Web Dog Don’t Hunt

Lucent

I think there is much entertainment to be gotten from the chatter to conquer our heads with viewpoints. During my early high school years in Connecticut, I fed a fancy for folklore. In retrospect I assume my mother’s death, and me finding her “folklore” anthology on a shelf at our soon to be sold Lake George house while on a grieving trip with my brother, that the importance of the book became a surrogate talisman. Down the road my imagination took me away with Babe the Blue Ox, Paul Bunyon, and Pecos Bill. I attempted a paper on folklore for a civics class, being prolific at writing then, which ended up pissing the teacher off because it had many language framing mistakes and was about 30 pages hand written with footnotes laboriously lettered in. The  reading of the daily fare on the internet becomes like a folklore to me. We have the folklore of a plethora of points of view all seeking to colonize our minds.

My family will believe I fit in the gloom and doomer category; my friends I am with now will say I’m a realist making preparations for the new world which will be anything but an Order of New World. It will be the remains from a salt and pepper shaker assortment of apocalyptii, anthropocentric and natural. I’m ready with the question what if “X” doesn’t happen? Then there is “Y,” the variable outside the dialectic that I believe following the X of today’s folklore can inform the Y of tomorrow. Naomi Klien wrote a book just before the collapse, “The Shock Doctrine,” and though I had read many of her same sources, her package  provided the concept that we can destroy a human’s rationality and force them into child like states of psychic collapse, but only the individual from within can bring forth excellence. Outside stimulation can coach or destroy. Your destruction need not be voluntary, but excelling demands free choice and liberty. That always scares the Big Buck. The Big Buck always feels edgy about the young crafty buck. We humans use contract and military killing to hold power when it is long overdue to go to the next part of the forest. Somehow we have to get this economic thing under balance with the Fibonacci of the Forest. The deeper we go into interest demanding industrial smut at this point, all paying homage to fewer and fewer Big Bucks, and threading our way through their paid off wolves–as an example, who put blacks and hispanics in jail for smoking a little weed and then use that to finance other investments because of tax supports and slave labor–the harder it is going to be to breathe free air. Most of the docile sheep will go along, some idiot goats will butt too soon before it’s time, and the forest will erupt with all manner of Sub Bucks ready for the challenge. Being a steady G&Der, I tell you, precipice infighting will push us off the cliff. No one is going to win. There will be no need for a New World Order because the Old Timers who wanted it, made huge miscalculations in what nature can and will do at the flick of an eye. I’ve seen fire and rain, all manner of ice and storm, stood in flood waters and walked a perilous journey to save a tenant’s dog. It’s too late when the tsunami is rolling, and believe me, to my gloom and doom it’s been rolling steamroller rolling for about 20 years. This Wall Street Generation made lots of paper for sugar daddies Goldman and Sachs, but maybe they missed the mark, flew right by the field, lost the generation that was found after it was lost, I know for sure when Faye Sachs decided to loose weight she rode her bicycle all over New York City, Westchester County, and beyond.

I was amazed by Faye, a fellow vendor in the kitch business. I had driven all over New York City, Westchester, and Fairfield counties, and couldn’t conceive of attempting it on a bicycle for want of safety. She did it, and she lost weight. I liked her and her husband David. They were hard working merchants who also knew a thing or two about money, but perhaps, they might have ended up getting Madoffed. And again I am reminded of Faye. A few days back, the internet brought a posting that claimed Ruth Madoff, Bernie’s wife, said on tape, “Bernie, the goyem did it,” or something to that effect. Growing up, I heard many a comment like that and somehow it didn’t mean me and my family because the people were always friends who said it. Things like that to older generations are not really “hate speech,” but definately blame speech, much the same way one might blame a wife or the kids. “If only I didn’t have to raise you, where would I be?” There was something about civility that required not taking immediate offense. I must take personal responsibility though, for being one of those early questioners of that system.

