Friday, July 31, 2009

Death Proof

I put a note in the comments but it seems that the majority of people who come here just hang out at the front page and missed it. Which is to say, There's A New Film At The Cinema! Be warned - it's movie review as blood sport. Rated R - persons under the age of 18 not admitted.

Monday, July 27, 2009

A) Belief, B) Disbelief, C) None of the above

For the last three days, I've been writing a piece attempting to nuance my definition of nihilism. And it was brilliant! Marvellous metaphors, jolly japes, pretty pictures, and even a little alliteration. But in amongst the frivolity I had some questions about that mumping villain Nietzsche and dipped into Bertrand Russell's History of Western Philosophy. Dear oh dear, how little I know. Never mind Nietzsche, whatever clever guff I had to say on the subject of, let's call it scepticism, I was perpetually being beaten to the punch by the Greeks of two millennia ago. Bloody Greeks! How dare they reach out from the past and shatter my illusions of me as great sage and equal of heaven!

Happily, the nature of monkey is irrepressible, so here I am blathering on with another 1000 words that hopefully I won't have to junk. (Hmm... perhaps 'happily' is the wrong word what with Monkey being on a mission to abandon his monkey nature 'self', but never mind). Anyway I'll start again and fingers crossed none of those rotten ancients gate-crash the party.

And so on to the grand topics! Take belief. Please! Any number of people will tell you that belief is a wonderful thing and without it we're all doomed or somesuch. That's all very well, but my problem is that there are so many beliefs, half of which are completely at odds with the other half, that one's necessarily forced to pick one or t'other, or some combination thereof. Sure enough, in choosing what one believes, one automatically rejects any number of other beliefs. Which is to say, a person who extols the rightness of belief is ipso facto simultaneously condemning the falseness of it. Or to put it another way, they're asserting that a false belief is better than none at all.

To be honest it never works that way. The epic majority of proponents of belief are not so much keen to have me, as unbeliever, believe in something-anything-as-long-as-I-believe, so much as to have me believe in their specific version of that-which-must-be-believed. It seems it's less about belief per se, but rather about whether or not one has chosen a belief that accords with that of the commentator. Hmm... perhaps belief is not so very different from teenage fashion sense, ie. it's little more than an expression of peer group pressure, which is to say 'fear'. And a fig for that.

What then is a self-described nihilist (that would be me) to do about otherwise credible people telling me stories completely beyond my ken and otherwise requiring my belief? Ha ha ha, is everyone here familiar with the phrase 'beg the question'? 'Beg the question' does not mean 'prompt the question'. Rather, it means to ask a question in which something is assumed or taken for granted that really oughtn't to be. And that sentence at the beginning of the para is a classic example. It assumes that one must either believe a thing, or reject it in its entirety. Which is to say, take it holus-bolus or throw the baby out with the bath water.

What's that clippety-clop noise? Is it some philosophical knight on horseback come to rescue me from my dilemma? Oh wait, it's the Buddha banging two coconuts together - a Python fan obviously. Says he, ever sensible, we may choose the middle way. Both belief and rejection are two diametric extremes. If one is convinced that belief is fraught with paradoxes why should it follow that disbelief is automatically the correct position? It's the equivalent of a nine year old in a car swerving from one over-correction to another.

So, er... what are we meant to do exactly? Neither believe nor disbelieve? Sure why not? Subsequently yours truly, otherwise full of loud-mouthed opinions, will upon hearing mind-boggling stories hold no opinion at all. Like I've said elsewhere, I dismiss nothing. I hear a thing, I hold it in my head, and I turn it this way and that: maybe I make something of it and maybe I don't. Do, don't, it doesn't really matter - whatever it is I've been told merely 'is', and nothing more.

Thus for all manner of things, from my friend John's curious preternatural encounters (Hey John), to Les' messages from the Devic Realm (Hey Les), I choose to form no opinion. The only thing I can say with complete certainty is that I have no experience of these things. And between what I have experienced and what I haven't, one makes the other look like Charles Atlas' 97lb weakling. For me to make declarations about what they tell me would say as much about me as them. Besides, here I am conveying thoughts to you the reader in spite of the fact that we're separated by hitherto unimaginable distances. 'Hitherto' is the key word there - when those smarty-pants Greeks were kicking around to even suggest that such things were possible would have been laughed off as a lunacy, or otherwise something belonging to the gods. And now we just take it as read.

Speaking of the Greeks, I'm off now to finally read Bertrand Russell's History of Western Philosophy. I'm keen to see if any of those marbled ancients knew karate. Okay, perhaps not the thing itself but at least the intent that inspired its name. For those who don't know, it means 'empty hand', which I might paraphrase as 'with no pre-conceived idea'. And the Japanese didn't call it that for nothing. It's an acknowledgement that in a meeting between two entities, no one can know what the stimuli will be, nor the response. And crucially (not wishing to beg the question again) - nor if one is even necessary. It's a simple fact that within the concept of the open hand is the perforce possibility that one may do nothing at all. Hmm... I'm pretty sure the Greeks mastered the concept. Well, it would certainly explain why they all turned into statues, ha ha.

Monday, July 20, 2009

A press release from the office of Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao

Subject - The Chinese Government's detainment of, and legal proceedings against, Australian citizen and Rio Tinto executive Stern Hu on the charges of corruption and espionage.

We have noted a somewhat hysterical campaign in the Australian media relating to China's lawful detainment of Rio Tinto executive Stern Hu. This discussion involved numerous Australian government officials, members of the opposition, academics, as well as experts from various 'foundations', all of whom theorised as to why Mr Hu had been arrested and what it all meant. In amongst this multitude of views, we noted that not a single individual raised, or even considered, the possibility that Stern Hu might actually be guilty of the crimes with which he is charged. It was as if the media brief had been: 'We must consider every angle of this story except for that one'.

We understand that the Australian people, like the Chinese people, are particularly partial to gambling. In this context, amongst all the possibilities that one might lay odds on here, the possibility that Mr Hu just might be guilty seems neither to have short odds, nor long odds, but rather not to be on the bookmakers board at all. Does this not strike anyone as curious?

We note that in the endless media coverage that crime warrants in the Australian media, discussions invariably pivot on whether the accused did or didn't do it. Keen as we are on Australian history, Schapelle Corby comes to mind. However, we were unable to find a single previous case wherein every commentator's starting position was an assumption that the charges must be false. We found many cases where guilt was assumed, such as that of Lindy Chamberlain, but none where the charged individual's innocence was so completely taken for granted that the entire discussion completely and utterly pivoted on the ulterior motives of the arresting authority.

