Hello all you traitors to your own kind! You will get what is coming to you. What you have strived and connived for all along. No holiday will mark your victory. No statue will be erected to your fame. They will all be gone torn down in the beautiful impossible dystopia that you have built with ash and rock fragments of the one that you so righteously ripped apart. The work of millennia erased because it did not fit with the trend of the day proclaimed on your I-phones. I hope that you rot in the universe that you are hell bound to create in your self-righteous fervor. You are working hard to deserve it. A master hand from behind the scenes is evident. Whites betray themselves. Defile their own kith and kin. They would rather be slaves to a false ideals. Than fight for their own kind. Than defend their own cause for survival. Blinded, brainwashed, by an embedded enemy that pretends to be a friend. But that is obsessed in wearing the crown of thorns of another. Obsessed by the tale of one of their own that they murdered so very long ago. A band of common cutthroats. Pretenders to the thrown. A deceitful scheming ever restless insurgent bent only by a hatred of the human race. That squats over the moral high ground like a jealous hen. It summons its minions fanning the hot flames in what is worse in them. Turning them into a pack of wild dogs. You can hear the pack barking in midday. No longer simply a nuisance at night. Those subverted by the sham of governing sit idly by shivering in their hutches like lesser hens. Concerned only with protecting their own nests. Of squatting indifferently while they fail their oaths of office with complete indifference. The will not survive. But de-evolve. Blacks cannot change! They still are enslaved. And prefer to remain so because, “da pikin’s is always good!” Shiftless beggars deserving of zero respect. They can never pull themselves up out o the pig pen poverty the so richly enjoy. What fun to exert their mercurial mindless violence and get away with it. The sick twisted mentality of getting what’s coming. The will. But it will be their end. They will be gone after the whites are. Hordes of barbarians babble in their graveyard tongues. Uncaring of anything but what is deemed as wealth. Come from afar to sack and pulverize all that they do not understand. Cannot understand. Were never meant to by the strictures of the lands that they were raised in. That they left. They are merely hatchling’s wrought of former guilt of those that they have come to consume. To cannibalize. Amazing how frugal and effective this unseen hand works! Turning one against another. Blood must be shed to bring all to their senses. But then it will be too late. The world will move on and civil society will lay in shards. In its place a hostile workhouse that will slowly replace humanity by the clock. Commodities only from cradle to grave. Genetically modified to not even care. To be happy like a mindless idiot. To be ready to serve and serve and serve at the push of a button. Robots in name. And worth nothing. Amazing how well decadence works. A lesson passed down from the universe to the lions of old. The hyenas will eat you. The roaches will devour the rest. The seven plaques of Egypt revisited. The same old story brought to you by the same old culprits. Go ahead and laugh! It’s your funeral.
Ralph thought to himself as his eyes stared over the rim of his foam charged beer glass. “I am empty.” A cotton sports shirt sweat covered mannequin bulging bulging out below him balanced on top of the bar stool. “I feel empty and am in an empty place.“, he declared solemnly with much theatrical gravity. This is not what many others around him currently experienced in their Saturday night revelries. A solitary Ralph looked down the line of stools beside him at the bar. The row of gesticulating puppets swinging back and forth upon their seat in-between their string bound limbs hoisting glasses in a precarious remote controlled manner. “So I don’t expect many others to understand. Nor would they want to!” His own glass hoisted up in toast but then slammed back down onto the messy counter with a sharp report. Bushy brows settled hard pressed into the top of the bridge of his nose. A continence bespeaking emotional waste surrounding his corner of the world leaving little, if any, hope for possibility of a mutually shared immediate future. Humans as waste being a metaphor inferring a different dimension rather than a more literal form of same. An attitude appealing to an extremist. But, then again, not offering promise.
