Open Letter to the Villains of the World

Att - Messrs. Vladimir Putin, Hu Jintao, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Hugo Chavez, Hassan Nasrallah, Fidel Castro, et al,

Dear Sirs,

The Western bloc-media has declared you the villains of the world. You know as well as I do that none of you, nor your countries, nor your people, will ever get a break in the Western media. The entire media sings from the same song-sheet with a simple message. Each of you is a variation of Orwell's Emmanuel Goldstein. Collectively you are those whom we must hate.

To be honest, I don't know where your heads are at precisely. But I'm assuming that you understand how the world works. I'm assuming that you're perfectly aware that the Reserve Banks of the world are privately owned and what this means. Tie this power to the undeniable bloc nature of the media and its refusal to acknowledge this power, and it's no great feat of logic to arrive at the conclusion that the media is, in essence, a machine to cloud our minds to the nature of our subjugation.

Effectively we are all participate in a mad charade, an idiotic drunken parlour game, wherein the perpetual topic-du-jour is that old chestnut 'What's to be done?' To obey the rules of the game we must discuss this topic in every way possible but we must never mention the chief protagonists, which is to say, international banking. The entire perverse system of monetary policy, and control of the means of exchange, must be dealt with, not as a human contrivance subject to alteration, but as an act of God that may not be questioned.


I notice that you all play within the parlour game rules. And some of you do quite well occasionally. Mr Putin has had some interesting footage showing him staring down a tiger and displaying his martial arts ability. Hats off. But between these minor efforts (which, trust me, the media did its best to spin as vaguely comedic, or undignified, or otherwise as 'not quite the thing') and, say, the watertight depiction of Russia as the ogre of Ossetia, it's small potatoes. But all of you receive the same thing.


In China, never mind the tirelessness of Hu Jintao throwing himself amongst the people struck homeless in that earthquake, nor the millions of servicemen and women he then mobilised into a fearless hands-on disaster relief (which the American government could watch as a 'How to' if the welfare of their citizens was worth tuppence to them), the Western media barely batted an eyelid. Besides, their reporters were far too busy looking for Chinese citizens unhappy with their government. And they found them, sure enough, one after another. (Well, shit, eh? Like this is difficult - Pick a country, any country). With this as the perpetual template, unsurprisingly we in the West will only ever know of the Chinese as villains. And when the bankers move against China (à la David Sassoon and his opium wars) we in the deluded West will righteously cheer its destruction. And geez, you can hardly blame us - all we know is what we are told.


Perhaps you have your fingers crossed. Just like Tariq Aziz. He was the Iraqi Foreign Minister in the run up to the invasion of Iraq. It didn't matter how much he kowtowed and did as he was ordered (always scrupulously obeying the rules of the parlour game). His handing over of the complete 40,000 pages detailing the weapons programme and allowing the CIA-infested weapons inspectors to wander all over his sovereign nation was never going to make a lick of difference to Iraq's inevitable bombing. And that's the lot of anyone who plays within the rules of the parlour game. You will always be on the back foot. It's not your game and if you stay within it, you will lose. And lose big. Destruction-of-your-nation big. I'm sure you get it.

In any conflict, whoever follows the agenda set by their opponent will always be on the back foot, always reduced to defensive tactics. It stands to reason. The only way to 'win' (exactly the wrong word but let's carry on) is to seize the initiative. And the only way to do this is to Call The Game. The game isn't hidden from public view for no reason. Nor does its veiled nature add some minor degree of utility to the whole caper. This veil of delusion is the single crucial function by which the enterprise succeeds or fails. Pull away that veil and start a global public discussion on the true nature of reserve banking (and the role the media plays as its handmaiden) and the bankers (and their media monkeys) will be forced into unfamiliar territory. I expect that even wrongfooted like this they will still be formidable opponents. But at least you'll have them on the back foot.