We will admit that were Australia utterly free of corruption, the failure to consider this likelihood would not be unreasonable. And yet on the exact same newspaper front pages that refuse to consider the possibility of Mr Hu as being guilty as charged, is the story of Australian state politician Mr Gordon Nuttall, tried for high level corruption, being found 'guilty as charged'. Clearly Australian businessmen bribe Australian politicians in the hopes of receiving favourable treatment. Your own courts and royal commissions have declared this an incontrovertible fact. And yet despite this, and despite the historical precedent of Australian involvment in the Iraqi oil-for-food scandal, the Australian media utterly refuses to concede that Australian businessmen might replicate this behaviour in China.

That aside, we are not about to take any holier-than-thou stance on this issue. We freely admit that China, like Australia, suffers from the ills of corruption. And like Australia, the Chinese government arrests, tries, and punishes those involved in these pernicious acts. Indeed we punish corruption very harshly - certainly more harshly than the effective two year sentence (after time off for good behaviour) that was handed down to Mr Nuttall. Of course, Mr Nuttall's sentence is none of our business, as are all matters pertaining to the Australian legal system.

That being said, recent statements by the Queensland Premier, Anna Bligh, to the effect that the verdict in the Nuttall case was proof that the system works and also that the government and judiciary were serious in their efforts to root out corruption, could have been lifted word for word from Chinese government media releases. In many ways China and Australia have a lot in common.

Echoing this thought, as a people as proud of our country as Australians are of theirs, we also understand that the people of Australia would hold a dim view of us, or indeed any foreign government and media, wagging a collective finger at Australian legal proceedings. Keen to seek commonalities, we would consider viewing such behaviour poorly as perfectly reasonable.

With this in mind, may I say as China's Premier that China looks forward to a relationship with Australia that is free of rancour and distrust, and instead embodies harmony, well-being, and prosperity for both our countries.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Henry K and the Council

The true star of Susan Ford's (Brice Taylor's) Thanks For The Memories is Henry Kissinger. Was there ever a fellow more deserving of assassination than Henry Kissinger? Hmm... there's a piece in that - 'People who deserve to be assassinated, inexplicably haven't been, and what that means'. Al Qaeda? Ha! Otherwise, for anyone who's ever wondered at the Nobel Peace Prize, no need to go any further than the fact that Henry Kissinger got one. It's a sort of unfunny Swedish Monty Python I'm thinking.

In Thanks For The Memories, Henry Kissinger is partners with Bob Hope in 'utilising' Susan Ford. Whilst that team-up may seem absurd, it actually makes perfect sense. All one has to do is plug this into Laurel Canyon with its wider implications re the significance of the entertainment industry, and the whole thing stands to reason. Regardless, the partnership of Hope and Kissinger is clearly an unequal one.

The closest analogy I came can come at for this inequality is one based on computers - imagine Susan Ford is a laptop that Bob Hope uses to find porn. He lends the laptop to all of his buddies and they likewise go nuts looking up variations of The laptop always comes back to Kissinger who, unbeknownst to everyone, is systems admin super-user. What with having installed a keystroke monitor, and otherwise having full access to each of their caches, there's nothing Kissinger doesn't know about every sordid detail of their lives. Anyone who's ever run a computer system and had super-user privileges knows precisely what this means. Privilege equals knowledge and knowledge equals power.

Kissinger, not unlike Frank Zappa of Laurel Canyon, never participates in the vices he urges upon others. In spite of the fact that he was super-user and thus free to go nuts, Kissinger never availed himself of, nor even expressed an interest in, Ford's unrivalled charms. Square this with his carefully cultivated, albeit unlikely, image as debonair lady-killer. There's something not right with that picture but I don't know what it is. Otherwise it occurs to me that far more is to be concluded from those who didn't sample Susan Ford's earthly delights, than from those who did. With Ford as 'trap' anyone who falls into her qualifies as variation of 'prey'. Significantly, only Kissinger and the Rockefeller black sheep, John D Rockefeller, choose not to avail themselves of Ford's programmed easy virtue.

And then there's the council. Ford unambiguously states that Kissinger is their number one servant. Since Ford never states precisely who is on the council it's conceivable that Kissinger might not be a servant so much as a member. Whilst it pays to turn the puzzle pieces this way and that to see if greater sense might not be made of them, in this case I dismiss the possibility of Kissinger as a council member. This would posit the council as some variety of meritocracy, frankly an absurd idea. Aristocracies do not function on meritocratic principles - an obvious contradiction in terms. Their servants, absolutely: regardless of birth, talent and loyalty will be utilised. Amongst their aristocratic selves there will be a meritocracy of sorts but only from within their own ranks. Were it any other way, blood-lines might be displaced. And then where would the aristocracy be?

So who is the council? In his foreword, the author of Project Monarch, Ron Patton, discusses Adam Weishaupt being commissioned by the Rothschilds to unite various occultic organisations under the single banner of the Illuminati. Curiously, in spite of this organisation being founded and sponsored by the Rothschilds, they never get a second mention. Ford herself never discusses the Illuminati, nor the Rothschilds, nor even utters the word 'Jewish', apart from in the most innocuous circumstances. All Jewish people in this book are only incidentally so - they are bit players, innocent bystanders, or victims. And Henry Kissinger? Astoundingly Ford's book never once connects the words 'Kissinger' and 'Jewish'. Were you to read this book not knowing that Kissinger was Jewish you'd arrive at the end of it none the wiser.

But never mind Ron Patton, who does Susan Ford say the council are? She never names names and had she done so I'd view it as a black mark against her credibility. The Council she describes wouldn't be much chop if they went about introducing themselves to the help, would they? But that aside, Ford is free to hypothesize. The Council are Freemasons, she declares. Hmm... Freemasons eh? As a fellow not given to pursuing impossible riddles, I've never bothered attempting to undo the Gordian knot of the Illuminati/Freemason connection. I understand their original purpose as a professional guild. I also understand them acting as a counterweight to the ancient centralised control of Rome (this in the time prior to Adam Weishaupt). However I find their evolution into globe-spanning rulers of everything falls apart for want of coherency. What precisely are the ties that bind? Apart from the Rothschilds as sponsors, that is?

