused, the ticket here is to keep your eyes on the disappearing ship's name. Which is to say, the colour plate is the MV Mavi Marmara and the overlays of B&W Israeli footage is of another vessel, in all likelihood the MS TDI Karadeniz, the Mavi Marmara's sister vessel. Fingers crossed somebody tracks that down to see where it's been and who's been using it.

Otherwise I have nothing much to add apart from the fact that all the Israelis had in their defence against charges of murder was that grainy B&W footage. And even that's fake. Hmm, thinks... not only has whatever excuse they had evaporated, but their 'excuse' now spins 180° and turns their 'botched' effort into an obvious, elaborate, premeditated bloodbath.

God I love this. I feel like Col. Kilgore on the beach. "I love the smell of Israelis shitting their pants in red-faced embarassment. It smells like humiliation...
One day this shitty little country is going to end..."

PPS. Ah yes, such wishful thinking... please see the next piece in which rethink the likelihood of all this and come to a slightly different conclusion. Yoroshiku, n.

What are we on about?

2010-04-20T16:50:00.010+10:00

What with a constant series of statcounter arrivals from Winter Patriot and kenny's sideshow, I thought it was time to go beyond my usual tip-and-run and have a good wander around. And a good thing too - they're worthy sites with my kind of sensible people writing lots of good stuff.

Ordinarily in linking to worthy sites I go with a less-is-more philosophy. If every man and his dog is worthy, the word 'worthy' doesn't mean much, you know what I mean? Besides which, what with using a public library to connect to the net, my time online is very limited. Thus, with my links list representing places I visit regularly, a longer list means less of my time spent on my own pursuits and more on other people's. But what are you going to do? When the sites are worthy one just has to go there. And so! The list expands.

Lately over at Winter Patriot, in answer to a tiresome, and rather obvious, Jewish fellow bitching about things Jewish being discussed in something other than glowing terms, Winter wrote a fine comment that addresses that hoary old chestnut of what we're on about (clearly Kenny liked it too). And amongst the comments at Winter was a sideways discussion that was actually more germane than anyone knew. It involved an incendiary chap called Akira (whom I'm thinking isn't Japanese) doing his best to fling sparks into the tea-tree with the ever sensible James monstering him with a plane-load of philosophical fire retardant. For mine this second strand to the conversation is the necessary how to Winter's what.

So what are we on about? Collectively, that is? Between the unlikely bedfellows of Aangirfan, Les Visible, Twelfth Bough, Penny, Kenny, and Winter, and even the hill-tramping John Frampton (hullo John) what are the ties that bind? There must be something surely? And what does it mean that we have as many differences as commonalities? And what am I doing in that crowd? Good God, I'm an oxymoron all to myself. (Actually I'm a foxy moron, hyuk hyuk)*

But to hell with me. We want to figure out what defines the, um... 'whatever'. No need to argue whether it exists. If you've read this far and haven't fled in terror at the senselessness of it all, then that's proof enough that we're part of a noun of some description. For the purpose of the exercise I'm going to loosely call it 'the conversation'.

What can we say about this conversation? The initial temptation is to whip out the word 'truth'. Me, I don't know about that. There's something a bit too portentous or po-faced about it - and if we're being that kind of serious, you'd have to include this blog out of it. I'm far too idiotic. Perhaps this is due to me being partial to the idea of the fool, à la Lear. Certainly Lear's fool was an avatar of truth, but in any discussion about him truth would never be the first word anyone would reach for.

Besides which, truth is that thing always to be pursued and almost never to be caught. Sometimes it happens, once in a blue moon - often as not we catch it and don't even know - really it's too slippery, too ethereal. I prefer to take truth as a happy intangible rather than enshrine it as some kind of golden calf. And then there's the question: How many cherished 'truths' have we all thrown away now? Me, I lost count. Okay, so how now the inverted-commas truth?

Instead, what if we gave in to our inner apparatchiks, and made a what-are-we-on-about qualification list, perhaps along the lines of What have the Romans ever done for us? The meeting comes to order:
"First things first - 911"
"Absolutely - do I have a second? Enter it into the minutes."
"MIHOP of course."
"Must mention Israel."
"No planes!"
"Particle beams!"
Oh dear, there's that gone to hell. Really, we've all got our lists and no two will be same. Lists aren't entirely useless of course. Anyone who wants to say that 911 is unimportant has to be some kind of bullshit. Same-same banking. Same-same the pedophocracy. (Oops, there goes Xymphora). Whatever, let's just put the idea of lists up there with the idea of enshrined truth as, um... not nothing, but not a be-all-and-end-all either.

Along those lines, what if we were simply to define ourselves by what we're not? It's negative I know but there's a logic to it that everyone out there now viewed as mad by their friends and relatives will understand. Yeah, yeah, no need to raise your hand, you, me, all of us... So! In searching for an expression to define what we are not, what if I was to grab Galbraith's 'conventional wisdom'? Perhaps I shouldn't mention Galbraith, since I've never actually read him (not that I'd let that stop me taking his phrase and turning it into a hat, a brooch, a pterodactyl etc). Clearly conventional wisdom is not that variety of wisdom measured in pearls. By being called conventional, whatever it is has ceased to be particularly valuable and has become a thing that functions in spite of its own inconsistencies. It's the truth reduced to functionability. And a truth thus processed and reconstituted (contains emulsifier, preservative, and colouring) is no truth that we're interested in. We are not that. Very good... the truth, lists, we-are-not-that - how do we tie that all together?

How about this - the what of the conversation is any goddamn thing. We simply refuse to have any manufacturer of conventional wisdom tell us where the limits are. Anyone who declares a subject sacred or profane deserves to be questioned. Okay dandy, let's do it. Between a Brahminical insistence that no questions be asked, and the Buddha's declaration that we take nothing he says for granted, the former can go fuck itself. And the Brahmins of today? The Jewish media and no mistake.