 I’m responsible for putting some holes in the status quo of back then. I helped bring winter time movies to the movie houses on Martha’s Vineyard in the early 70’s. At the same place I helped distribute free birth control information to the sexually primed high school children. My friend Laura got fired from a school job in a health department for showing how to properly put on a condom. That was like two years ago, imagine what the status quo would have done to me if they found out I was a young adult revolutionary of information disseminating birth control information back then. Part of it has to be blamed on my ex-wife, as a full and guiding principle who donated family resources, appropriated from corporate account without repayment, a tactic of the CEO’s of the 90’s. She and I made a pretty hot sexy hippie package at the time. Enough so there are now two young adults witnessing our graying.  I am confident I created Love Shifts, as opposed to Charlie Manson and his evil hatred shift. Throw Milton Friedmann economics of evil into the pot right after that, run by a “B” actor who saw himself at the head of a twenty mule team hauling refridgerators for Jack Welch and “shareholders,” in a nation full of various post traumatic stress patients in waiting, and people will find themselves too preoccupied with the variety of daily Spectacle slapping at their senses. Once you’ve seen the guy digging out of the dumpster in the “Conversations With God” movie, and the reaction of a kid and his mother, you begin to realize some shift has torn America asunder. To say 65% of Oklahoma students don’t know the first President only means the prolonged post traumatic stress syndrome has been effective at destroying American intelligence at the brain stem. You can tear down with evil and destruction, but to build up has to come from within; has to rule the person from an inner Lord and Lady, a harmony, as my Huna friends believe  united with the will of all bodies. In my friend Llan’s philosophy there are service to self, and service to others, and your soul will be operating from one of those perspectives. Given that George Washington was not truly the first President, only the first President of the Constitutional government as the Articles of Confederation had been in effect before with another first President (not telling–go search).  Bottom line, Oklahoma kids may be in a whole shitload of stress and can’t possibly fit the details of a trivial matter of Washington’s name at the moment, they can google that. What with many foundations working to dumb down the masses in preparation for a 1910 Modernity scheme of World Government, who can blame people who are running out of oil as Oklahomans are. Besides, they make the choice to eat Big Macs. MMMM. I think I’ll go get one right now, I need some GMO and now that I’m trying gluten free diet, I’m jonesing for a white bun and crappy wood pulp mayonaise. Is this hate speech?

I hope that the hate speech rider doesn’t mess up the entertainment of the internet. I wouldn’t know about all the fringe of the folklore. I’d probably still be back with Baigent and Lincoln trying to find a path through the Knights Templar legends instead of having the knowledge to realize the connection to some true Knights Templar ancestors as evidenced from my father’s cherished coat of arms passed down through the family. Fit that in with my mother’s folklore of being a deposed catholic witch of a royal Welsh who was on the wrong side of an Orange, and folklore through the internet is so much more fun. Did you know, that by the time one generation of Americans had passed, half of the population couldn’t tell you who one of their parents were, royals, freemasons, English, et al. So all the tales have a 50-50 probability for longevity. In other words, if you believe you are a Duke or the Dauphein, you got a 50-50 chance of being right. Reminds me how many young women became reincarnated versions of Egyptian Goddesses about 1977.

Another way to face the future is to pump up your feathers. This goes along with not allowing any negativity to interfere with your world view. Let’s simply say cognitive dissonace is mandatory. Put politically, did you really expect the generals and ship financiers were simply going to let President Obama walk away from the war to make safe the pipeline to America? If you are rational and can achieve any level of reality, our machine was deeply involved in a deadly enterprize. No oil may mean Death to Americans, so we export our syringe. President Obama was groomed by a team of excellent fluffers. He owes, he owes, he owes, and will do what he is told. President Kennedy thought otherwise, President Nixon thought otherwise, President Carter–jury still out–he somehow flubbed the job so they set up the refridgerator salesman for Jack Welch, and here I have come a spiral from above.

For me the question remains where the Y of the folklore goes. does it become mYthology? I grew up and Babe the Blue Ox simply informed me when going to the north woods to bring my coat in winter. If I were growing up right now in Oklahoma, and someone came up to me on the street and asked, who was the first President, I’d probably say “Ben Franklyn.” If they left it at that, they’d simply think I was wrong. If they asked deeper, if they asked Y, I’d say, “He was the first Rothschild agent.” And he knew, some things take a very long time, and in his warnings, he informed us we would have to keep our wits about us if we wanted to keep from falling into the darkness of desperation. Now go do some homework and read my blog about Lucifer and Ahriman and tell yourself how you embody those evil notions. Only you can bring the needed perfection of your character and soul to fruition. You must always grasp liberty and the PURSUIT, which is the journey, and that all acts of Love and Pleasure are my rituals.

Hey, whatever happened to that guy, Kashkari? He was supposed to deliver the TARP money, but who’s heard of him since? Follow the money, the entertainers say.

Blessings of Perfection SMIB

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One Response to Web Dog Don’t Hunt

  1. Pingback: Web Dog Don’t Hunt | Entertainment

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