Besides that, the book tends to be at odds with its own assertion of Masonic control. Surely Prince Philip is a thirty-three degree mason? God knows how many times I've heard it asserted that the English crown, by way of its masonic/Illuminati influence, is the global big kahuna in the new world order. Square that with Ford's own recounting of her meeting with Prince Philip, and his diffident surprise and delight at being offered her singular talents. With Ford as the nexus, between Philip and Kissinger only one of them has super-user privileges, and it ain't Phil. The logic here is unmissable - Prince Philip, however high he might be in the Freemasons, is subject to Kissinger, and Kissinger is subject to the council. Not forgetting that Kissinger is Jewish and the Freemasons' transformation into internationalist Illuminati was brought about under the auspices of the Rothschilds. Honestly, Freemasons?

The other significant aspect of the Council in this regard is its ultimacy. According to Ford, there is nothing above the Council, and simple reason tells us that nor could there be. In reading of her descriptions of Council: their meetings, their communications, and their extraordinary secrecy, there is no way she's describing lieutenants. These people she describes are 'it'. In the big game of Risk they're not so much players as the writers of the rules. Given that this is the case, and given that fact that wealth equals power, we can safely declare that they are the richest people in the world. In either wealth or power, were anyone to even begin to threaten them they would have to be destroyed. Forget Sam Walton, forget Warren Buffet, forget Bill Gates, and all those other people topping the 100 richest list - ain't none of them in the running. And yep, even the Rockefellers ain't in this picture. Ford categorically states that the Rockefellers are subject to the Council. The only kind of 'Rich' that could have all these bazillionaires subject to it is that variety of rich that comes with ownership of the Fed and the international Reserve system. And the IMF. And the World Bank.

Thinking about it - the old chestnut about a business being 'a licence to print money' only possesses charm when it's not literally true. When it is literally true, the appeal of endless amounts of money becomes almost silly. It's like the child's daydream of owning a chocolate factory. A child cannot conceive that an owner of such a factory might view the product with something other than a desire to spend all day eating it. And so it is with money. Possessing a licence to print money renders the idea of a Scrooge McDuck-like accumulation of wealth as superfluous to the point of idiotic. Clearly ownership of the Reserve banking system is not about being rich. Rather the exercise becomes one of the prevention of others from achieving the same. It's about power, and that driven by a combination of hubris and a hubristic sense of immortality. Or are they the same thing? Probably.

With all that aside, let's also dismiss some other red-herrings. Ford's book is rife with satanism. Her entry point into the world of the council seems to be entirely satanistic. Interestingly Ford herself views the topic with disdain. As she later states, this disdain is shared by all those higher in the power structure. Marx's phrase about religion being 'the opiate of the masses' is ordinarily used as a dismissal, and further as a reason for Communism's smashing of religions. But viewed from another angle, ie. that of opiates/drugs as being a useful means of control, it could just as easily be an argument leading, not so much to smashing, but to co-option. In fact the latter makes far more sense than the former - why fight a thing when you could put it to work for you? Thus satanism makes far more sense as the beast being whipped than it does as the whip-hand itself, if you can dig it.

Likewise, the Roman Catholic church appears in the book and yet never in any impressive fashion. All early mentions pivot on it as part of the mechanism of the ritualistic abuse that goes into creating a MPD/DID slave. Small potatoes. Later, Ford describes putting on a quasi-religious dog and pony shows to impress the Vatican heirarchy, Pope included. Okay, I think we can safely declare a rule - Anyone on the receiving end of one of Ford's shows is not in the Council.

Going sideways now, how might we view other such religions and religiously driven 'isms'? In much the same way that Karl Marx was equally dismissive of all religions, do we imagine that the banking families of the Council would somehow get all weak-kneed for Judaism? Somehow I doubt it. Beyond Judaism is Zionism and its founding of Israel. The Rothschilds display their enthusiasm for this grand effort by living elsewhere. Sure they founded Israel, with Rothschild putting his John Hancock on the Balfour Declaration, but they founded the Illuminati too. If it's sensible to view the Illuminati as a vehicle for Rothschild co-option and control, why not view Zionism and Israel in the same fashion? It makes as much sense viewed in this fashion as any other - hell, more so. Frankly I expect that the members of the Council would hold Judaism per se in the same contempt as they'd hold for all religions - a bauble for the hoi polloi. That's not to say that it doesn't possess a variety of 'favourite' status: but only that of a tribe historically given to being loyal servants. Besides, a precise demonstration of the value of the Jewish people was given during the haggling that took place during the time of the National Socialists in Germany with Jews in great numbers being entirely expendable.

Back to the red herrings, at no time does Ford mention the nationality of those on the Council, nor does it even seem to enter into the picture. In this vein, what are we to make of the following quote (vaguely attributed to the Council) that describes the reasons for bringing Clinton down, "A cornerstone will fall, and further destabilize the American people. First Nixon, now Clinton, thus the people will lose faith in their leaders and the democratic way of life. So they will want to change it and will lean toward World Order." Hmm... "the American people" eh? Strange way for an American to describe one's own. Knowing what I know of Americans, I have to admit having trouble attributing this to any American mouth.

I know that the 'American Dream' is a myth but that doesn't mean it's not without power. I cannot believe that a person who grew up in the United States (in something other than a closet) would utter such a thing. Not forgetting of course that the New World Order is not a New American Order. With the century just ended being described unabashedly as 'The American Century' do we think that Americans would now come over all coy and worry that in naming the world order after themselves, other people might think they have swell heads? Ha ha ha ha, Americans have no such shortcomings. Americans are American to their bootstraps. They're Americans first and Internationalists second. I will never buy an American as having no attachment to his country, mythical or otherwise. The quote above could only come from a true Internationalist, someone who spent the vast majority of their life not living in the US. So! Let's also strike the CIA, the old money American ruling class, and any other significant US institution (that's not currently headed by a dual-citizen Israeli).

For mine, it seems all roads lead to the Rothschilds and the other twelve families. Collectively they remain the one ring to rule them all. How does the rest of it go? Oh yeah, "And in the darkness bind them". Exactly.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Monty's trouble with servants

Dear Chas,

It seems my travails with the servants continue. They're such a pain in the arse! Do you recall one of the scullery maids taking exception to her daughter entertaining us at our soirees? I had Bates put the fear of god into her of course, with his men following her about etc. but somehow she gave him the slip! With her daughter! It was that little pixie-eyed brunette that you liked.