Stepping outside the limits of permitted topics is one thing, and the way in which it's discussed is another. We now know full well that we live in a world of endless false dichotomies. The bullshit choice between left and right is merely the first of many such contrivances precisely designed to trap us into dead-end losing arguments and go-nowhere conversations. In amongst these snares also resides the how of the conversation.

I don't know if the epithet-spitting Akira over at Winter is an otherwise well-meaning bloke or not. It's possible. What's certain is that there's been any number of attempts, not least at this joint, to turn a given conversation into that variety of instant argument-losing name calling. Hands up anyone who hasn't encountered someone insisting that we all become foaming-at-the-mouth racists?

Way back when, in the days of indymedia, any article on Israel would within five minutes of posting see one, two, three, Jewish boys piling in and flinging shit in all directions. And it wouldn't be long before the Jew-haters would pile in and do the same. God spare me. And the heads of the Ku Klux Klan have all been Jewish have they? Sure, of course. It seems that if we want to talk about profane subjects we must do so as caricatures - doing zer funny walk and talking mit zer funny voices. Dig it, it's the Germans from a Zucker brothers movie. Or it's the skinheads from American History X. Whatever, there's a hundred Hollywood dress-up costumes to choose from, each carefully designed to suit your individuality. You can be anything they want you to be.

In much the same way we step outside the artificially imposed limits of the what, we do the same for the dictates of the how. We'll talk about whatever we goddamn like and we'll do so as grown-ups. We'll have the only conversation worth having, the one we dreamt of, but never knew existed. It exists if we want it to - here we are having one now. And yeah, it's desultory - it's the grasshopper leaping from tree to tree in a single bound, fighting a never-ending battle for truth, justice, and mixed metaphors. It's a shitfight, it's a comedy, it's a tragedy, it's all of the above. And if Jews and their Nazi partners don't care for it - bleat, bleat - a tuppence for them and a tuppence for their boundaries. We've ceased caring what they think. We're past that now.

Arundhati Roy - an unlikely love letter

2010-04-16T17:04:00.009+10:00

I am constantly beset by women. They won't leave me alone - my life is a perpetual series of Hard Day's Nights with me chased hither and yon by hordes of screaming chicks. Sure enough I always say no (politely, since I'm a polite chap) because truth be known, I'm saving myself. There's only one gal for me and that's the mighty Arundhati Roy.

Just lately a friend of mine pointed me at the following long article which the fabulous Roy wrote for the English language Outlook of New Delhi. It details the time she spent with the Maoist Naxalite rebels in Central India. Anyone who wants to find out what's going on there, read this, it's a cracker. It's a discussion of Indian, um... what do you call 'politics' when you're at the pointy end of the stick?

They described a police raid: they come at night, 300, 400, sometimes 1,000 of them. They lay a cordon around a village and lie in wait. At dawn they catch the first people who go out to the fields and use them as human shields to enter the village... Once the police enter a village, they loot and steal and burn houses. They come with dogs. The dogs catch those who try and run. They chase chickens and pigs and the police kill them and take them away in sacks. SPOs [Special Police Officer = informer] come along with the police. They’re the ones who know where people hide their money and jewellery. They catch people and take them away. And extract money before they release them. They always carry some extra Naxal ‘dresses’ with them in case they find someone to kill. They get money for killing Naxals, so they manufacture some. Villagers are too frightened to stay at home.

Welcome to the world beyond your living room. With this as your daily lot is anyone surprised that people don't seize whatever option is available? Marxism, Maoism, as if anyone can tell the difference? Certainly not the villagers who can only count to twenty. No doubt the pointy end of this Naxalite pyramid will know what's what, but will the base be privy to such knowledge? Not bloody likely. Knowledge equals nobility (seriously, check out your dictionary) and a knowledge shared is a nobility shared, which is no nobility at all. Not if you groove on servants, that is.

But never mind, the genius of the nobility-obsessed Jews in contriving their Marxist-Leninist alternative to a Brando-esque what-have-you-got was in the packaging. Marxism is to other political possibilities what McDonalds is to 'a healthy alternative'.
Mum - "I'm too tired to cook, let's eat out. What do you kids want?"
Kids - "Yay! We want a healthy alternative!"
Yeah right. Crowds follow banners and the truth can go to hell - a tuppence for sugar, salt, cholesterol, hormones, and preservatives, and likewise for the vicious truth of Marxism with its leaders as their own messiah.

But you never know. In amongst the truth of Lenin and the Cheka, and Mao and the Great Leap Forward (which never mind Billy Brag was the greatest mass starvation in history), there's also the possibility of Che and Castro. You could do a lot worse. Only a motherfucker would wish the Cubans' erstwhile whoredom upon anyone and there's a case to be made that the villagers of Central India have got that beat. Besides which, with every major government and opposition beholden to the death cult, the Indian government not least amongst them, and with a demonstrably false al Qaeda as a death cult conjured bogeyman, what are we to make of the Naxalites?

It's curious how the media seems to spend no time on them at all. And then there's the fact that they seem completely penniless, ie. unbankrolled. Think about that. This may come as something of a shock to the hard-bitten habitués of this blog, but what if I said the Naxalites were for real? What if they were what they said they were - truly concerned with the downtrodden and oppressed and with no hidden agenda? The more I turn the Naxalites around in my head, the more likely that seems.

Okay - Three cheers for the Naxalite revolution!

But waitaminute... Where's Gandhi in amongst all this? Roy, sure enough, could hardly not mention him but sadly it's in the standard less-than-useful context of non-violence as a thing existing in isolation. As I wrote in this piece, Bloody Sunday, any discussion of non-violence that doesn't give equal time to its media depiction isn't worth much. Go watch Attenborough's Gandhi again and keep an eye out for the role played by the media, ie. Martin Sheen. Then ask yourself: How successful would Gandhi have been if a bloc-media had treated him like they treated Scott Ritter? Between Scott Ritter and Iraq's WMD's only one of them was true and it wasn't Scott Ritter. A click of the fingers. A piece of piss. The easiest thing in the world. With the bloc-media singing from their thoughtfully provided Rothschild songbook, Gandhi could starve to death and we'd all be nodding and mumbling along - ♫Something, Something, Terrorists, Martyrs, and Good Riddance♫.

