Sometime in the course of life one has to embrace ideas that once ran contrary to the foundation of one’s identity and existence. These sorts of discoveries are made at pivotal times when due to the natural order of things one must change places with their parents or when one is now longer a member of the most energetically active demographic of society. The Sphinx of Oedipus marks these junctures out in terms of levels of mobility, ’4′, ’2′, ’3′. While this number sequence is not necessarily indicative of a golden mean from the pen of a Pythagoras, the sharp distinction of the methods of locomotion inferred make a fundamental point. That at least three times in the course of one’s lifetime, their view of the world is very likely to fundamentally change. Possibly to a polar opposite!

Is this so very hard to see in the culture of a society? The paradigm of Western Civilization as influenced by groups at its extreme has been reversed in its course many times. The idea of brutal punishment for societies’ transgressors has flipped flopped many times over the centuries from the socially informed criticism of a Victor Hugo, “Les Miserables” to the political expediency of a Guantanamo or Abu Gharaib. The slow inevitable campaign towards bringing all cultures to bear under the rule of a single entity resulting in the institution of Totalitarian policies as a means to a supposedly utopian end. The current controversies that reach the national stage on the list of mass media unsupportable causes are populated with modes of thinking that were not to long ago considered mainstream. The irony of these sorts of polar shifts being that the flip flop back and forth is never mentioned as the ‘year zero’ of the appreciation of history is always pushed up to hide the follies occasioned by the last arrival to similar conclusions.

If one were to make a scholarly assessment on the ‘newly-popularized’ topic of Political Science, one would quickly apprehend that these periodic shifts are the mechanisms of those who for centuries broker the transfer of power proverbially from behind the curtain. The closest description of fundamental strategies behind these mutable epochs in the hands of children’s tales as with a Frank Baum or the more erudite George (Orwell) Blair. And in keeping with the larger cosmology of surrounding society, individuals are tasked not only to amass knowledge from their life’s experience but to put it into action on behalf of their own kith and kin. The most longstanding form of stability in social relations being an ongoing balance of opposing interests moderated in the spirit of detente. Not the imbalance as being cheer led today where elite mercantile oligarchies rule through deceptive institutional persuasion of a population from cradles to grave. Survival is dependent upon identifying where one’s best self interests lay and not supporting bilious concepts that result in ruin for the benefit of public policy that ultimately only benefits the top echelon of organized society. There is no sin or grievous moral crisis in the consideration of the overall health of one’s family and loved ones being set highest above. Or for that fact to judiciously give aid to foreign recipients. But as the airline signs posed above your seat in the plane proclaim, make sure you, “make sure your own oxygen mask is properly secured before trying to help others!”

Fading Past Impressions

Those false little impressions that we live our lives by. From whence do they issue? How silly and weak they seem when one finally wakes up much much later after a virtual lifetime to find them simply arbitrary barriers of little value. Signs of the times that one is thrust into from the birth canal. Dingy television settings live on camera, too reminiscent of the quality of life a scant decade and a half before and all the more popular for that fact alone. Life’s lessons gleaned from the happenstance of weekly situations of ritual loss wrought in burlesque farce. Navigational charts impinging young minds, affecting their view of how things are. Prevalent, stored at the core of the deepest synapse along with memorable Christmases and the first tooth. Haunting melodrama later in life as those well-worn teeth begin to fail in their task of tasting any further. Recollections laid to rest in coffin carried remains of those one loved all along through decades of feast and famine. The patterns of behavior that acted as the metronome of daily life brought to final silence.The universe revealed as a frigid and unforgiving realm where the omnipresent promise of sacred love is no longer able to be found. This Parsifal cum Rigaletto, having realized that the fall from one’s initial estimations has cast an ignoble conclusion to their story from the base metal of a petty but illusive notion of success. The passions of life at a certain point only echoing only from the voices of the young in one’s otherwise cold dead marble existence. Emotions clotting at the far corners of the bottom of desiccating bottles of unopened wine long past vinegar and leakage. The apparition of what once called the world of tomorrow merely squawking electronic signals emblazoned fleetingly upon tiny hand held portable viewports. The experience of of the lifetime’s of everyone long ago known reduced to meaningless cliche.

That Eternal Question, “Why?”

In this current culture of technological modernity, the music over your earphones tells you who you are. And there does not seem to be many different entities available to listeners these days. A fluid form of Fascism fills the airwaves. One with which the mass media indoctrinated youth feel the certainty of a measure of innate superiority to dance to their own tune in spite of those who are their seniors. If you find yourself in the latter category, then your presence is barely tolerated as a matter of proper decorum. Only the hard learned lessons of former youthful hubris, wrought from similar transgressions of the past, dampen the prevailing atmosphere of generational conflict.

As a species, we humans arrive in successive waves. At first you plumb the depths of he world in books and become comfortable with their facts as inflexible pillars of eternal morality. The inspired ‘danse macabre’ of every society long past reinvigorated for a while with all our waking energies posed to reinvent what our fathers seemingly could not. But the facts of the inevitable deterioration occasioned by age where memory becomes intermittently fleeting and one lives in the chaotic crisis of the present pose a barrier to belief in anything lasting. The desire to act impulsively once again holding sway and previously interred sentiments are once more revived after living within the coma occasioned by the identity of self.