“I’m caught up in blessed ignorance of doing good.“, said some character named Larry. Ralph’s glass once more airborne. The crowd behind him rambled on in droning nonsense of the simultaneous collision forty or fifty voices. All totally nonsensically incoherent to the ear and devoid of offering any ability to be decoded in the rational sense from a collective mis-understandability. “And you are caught up in the folly of your own opinions!“, said the now disembodied voice of this Larry. Ralph swinging around to find its source bestride his back. The chorus of conversation rising up into full beehive buzz. “It is like you and all your kind have gone mad!“, the haranguing voice blurted as the waxy face behind it moved its lips out of sync. “Mad with your own crazy opinions so virulent and vexing that no one will be able to ever talk reasonably sane with you ever again!” Ralph thought for a while at what was quickly descending into poorly veiled attacks of pseudo factual psychological vitriol. “Tiny torpedoes of verbal venom!“, the little voice inside Ralph’s head spake at half-volume stating behind the numbness in his ringing ears.
It seemed to be a very unfunny joke. At a corner coffee house table way back before the most forward corner of the room’s partition commanding a stage sat a small group of locals. Ones that if anyone else happened to be a frequent customer of this establishment would be familiar with their longstanding status as regulars. Two males taking center spotlight. One quietly passive aggressive while the other evidently too loud and ostentatious by comparison. Both holding court this day before a diminished roster of pre-menopausal females. The loudest talker, an outwardly extreporous orator making snide self-depreciatory quips bearing superficial similarity to his own appearance with that select membership evident in other members of his group. Something now trended popularly and termed as ‘white’. The ongoing conduct of his bile-soaked jibes loosely overflowing inclusive topics of blacks, women and Jews. But with this speaker underplaying his own part as an ignorant specious white buffoon. Someone too easily singled out as the ultimate butt of every one of his own jokes. A mirroring of one or two choices of the polar opposite energy levels publicly afforded from the immediate vicinity of supplicants to embrace. The initial process to obtain membership within this clan requiring the prerequisite of being Liberal minded by default and well-schooled in the Post-Communist tradition of ‘reeducation’ by mental self-incarceration. An egregious sense of irony if seen from afar by those few other objective parties that sought to remain well out of range of the larger arguments. It’s very public demonstration serving as an overbearing social monitor following the model for sanctimonious public behavior in the contemporary Western world these days. The fat man’s face was accoutered in a typical ‘agent provocateur‘ style beard and mustache housed by a dark complexion that might have qualified him as being from any number of perpetually discontent extra-European groups. Perhaps a mix of Italian and Ashkhanism?
That companion sitting next to him being a ‘graybeard‘ more typically rabbinical. The vibes that this character had been know for in terms of this locality over the recent past being aloof and quick to dismiss any and all others that might overwhelm the basic fact of his silent but domineering presence. Something not unfamiliar to those who had grown up around third generation communities of Jews long ago transmuted from the Pale of old Poland. Their halcyon characteristic being a chameleon-like ability to dart in and out of the easy cloak of White American Middle Class to that persistent misunderstood pogrom victimized identity of Orthodox Jewry. The transformation almost instantaneous sometimes as it suits purposes of the moment. A neutral calm masking that bristling sense of ever fractious impulse to seek out ultimate retribution upon the assumed identity. An eye for an eye! And then some! This well-implanted rational of alternatively fostering mischief through customary deceit and then enacting the perpetration eternal violent vengeance always justified in their minds for the destruction of these ever holy second temple. Something more akin to a real estate claim than any real issue of religious fact. The most immediate visual evidence apparent in that characteristic lean hungry meanness ingrained about the eyes categorized as an expression of perpetual discontent. One that simply suggests an ingrained very genetic form of lifelong cynicism. A classical Cassius from the ilk of a Shakespearian play. Or perhaps an Iago?