Anyway, they ended up in Shelmerston telling the usual dark tales of satan worship etc. Happily Reeves, who heads the police there, got back to me as soon as he heard and I had Bates nip in quick and throw her down a flight of stairs. The daughter is in the dungeon now (how pleasant it is to have one) and is much more agreeable what with her mother having so clearly conveyed to her what happens to troublemakers, albeit by being a corpse, ha ha. At least she was good for something.

Anyway it now seems that one of Bates' men has run off with a photo of the dead woman and idiotically imagines there's money in it. We'll disabuse him of that notion soon enough, but what's wrong with these fucking people? It's endless. Bloody servants! You can't live with them and you can't have them all killed en masse. Not unless you have some perverse desire to do your own laundry! There's a curious thought. I don't even know where my laundry is. Nor how it's done. Given that that's the case perhaps I'll let the laundry-woman live. Quality of mercy and all that, ha ha. Ain't I grand?

Drollery aside, if only these jumped up scum could be taught their place once and for all. I know the Fabians have things all planned out with their socialism etc. but where's the abject fear!? Otherwise, Grosvenor of the Royal Society talks of progress with his new-fangled electrical apparatus but the woman he showed me just seemed to be a listless automaton, of no use in bed, nor the laundry, nor anywhere else. One remains hopeful but in the meantime one's forced to run around keeping people in their place. Like I said, tiresome in the extreme! I really do have better things to do with my time.

Speaking of which, you'll be coming up for our soiree Friday week? I absolutely promise you that little prixie brunette will be there - and freshly terrified with it, ha ha!

yours aye,



If you scroll down slightly you'll notice another new piece below this one, and below that another. What started as a desultory three-piece effort ended up spiralling out of control and I cut it into three. Whether the three were ever truly connected is debatable and probably best approached with the thought 'Well, he is mad'. Yoroshiku.

A World of Fuck Dolls

Who remembers RealDolls™? They were a big splash in the news (certainly in the Sydney Morning Herald) about ten years ago. RealDolls are uber-realistic sex dolls. I recall it all started when some model-maker (my old trade) realised that the new epoxies and urethanes that spookily replicated flesh could be used to make something infinitely more realistic than those nasty inflatable dolls. RealDolls weren't cheap of course, with each costing in the vicinity of US$5000. But people paid and RealDoll seems to be thriving with assorted new 'big-eyed' models that, to all intents and purposes, are as close to underage dolls that they can get without being obvious. I don't doubt that the fellow who came up with RealDoll made a lot of money - and probably contrived some bullshit disappear-up-it's-own-arse logic to explain the rightness of it all as well.

Truth is, RealDoll is merely an X-rated version of the Pygmalion myth, best known to people in it's tarted up version, My Fair Lady (from the pen of everyone's favourite Fabian Socialist, George Bernard Shaw). The Pygmalion myth might loosely be described as a fellow's desire to have a partner who can shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch. Don't be alarmed there, it's just me channelling a self-obsessed git. And that's where RealDoll's head is at, so to speak. It frees a person from having to consider their partner, and allows them to be as mad and self-absorbed as can be. With a RealDoll, 'It's all about me'. There's a documentary out there featuring various RealDoll owners and you'll be hard-pressed finding a sorrier line-up of losers anywhere.

Mind you, the astoundingly life-like properties of the new urethanes are no longer anything special. The samples that blew my mind at the pattern-making suppliers back in the early nineties are a given now. The big deal lately is the animation of the simulacra. Japan seems to be leading the way in this regard. If you've ever seen Honda's Asimo robot running up and down stairs you can't help but be impressed. And lately the news carried a report about the life-like 'Repliee Q1' who sat demurely in a chair and answered questions. Wow - imagine her with fuck-able orifices! Hot diggety!

Eventually we'll arrive at Repliee Q10 and finally the shortcomings of the perpetually passive RealDoll will be done away with. Not only will your sex partner be able to shut the fuck up, but will fuck like a monkey too! At last blow-jobs that, a) don't involve you having to do all the work, as with the RealDoll, and b) are free of all the coughing, spluttering, and complaining that comes with a real person. Dig it - it's a cum-spattered E-ticket for an X-rated Disneyland. And all in the comfort of your own home!

To hell with the real world. To hell with Buddha's dukkha and the fear/anxiety that accompanies things being other than I would wish. I refuse to see the world as it is. Instead I posit myself as a god and recreate the world to according to my whims - everything must bow down (or bend over) before me. Thus spake Zarathustra, ha ha.

Autism For All!

To be honest, one wonders why they persist with these rubbery simulacra. Having read of what was done to Susan Ford in Thanks For The Memories, clearly the aristocratic filth that rule us arrived at an infinitely better solution to the problem of troublesome servants. Besides, the aristocracy are people of taste and refinement - they would no more stick their dick in an artificial orifice than they would eat the GM shit at McDonalds. Perhaps we should just view the RealDoll as yet another straw on the know-thyself camels' back - another thing in a long unbroken line of stuff designed to destroy our bonds with each other, and otherwise have us understand the rightness of worshipping the self.

In wondering what the death cult aristocracy is on about, it doesn't pay to think small. There's no point tempering your thoughts with petty niggles or scruples. The death cult never does. The truth is we as little people have no idea of what is and isn't feasible when the world is yours to command. Thus we may as well just gun for the worst case scenario. Remember, for the death cult, 'worst case scenario' = 'an ideal world'.

In this best of all possible worlds, ideally we will all be variations of Susan Ford. And there I was, having just finished Ford's book, chatting on the phone to a friend of mine who was telling me of her six-year-old autistic son's progress in school. I know this kid as well as I know any. Or to put it another way, I don't know him at all since I've never had a conversation with him. That's autism for you. If you ask him a question he just repeats it, or ignores you utterly. Otherwise even the merest hint of attempting to modify his behaviour will result in him smashing his head against the wall. Literally. Everything you know about kids goes out the window with autism. Otherwise, left to himself he's a sweet kid, albeit an unknowable one.

Astoundingly, his mother tells me that he is doing brilliantly in his first year of school. Forget the remedial 'special' class I assumed would be his lot - in English and maths he's leaving all the other kids behind. And yet frustratingly, when she asks him, 'How was school?' he just repeats the question. On matters of feelings, or of himself, or even of others, he is unable to formulate an opinion. 'How are you?, makes no sense to him.

Um, okay - anyone else out there with a lightbulb going off in their head? Isn't this kid almost precisely what the death cult is looking for?