A door in the metaphoric sense inferring the barriers of hidden walls too long artificially construed by a need at the end of adolescence for the illusive security of mutually agreeable fact at the price for unsupported fancy of personal intuition. This rite of passage leading to the present tense imagined state of mind of the herd reflecting all the salient inner meanings of the individual self. The childlike experience of universal immortality of something greater than man is first chipped away like the ghosts of the initials of a recently deposed despot. First, incrementally, but then with a fervor of determinism that becomes the innovator of the reigning spirit of the mob existing without.

Like bleached bones, one’s existence is tossed about from eagles flying on high, tumbling down to ignominy upon the blistered granite of empty dogma of inanimate centuries of irrational evolutions. One’s existence becomes increasingly more Spartan as the rewards of material pleasures are piled high about one like rocks. Illusions begin to stand in for discoveries. And one finally realizes the emptiness behind the perpetually unapproachable question, “Why?”

“What the Hell am I supposed to do in this life that has any real meaning?”

To this, one finds only the response of the abruptness of the fact of loss as occasioned by the passing of an underestimated loved one who one realizes was irreplaceable to the vindication of one’s self. The only ‘raison d’etre’ in a fact of being, circumstantially at a given time or place with no apparent purpose beyond one foot following the other. The facts and figures that support the industrial notion of ‘all’ meaningless in the ceaseless eternity of an afternoon wind powered by a burning orb retreating behind the landscape of a slowly darkening horizon. Beauty thus described in the passion of impending loss.

Mongoose And Snake

The spate of stories concerning yet another spectacle of violence in an ongoing extended soap opera of mass hysterical manipulation for the benefit of the systematic restructuring of society seems unbelievable boring. The election of a lesser known candidate that was well groomed in the wings on strictly racial grounds has created a divide as planned no doubt that has been further exploited by the current managed climate of crisis in a manner to divert attention from the robbery of wealth by a far removed elite. Rather than simply looking at fundamental facts as laid down by one’s bankbook or ability to hold onto a job, the malaise that grips the ‘civilized world’ is a smoke screen of its own making. The constant creation of purported terrorist boogeymen famous for a day attempts to rival daytime TV ‘reality’ shows where guests are invoked to enact verbal revenge on their intimate companions in an atmosphere of televised conflict. The apparatus of the state seems to believe that their seasonal programming of events in both mediums of entertainment and news is merely a matter of the refinement of techniques.

The mongoose ever attempts to best the snake.

But at a certain point when every ploy has been tried, the whole gambit loses the power of it’s appeal. That is why crisis agendas have a very short shelf life. So any nefarious scheme has to be sprung on the suckers quickly then wrapped up and complete before they know what’s hit them. Essentially a larger bump and run scheme of one party to the scheme distracting the mark while the other one snatches the wallet or the purse. That’s why there are so many of these oily situations that pop up so regularly during the course of a given year or series of same. The apparent sensibilities of the general public is par boiled upon a slow flame and then regularly started by a predetermined upgrade in the temperature of the pot. But sooner or later these rascals are chased back and only by the grace of goodness saved from a severe judgement by the grace of mercy that, unfortunately, is the abiding characteristic of those forever caught lacking in material fortune. Despite the flights of grand ego and technological fancies of omniscience and unearthly power over large tracts of humanity, they are after all fully dependent upon us for the support of same. And boredom and indifference in the end conquers all.

No Second Chances

In a world of once in a lifetime opportunities there are no second chances. We’re a lazy lot for the most part. Used to sequels and reruns as a matter of course. Thinking that life runs on a regularly programed schedule. But even the best clocks get tired and run down. We’re used to carrying around baggage and ignoring the immediate aches and pains. But one day, all the pains not acknowledged total up and come back to collect their due. And if fate is unkind we walk with a limp or worse. You wake up all twisted up like a pretzel. The stare of a pretty girl is no longer an invitation. A patronizing pat and they’re off. You get tolerated like an old tree stump that no one has gotten around to pulling out yet. And, the worst part is you have to grin and bear it all like a duck in a rainstorm of indifference. Carry yourself around like it doesn’t matter from the outside looking in. But the old game is no longer your own to pass off now that you’re no longer a commodity. No, you’re stuck with that sad faced solitary soul staring back at you from left crossed to right. No there are no second chances, only ‘woulda coulda shoulda’s’. And the wait in line back towards the exit door at thirty thousand feet to take a dive is ever so long and painstakingly slow.

‘WE” Got Him!