Did somebody say media? Speaking of which, in amongst her piece the winsome Roy has fallen upon a true philosophical genius, the Superintendent of Police in Dandakaranya -

He was a candid man, the SP: “See Ma’am, frankly speaking this problem can’t be solved by us police or military. The problem with these tribals is they don’t understand greed. Unless they become greedy, there’s no hope for us. I have told my boss, remove the force and instead put a TV in every home. Everything will be automatically sorted out."

Actually, let's replace the word 'philosophical' with 'evil' given that what the SP is proposing here is precisely what was done to the Bhutanese by that vicious ratfuck Rupert Murdoch. The SP, Murdoch, his Rothschild masters, they all get it. They know that nothing can compete with the television. There is no argument it cannot win. Paraphrasing Frank Zappa - If it's you against the TV, bet on the TV.

And anyone looking for the proof of that particular pudding needs only to look to the hundreds of comments following the splendid Roy's article. A handful of dissenting voices aside, it's an ugly torrent of TV scripted soundbites from an aghast middle class. Clearly the government that's attempting to exterminate the 'tribals' has done alright by them and who the hell is this slut Roy to break in upon their Ikea dreams? Fuck her and the little motorcycle she rode in on! Doesn't she know that it was built from the minerals that these tribal scum are squatting on? Shit happens and if that shit involves thousands being shat on, raped, and killed, well... they're TERRORISTS! Everyone knows that the only good terrorist is a shat on, raped, and killed one.

Yay. God speed you, you clueless army of media drones.

Arundhati Roy, my wordsmith Minerva: may I as humble petitioner make a suggestion? Your candid SP has leapt right to the heart of the matter. Seize upon his dictum and turn it on its head - get the Naxalites to blow up the TV stations. Without that being done they'll forever be battling against their own inverted depiction. Have them imagine a Tet offensive with nowt but TV towers the target. Cue the screams of the fear-filled middle classes - I WANT MY MTV! Ha! It'd be worth it for that alone.

As for me, ardent admirer, I'll just have to go on fending off the dreary pursuing hordes with nothing more than a cherished image of the angelic Arundhati to sustain me.

Oh Arundhati... a sigh, a smile, a look to the heavens...

Brendan Fevola and the Pope

2010-04-06T17:28:00.010+10:00

This is Brendan Fevola, otherwise known as 'Fev'. He is a star of the Australian Football League. Sure enough, the AFL, like every other overpaid industry in the world, likes to have big lavish award nights / circle jerk wankfests. At these events their sporting boofheads can wear the suits that had otherwise only been used in court appearances, and the boofheads' trophy girlfriends can fulfil their greatest ambition: getting their picture in magazines sold at supermarket checkouts.

These award events used not to be broadcast live (on account of being as dull as dishwater) but now, what with Fox Sports having ten 24hr sports channels in need of filler, they qualify as that variety of filler known as 'special events'. Who watches these stupid things? I'm thinking it's the same people who read those stupid magazines, which is to say chicks. Between chicks tuning in to see what other chicks are wearing, and blokes tuning in to watch sportsmen in suits giving speeches, would anyone blame me for putting my money on the former?

Anyway, as part of what seems to be an organised campaign to turn everything into reality television, the AFL's big award night saw Brendan Fevola given a microphone and a camera crew to film him as he... um, "I don't know Fev, just run around and pull some funny shit." I doubt the brief consisted of him being told to get drunk and behave like a complete arsehole, but you know... free-alcohol-shit happens.

Sadly for our Fev, but happily for the media, his drunkenness - in view of women, horses, and everyone - hadn't been any kind of brief embarrassment. It had gone on and on with the outraged media spoilt for choice as to which clip of Fevola to show; the unintelligible screaming; the mad laughter; the beer sprayed in all directions; the crash tackles; the prat falls - it was all too bloody marvellous. And it went on and on and on.

As did the media outrage. They camped outside his house, chased him hither and yon, and diligently failed to ask the question, 'Who permitted this to happen?' Sure enough none of it had been Fevola's idea. Fevola had not called a production meeting to tell everyone how it was going to go. Fevola had not sat at the control desk in the OB van controlling the live feed, whilst the media banged on the locked door asking him to stop - "Please Fev! Think of the kiddies!" Nor had Fevola held a gun to some innocent's head to force them to screen it - "Put me on TV or I shoot this dog!" The truth is that in the long line of people between himself as drunken arsehole and that image of him screened around Australia, Fevola wasn't so much the whip hand as he was the end of it being cracked.

The shakeout was utterly predictable. Fevola, who'd so rudely barged his way into everyone's living room, was sacked from his football club and now perpetually carries the tag 'famous for his off-field incidents'. The media, which transported him to all those living rooms and handed him the key (and then, what with him being so incapable, had taken it back off him, opened the door, and then carried him across the threshold), was guilty of nothing apart from doing us all a great favour.

The media: "Look at him! Drunk! In your living room!"
Us: "Gosh! You're right! Fev, you bastard! How could you?!"
Fevola: "What? Living room?"

---

What's this got to do with the Pope you ask? Okay, here's the gig - In any media depiction of any event that urges us to shake our fist at someone, the media will easily be as guilty as whomever it is they're accusing. Further, whatever reasons they're putting forward (explicitly or otherwise) as to why they're showing us, will, in one way or another, be utterly laden with falsity.

In true chaos theory fractal fashion, the one-way nature of the media's finger pointing works at every scale. That endless procession of sportsmen guilty of alcohol and drug wickedness will have their sins media-dissected by hard-drinking drug fiends that make the sportsmen look like amateurs. And from penny ante sporting boofheads right through to a triple-crown wearing head of a corrupt child trafficking crime syndicate masquerading as a religion, the media and their non-existent masters are with them all the way, matching them drink for drink, child for child - been there, done that, got the thousand yard stare to go with it.