So. Rather than stand in front of the UN and call George Bush the devil, or mouth generalities about peace amongst men of good will, why not call the game? I'm not going to say that this is easy. Packing the history of international banking and control of the world's money supply into fifteen minutes is no easy task. But it can be done. Hell, if you want a hand, for an absurdly modest fee I'm your man. The comment section is below, and world leaders are perfectly welcome, ha ha.


But forget me, I'm nobody. This will be your gig. In English 'your' can be singular and plural. Take it here as the plural. Acting in concert will be vital. Each of you must reinforce the others and put out a consistent, coordinated and coherent message. And the beauty of it is that all you will have to do is: tell the truth; not waste time on red-herrings; and stick to your guns. The last part of this will not be easy. God knows that in this bullshit world there's nothing braver than the man who tells the truth. And we all know how powerful those who control the money supply are. They whacked Kennedy and got away with it. And they can whack you too. But only if you're a singleton. Act in concert and the possibility of your silencing becomes ever more unlikely.

But if you stay silent, stay isolated, one way or another they're going to whack you anyway. You and your whole nation. The bloc-media hasn't invested all this time and capital painting each of you as the enemy for nothing. They don't do this lightly. They do this because they are the part of the machine that is going to destroy you. How about this - the media is the laser that paints the target so that the bomb knows where to go. The bomb is us, sure enough. Make no mistake, you are lit up by that laser.

Forget living in the shadows. The media-laser loves it there. The media doesn't just light things up, they actually render in the shadow also. In fact, this rendering of shadow is their primary purpose. If anything they're better at that than casting light. The only strategy for dealing with this mastery of darkness is to flood the whole place with the broad daylight of truth.

It's easy and it's hard. But the time is now, you're the men for the job, and no job was more worth doing. You know this is true.

I have a dream. I dream that you're not the servants of the bankers. I dream that you're possessed of intellect, of free will, and of big balls. I dream that you're men whose place in history will be that reserved for those who usher in an era. An era free from delusion. An era of peace and prosperity. A second Enlightenment, perhaps. It's not impossible. And all things being equal, why wouldn't you pick this dream? Who but a slave would follow someone else's dream of warfare, starvation, misery and suffering? Are you not masters of which dreams you choose? If you are serious, bold, act in concert, and stay true, this false dream, this nightmare, is yours to smash. You will be your own masters and earn the thanks of a world freed of delusion and subjugation. That's my dream. What's yours?

Smith and O'Brien

In 1984, George Orwell showed us his vision of the future. A lot of this was achieved by the chief protagonist, the oxymoronically named Winston Smith, going through the motions of his life. But given that a major aspect of Orwell's dystopian future was the ignorance of outer-party members like Smith, we'd have only gotten so far with Smith alone. In order for Orwell to reveal more, it was necessary that Smith travel upwards. Thus would further 'realities' be revealed. The immediate vehicle for this was the character of Julia. In passing him a note bearing the message 'I love you' she ended his world such as it was.


His relationship with her brings them both to the attention of the inner-party as personified by O'Brien. (Does anyone know why O'Brien has an Irish name? It's not an accident. Orwell would have chosen it with tremendous care). Anyway, in this meeting of Smith and O'Brien the full horror of 1984 is revealed. Smith, the man who lacks knowledge, is enlightened by O'Brien, the man who possesses it. Me, I wonder at this relationship.

---

At the back of my mind has been the possibility of ending up in a windowless room having to answer the questions of an anonymous federal officer. In the US this would have happened already. In Oz, it's unlikely. But I push it. I never pass up an opportunity to disabuse customs officers, police, and security guards of the nature of whatever it is they're doing. I've had a variety of reactions from anger, to boredom, to shock. Invariably, whenever I start in on the subject of bullshit liquid bombs, bullshit terror attacks, bullshit al qaeda, etc. whomever it is I'm addressing tends to hurry up so that the whole thing will be over as quickly as possible.

