The Annual End Of Year Bacchanalia

And so the end of the year in the once civil Western hemisphere rounds the corner of the first holiday marking the approach to year’s end. In era’s past a feast day recognizing that the good fortune of plenty was not a mandate but God’s gift blunting an otherwise ignoble twist of fate of an empty larder in a cold and uncaring Winter. A time when family, friends and neighbors once gathered to give thanks to the almighty for the end of the year’s harvest such as it was. But that was then, and certainly not what is expected to happen now. Now in present tense twenty-first century America, decade number two whatever sense of religious awe for the change of season has nothing to do with respect for the vagaries of mother nature or father time. Now itis the merciless onslaught of ceaseless offers marking endless sales offers for anything and everything imaginable that for some reason sat on store shelves or lurked in undisturbed piles within an out of the way warehouse. The volume of transfer of hard earned wealth from the common population being trimmed down by the constantly shifting of prices every upward and the stagnation of growth in wages leaving wage earners parsimonious in terms of their spending. The reverence once accorded to the miracle of life and thankfulness for survival of another year of good health challenged by an across the board official hard sell that employs every flashy trick and strategy to convince one that they should liquidate their bank accounts for the sake of truly momentary pleasure of briefly feeling like a millionaire. The gimmicks are rife playing upon a twisting of human interest stories designed to wrangle people into celebrating giving by indenturing them to fess up with a present for everyone that they know. The acquiring of material goods and services made to seem a trivial exercise holding no consequence for the buyer with supposedly deep discounts and easy extended terms that delay the inevitable denting of one’s bank account. Spending furiously displacing any previous cultural rituals marking the transition of one year to the next as a time to consume. The traditional red and green of Christmas perverted by the colorless black of the Friday one minute past the ending of a previous traditional day of thanks. A virtual privateer with letters of mark set forth by the ruling hegemony of worldwide commercial interests to waylay all previous holidays and entangle the finer sentiments of bygone times of a spirit of charity into blind hopeless consumerism. All conflicting notions of intelligent parsimony made to walk the pirate’s plank! Splayed across every news outlet and all other means of communication for the next sixty days is the tribal drum beat of SAVE and SALE! The ultimate consequence of having to pay for this brief bacchanal kept out of sight and mind till the tolling of New Years has left people’s bank accounts fully emptied of funds and necessity has melted away all resistance to surrender to another year of toil to fully address the accumulation of this financial bondage. Santa’s promising generous bulk of cornucopia promise transformed into the poisonous slither of persistent ‘$’s that swarm the hapless victims now all too mindful of their own previous licentious consumerist impulses.

“Happy Black Friday, 0 percent interest and no payments till next year, everyone!”

A Message To Those Officially On The Liberal Hate List

Everything considered ‘White’ is to be destroyed and replaced. All signs of European civility and culture and the legacy of history that accounts for it. That is what the future offered by the Left leaning Zionist powered Jewish liberals have brought to the United States since the beginning of the last century and before. The fact that such criticism is considered a crime shows the extent of the corrupting influence that their organized culture has wrought upon what might have been a enlightened genteel gentile society. Think of what sort of people would be so hateful as to harbor centuries of hatred for an imagined wrong according themselves a status far above all fellow humans as masters and all others mere animals useful only to their whim. Destroying all who would resist their evil intentions and then vilifying them by projecting their own crimes and intentions for carrying out same on these nations and their leaders. Those who cannot or will not read the record of events associated with these terrorists and their barbaric exploits recounted by many peoples that have endured their treachery are simply asking to become its victim. The world is entering a dark age where technology is already being used to govern treating mankind as a whole like commodities affording them no basic rights to be sovereign in their own land. When the ‘Whites’ have been eliminated then the groups that have been used as useful idiots to subsume them will suffer the same fate. One by one each culture will be dissolved and those remaining be considered as beasts. The end game of those with such wicked intentions being at some point an inevitable overreach and summary self-destruction. Those that bide their existence by the wishful record of past infamies expanded out into gigantic all consuming myths will eventually be swallowed by their own sick creations. Evil will consume evil and the world with or without mankind will right itself without any help of its misguided guests.