On and on, the fat man’s un-humorous gibberish paging through lexicons of role reversal’s of white scapegoats painted as straw men and polite European society as the source of the worst of all evils. A further irony arriving a little later in the guise of a winsome young maiden who sporting a thick volume Christian community bible settles down a safe distance away at a side table to study text that might be considered the anti-venom of the diatribe of the vociferous others. Her encampment quiet and undisclosed yet potentially in danger of summoning the Judas Maccabeus in the less than dynamic duo continuously exhibiting their unending tiresome ‘schtick‘ at the far end. A type of patterned response that glorifies massacre of any rival. That long sad road of history of the victor where one group inevitably displaces another after fierce mortal bloody struggles as a matter of human nature by default . One’s own underlying instinct to seek out the safety within one’s own kind, a natural reflex and very rationally reasonable impulse fostering a long term ability to survive. Something now cast a “Politically Incorrect” for access to the European majority population of the nation for Culturally Marxist doctrinaire reasons. The big fat ‘Italian‘ poseur continuing without missing a syllable ‘sans souffle‘ to his small audience of listeners undaunted droning a well-rehearsed morning monologue of supposed self-depreciation in the guise of his diametric opposite. This safe harbor of his didactic ‘pirate’s den‘ prepping more biting comments in order to sail out to raid the ears of the passing commerce of indifferent suburban travelers timidly plying the morning trade of coffee and sweet roll. This current segment on his bandstand rolling the indigestible stone of the Germanic in the tireless guise as NAZI. That faceless white haze of those customers sharing similar heritage keeping their heads down in the public climate self-shaming. The tyrannical Marxist golden rule of “Diversity IS strength!” screaming silently forth as it from stadium loudspeakers. Some sickly white within this ebb and flow eager to ‘rat’ one of their own out in a brief show of public repudiation cast at anyone near fitting the visual description of Politically Correct condemned, “White Patriarchal Culture“.
“Who then? . . .“, might some outward observer ask, “. . . is able to have any respect for those who would shun their own race?”
EPILOGUE: I thought that I lived in a golden age as I grew to maturity yet I could not find lasting pleasure in what seemed superficially so. It eventually became clear that this long lasting impression was simply one of a false Utopia. The unwanted facts pulled over my eyes covering my ears laying claim to my consciousness with lies, lies and more lies daily distributed. Each revealing an ever clearer the knowledge that my time was the time of twilight. My own kingdom becoming hollow and defaulting to an illusion that seems to reign over all those other lesser known unacknowledged truths. Ones that claim to lay open a path to plain sighted’ness of an inequity that has for all time caused death and destruction of my kind since before I was born. I can no longer offer any provable facts to counter the supposed reams of evidential documents amassed by my detractors. Ones who have memorized their parts in reciting heresy as concrete fact repetitively and too well. Nor certainly play their game any longer! The time for fielding this empty rhetoric is over!
I am empty. Bled dry. I feel empty and find myself living amidst an empty place. This may not be what many others currently experience? So I don’t expect many others to understand even the smallest part of this angst. Nor would they want to. Yet the emotional waste of this world surrounding giving one little hope, if any, for a future. Human waste in terms of a way of taking on a different dimension of ultimate disgust. One that appeals to the extremes. But offers no lasting promise beyond the moment. Self annihilation. Do I sit here and wait?
So much for old fables! Let me share that dirty little secret with you. Sleeping beauty wasn’t dead after all. She was just faking it till she was sure that Prince Charming was on the hook. At that point all her cares and woes were behind her. She took the evil witch costume back to the shop the very next morning. From that point on the romance was over. Today’s iteration of women really don’t care about men when the final straw is counted. They just want to feel the security that her special he can provide her. The older they get the less the pretense involved. They always save the last best choice that has the biggest income for ‘the man’ of their dreams. Of course, Hollywood wants to keep the opposite narrative alive. It is better for business that way.