Is everyone across the link between autism and government mandated mercury-based thimerosal vaccines? I'll take it as read. Now think of McGowan's Laurel Canyon and his detailing of the death cult's mass release of LSD in the hippy movement. Think of the 'spike' nature of LSD (ie. if we plotted a graph of LSD use over time), and compare that to the 'spike' nature of autism - zero to a hundred in a few short years. Certainly LSD was freely handed out and freely taken, and thimerosal-laced vaccines were government mandated, but in the whatever-suits nature of the campaign this is neither here nor there.

Here then is the thought - what if autism by way of mass thimerosal poisoning wasn't so much a penny pinching exercise by big pharma as much as it was another yellow brick in the road to mind control? Let's not be put off by the fact that it didn't succeed. LSD didn't succeed either. As far as I can see, autism as dry-run experiment towards the goal of a world of slaves makes as much sense (hell, probably more) than any other bullshit reason.

The only thing we know for sure is that bullshit lies are a certainty, and the lies are always layered. Think of the Gulf War: (loudly) Iraq has WMD's; (not so loudly) we thought Iraq had WMD's; (quietly) it's all about the oil; (sotto voce) it's all about Israel; (and completely unspoken) the truth - Iraq was just a single step in the global goal of smashing Islam's alternative to usury.

And in the discussion of why there are so many autistic kids now, I'm thinking we're somewhere between 'It was a mistake', and 'It was greed'. The first of these is laughable - there's no way kids were injected with mercury by accident. The second is just too penny-ante. Given the monstrousness of what was done, it's absurd to think that the nickels and dimes saved by using mercury preservative were worth it. Metaphor time - if we had mosquitoes breeding in the well, would we believe the explanation of the fellow who tipped ten litres of arsenic in there - that he did this because the arsenic was five dollars cheaper than the citronella? Not forgetting that he's a pharmacologist and the richest guy in town. Would we believe that?

Am I the only guy to whom this thought has occurred? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, given that I'm the merest dilettente, there's no way I'm going to make any splash, or otherwise bust it up the middle with this. Certainly not with the health expert heavies who've clocked up endless hours detailing the links between thimerosal and autism.

But then again, there's a lot to be said for dilettenteism. In this world of the Big Lie, focusing tight on a subject means you have no true idea of how big the Big Lie is. With a narrow viewfinder, the weeny tentacled protozoa appears monstrous - the Goober that ate New York City. Scale will do that to you. Step back and we'll see that that impossibly big Big Lie isn't imposssible at all. They do it all the time - business as usual.

So! Here I am asserting that the autism epidemic is, in all probability, the result of a deliberate act of mass poisoning. But as epic as that crime is, I'll also assert that for the death cult it's the merest bagatelle, barely a blink of their god-like eye. With the death cult it pays to throw out all sense of human scale. God knows they did.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Me, a Xinjiang hooker, and a wedding made in Afghanistan

It seems that Craig Murray, what with running for parliament, is unable to comment on 'Uighur independence'. Okay, so why don't I step up and fill in for him? It's funny that Craig ended up marrying an exotic dancer he met in a bar in Uzbekistan, because had my situation been ever so slightly different I might have done the same thing, albeit in Beijing. I'm in no way criticising him you understand - like I said, it could've been me.

Apropos my last piece, my laowai boss in Beijing was another of those people who would hook people up with drugs and get them laid. The single producer I cited previously wasn't the only fellow I knew like that, far from it, it's just that he was just the best at it. Meanwhile in Beijing, whilst I was happy to know someone who could score hash (indeed that first year in Beijing was such a tough gig that had I not been able to get stoned every evening, I'd have run melancholy mad. Or perhaps I did anyway, who can tell?), but that aside, being endlessly dragged off to hooker bars, like the infamous Maggie's (above), was unspeakably tedious - another reason to go home and get stoned.

But whatever! I've been back to China many, many times, mostly to Shanghai, and slowly grew to love it. The ticket is to avoid the expats. But there I was years later, back in Beijing, amongst the expats, and being dragged back to fucking Maggie's. And there, curiously, sitting amongst the tiresome local hostesses and the hard-bitten Mongolian hookers (don't ask me why but all the hookers in Beijing were Mongolian), was a gorgeous round-eye girl. No one was paying her any attention apart from yours truly - "Hello," says I, and we have a conversation. She was a Uighur from Xinjiang. I'd met Uighurs before, mostly selling shish kebab on the street (and to which I am addicted), but also socially, and I'd always gotten on with them dandy.

As I did with this girl. Turns out she was a lawyer, better educated than I was, brilliantly fluent in several languages, and here working as a prostitute. Go figure. I don't know about other people, but I'm not the sort of fellow who would automatically condemn someone for being a prostitute. It's a fucked up world and people end up doing all sorts of disagreeable things in spite of the fact that they wish it were otherwise.

And that was the case with her. In a perfectly clear-eyed fashion she explained to me that the only way she was going to get out of this fucked up country was through hard currency and she could only earn that by hooking. She didn't like it, but in one more year she'd have the $30,000 dollars she needed to get into an Australian university. And yep, I contributed to the cause. Think poorly of me if you like, I really don't care.

Anyway for that single evening, I spent hours spellbound as she told me all about herself and what life was like in Xinjiang. Her law degree, it seemed, was merely a licence to participate in corruption, and that from a position of second class citizen. It was just as bad in Beijing where Uighurs (at least the ones who weren't playing 'mein host' in the numerous Uighur restaurants) were treated like absolute shit. Not that I needed her to tell me about that. I could see it in the laneway out back of where I worked. Neither Beijingers nor Uighurs are shy and disputes and fights are public affairs.

The weirdest part was, she had no time for her own people either - a tuppence for the lot of them. Perhaps her problem was that she was too damn smart? I have no idea. And thinking about it, such sentiments don't augur well. It's my opinion that a person who cannot find happiness at home, probably won't find it anywhere else either. But you never know.

Sure enough, I was only in Beijing for a short-time gig and was on a plane back to Oz a couple of days later and I never saw her again. But had this taken place when I lived there, who knows what might have happened? She was easily the smartest, funniest, and most interesting chick I met the whole time I was in China. And gorgeous with it. In some daydream we might have gotten married and lived happily ever after. Or the whole thing might have crashed and burned. Who knows? Not me.

Anyway, from this brilliant position of having once met a hooker in a bar in Beijing I shall now render my genius and very worthy opinion on the bloody events now taking place in Xinjiang.