That's not to say that whomever it is we're told to hate isn't wicked. They probably are. But between that individual and the media and their masters, it will actually be no competition. The media serves many purposes but above all is the prime function to which everything else is subservient: the cameras may point in any direction except 'in'.

Best I can make out there is only one juju that counts in this world and that's the juju of many minds thinking the same thought. Clearly the media is the ultimate juju machine. Whoever controls the media is the juju king of the world. I expect that the other death cult partners, like the Vatican say, imagine that since the other gang members are equally in it up to their eyeballs that there's some safety in that. It's my melancholy duty to inform them that there isn't. In thinking this they fail to understand how it all works. Whoever has the juju machine doesn't exist. There is no crime there because there is no 'there' there. The crimes shall belong to everyone but them.

Otherwise for everyone out there cheered by the coming fall of the Vatican, you might want to keep in mind that the taking down of the Catholic wing of the death cult is a major sacrifice play by the people at the top of the pyramid. It's not done lightly and whatever cheer you might get from it should be tempered by the unpleasant thought of the banking families exultant.

I ain't here to stick up for the pope. For anyone who wants to tell me something bad about him, in all likelihood I'll agree with you. But when the media does that thing and points their juju bone, I refuse to play whatever role it is they expect from me. They can take their pre-scripted conversation and stick it up their arse. Never mind their screaming and gesticulating - for mine, this serves only to denote where not to look. It makes far more sense to look 'in' since that's where the power lays.

Catholics, Muslims, the Russians, the Chinese, Ahmadinejad, Kim Jong Il, Robert Mugabe, hell even Brendan Fevola - it's just one long line up of the usual suspects. Says the bad juju media, 'We have met the enemy and he is everyone but us. Now get killing.'

Yeah... right... I tell ya, they better blow up this internet soon or it won't be long before their juju has no mojo.

Ha! The devil unable to convince the world he doesn't exist. Oops.

Att: Satanist Clergy

2010-04-06T17:26:00.006+10:00

Dear satanists, paedophiles, and other death cult members posing as the Roman Catholic clergy,

Have you ever thought of just doing it? You know, where you just throw up your hands and confess everything. You tell the world that you're a false priest who doesn't believe in Jesus, the Bible, any of it - a full public confession of all of your sins - the satanism, the paedophilia, all of it. Don't tell me you've never thought of it, that you've never imagined the relief it would bring. That word 'redemption'... it's a tough one isn't it? It offers so much but gee whiz...

I expect you've come to view the sacraments with a sneer but they haven't existed for so long for no reason. Obviously they're not all bullshit. Take confession. Confession enables someone to start afresh. Can you even imagine what that would be like? Think of your head. Remember when you were young and didn't have a head full of the knowledge of your own wickedness? And here you are now, an infinite black nebula of perfect falsity barely held in by your own skin. If I said your body was like some high-pressure containment vessel, a titanium balloon, would you know what I meant? Imagine if that was all gone with you feeling comfortable in your skin again. Relief. All that fear and desire let go of - the burden, the complication, the busy-ness of your mind all brought to an easy serenity.

Sure the real world will still be out there. No doubt they will scream bloody murder and tear you limb from limb. But it's okay. You are unburdened now, a cork that floats upon the ocean. The cork cares not whether the ocean is stormy or unruffled. It makes no difference. There is nothing that says you may not be that cork, not apart from that false voice in your head.

Speaking of which, have you figured out that voice yet? It's not the devil. Okay, so it is the devil but the devil is just you, the selfish you, you thinking about yourself. That voice of you is a thousand drips of black ichor calcifying into the weight behind your eyeballs. 'I want this, I want that, because I am this, I am that.' What bullshit. If you don't listen, if you choose not to pay attention, if you cease to believe in it - then it ceases to exist. The devil, or more precisely the-devil-equals-you, only exists if you believe it exists. A state of grace is not magical or hard to achieve. It's as easy as not participating in a conversation. It's just watching and having no thought.

And sure, all that Buddhist shit is one thing and the cold hard facts are another. Here is a fact - there is nowhere to hide. The church is being brought down. The people who own the media have pulled the pin. They can do that you know. And now whatever you thought you had, it's all over. Here's the new deal - you cannot be saved. As long as you and your fellow corrupted attempt to hide in the church, the church is doomed and you are too. There's only one thing for it - you'll all have to go. Whether you publicly enumerate your sins and cop the punishment, or whether you just quietly kill yourself and leave a note, either one will do.

Honestly, satanism? paedophilia? What were you thinking of? Never mind that - there's no point beating yourself up now. Now, you just have to grasp the nettle. Don't mind anyone else. None of it matters. Redemption is a personal trip - it cannot be given. You have to do it yourself. Imagine that... redemption, even for a black-hearted fucker like you.

How should Buddhists view Usury?

2010-03-27T16:38:00.012+10:00

What's a Buddhist to make of usury? Me, I think it's as wicked as a thing can be but what the hell would I know? I admit I am the world's dodgiest Buddhist, one entirely of my own invention. So never mind me, what do real Buddhists have to say on the subject? Or more exactly what did the Buddha say? In answer to this question it seems you have to take your pick between 'not much' and 'nothing'.

On searching, one very quickly arrives at the super-famous Noble Eightfold Path. The Eightfold Path is to Buddhism what the ten commandments are to Christianity, or Judaism, or whatever it was they pinched it from - the Book of the Dead was it? Anyway, the Eightfold Path is that variety of list-of-rules that I was trying to do away with when I came up with my genius continuum just up to the right here. But never mind, here is the Eightfold Path -

1 Right View
2 Right Thought
3 Right Speech
4 Right Bodily Action
5 Right Livelihood
6 Right Effort
7 Right Mindfulness
8 Right Concentration

For the record I'll state that whilst the Noble Eightfold Path urges one to ethical behaviour, it does so primarily to serve the Four Noble Truths under which it lies. That is to say that the Eightfold Path resembles societal rules but they are only so insofar as one following the rules will hopefully see all of his relationships as harmonious ones and from within this state more readily leave suffering behind ...kind of thing. Like I said, no great expert, me.