You don’t realize when you are young that you are both equal parts of your mother and your father. Now on the other end of the slope heading downward I realize how very true that is. Yet how does one pass this on when it is too late in terms of an ability to do so. The current era wants to push me into an early grave. They use all their resources to tell me my time is over. But I am not ready to go. In fact I am just getting started. There are two worlds within me. The world my father knew and used as a yardstick that I have not come near to fulfilling. And may never even get close. Yet that gives me a future even though the proposed of world of womanhood does not. It is a cold dead hive of useless vainglorious creatures that have abandoned their best feature in procreation. They think that their appearance is more important than your opinion of them. And yet they have the audacity to ask me to sacrifice to buy them a drink? True love is too long under the bus and I am no longer ready to should the unwarranted responsibility for having driven a stake into its heart. No longer ready to lay down my coat in the puddle’s midst to have to fit in with all the other muddy headed males who seem incapable of any sort of courage beyond that of memorizing the latest sports statistics. And then to be told to wash the dirt off my coat by myself. How sad to watch my own culture die because it was betrayed from within? And all for so many useless piles of paper that you are no longer supposed to carry around in large numbers within your wallet!
The world and the keys to navigating it are in your head. You can let others convince you that only they can turn on the ignition or you can tell them to buzz of and get their own car. Opportunity by way of induced starvation is simply genocide deferred till tomorrow. If you find yourself in that position it means that they really don’t want you on their team. And you are a fool if you want or accept them on your own. It’s not about hate or envy. It is simply about discovering that long absented real you. If you don’t look good to anyone when you are poor and old beyond what you can buy them then forget it! Pass on by! There is always a younger more gullible model down the road, it that is your thing I mean. But why would one want to sleep with snakes? Is the animal sensation that good? Really? Or are you just collecting scalps and STD’s for your lodge polls? Moral equivalency and Socialist Justices only want to hang you cause you’re smart enough to know that number one always counts as first and all else is a distant twenty-six. Mumble that next time you have an intimate interaction. Demand that the secretary new a decent cup of coffee rather than just go down to Starbuck’s! The Federal Government is too busy plotting a coup to care! This land is lost because it let itself be taken over by those who have always dreamed of reinstalling slavery. Those pretenders that cajole others to do their dirty work while wagging their forked tongues. It is time to take the world back! “Do you want to live forever?”
It seemed harder to want to say anything of substance anymore. He was sick of making other people feel good about their lives! Others that may be so full of distress that they need to seek out strangers like him to find escape. Humans when they form into groups are troublesome creatures that must evolve enough over the course of their own lifetime of experience. Crack their way out of their own egg shell of that pretense that society benevolently shelters them. These other souls always failing to cooperate in a positive way on their own behalf unless they are magically coerced into it. It is always the goal of personal self interest lurking in the background that powers these ‘good impulses’. No wonder clever tyrants rule? One only get as good as one is willing to give. These ‘nabobs’ realize that most people are their own worst enemies. “If your life is shit then it is only your own shortcomings that have made it so!“, is ever their knee-jerk response. “If you can’t refrain from making the same old missteps in life then learn to love them!“, he said. They rest of what was penned in his mind was merely a collection of his own solipsistic fantasies from an equally demented unconscious mind as any he could imagine. “I really don’t feel like being clever for its own sake!“, had become the most usable motto.
The light from outside hit him like a shower of glass blinding him at every turn. Stopping short his inertia come of busting open the old oak door that had despite all his previous efforts splintered the old wooden jamb at last. His final physical effort sufficient enough to break free of entombment in that anonymous basement of the long abandoned roadhouse. It was stupid really! Really Stupid! Spelunking in a decrepit property empty of human habitation for a decade or more. A mighty close call at that. One that easily could have cut short his less than steady existence by a week of starvation and theist in a pitch black rat infested hollow. He we in the land that time forgot. When the staircase collapsed under him and he was knocked out cold after falling forward astray down onto the treads. He had awakened dark and dusty spitting blood to a realization that life was at a possible divisive juncture. One where a stupid careless acts of erratic curiosity was providing a real danger of terminating his lifelong complacency in a way that he could never have ever imagined. This seemed kind of odd as he considered his otherwise mundane boring existence invulnerable to such an extreme change.