The great chaos of nature that the colonists faced several centuries back enshrined in the dwindling remembrance of a annual celebration of harvest home of just being found alive with a slim chance of perhaps being so in the future not too different than what so many face now. The perversity of those self-empowered with the notion of perpetual exploitation of their fellows no matter how all pervasive is in some respects not too different than the European born Pilgrims. Or in the same respects as the modern refugees transposed from their original homes by the despicable brutal mischief of greed and empire. The enforcement of 24/7 doom and gloom propaganda will not hold those of well-meaning intentions back from forging on with their lives and providing a future for their kith and kind. The evil cancer of those that would pervert that will in time fail and fall. It is the nature of the species of mankind to fail and struggle just like all other species of life. The element of hope and positive struggle for something better beyond just meaningless existence niggardly accorded by those who set themselves above all others will prevail.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thankful

It was incredible to think that the people that meant the most to you have been dead for over a half a decade or much more? How tenuous life is. The cycle of a generation of twenty years within which so much can be accomplished both good and not. That civilization can go on by inertia alone based on collective experience. That existence is as much taken from recollection as initiation. Survival demanded by simple existence its own reward. Insights the mileposts found along the way. Not just stone pyramids or jet aircraft to buzz about the entire circumference of the planet. But in a larger sense of awareness in the potential scale of the individual biped transformed into a discrete hive. Normalization of the species that thrust of a magnified concern for maintaining social stability but also the precursor of its own suicidal tendency to overreach the boundaries imposed by the natural chaos of its planetary boundaries. I suppose that this sense of progression can be extended to almost any species. The inherent personality of any life form determining the rules governing its viability over time. Spiders possibly being their own worse enemy while ants posing a diametrically opposite proposition in terms of a sheltering community. Six legs versus eight? Is there something inherent suggested by the subtleties of movement that predestines the fate of either? Two legs walking upright versus four paws on the ground. Eyes facing forward versus a nose to the ground. Those societies that have endured cycles of crippling devastation’s forming a sense of existential distrust versus those that have met the challenge of the conquest of nature with industrial production. Security based on following the general consensus as opposed to single individuals making up a plan of action based upon adapting to present circumstances. Dogmas or living by one’s wits? History or innovation? Each path having its own unique inherent dangers. And in that larger universal conundrum, destined equally to find growth but just as surely find a finality of destruction and an erasure of the fact of ever having been. That motive force being its own necessity posing along the way its own mystery. No sense of its beginning or the scenario of a complete and final empty void.

That is the reason that all might be thankful for simply being alive?

Wishing Might Make It So

As tale that begin with once upon a times go, there was a little boy that like many others, wanted to share the joys that other little boys of his age were open to. Having no brothers or sisters he would seek out others wherever they might be assemble and being equally unschooled by such a solitary existence initially amidst parental adults seek to find some way to ingratiate himself into the midst of the local tribe of peers. This might often lead him to an initial acceptance until he transgressed in being bereft of some basic proviso that those from larger families naturally possessed. On one such foray at the well-wooded edge of the subdivision by the schoolyard that all lived within he saw a handful of boys lined up with backs to the street and all standing still with legs wide apart. Approaching on one side he noticed that they all had their pants unzipped and their pee pee’s out making great arcs, each trying to best the other in outdistancing the same. The little boy wanting to join in quickly before the reserve of these new fellows was tapped unzipped his own fly and pulled out his own member. Without any warning the others began to laugh loudly and point in his direction. All joining in a single derisive communal chanting that the fact that his own penis was too tiny to be seen. The little boy began to cry as he saw that the other little boys all had longer large penises than he and he turned around and went running home in tears.