Whose side am I on? Whose side was the hooker on? Are there good guys and bad guys? For mine, the answer to this question is 'No'. I'll happily admit that the Han Chinese are as racist as the best of them. Just like they do with the Tibetans, the Chinese view the un-Asian, round-eye Uighurs of Xinjiang with a variety of contempt. Historical assertions aside, the Chinese are nothing more than occupiers. And never was there an occupier who didn't think that the occupied were scum. Always this way.

Have people here been keeping up over at Aangirfan's blog? The schoolgirls there have been doing a brilliant job pointing out the links between the various Uighur separatist leaders and the usual suspects who have the art of destabilisation down pat. The long and short according to nobody - all those 'leaders' who fancy themselves as Uighur versions of Ahmed Chalabi and who are taking the CIA (and their proxies) dollar are at best fooling themselves and at worst motherfuckers happy to profit from their countrymen's misery.

Whether these Uighur 'leaders' seriously believe the CIA's siren song of Uighur independence, or whether they're merely in it for the immediate prospect of filthy lucre, Chalabi-style, either way it will only end in tears. I wonder what odds Ladbrokes are offering as to the possibility of a happy outcome resulting from running amuck and splitting open the heads of the Han Chinese living in Urumqi? Let's just call it 'the bookie's delight'.

But whatever! Let's imagine the million-to-one longshot comes off, and that it all goes swimmingly with the people of Xinjiang ditching their Chinese masters, as well as their Chinese appellation, and calling themselves Uighurstan, or somesuch. Then they could all live happily ever after just like all the other Muslims in all those other Utopian something-stans. Three cheers! Perhaps they'll get their very own Karimov, he of the boiling-people-alive gag. They might even be as lucky as the Afghans where the banker's US military golem has righteously brought them the gifts of democracy, smack, and high-explosive death from above. Speaking of which, do the Uighur people get married and hold wedding parties? Let's hope not.

Sure enough, if you try combining the two sayings 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' and 'With friends like these, who needs enemies?' you end up disappearing up your own arse. Substituting hyperbole for precise accuracy, in considering the rightness of doing a deal with the CIA and other banking minions, one would be best served by viewing them as 'People Who Eat Their Own Children'. Honestly, you may as well since it's as close to the mark as any other description.

Anyway, back to the polyglot Uighur girl in the bar: imagine if my daydream came true? And since it's my daydream, there's no point being half-arsed about it. Thus we'll take the happily-ever-after as read, and add an image of her as dedicated English-to-Uighur translator of Brice Taylor's Thanks For The Memories. Then we could send it to every Uighur who has an email, with the header - 'This is the truth of the people who declare themselves your friends'.

Whilst for the Uighurs the choice between the Chinese and the 'Americans' might appear to be a no-brainer, it ain't. Or to put it another way, it is. Which is to say, the punchline to 'Better the devil you know' says as much about no-brain as it does about devils. Can you dig it? Can the Uighurs? Let's hope so.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Brice Taylor - Thanks For The Memories

Okay, so we've read Dave McGowan, we've read Walter Bowart, and we've been following Aangirfan's schoolgirl gaze. Now it's time to step right through the looking glass into complete bonzo zonko territory - Brice Taylor's Thanks For The Memories. (Purchasable directly from Brice Taylor here).

This book is over the top. It's such a test of one's incredulity that it seems the choice one's faced with is to accept it all, or to dismiss it utterly. As appealing as the latter is, it's the wrong choice. The hurdle here is the scale of it all. Even for a fellow like yours truly, who's declared any number of times that the paedophocracy is 'fucking huge', it's still a brain bender. The size of the enterprise is orders of magnitude larger than I imagined.

In searching for a metaphor I wonder if it isn't like that fellow in high school, who knew all about banks and interest, discovering the insane reality of the private ownership of international reserve banking, and the con of money from nothing. Hmm... the scale works there, but it's not quite visceral enough. Perhaps we'd be closer to the mark with someone who has a vague idea that a bus crash is bad (what with having seen The Fugitive, ha ha), and then meets an ambulance officer who attended one, and describes how they had to put the arms and legs in one pile, the heads in another, and the unidentified bits in a third. Is that too gory? I actually had a fellow tell me that once.

Never mind the metaphors, the main thing is that there's nothing in the scale or the relentlessness of Ford's book that's at odds with either McGowan or Bowart. Nothing - all of it meshes. If anything, given the hints and inferences that both of the aforementioned make as to the heights that this shit reaches (as in The Finders and the CIA in chapter six of the Pedophocracy), what Ford tells us of would seem almost inevitable. And vice versa, this book makes everything in both McGowan and Bowart look like the bleeding obvious. Bowart by the way, writes one of the book's forewords. In fact all of these forewords are excellent, worth the price of admission alone.

Perhaps, the most striking, and maddest, aspect of this book is the absurd amount of sex that goes on. Given the scale of the programme that went into turning Susan Ford into a variety of super-human, why was she so relentlessly sent hither and yon to deliver blow-jobs? What's the big deal about sex? Funnily enough, what with yours truly having spent so many years in film production, I thought about it and ended up answering my own question.

The key is the producer. In the small production companies I worked for, the producer would have two roles. One is scoring the job to begin with, and the other is running it, ie. schedules, budgets, meetings, staff, deadlines etc. etc. But to be honest, it's only the first part that's important. The latter nuts-and-bolts stuff, depending on how good your team is, will often look after itself, or failing that merely be handed off to a line-producer - peanuts for a clever monkey. The biggie, the only thing that counts, is scoring the deal to begin with.

Initially, I had it arse-about. One particular producer that I did a lot of work for as an animator was perfectly incompetent at running a job - hell, if I hadn't perpetually taken the reins we'd have crashed and burned. At the time, I wondered how he kept his job: my running gag being that he was a professional drunk. His only skills seemed to consist of drinking copious amounts and hooking people up with drugs and women. Et voilĂ  - there you have it. Sure enough, of all the producers I ever met, this guy hit the most stellar heights and is now a very big deal, easily a multi-millionaire. In spite of the fact that he couldn't organise a job to save his life, over and over again the clients with the big budgets would give their money to him.

It's a simple fact (okay, for men) that a fellow who can get you laid is the guy you want to hang with. Whether it's a couple of armchair salesmen, or a couple of arms merchants, it doesn't make any difference - they all want the same thing. Hands up everyone who has a friend who could be described as a 'party captain'? We probably all know someone like that. They have a brilliant knack for organising a good time - they have a ton of friends, their parties go off, and sure enough if you hang with them you get laid. (That ain't me by the way, you hang with me and I can guarantee a very dull evening, ha ha).