But nevermind the big samsara picture, I'm here to wonder at usury. And the part of the Eightfold Path where usury gets a guernsey is Right Livelihood.

5. Right livelihood (sammá-ájíva): abstaining from a livelihood that brings harm to other beings, such as trading in arms, in living beings, intoxicating drinks, poison, slaughtering, fishing, soldiering, deceit, treachery, soothsaying, trickery, usury, etc.

That seems pretty clear cut doesn't it? Not if you ask this fellow. His first stab at the subject goes through a handful of the great number of historical condemnations of usury (mostly Christian) but dismisses them on the entirely spurious basis that since some Christians spend their time condemning other things, then there's probably not much to it. Or something. He then takes up the subject again, this time focusing on the peccant word itself and wondering at its translation. It seems the precise translation from the original Pali is actually pursuing gain upon gain. To which one would have to ask, 'Yes, but what does that mean?' Says our Singaporean monk, probably not usury, it's probably just don't be overly greedy. Hmm... perhaps it's just me, but I find that all a bit soft and ploppy.

First up there's the nature of translations. Perhaps the phrase pursue gain upon gain is in fact the Pali for usury. It's possible. The Chinese/Japanese character for firework transliterates as flower fire. Okay, imagine that as a dead language for a culture that no longer exists and with us two thousand years removed. Now imagine an argument over the meaning of the following: During the Summer festival people would gather to watch the flower fires. Anyone declaring they knew what that was would be doing it on the merest of say-so. Mind you, our usury argument would be settled for sure if we knew the Pali for usury and could say that pursue gain upon gain is not that. But we don't - all we know is that in all of the texts usury/gain-upon-gain/whatever-you-want-to-call-it cops a single mention.

I ask the question about the translation here because when it comes to usury, confusion as to meaning is par for the course. For instance, what does usury mean in English? Is it (a la the bible) the charging of any interest at all? Or is it (a la dictionaries post 1913) the charging of too much interest? Webster's 1913 dictionary has the former as the first and the second meaning and the latter as the third. That publishers have chosen to alter its meaning over the decades may tell us about the nature of usury, or it may tell us about the publishers. And what with precisely such an evolution taking place in the Oxford University Press's religion defining Schofield Bible, I'd put my money on the latter.

And then there's Islam. In Islam (cue the understatement...) they have a lot to say about usury. But here too things get curly. To translate usury into Arabic isn't as straightforward as one might think. Their word riba is usury ...but not quite. Technically it's defined as surplus value without counterpart. Does that make things clear? Hardly - arguments about what does and doesn't qualify as riba are endless. But regardless, here's one of the Quran's many proscriptions against usury -

Those who believe do not eat up riba doubled and redoubled (Quran 3:130)

Gee whiz. It sounds a lot like gain upon gain doesn't it? Otherwise, what is compound interest if not gain upon gain? No quibbling about the difference between interest and compound interest now - a single missed payment and the former becomes the latter.

So! In choosing which translation to go with, our Singaporean monk gives usury the benefit of the doubt. As do the people at the Buddhism A to Z page he refers us to. Says they, since it's legitimate to hire out one's ox, one's skills, or one's house, so it should also be legitimate to hire out one's money. Excellent! I'm sure those good people won't mind if I sink my teeth into this argument and give it a good chew will they?

Hands up everyone who can spot the odd man out amongst my ox, my time, my house, and my money. Sure enough the first three degrade with time. As more time passes there is 'less' of each thing: my ox is more arthritic, my house is more rickety, and me and my time? Gone - like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives, ha ha ha. Money on the other hand is magically possessed of eternal youth. It pains me to say this to a Buddhist authority, but the truth of all things must pass somehow fails to apply with money. I'll admit that with the passing of time money might buy less but believe it or not this isn't actually an argument against any of the above. Truth be known it's merely another usury-puncturing arrow in my quiver. But I'll come back to that.

Money is one thing, but money lent is another. Somehow debt is possessed of its own deathless voodoo. Contrived intangibles aside, everything that can be bought can pass from this world with the twinkling of an eye, but the money one borrowed to buy it with will remain as evergreen as the day it was minted. Financial armageddon can fall, with the value of everything turning to smoke, and yet somehow in amongst the carnage, debt and debt alone, magically remains inviolate. Indeed as more time passes after such an armageddon, debt, like some unholy thing from a perverse universe where time runs backwards, will only become greater.

Coming back to the ox and the house etc. where does that argument stand in the face of the fact that money is made out of thin air? When the privately owned reserve banks lend money to their respective governments (as is the case in every modern economy) they do not do so with money that they carefully saved over time and thus have sitting around waiting to be lent. Rather they simply declare that they have it (by entering the figure x billions into their computer) and they then 'lend' this sum to their respective governments. That may be hard to believe I know, but it's a simple cold hard fact. That is how it's done. Same-same when the IMF and World Bank provide 'bailouts' to various third world countries. Astoundingly each of these click-of-the-finger debts incur interest, which along with the principal must be paid in real world blood and treasure.

Oh, and that aforementioned devaluing of money? It's due not to any real world reason but merely to bankers declaring it to be so. Why was Zimbabwe's money worthless? Why is it now not worthless? No mumbling about Robert Mugabe, something, something. Only banks may declare a currency worthless. Fact is - they didn't care for Mugabe choosing not to borrow his nation's money from a privately owned reserve bank and so they set their exchange rate phasers to 'starvation'.