Curiously enough, I find this disappointing. And I have no idea if anything results from me telling them they shouldn't believe me and that they should just put it into google and have a read. "It's your job, mate. I just thought you might be interested in knowing if what you're doing is real or not. If it was me, I'd rather not be on some wild goose chase. But that's just me, you know..." Maybe they look it up, maybe they don't. I have no idea. Otherwise, I don't know how many times I've heard people utter some variation of, "Yeah, well, I don't make the laws, I just carry them out." The reply to this is always the same, "Sure, we're all good Germans, mate". One female customs officer's eyes went wide when I said that to her. I had a smile on my face, but whatever...


I always keep it consistent. I am always friendly and cooperative. I never raise my voice. I never get angry. I let them do that. I merely tell them they are free to do as they wish - search anything. "No mate, go for it. You won't find any explosives. But you never have, have you? No? Yeah, and you never will, you know..." They are trained to deal with angry people, violent people, nervous people, but they have absolutely no training for cheerful, chatty, cooperative people like me. I do their heads in.

I confine myself solely to thought-crime. My purpose is always to screw with the thinking of people who have no idea what they're doing. They think they do, sure, but only because they've never encountered an opposing view. Welcome to me, ha ha. I am the man to ruin their day.

---

You know what it is? I want to meet O'Brien. I want to meet the creature who knows that he's bullshitting me. All I ever meet is Smiths. But I thought about this - I will never meet an O'Brien.

Orwell's meeting of Smith and O'Brien is an impossibility. In this world of bullshit, a man who does not know will never meet a man who does. In reality Smith would only ever have met more Smiths. Obviously this wouldn't have suited Orwell. Kafka perhaps, but not Orwell. Orwell wanted to tell us of his vision. This could never have been achieved if Smith had only ever met people who knew as little as he did. In reading 1984, it's worth keeping in mind that, genius though Orwell was, he was still subject to the mechanics of telling a tale. Thus the meeting of Smith and O'Brien is better viewed as a plot device rather than some kind of real world likelihood.

But that doesn't mean the collision of these two characters isn't instructive. As far as 1984 is concerned these two differ in knowledge. One has it, one doesn't. They also differ in power. Knowledge equals power. As I've said elsewhere, the root of the word 'know' is the same root as that for the word 'nobility'. This is an unarguable acknowledgement that the basis of power, of viewing oneself as above one's fellow humans, is the possession of knowledge.

All of the Smiths I've met had power, albeit of the tiny customs-officer variety. Their imagining that they are some variety of O'Brien is a trick that they fell for. They possess a false knowledge, a false nobility. The true O'Briens of this world, the possessors of closely guarded occult knowledge, are few and far between. I'm going to pull a figure out of the air and say that there's probably less than a thousand of them in the whole world. Their knowledge must be closely guarded or else their 'nobility' will be challenged.


And here's the thing. Their knowledge can be challenged. In much the same way that this 'nobility' must control the media in order to ensure that their Smith servants never have access to an opposing viewpoint, it's important that they too never be so challenged. This is because the knowledge they possess is not the truth. Their ultimate occult knowledge is merely a clever self-serving arrangement that ensures their access to 'stuff' - stuff like caviar, jewelry, mansions, and slaves. Clearly a self-serving truth is not true. Truth is not subordinate to the self. If this nobility was presented with a truth that didn't serve their desires they would have to look away.

So it's all very well, me screwing with the heads of the various petty Smiths that I encounter. But what I burn for is to smash the understandings of the O'Briens. I want to show them that their desires are a delusion. I want to show them that their fear is a delusion too. Desire, fear, same thing. I want to embrace them to my bosom and show them the joy, the love, the truth of selflessness.

Ha ha ha, what a fool's errand! But I don't care. That rabbi who bested God in the Talmud had it arse-about. If only he'd put his cleverness to use explaining to the devil the error of his ways. God is fine, he needs nothing from us. It's the devil who doesn't understand the world. It's the devil who needs is to be clasped to one's breast.