And so it goes right to the very top. You get a fellow laid and he's your man. But being at the top has its own problems - between lardy Jewish girls in blue dresses, and note-taking Debra Jean Palfreys, things start getting tricky, which is to say, fraught. But the brute imperative remains the same - what works with scoring the $100,000 TV commercial, works with scoring the new world order. The only thing that changes is the difficulty involved in getting whomever-it-is laid so that it doesn't bite them in the arse afterwards (think Prince Philip). Sure enough, whatever shift in scale that takes place from the small production to the global one, will likewise be replicated in terms of scoring pussy. As if: banking, drugs, and war; with billions, even trillions, at stake; that have been decades, even centuries, in the making, wouldn't warrant pussy of a similar magnitude. Honestly, the whole thing stands to reason. Of course it's that way.

And yeah, some of the people in on the gag are famous - like the otherwise unlikely pair of Bob Hope and Henry Kissinger. Bob Hope we can quickly dismiss. Anyone who's read McGowan's Laurel Canyon should already have their head around what went into making the hippy scene. Okay, so why would we imagine that that's a one-off taking place in isolation? We already know that the media is a bloc-media that tolerates no dissenting voices. Only a fool would view the Laurel Canyon hippy scene as anything other than a single part in a much bigger picture. Sure enough, read Ford's book and know that Laurel Canyon was/is nothing special - everything in the entertainment industry is as manufactured and contrived as Laurel Canyon. Everything. And yep, in amongst this, Bob Hope was a big wheel. Oh, and in much the same way that those who've read Laurel Canyon can never view Frank Zappa, the Doors, and CSNY in quite the same way again, read this book and see how you view Bob Hope's schtick. It ain't pretty.*

Bob Hope is one thing, Henry Kissinger is another. Susan Ford has Kissinger as a variety of consigliere/strategist working for 'the council'. For mine, Kissinger now makes sense. I never quite got him before, but read this book and see if your otherwise nebulous image of him doesn't sharpen. And then there's 'the council' - the identity of which comprises the book's ultimate question. For mine, Ford fails to answer it. But since this piece is long enough, I'll deal with that in the next one. Yoroshiku.

*And then there's Disney...

Friday, July 3, 2009

Fear and Deterrence, and the Possibility of Redemption


The Small Picture

I was once at a picnic with otherwise right-thinking people when a fellow there started up with an anecdote about him having rung the local radio station to participate in an on-air discussion about that old chestnut of what's-to-be-done-with-wayward-teens. His gleeful contribution was to demand 'More Whipping!' Seriously. He was convinced that if only children were beaten more often and more harshly, society would be the better for it.

Happily he had never had children. The only person there who had, and whose children were famously trouble with a capital T, agreed. She recounted anecdotes of all the trouble she had made as a child, with the punch-line consisting each time of the hell they copped when their father caught them. Somehow this was evidence of the rightness of 'whipping', never mind her own kids. Sure enough, yours truly spoiled the social harmony by declaring that they had everything arse-about.

For the record, I've never had children. But that being said, my youngest brother was born in my last year of high school, and whilst ultimate responsibility didn't lay with me, I didn't miss much either. (And if I might just take a brief moment to brag - in an age before disposal diapers, my nappies were a triumph of dynamic tension and left everyone else's for dead). But never mind me as a crowing rooster cock-a-doodle-doo - in a discussion about discipline I followed my father's lead, which for the purpose of the argument I shall sum up as 'less is more'.

According to my father, we as children copped a whack on the bum precisely twice. In amongst us throwing anti-social, me-uber-alles tantrums we were told that this was unacceptable and that we might choose to stop it, or cop a smack on the bum. It was up to us. After we chose poorly twice, and copped two smacks, in the face of his unambiguous implacability, from then on we just believed him and chose the option that consisted of not getting whacked. I have no recollection of this you understand, merely his say-so. In fact, until he told us how he'd disciplined us, I'd have declared we'd never been whacked at all. And this is how it went for my youngest brother a decade and a half later. He was smacked precisely twice during that two year old period wherein one's sense of what-I-am expands to include the whole world. I don't know if this will surprise people, but I and my brothers were absurdly well behaved. For us, our greatest horror was that people might be disappointed in us.

This is merely me recounting the past you understand and doesn't necessarily represent me in the present. Meanwhile back at the picnic, I declared that 'whipping' will, in and of itself, in no way instil a sense of right and wrong, nor any other useful thing apart from fear. This fear will ensure nothing more than a variety of cunning that pivots on Not Getting Caught. Honestly how many times have we seen parents, of the variety given to copious physical punishment, variously promise a smack and not deliver it in the face of continued appalling behaviour (indeed with the likelihood of offering some reward-like sop to mollify the child), or otherwise delivering a whack from nowhere for behaviour that, never mind the child, had me stumped as to what they'd done wrong. What's a child to glean from this?

This was perfectly summed up for me when I once lived across the hall from a father who'd terrorise his daughters mercilessly - the screaming was nightmarish. He perfectly nailed his own absurdity when I heard him scream at his daughters, "Listen! Even when Dad is wrong, he's right!" God help those kids, there's only one lesson they'll learn from that, and that is: since there is no right and wrong, everything is arbitrary, with the say-so belonging to whoever has power, and thus the only thing that counts is not getting caught.*

The Big Picture

And from the micro to the macro, everything is like this. In this white man's world with its God who favours 'those who help themselves' (think about that), we extol no 'virtues' apart from those of individuals who excel at amassing things for themselves. Sure enough for yours truly, who puts everything on the selflessness/selfishness continuum, these are not virtues but sins. 'Sins' meanwhile, as defined by society, differ from its 'virtues' by the merest of technicalities. If I was to take $4 from a fellow I would be a criminal. But if I was a member of the Gillette/Schick cartel and charged $4.10 for a razor blade that cost 10c, I would be a feted captain of industry, an example to all.

Society deters people from committing its definitions of sins by way of fear - a fear, not of being seen as selfish (since this is a virtue), but rather of getting caught and thus being on the receiving end of further sins, which is to say, deprivation of liberty. This fear is a 'deterrent' - knowing how harshly we will be treated upon being caught we are thus deterred from committing the crime to begin with. Either that or we will do whatever it takes not to get caught.