And here's the crunch - even when it's not imaginary, money is not a thing. It is just a means of exchange. As such, it is necessary that money be understood as utterly unlike anything else. Instead of viewing it as a commodity or a product, it needs to be viewed as a non-commodity, a non-product. Money's utility as a means of exchange only comes by way of enabling people to exchange real things (which money is not). This money-ennabled exchange of real things is a useful activity which will feed, clothe, and house a people. Inversely, tying up the means-of-exchange in the amassing of ever greater sums of that non-commodity is the very opposite of this useful activity. And that is the ultimate truth of usury.

Or as John Whipple, an American Lawyer, wrote in 1836 -

If 5 English pennies... had been... at 5 per cent compound interest from the beginning of the Christian era until the present time, it would amount in gold of standard fineness to 32,366,648,157 spheres of gold each eight thousand miles in diameter, or as large as the earth.

Which is silly of course, but that's the whole point. And that point stands as inarguable: when the medium of exchange is treated as its own commodity it has no future that isn't insane. Never mind 32 billion earths made of gold, long before that point is reached there will be more debt than there is stuff in the world to pay for it with, people as chattel included.

I understand the desire to stick up for interest. Part of it is the temptation to view ethics, or right behaviour if you like, as a democracy, ie. if everyone does it, it can't be wrong. And who wouldn't want to defend such a pretty thing, singing such a pretty song? "I'll grant you something for nothing", it says. "All you need is enough money and you become your own planetary body with your gravity pulling in guilt-free money for the rest of your life." But the singers are sirens and their song a false song, a song of the self.

Besides which there's the simple question - why should someone who already has more than he needs be rewarded by someone who didn't have enough to begin with? Best not to argue since there is no argument against the obviousness of this that doesn't end up tripping over itself.

May I make a humble suggestion? In amongst nitpicking arguments over manifold rules, what if we were also to couch that discussion in terms of the simple continuum at the top of the page? Just as a back-up, kind of thing? Would that be objectionable? Or might it be helpful? Then how might we view usury? Would it fall at the right end of the continuum or the wrong end?

How now usury? In a world where everything equals money, and money equals usury, what is a man who wishes to abstain from a livelihood that brings harm to other beings to do?

Anti Assimilation Land™ - the explanation for everything

2010-03-19T17:03:00.007+10:00

What is Israel? If you listen to Xymphora, Israel is, cue the fanfare... Anti Assimilation Land™. This is a phrase of Xymph's own creation and he's clearly very fond of it. Says Xymph, Israel exists on account of Jewish people's keenness for some kind of genetic purity. Or is it cultural purity? Whatever it is, Israel is the means whereby Jewish people can hang on to their treasured Jewishness.

What with Xymphora's propensity for peremptorily banning people from his comments, it's difficult to know but I ask the question regardless: Does Anti Assimilation Land™ as a description of Israel make any sense to anyone? Really? What is it?

I'll admit I can understand the need of Jewish people to battle assimilation. It's a war they've been losing for over 2000 years now. From the Marranos in Spain, the Donme in Turkey, and all those Sabbateans throughout the capitals of Europe, all exemplified by individuals like Shabbatai Tzevi and Jacob Frank through to Adam Pearlman and Joseph Cohen - it's just been one long nightmarish haemorrhaging of the Jewish identity. Honestly, it's a wonder that there's any Jews left at all.

Fatuousness aside, Jews are about nothing if not anti-assimilation. And it was always thus: us-and-them is, was, and always will be, the alpha and omega of their DNA. It's all that they are. There is nothing that a distinct homeland like Israel can bring to this equation. Besides which, all the identity sapping Hollywood drivel that the Jews foist on goyim outside of Israel is all right there inside Israel. They even have their own skinheads who like to beat up Jews. As for genetic assimilation... ha ha ha - everyone may feel free to roll their eyes. Up at the pointy end of the pyramid, the once-were-Jewish Sabbateans who founded Israel and choose not to live there, can look after their genetic material perfectly well thanks very much. They don't need a country for that. As for the dispensable hoi polloi, who cares? As long as they serve their masters, the masters don't care if they're black, white, or piebald.

Now that I think about it, the only rule is that wherever Jews live, they must look and sound just like everyone else. I know Jewish guys in China and Japan who married the locals and whose kids will be perfect Jewish chameleons. A jewish mother? All that persnickety shit? When it comes to the crunch none of it matters.

Xymphora's description of Israel is nonsense, and specious nonsense at that. I don't know where he's leading people with such rubbish but I think the expression 'nowhere useful' should pretty much cover it. As far as Xymph is concerned the world is very simple. There are Jews who love Israel to a greater or lesser degree, and there are goyim. And that's pretty much it. Banking is neither here nor there. The Protocols of Zion are a forgery. Apart from declared structures like AIPAC and the Bilderbergers etc. there are no structures that count. The pedophocracy doesn't exist. Satanism? The stuff of movies. As to why the American ruling class seems to constantly betray its own interests, Xymph is stumped. And 911? A very tricky beast for Xymph, one which he approaches very warily - best not to go there really.

With such a worldview nothing but gibberish can result. And so it is with Xymph's latest piece, some rubbish about Planning for a Post Israeli Warworld™. Apparently Jews have provided the Pentagon with Wars For The Jews™, ie. our current wars on Muslims, and what with Israel due for destruction any day now (no explanation as to why - it just is) the Pentagon will be stumped.

Folks in the Pentagon aren't dumb. Withing ten years, Jewish Israel won't exist. What then for the generals? How will the Pentagon transition to a world without Wars For The Jews?

No wars! Disaster! The world's biggest military - running around like heads with no chickens.

But it's good news apparently. Whilst the Jews do control the media, that's not enough to control the Pentagon/MIC who are just too strong. So once Israel is gone, the Pentagon won't need it to gin up wars for them and thus they can drop Israel. And then Israel, which was gone to begin with, will really be gone. Circular Logic - my favourite sort. Sure enough, without Israel as the only reason for Jewish control, America will be free at last, free at last! Or something like that. Either way, it's good apparently and we should all be pleased.