Later that night under the covers after everyone was asleep he lay with his pajamas down and a small flashlight beam focused on his member. There like a little chestnut it slept in all its undistinguished dimensions resisting all attempts in pulling and prodding to assume a more challenging dimension. The little boy lamenting that he wished that it would grow in length even a little so that it might at least match those of the other little boys. Now as such tales also seem to go where by way of fate a magical intervention changes the fate of the protagonist, the little boy closed his eyes tight and summoned all his Christmas and Tooth Fairy wishing energies and solemnly petitioned the cold dark emptiness outside the tent of his blanket. “I wish my penis was at least as large as the biggest pickle!” The next morning to his delight as he awoke he found his wish to have been granted. He rushed to school hoping at some point to be given the opportunity to join the contest of the previous day. But on the way passing the corral of an adjoining farm he heard a great whinnying sound that caused him to turn his head and note the rapidly lengthening rate of a stallion’s cock as it bucked nervously ready to mount a mare. The spectacle of such immediate growth caused the boy to stop and think. “If I could have a larger member by wishing it then why not have the biggest?” And so once again the little boy was endowed with his wish. And so he was content that when the opportunity presented itself he would not only match but outdo any of the little boys that had so ungraciously disparaged him.

The last class before the end of school was coming to an end and the little boy’s excitement was impatiently pounding with the prospect of showing off his new asset to the small congregation that would be at the same location as the day before. The teacher was introducing them to the topic of Oceanography. There on the classroom screen much to the little boy’s chagrin were all these large mammals some of the same having larger penises than a horse. The conclusion revealing the king of all mammals in size, a whale. A frown slowly crossing the little boy’s features as that vast bulk of a blue whale behemoth filled the entire screen. “What if I find someone else who like I has wished for and received such a wish?” The little boy now thought that if such an occurrence was possible that he must have the biggest to begin with. So that night, much later under the covers, he petitioned to powers of the universe to grant his wish.

The next day in school in Science class the topic of travel into outer space was explored. The era of lunar exploration revealed the mightiest most powerful invention of mankind in the Saturn V rocket. The length and power of which far exceeded that of any much punier whale. “If an inventor can produce something this big and powerful then I will be outdone yet again!” And running home once again to figure out what might be done he stopped by a small deserted grove and gathered all his wishing energies. The sound of the roar of incomprehensible rocket engines eclipsing all activity for miles in circumference, the little boy founding himself slowly rising and then gathering up speed until he saw the fringe of the darkness of outer space and it billions of stars bedecked magnificence replacing his earthly domain. Ever gaining more and more velocity, the Moon shot by, as he headed ever more rapidly toward Mars and eventually into the proximity of the more distant moons of Saturn and Jupiter. He eyed them as he whisked past coveting a new possibility in keeping with his growing desire. “My penis needs some balls of a correspondingly size!” And since the thought of joining in the small ensemble of boys had vanished long ago in his long transit he postulated that he should have the largest member and accompanying equipment in the Solar System. And after a time as he sailed past the Ort cloud layer at the edge of the same he set himself upon a mission to continue to enlarge his assets accordingly to his boundless desire as he past into interstellar emptiness towards other solar systems and galaxies the ambitions of his envy mounting to ever increasing size. Now far beyond any sense of time and space that mankind could reckon, the little boy gradually grew so impossibly immense so that even by the calculations of the best minds of the Physicists and other thinkers of humankind, he eventually disappeared into that unknowable mysteriousness of the unbounded scale of a universal infinity.

So much for the grandiose aspirations of those that tend to wish too much in life.