Who but a fool would do that? Ha! Hey nobility! I'll be your huckleberry fool! I have nothing to lose. You want to join me? You too can cast off fear, desire, delusion. We'll bow down to each other and dance a pas de deux. For no reason beyond the simple joy of it. We'll marvel at the tomato growing from the compost, we'll enjoy a long drink of water in the heat of midday, and then laugh at the lorikeets hanging upside down in the casuarinas as the setting sun turns their feathers to gold. None of it will belong to you, but it doesn't matter. You'll be astounded at how free you feel. It'll be innocent. It'll be beautiful. It'll be the best you'll ever feel.

Orwell and Warburg

It was an appearance of John Hurt on television that set me off. There he was in my head as Winston Smith. And next to him was Richard Burton as O'Brien. Spooky casting.


I've read the book and seen the movie three times each I'm pretty sure. But not lately. What with my understanding of the world being in a constant state of flux (particularly lately with events steaming in the vertical part of an exponential curve), I found myself rolling 1984 around in my head and wondering at it anew.

No mistake, Orwell was a genius. His name entering the dictionary as an adjective is a fitting and proper testament to this. But he didn't get everything right. 1984 can primarily (arguably so, sure), be considered a discussion of Stalinism, which is to say a betrayal of the revolution. But what did Orwell know of Stalinism? Hell what do we know even now?

1984 is a tricky beast. Its protagonist Winston Smith (John Hurt's character in the movie of the eponymous year) is 'enlightened' by inner-party member, O'Brien (played by Richard Burton) in two key scenes. But are the revelations he is given real? Might they not be more propaganda? We will never know. The only 'truth' of 1984 is to be found in its narrated actions. Thus it's entirely possible that there was no Emmanuel Goldstein, no Eastasia, no war even. The rats on the other hand were real.

But that aside, Orwell didn't put these explanations in 1984 for no reason. He had points he wanted to make and parallels he wanted to draw. Take the Goldstein character. Orwell didn't pull him out of his arse. The possible apocryphal aspect of Goldstein aside (and his immediate plot function sure), Orwell was clearly referring to Leon Trotsky. But who was Leon Trotsky? Did Orwell really know? And who was Stalin? Who was Karl Marx? I expect that Orwell understood pre-Stalinist communism in the terms laid out by Marx, Lenin, and the Bolsheviks who founded it - the ownership of the means of production, the bourgeoise, the proletariat, blah blah blah.

I wonder if it ever occurred to Orwell that perhaps Marx and his buddies were bullshit-artists? Certainly, Marx's work was really something. To write a treatise on class struggle and macro-economics and leave out ownership of the money supply is an astounding effort. It's like re-writing Romeo and Juliet, but leaving out the two lovers and still having a story that not only makes sense but goes on to become everyone's favourite play. You'd have to be impressed wouldn't you? That's not to excuse Marx of course. He's a motherfucker.

So when Stalin seized control and threw out Trotsky, the banker's friend, who was the bad guy? Okay, everyone, sure, ha ha. But Orwell would vaguely have us understand that the Emmanuel Goldstein character didn't deserve his 'villain' status. And thus nor did Trotsky deserve his. Or so Orwell, and everybody else thought (even me at one point). Perhaps the greatest truth in 1984 was one unintended by Orwell. Insofar as we have no idea if anything that is revealed to Smith by O'Brien is true, so it is with communism as told to us by communists and their banker backers. Remember how communism was all about the 'means of production'? Where's the means of production now? Who gives a fuck? It's all about the means of exchange, which is to say the ownership of the money supply. If you have that stitched up the means of production is neither here nor there. Mills and lathes ain't going to save anyone now. Only smashing the banks will.

Meanwhile it's acceptable to dip into 1984 for metaphors and analogies for this, that, and the other. Hell, they teach it in high-school. But I wonder what would have happened had Orwell written 1984 with not just the proles and the outer party being deluded, but the inner party too. What if he'd had a tiny number of families occupying the tiniest pointy bit of the pyramid with the ownership of the means of exchange as their ultimate control mechanism? Do you think his publisher Frederick Warburg would have still put 1984 into print?


This is the bit where I roll my eyes and say, 'Sure why not?' Ever the comedian, me.