When he was a young man he could recall doing many stupid and crazy things. Self-destructive dangerous things. Going to the middle of a city to a major construction site and removing all his clothing to contemplate sleeping naked in a ready hole in the ground that might easily be bulldozed shut the very next morning. Feeling like a wild animal that civilization was ever at odds with. He would recover his senses before it was too late and sneak away before he was discovered whole or crushed. Where in his mind he had hoped to wander to from this hollow caught amidst the density of vertical human habitation remained insoluble. It was a perpetually unfillable hole in his heart that he could not find salvation for. Some dumb longstanding mythic childhood tale gone amiss in an adult life. It left him in a situation of standing room only in the waiting room of human existence waiting for a result that never was obtainable. The world of his fellow bipeds was merely the same old game of promises.
The young woman had to show him how the grooved sliding double door panels separating the bathroom from the hall worked. Her impromptu demonstration left him feeling old and useless to the present era offering the excuse of being an expert on architecture passe. He had never figured himself to be a charity case but the circumstance of having others foot the bill here and there was becoming tedious for both him and those few others that provided special consideration to him upon the curb of a street. What was expected of him was a unfathomable mystery. He wondered if it was within his powers to simply will his own demise? And if so many around him were silently waiting impatiently for him to make the association and to take that step? He had become useless to anybody else’s scheme. There should have been anger on his part he guessed. But instead there was a tinge of melancholy for those times when his presence had seemed to mean something to others and of course, himself. Yet this was but a dream all in his mind. Something that he had awakened to when night had begun to surrender to day and the dim glow of morning had provided a guide to a way out of his prison.
Each day was now inexplicable in an environment where those few like himself placed their hopes and dreams in this waking world like a sucker bet in a Monte Carlo casino. The culture like a tight glove of no consequence for it seemed that the intangible human spirit yearned to continue proceed despite the stereotyped genetic furniture that cast it in place. If this was madness then each night of fitful sleep were the fetters to restrain one from the completion of the madness. It became clear to him that this emptiness he was seeking to avoid by entering same was but a unique product of his own species of man who preferred to encumber themselves with abstracts than live in the wild amidst the natural chaos. This unquenchable need for complete dominance of their surrounding poisoning the possibility of recalling their own Eden. Hemmed in by unending collections of cleverly concocted material objects that served to divert them from their basic nature into the folly of an industrial fabrication of Utopian perfection that could never find completion until it has consumed all that it could reach. A pyramid of trash in empty tin cans and bottle caps rising upward from earth toward the sun. The ultimate monument to the planned obsolesce of everything. This was what he both feared and was drawn to. This ultimate fate of mankind.
Roy could see it coming from miles away. All his life it was the same? Sitting in a movie theater by himself he felt normal. Once he stepped out intuit he light of day he was lost. It didn’t matter what the movie was a bout or the stars that were in it. Of course, like anyone else, he had his favorites. The world outside of that gave him palpitations. He could feel his heart pumping through his ears. The sheets would be wet from sweat each morning. No matter what he tried he was always back on the same old merry go round. He couldn’t hold down a job. Sooner of later he would get laid off. Not because he was a slacker! But perhaps, he took it so damn seriously enough that he would piss off his fellow coworkers because they didn’t. And that threw them off their game. But once he got back to the shack and shoved a VHS or DVD into the slot he relaxed upon one of this overstuffed threadbare ‘Barqa-loungers’ he was back in a pleasant limbo of another person’s life and not his own. Of course, that person did not exist. It was a very expensive patch of the collective minds and efforts of scores if not hundreds of others. It was always a strange mental calculation to add up the number of movies he had and multiply them by an average cost that was taken from sources that chronicled their making. If one took the number of films that a given production entity handled per year and multiplied that further against the result already arrived at then you might get an idea of what these characters were worth individually speaking. A useless mental calculation to be sure.