The SJW Game

God save us from those that wish to save the world! They will inevitably have a well-hidden self serving motive that they bury in a fog of stern sanctity that they hope will fool all the suckers that they claim to save. Or worse yet! Actually might believe that they are chosen by their own self-appointed god to correct all the ills that others have wrought being lesser creatures unable to find the correct ways. Or maybe to atone for some long imagined internal shortcoming? Generally the former predominates over the later to be detriment of those that are expected to be eternally grateful to be saved. If not then they must be an enemy of all things good and righteously human. To the common sensibility that sort of mindset is a steaming pile of horse dung. The level of arrogance that is inferred by such an infernal posture is beyond insulting to the point of intolerable. Begging as part of its ruse a higher degree civility from those under attack than it deigns to offer. One expected to be thrown off guard by a attack then parry approach but return a nervous sense of unease rather than the slap back that it so richly deserves. A cheat after all is a cheat! And why? Can the unending fervor behind all this unbound energy to change be completely misaligned. This unshakeable belief being more in evidence of what one would consider in a group of religious fanatics. All the more curious since this group will not tolerate any other God but that mysterious one spouting its unending spew of unipolar rhetoric. Hardly surprising when one scratches the surface and sees its historical source in some age old continuum of vengeful retribution that clouds the judgment of the faithful like a blanket thrown over a horses head in the frenzied chaos of a barn on fire. In this case the burning referenced being that irrepressible desire for achieving a world revolution resulting in the complete sovereignty of the apex leading those tiresome God’s chosen. The same old story of practiced deceit spread again and again like a virus from those that perpetually work from within to corrupt their own faithful to continue on such an unwholesome mission against their fellow human beings.

If it all sounds like a bunch of hackneyed rhetoric layered upon ones ears like too many coats of varnish slathered on an old bedstead of deteriorated rotting wood. It is! Yet the continuing curse of tenuous civilization over history seems to favor such cliche’s much in the way that greed and avarice never seem to go out of style. Human nature being permanently susceptible to contamination in a biblical sense. And in fact, the old dusty volumes of the world’s religions act as playbooks of past scams that were successful for a while but as they always do eventually collapse leaving a short hiatus until the next round. If there are a pantheon of ever omnicient entities that govern such things they seem habitually fixed on the same old television channel. Welcome all to another round of Wheel of Fortune with your host Pat Sejack!

A Universal Caution To All Writers!

When one takes fingers to keyboard, in the modern sense of pen and paper, it is generally to create fantasy or explain reality. All perhaps for the purpose of entertaining others or in the case of an extended journal to remind one’s self at some later date to recall. Both ventures fatally flawed in that elusive concepts of the truth by was of fragmentary narrative in the sense of a unilateral viewpoint that so often pretends to have long taken ‘both sides’ of an issue into account. The inner and outer as far as the self, the group one holds close, and the tribal array that one relies on all the way up to the scale of nationhood. Writing out these long diatribes equally depended not he ability not only to convince others but most particularly one’s self as to their validity. To do otherwise classes one as some flighty sensualist in love with their own stream of consciousness mental flow otherwise known in many circles as poetry.

But the world of fully erect postured bipeds that often refer to themselves as men or in the collective sense as ‘hu’-man’s, is unique to the collective experience of him alone. It cannot encompass the true variety of anthropomorphic peculiarities of any other kind of life that operates on completely different set of experience. Throw a hand grenade into a pond of fish but do not imagine that if you were one of those fish that you would take in in the same manner that the thrower might imagine in an equivalent circumstance of being unexpectedly wracked by the hammer of the greater gods. Do piraña’s practice Democracy when they devour their prey? Human anatomy is based on the integrated opposition of bipedal symmetry. An Arachnid has eight legs and generally as many eyes around what relates to as a head. Does that mean that as a human one’s viewpoint tends to be bipolar balance of left and right? Or a spider’s view of the world weighs eight different aspects of it’s own collective existence to form a fully panoramic perspective of its own universal plight?

Mankind is perpetually proud of its ability to store memory in a form outside of its own biology in the form of books and electronic gizmo’s. The daily existence of modern individuals being equally adept at forgetting everything useful in their immediate consciousness in favor of something, anything that reliably stimulates their animal form in the moment. In the collective sense of the same one can mention anything considered ‘popular’ by means of a status based informal consensus as formed by the immediate group or the larger tribe. The logos of the account of events and the sorting of same by those that refer to themselves as academics or legal legislators has to conform to the collective viewpoints of the day as set down by those in society that retain the most pervasive amount of influence. Accuracy in recounting the events by sorting out of the official telling what might appear to be hard facts and replacing them with desired elements of hearsay resembling facts. Belief of the moment being more important than accuracy of minor details as to the actual identity of the bomber or show sent him off on his mission immaterial to what the ‘facts‘ demand that people believe. The power of the notion of Democracy being a creative tool in the hands of tyrants who are long versed in confounding consensus, also referred casually as public opinion, an element birthed more in the mind of single entity desiring the crowd to follow their exclusive line of rationality.