“We Got Him!“

But who in the Hell have they got? Two days ago the situation of culpability was a total blank, almost. Like someone in the park throwing bread crusts to birds clues have been deposited along the trail for us to peck at. The fact like a miracle, a twisted piece of metal purported to be the lid of a pressure cooker was produced on camera by a phantom hand in the midst of an otherwise cloistered investigation was odd indeed. Then as if a casual reminiscence ‘we’ are told that this was a common form of IED in Afghanistan. If this is true, it’s the first I’ve heard of it. All of this interposed with a lot of on-camera crying and weeping and verbal glad handing from the usual crew of embedded Liberal pundits. Then on the third day, the gods of the media made two double helix surveillance film clips appear that upon later inspection had more to do with Photoshop fakery than happenstance. If any judge was ready to convict on the basis of possession of a backpack alone, there were plenty of others peppered through the crowd. One small elite set of same sporting nifty skull emblazoned baseball caps that loitered at key locations around the detonation area but then disappeared just before the explosion? Then of course a middle of night Hollywood style car chase that no one saw but heard, And the final plot twist of the unsuspecting home owners finding blood trails on the tarp of his most prized possession in his backyard, an innocuous 24 foot trailer mounted sailboat. The climax of the drama, one suspect dead, the other dying and both conveniently tried and convicted in the infallible court of the international news media.

But what if the whole thing was a fake? What if all the incidents since this time last year were staged events that employed black-op hit squads and ensembles of crisis actors who in consort with the hummingbird news media have constantly spun a web of lies to assist in a slow governmental coup of banker picked demagogues? In every case the public’s eye view focused through the alphabetical electronic media “The Most Trusted News Source” ocular of an industry long revealed to being fused at the hip with the corporate military establishment. The blatantly obvious precedents of President Kennedy being murdered by his own driver or the plain view pre-rigged explosive demolition of three buildings at Manhattan’s southern tip more than suggesting that this form of theater is not the rule and not the remote possibility of and exception. All this amidst the clown circus of useful idiots apprehended and shadowy figures unceremoniously escorted out of the countries borders past the reach of extradition. The most important tool of tyranny in remanufacturing the mentality of its sequestered citizenry is the Hollywood based paradigm of inverting fiction and reality. The spinoff’s of this form of theater in terms of what the audience will tolerate in terms of imposed restrictions on their progress of travel and mass hysterical manipulation of their subsequent emotional relief, being the prize. What you are seeing is no different than the standard practice employed at the last stage of the production of a feature film where the audience’s reaction is tested and the final climax of the tale is rewritten to suit the best possible outcome for the producers of the movie.

In the end, we haven’t got him, “They’ve got YOU!”

What You See Is Not Always What You Get

It is interesting to note that when attempting to get to the root of the concept of ‘truth’ one is referred to the topic of verification by such ennobled sources as Black’s LAw Dictionary. The fact that something can be so without the intervention of witnesses is a very curious phenomena indeed. The idea that ‘verite’ is dependent upon an oath as opposed to mutably appreciable experience seems to be the core principle of common understanding in our contemporary information addicted world. For if you look at the seminal events that have powered societies forth for thousands of years through many successive superseding empires,one might also find a singular image tied to some pivotal event that is used to control the boundaries of speculative thought. If one searches one’s own consciousness in terms of other far off unvisited lands one can easily employ a visual avatar of some sort that is readily available to the task of describing that place in an instant. Paris, “Eiffel Tower”, New York, “Empire State Building”, London, “Big Ben”.

These associations are not so contrite out of mere chance association but by the popular conventions of the artistic convention of the journalistic shorthand of both literature and entertainment. As a customary form of mass indoctrination that relates to any political topic an image or analogy relating to same is carefully sifted from the event and put forth to provide instant recognition of the most desirable political conclusion. The most elemental image that inspires the essential power of the United States military comes from the re-staging of a flag raising on Mount Suribachi in WW2. Truth then becomes a matter of an underlying verification of the situation based upon the default internalized lexicon of ‘plug and play’ semiotics. Thus something as innocuous as a ‘box cutter’ is the undeniable symbol of airline terrorism even though to date there is no one alive who can speak to direct knowledge of its employ. And in the latest spate of violent events elevated to gladiatorial national prominence there is little to tie the officially designated perpetrators to the commission of heinous crimes besides the official story that, if anyone follows such things, changes periodically to suit the political agenda of government policies. Consider if you will the magically disappearing Boeing 757 that left no trace of matching aviation debris when it hit the Pentagon building on September 11th, 2001? How odd that the mysterious young perpetrator, Adam Lanza, who no one has purported to have seen for almost three years running, does not share a similar distinction with famous criminals of old like John Dillinger in having his posthumous visage plastered over every newsstand and TV screen in the nation? It is certainly not due to a universally held sensitivity to shield the untoward eyes of the young in haplessly viewing something that might create a traumatic experience than the plethora of first person shooter video games and Internet pornography.

If truth is a matter of assessing the believability of the oaths of witnesses, then how can even be sure that the story is plausible if no one living comes forth to point a finger in a court hearing and say, “That’s the one who did it?” Instead we have a media circus embroiled at the moment of the chase in random speculation as guided by hidden policy masters spinning government dogma. As ‘we’ are approaching the ‘Summer sweeps’ of national political drama with more initially enigmatic acts of domestic terrorism ahead it might be helpful to connect the dots symbolically speaking in terms of the artifacts offered to the public consideration as being significant of signs of danger. The list might include, underwear, jogging shoes, pressure cookers, AR-15 tactical rifles, and backpacks . “If you or anyone you know sees anyone fitting any part of this description then it is advised that you contact your local DHS fusion center immediately!”