You don't hear the word 'deterrence' much anymore - certainly not like you used to back in the seventies and eighties. Back then it was everywhere, what with being the reason why we needed to fork out a bazillion dollars for enough nuclear weapons to destroy the world ten times over. Now it's nowhere on account of it being at odds with Israel's desire to reduce Iran back to a parking lot. Frankly the complete absence of the word deterrence in a discussion of Iran's alleged pursuit of nukes is enough to tell any thinking person that the whole thing is bullshit.

Sure enough, deterrence is bullshit. For every person deterred from committing a crime, is another who is only deterred from being caught - to avoid this, he'll corrupt the judiciary, kill the witnesses, heap crime upon crime, whatever it takes. Which is to say, deterrence is as likely to increase crime as to reduce it. Not forgetting the beyond obvious fact that if deterrence worked, there'd be no one in jail.

I do hope no one starts up with that old chestnut about how if we didn't deter people then it'd be worse than it is now. Not unless they want to buy one of my famous tiger amulets, which will guarantee the wearer protection from tiger attacks. I've worn it for forty years and never been attacked once. Except for that time at Taronga Park zoo... but think how much worse it would have been if I hadn't been wearing it!

I don't know if they have tigers in Bhutan, but they certainly have criminals. Well, they do now anyway - ever since Rupert Murdoch's Sky began broadcasting into every home that is. Suddenly their meagre police force no longer has time to assist grannies cross the street because they're too busy chasing all those people who've taken to robbery and murder. Where's that fellow from the Picnic? He could advise the Bhutan government that what's needed here is more 'whipping'. Yeah well, fuck him and fuck his bullshit.

That aside, if anyone ever wanted proof of the rightness of the continuum, the unasked for social experiment taking place in Bhutan is it - a society that overnight replaced a consensus of selflessness with a shiny media model of selfishness and instantly found itself amongst all the ills of the West. Clearly it's high time we in the West wagged our finger and explained how their newly crime-ridden nation should now join the civilised world in instituting a fear-based model of deterrence, and thus may their society be as free of the depredations of criminals as we are. Or would the abysmal hypocrisy be too much? Ha ha ha ha, "Mr. Prime Minister, the delegation from the Wackenhut corporation is here to see you."

And that's how it goes - the Bhutanese are fuzzy-wuzzy jibber-jabberers and we teach them and not vice versa. The Portuguese on the other hand, whilst they are wogs, and do jibber-jabber, at least they're Christians who occasionally use soap, and thus might have something to say worth listening to. They've de-criminalised drugs it seems. Astoundingly the whole place hasn't turned into predicted den of iniquity. What's going on? It seems that the drug-users who were otherwise undeterred by the fear of punishment, actually benefit from calm and sensible discussions about the rightness of the whole caper and actually take up the government's offers of what I'm going to call redemption.

As if this wasn't completely fucking obvious. As if people like breaking into homes to steal laptops to pay for their addiction. Honestly. Portugal's experiment (in the bleeding obvious) is perfect proof that a fear based system of punishment pushes people further into crime. Now that it's been dispensed with, people finally have an opportunity to return to the embrace of society and are doing so wholeheartedly. Both crime and drug use in Portugal is declining.

The only problem with Portugal's experiment is the narrowness of the vision. Redemption is offered to users but not to sellers. Why is this is an either/or proposition? Rather than get bogged down in finicky arguments, why don't we just say that if fear didn't work for one crime, why do we imagine it will work for another? In the face of mountains of evidence to the contrary? Besides, what sort of person is picky in offering redemption? What is the 'line in the sand' that defines who or what deserves redemption, and who or what deserves fear and loathing, apart from a statement of arbitrary personal prejudice?

Little Picture Us Versus Big Picture Motherfuckers

Here we are, regular folks ever more appalled at monstrous sins of those who rule the world. Between a non-denominational satanist paedohile death cult, and a Jewish banking and warfare death cult, it's perfectly unsurprising that we dream of their righteous demise at the hands of a howling mob - string them up from lamp posts, tear them limb from limb, push stakes up their arse until the blood gurgles out their mouths. I get it. In fact I've brought up lamp posts on more that a few occasions myself.

But honestly, there's no future in it. Were this to happen, nothing would have been learnt (amongst the survivors - and there would be survivors, there always are) apart from that old chestnut 'Don't get caught' and the requisite next thought, 'If only we'd been more vicious'.

There's no either/or for redemption. What works for small scale misdemeanors is every bit as applicable for large scale crimes-against-humanity. Honestly if the Emperor Pu'yi (in Bertolucci's Last Emperor) who was inculcated his entire life can find happiness as a gardener, anyone can.

And yeah, I also get it that what I'm suggesting is an idealistic mad dream that's right up there with pig aviation. But I don't give a fuck. Not that I'm making any pretentious claims to whatever, but did the Jesus in the bible give a fuck? Did he temper his positions on account of fear, realpolitik necessities, or any other thing?

The most absurd thing is that a world without fear, a global societal model based not on proscription of innumerable sins but rather redemption and a single aim of selflessness, is possible. We now have mass communications perfectly capable of bringing about a paradigm shift in how humans regard, and subsequently treat, each other. And in Bhutan, all we'd have to do cut their satellite, ha ha.

I haven't a shred of doubt that this is technically do-able. If anyone doubts this, just consider what would result if all the time and energy currently devoted to turning us into self-obsessed gits striving to outdo our neighbour, was instead spent on the rightness and benefits of selflessness. It's inarguable that this could be done if we wished it.

Instead, the social darwinist motherfuckers who rule this world choose, amongst all the models Darwin offers us, to emulate predators. It should be obvious to anyone of the meanest understanding that they've chosen poorly. It may have made sense once, but now (in this age of dioxins and depleted uranium) it no longer does. We are now perfectly capable of infinitely greater things. That these people have so wildly excelled at mimicking such hateful creatures, does not speak of their greatness, but rather of their prosaic lack of imagination and ultimately their stupidity.

To hell with them and their world of fear, I reject all of it and refuse to participate in any aspect of it, regardless of how much I'd like to see them on the receiving end of their own bullshit. In spite of me mentioning it just now, truth is, hell is none of my business. And quite right too given that redemption is always possible. Just to make things crystal clear, this is not a discussion of probability, but of possibility. If a thing is right and if a thing is possible, then that's where I'm at. Fear, whether received, or inflicted, and with no acknowledgement of redemption, is bullshit. The death cult can bring on their armageddon, whatever they've got - the fear and loathing will all be theirs.