For those poor souls that wish to determine just what is going on in terms of the many slings and arrows cast their way in the course of their mostly mandatory participation in the present tense human community, is a risk of causing a falling out at every turn with their fellows. The trivial and banal in modern society can be likened to our curious form of waste disposal where outbursts based on types of topics must be carefully sorted before any casual immediate deprecatory voicing in public. You can freely diminish a ‘Hitler’ in the guidelines set down by his main publicists, the Ashkenazi’s, but must be particularly careful not to disparage a Lenin or Mao with the same amount of vigor in terms of their relation to the invention of Socialism. Terminology, the greatest gift supposedly ceded to humankind along without he opposing thumb and big brain case, the greatest playground of the art of the bipolar in routine double entendre’s or purposefully posed double meanings. Everyday life spent with one’s ‘better’s’ continually a case of the old adage, “Do what I say!, not what I myself do!” The ever flowing fountain of acceptable knowledge not flowing from the reliably verifiable phenomena come of repetitive personal observation, but by way of the persistence of cradle to grave repetitive recitation of the absolute conclusion of a singular authority. The contemporary version in our I-phone cursed reality being headline journalism rarely supported by more than a carefully worded parenthetical recitation of continually repeated buzz words. These perceptions forming a security blanket under which the common folk are expected to conceal any conflicting thoughts or personal outbursts under penalty of incurring possible deadly force from other a central authority or more likely one’s neighbor or spouse.

Thus those that wish to risk coming to conclusions on their own that might in turn lead to an inflexibly stated publicly abhorrent opinion, (ie. that the twin towers of 911 New York were brought down by a governmentally preset controlled demolition, or that the Israeli Mossad and the CIA killed the American president, RFK), might be well advised to keep it to themselves. Similar prolific examples of this sort of ill considered behavior of a given Galileo, right up to a more modern, Julian Assange, provide witness to what the unconscious desire to achieve fame can bring those foolish enough to run against the prevailing current of what they might consider as deceitful and wrong. Better to bow down worship the deities of the hour of the latest extremities of Women’s right to kill off their own offspring at will without comment or allow those whose looking glass to the world resides within their orifices to instruct all children in the prepubescent joys of sodomy. A guide to the modern journalist should reasonable include these and other similar provisos to any and all that would consider having their manuscripts set forth upon the Internet like little boats supporting the flickering candles of their own personal experiences of life. Stick to the acceptably trivial if you hope to make a buck!

Love Recited By The Numbers

He was forty-five years old by the reckoning of his own tall tale. And I was twenty-two years too young to understand it’s long winded braille.

And yet, still fly off!

Now seventy years plus and a little less now realizing that this same tale as told so far back in seventy-three. Was not really that well-versed in what it pretended to be.

That something affecting my vanity too deep as an easy way out.
All those absolute Last Tangos ever since before their passion willed out.
Those ‘she’s‘ before ‘ayes‘ now incredible to have once found but then lost.
An entire Zoo filled with female dichotomy of folly and love that turned dross.
Each one in turn a plague upon pretense of yet another one a better and a bit more.
In ninety-six yet another sad foray into despair that I so much desired to restore.
But now 3x plus three since that original brew.
To find one’s self alone and seule as if nothing then known had ever been true.
That old tale’s example of fine line betwixt existence and farce.
Became an old threadbare sail which has long since become parsed.
No more sand left to run through the fingers to fit mine own grasp.
Just bitter memories of some other’s bottled venom and bitter chested asp.
This old papier mâché mask long ago crumbled by too many strife’s.
This knowledge of art over reality now bought by the entirety of one life
A single moment without any pity to expose all the fear
Revealing that play of who was but not, yet had been all along here.