Yeah. You'd have to wonder what the Pentagon did before the Israeli lobby took over US foreign policy. What were all those other wars? Why was the US in Hawaii, the Philippines, Central and South America? Were they to be homelands for the Jews? I'll admit that it's possible that all of those were Wars For The Jews™. But how could they have been, without Israel in the picture? Perhaps it was an anti-assimilation policy by way of a global thousand-points-of-light?

Keep in mind that in Xymph's world there is no such thing as privately owned international banking, certainly none with any power to achieve anything. Adam Weisshaupt and his Rothschild bankrolled Illuminati friends played no role in the French revolution. No one backed Napoleon nor played both sides of the Napoleonic wars. No one bought the Bank of England. The first world war was some variety of well-what-do-you-expect. There were no bankers at Versailles. Stalin wasn't bankrolled by anyone, nor was Hitler, well, not beyond some free beers at that beer hall that time. "Who wants the free beers?" "Just putsch them right here thanks barkeep!" hyuk hyuk.

Whatever. I just made all that up. Xymph doesn't really do history. No need since it's easier to dismiss banking as playing any role in anything. According to Xymphora, it's all about Israel as ultimate be-all-and-end-all to Jewish aspirations with the ultimate tier of power in this enterprise comprised of The Jewish Billionaires™. These billionaires are not bankers but rather some variety of the owners of the means of production. Xymph is down with Marx in declaring 'Bankers? What bankers?'

Meanwhile here at this infinitely less famous blog, where we groove on a slightly more nuanced view of the world, let's see if we can't paint a more sensible picture of Israel. In thinking that Israel is doomed, Xymph is actually correct. Israel is to be destroyed but not in spite of the best efforts of a handful of give-us-Israel-or-give-us-death billionaires. It's to be destroyed because it, like Elvis and Michael Jackson, will have become more valuable dead than alive. And its founders who eat billionaires for breakfast won't shed a tear. This on account of the fact they are perfectly cynical bastards who are as devoted to the Jewish cause as Walmart is to all their staff for whom they bought life insurance policies.

The people who founded Israel have ambitions way beyond the Shitty Little Country. They look at the world and think, 'Why not?' Go read the Protocols. Tell me it isn't a blueprint, and a good one at that. And as if people with ambitions at that scale, along with the global-banking means to achieve it, are going to baulk at one crummy bit of real estate in a waterless DU dusted hellhole and all pivoting on a religion that they no longer believe in.

Israel was not founded to be a sanctuary for the Jews. This was just a cover story like WMD's in Iraq was a cover story. We know this because the Nazi's efforts to send the Jews of Germany to Israel were viewed by the Zionists not as any kind of gift horse but rather as an opportunity for protracted dental inspections. Besides which the Holocaust wasn't re-imagined as, and named after, a variety of sacrifice for no reason.

Israel was just a vehicle, a geographically based means of utility, and all to the truly grand purpose of achieving the long sought after New World Order. The fact that the entire population of Israel fell for the lie that it was all about them was, well... what do you expect from the self-obsessed? Like they were ever going to believe otherwise.

And then there's Xymphora. I'm not saying don't read him. For everyone who lives in that world with no banking elite, free of satanists, organised paedophiles, and other such chimeras, and with the Jews solely in orbit around nothing but their Anti Assimilation Land™, he's entirely peerless. Meanwhile back in the real world, I wouldn't give you tuppence for him.

Saving the good Israelis from the bad Sabbateans

2010-03-16T17:35:00.014+10:00

In floundering about attempting to figure out the puppets, the masters, those who are both, and who's at the end of the trail of strings, I vaguely arrived at the phrase 'once-were-jews'. It's looking like this was correct but not quite correct enough. It seems the missing word was 'Sabbatean'.

I don't need to explain Sabbatean do I? Everyone reading here will already be up to speed thanks to the great work from the marvellous AP at Twelfth Bough (and here and here) and the saucy schoolgirls at Aangirfan, yes? If you're shuffling your feet and looking guilty, shame on you. These two are turning into the best tag-team partners since Brute Bernard and Skull Murphy. (Hee Hee, and no, you may not ask which is which. Dreadful)

In amongst the aforementioned (non-wrestling) duo's various links to Henry Makow etc. are also links to assorted Jewish sites wherein Sabbateanism and its founder, Shabbatai Tzevi are discussed in a, how shall we put this? ...in a 'confidently shy' fashion - a bit like Madonna singing about being a virgin, ha ha. Extraordinary statements will be uttered in the most matter-of-fact way without any hint of surprise, wonderment, or what-does-it-all-mean. The fix is in and they know it.

Clearly Sabbateanism as right up there with the USS Liberty, the dancing Israelis, the contents of the Talmud (etc. etc. ad nauseam) in terms of 'things to be swept under a Jewish rug'. You're not meant to know. Actually do they have Jewish rugs? Perhaps they have Jewish rugs like they have Jewish falafel and Jewish kaffiyeh? Who knows? Either way, it may be discussed, just not amongst the goy.

But then you come across oddities like this at Rense. It's a longish article by Barry Chamish explaining the wickedness of the Sabbateans but from an Israeli point of view. Almost as good as the article is the introduction from another Israeli fellow, Shulamit Greenberg.

Dear Mr. Rense,

I read with interest the excellent article you posted today about the Zabbateans plan for a Jewish holocoust (sic!) in Israel. http://www.rense.com/general66/dweyb.htm

You Americans should be aware that the Zabbateans, in the opinion of many Jewish scholars today, are now in total control of your White House. They are always installed strategically in Washington as 'advisors', 'spokesmen', 'consultants', 'experts', 'institutes', etc.