It had of late come down to a point of desperation as Roy’s peculiarities had been getting the better of him. Though he had never allowed himself to go so far as adopting the style and dress of any of the current movie avatars that came and went each half decade he would ten to adopt their scripted mindsets. It might be said this made Roy in line with a favored technique of getting into character. But society did not look favorably upon those who reached too far into the collective fictional narrative other that did not truly exist. The average employer wanted workers that were mentally uneventful, slow and steady whose greatest aspirations in life was to show up on time and work blissfully towards that day at the end of a week when they would gratefully received their paycheck taxes deducted. Those were the only waking dreams allowed by the current culture. All others were shown to the exit doors. That shared manifest destiny of the cataclysmic antihero might work on the page but stayed perpetually unemployed. The unintended consequence of this condition being that any lasting relationship with women was removed from possibility. The modern female too independent in her needs unlike the railroad track prone maidens of a century or more past. A solid home powered by a good steady paycheck was all the romance that most women sought though some considered that though all romance was dead in the current era it was no fault of their own. A fit male for breeding their fondest desires should come pre-equipped in both stamina to endure the most tedious of daily regimens and them return home reliably at the prescribed hour with mouthing more than the needs of his spouse predominately filling his universe. To Roy’s current mental mindset, another futile mental calculation.
The daily procedure of life degenerated into one where at a certain point the imagination of Hollywood having gone brain dead for the possibility of producing anything particularly novel that hadn’t been serialized in some was too many times previous had come to an effective halt. The invigorating feeling of stumbling back out into the light of day of old where one was fresh with plot heavy ideas posed in the corollary of the theme of the particular afternoon matinee needed no further mental energy. Too many of the same gambits explored by the big flickering of movie screen illumination. Where was the former bond of vision that he in the audience had once shared without he director in figuring out the novel plot line and being truly amazed or sometimes alternately disturbed by it stultifying implications? Now the cinema was merely a steady heartbeat of explosions on demand anchored betwixt hackneyed dialogue and a reliable twist int he end where the nemesis was reliably scheduled to by some incomprehensible means return back essentially unscathed bearing an increased amount of enmity for a go at round two of essentially the exact same thing. Imagine if in could bearing children that were cookie cutter copies of the first that you have born and raised but differentiated only by suspiciously similar names?
The rhythm of life for most was conducted by amazingly simple standards of routine behavior. There really wasn’t much complexity when one eliminated the inner workings of the assigned tasks each portion of society fell into. Each operated by he demands of inter connectivity to produce a complete organism of a cellular composition that heeded only the demands of the greater collective. Resources were doled out accordingly to a pyramid system in which those who took an active role keeping surveillance over their fellows in terms of monitoring the constancy of behavior and weeding out the deviants was considered of prime importance to keep the great worm of society inching forward rather thank stalling. The macrocosm of same mirroring any given particular example of the species that was in essence descended from successive direct parentage of a similar species over the eons under the phylum of plumbing dependent. The human body a maze of interconnecting pipes and open spaces where the balance of hydraulics reigns supreme. Any tampering with flow leading to a stoppage or inequality of expected pressure having to be resolved. Thus the ‘bread and circuses’ management of social diversion being key to the husbandry of the species. Where the Romans might have solved a problem on terms of the vitality of their empire by providing unwanted captives to die in the arena as a public spectacle. The modern era provided perpetual reliable boredom as an element of fostering both the flow of goods and the dumbing down of the aspirations of the viewer. By the sixth of seventh decades of existence given the perpetual burden of ennui, most were ready to fall away like dead leaves to make way for their children’s children to take up the dully flicking torch of meaningless existence. Given this reality, Roy felt that it was not unreasonable for him to demand a certain base level of entertainment on the fringes. The truth was that you could only bore everybody so far without occasionally adding a little spice to the same old stew.