I would like to inform you that their name is usually spelt as Sabbateans. I am enclosing an article below about them by Barry Chamish who is the best investigative journalist we have in Israel.

http://www.barrychamish.com/html/kerry.html

I am congratulating you for understanding the importance of this article, the Sabbateans plan to destroy Israel is the key to understanding evil today. By posting this article you proved again how much you care about us in Israel. These articles about the Sabbateans hold too, the key to understanding the evil behaviour of your current White House.

Since many of us in Israel are Listening daily to your radio programs audio-archives, may I humbly request, if it is possible for you to interview someone on this shocking subject, maybe Barry Chamish again.

I would like to thank you for being the best information website for Israelis, your wonderful Jewish staff seem to work relentlessly to bring us the REAL news.

Sincerely,

Shulamit Greenberg Tel Aviv Israel

I didn't really need to post all of that but the relentless self-obsession was irresistible. Self-obsession aside, is it just me or did we all just step through the looking glass here? An Israeli is concerned about the White House being taken over by Sabbateans and how these Sabbateans wish Israel harm: sorry, should we be laughing or crying? I'm a bit confused. Is our Shuley here really trying to pretend that Israel isn't the tail that wags the US dog?

Or is there some other Israel that I don't know about? Perhaps there's a good Israel that isn't the most murderously psychotic shit dribble the world has ever seen? It's either that or Ariel Sharon was confused when he said, "We, the Jewish people, control America, and the Americans know it."

The thing that pisses me off about the chosen is how they perpetually insult my intelligence. They imagine that I'll fall for any shit lie that trips from their lips. Clearly Greenberg didn't think about what he's saying here - he just says it and since it's him that's saying it we'll all fall down and believe him. He really must think we're stupid. If the US is Sabbatean, then Israel must be Sabbatean. Israel was founded by Sabbateans for Christ's sake. Besides, the article he's introducing says so. And what? Is he expecting that we'll vaguely imagine that somewhere along the line Israel came good? How many times have we been told that Israel is the only democracy in the Middle East? Okay so which bits of Israel's history are plebiscite-ratified expressions of non-Sabbatean Jewish will, and which bits are anti-Jewish Sabbatean trickery? For instance who owned the recent slaughterfest in Gaza? Was it the good Israelis or the bad Sabbateans? I just have to shake my head at someone who thinks they can get away with such shit.

Perhaps this was what Orwell was on about in his use of 2+2=5? Could it be that 2+2=5 is not just a discussion of what we can be made to believe, but also of the truly deep stupidity of Orwell's lies-is-all-they-got ruling elite buddies? It's the Fabian Socialists as Python's four Yorkshiremen.

Back to our Shuley now: it's not any sort of simple stupidity we're talking about - that could be forgiven - rather it's that variety of stupidity that imagines itself as really clever. With a bigger-than-all-outdoors sense of shamelessness to go with it. Were we to somehow bale him up, I expect that our Shuley here would be perfectly happy to pile lie upon lie, each more pathetic than the other, to really epic proportions, and all just so he wouldn't have to concede that he'd bullshitted us. Other people do this too but no one can hold a candle to Jewish people. They're really something. And sure enough, (and provided no goyim were watching) they'd read that and nod. And smile.

And from Shuley's one-off effort to Jews broadly discussing Sabbateans publicly - I expect that there will be very few discussions of this nature to be found. This particular piece dates from 2004 and I'd be prepared to bet that Shuley and Barry would have been on the receiving end of a pretty impressive shut-the-fuck-up. Sure such a conversation was never going to go mainstream and get published in the NYT (God forbid) but here at the edges of the net (ie. on Rense) it was never going to fly either. Not when the audience is already familiar with the talmud. Thus when Chamish declares in his article -

The initial financiers of Labor Zionism and Theodore Herzl were barons of the Rothschild clan. Their goal was the creation of a state in the image of their Sabbatean beliefs: that is, anti-Torah, anti-Talmudic, anti-religious and anti-Jewish.

- does he really imagine we'll meet this with anything other than guffaws? In what fashion are the Sabbateans anti-talmudic? They're uber talmudic surely? They are nth-degree-talmud-plus. Sure they are more Jewish than Jewish.

It seems Chamish and his buddy Greenberg are confused. Boys! Let me help you both out. The Jewish us-versus-them mindset could more accurately be described, certainly on an individual basis, as me-uber-alles. Do you get it? Inherent within such an us is me. And you both seem upset that amongst the Jews there are those for whom me has superseded us with alles now including, um... you. Ha ha ha ha - well, what did you expect? Did you not ever figure out that 'honour amongst thieves' is a con? It only exists until someone decides that it doesn't. You tell me - isn't Judaism the perfect breeding ground for such an individual? The talmud, wherein the simple truth that we're all in this together is discarded in favour of obvious nonsense about being chosen by God, with everyone else to be used and abused, was always going to produce monsters. Never mind your bleats of 'but I'm chosen too...' Monsters eat their own and they don't give a shit.

Besides which, you want us to battle the Sabbateans do you? And the Sabbateans differ from you how, precisely? Aren't you all just a gang of bank robbers with you now pissed off that there was a gang within the gang? And what? You've now found out that after all those bank robberies and all that murder, you've been gypped - there's no loot and you're to be handed over to the cops. Well gee whiz, we should join you in condemning that wicked gang-within-the-gang. The thought of them treating you so poorly! You poor things - why don't you put your collective feet up and have a cup of tea and an iced vovo?

Whether you're that stupid, or you think we are, either way just spare us. Whatever you imagine the audience to be, we ain't that. This isn't the MSM and nor are we any dizzy race-hate nazis waiting to be led by the nose. As much as you'd like us to be clueless, we ain't, and we're getting less so by the day. I'll admit that we don't know it all, not like you do, but we know that between you and the Sabbateans any difference only exists for you. For us, it's all much of a muchness.

"Oh, hewers of wood! Oh, carriers of water! Save us from these wicked false Jews who would enslave us!" Um, okay! We'll promise to help you swim to safety if you promise not to sting us to death. Do you promise?

Ha ha ha ha ha, oh man... let's break out the beers.