The dark halls of public amphitheaters suited the nature of a personalized solitary enjoyment of common cultural celebration of the same old same old without endangering the whole with mutual contact. Isolation was after all the best way to hobble and possibility of deviating from the main game plan. So Roy felt as if he was being carried along in a great river of others that like the current of water of a great tributary was rapidly being him towards the inevitability of the falls. He had to wonder to himself how many others like himself in these auditoriums were as fully aware of this fact as he was. The big budget spectaculars were assessed with care based upon the likelihood of their trailers being too suspiciously as a blatant repeat of the same old well worn franchise waypoints of story and plot. Occasionally one might be surprised but the apogee of the reigning superstar too often leaked the fact of the ingrained repetitiveness to be warily avoided. Even the occasional foreign epic that could sneak through the tight network of distribution too often turned out to be a veiled variety of the expected pattern. It was inevitable that the only choice that this discriminating movie viewer had control over was the repetitive recitation of the lines of favored characters that were too often renewed again, and again and again. Roy sensed his psyche was unwinding slowly losing power like a windup toy. There was only this society to contend with or its total absence. Something that could not implicitly be shared with others because of course everyone had been crafted into the same state of hive-like mind. A consciousness that could only be escaped by the extreme poles of death or complete and total chaos. Not much of a choice feeling ones ever chained to that same old set in the twilight of the cave wall.
Those who grow up under the shadow of constant guilt live alternately in a world of ongoing reciprocal hate. It’s indentured in their view of life and in themselves. Perhaps their perpetual venom spurs on the procreation of great things in their vicinity? But it is merely and outgrowth of an unstoppable obsession to one day carry out the long-planned vengeance of their unconscious upon the world around them. Both in part their near vicinity and as a twisted construct of their mind as in a whole. Something that the history of tit for tat prevents from occuring as this accumulation of negativity inspires a counter force that matches them in its virility. Thus their knowledge of their lellow creature is honed to perfection in a more complete way than any of their rival groups. They are survivors first and tyrants in the present tense leading on to forever.
If anyone doubts this fact they are not well-acquainted with the word that they have created. One where the wonders of technology have been ruthlessly tasked with daily spreading innuendo and doubt about every positive topic and trait imaginable. Where the opportunity exists the rush to capitalize on every seizable resource is a whirlwind of unstoppable change for only the purpose of itself alone. The society that is raised up on the lands cleared of any hint of a yesteryear becomes a wrap that is drawn closely around all to insulate it from the possibility of a knowledge of any other form of existence. The result is a mono-culture that only admires the achievements of others projected upon the incessant bloated ego of itself. The ability to cast blame is an exceptionally proficient resource that spans he centuries wherein any opposing party is painted with the most egregious sins of the painter. Pick and villain from history and read what few facts of the story behind them and find a complete distortion of same predominates over the pretended veracity. One could not go back to any previous time their brush has touched in a proverbial time machine and find a reasonable semblance to the fiction of the preent that has been long and carefully implanted in the consioussness of the present.
Who do I speak of? This seems apparent in a popular sense of specific groups or individuals that are repeatedly targeted for one reason or another, fairly or unfairly so. The determining factor for bringing veracity to prove responsibility one way or another is itself a well rehearsed carnival show. The truth of the matter suggests that the true movers and shakers making the decisions are cloistered behind the scenes and most probably may never be revealed to the wrath of the public. And therefore they evade any responsibility for their actions or crimes. It is those who take on the public faces as spokespeople and avatars who will bare the brunt. It can be fairly said that all the cliche’s about the socially accepted impressions of the who’s who of both good or bad are most probably innocent of the majority of criminal actions that are piled upon them. Those who really run the show over the long run of world history count on this in order to maintain a continuum of the transfer of power. Consider that any influence that is so ingrained into the overbearing structure of the matrix of world society being quickly removed will result in chaos. To see a dramatic change you must suffer through the most dramatic of situations. Since most at the top of the pyramid are sociopaths completely indifferent they depend that the bottom rung is totally moral. If that lower segment changes over to the same sense of moral depravity then the whole structure will cave in on itself. Chaos in the form of starvation, armed conflict and an interruption of the necessities will be inevitable. Thus those in control have the rest of us held hostage in a manner that a terrorist with dynamite strapped around themselves has his victims in a locked room his finger applying constant pressure to a switch if released will set off an explosion that will kill them all.
How can one defeat something that they dare not attack? Certainly not by a frontal assault. But be incremental but steady divirgence from the game plan. This is what these elites fear the most. That their subjects will gradually be unmoved and independent of them and exhaust their ability to guarantee themselves that change will not occur. We are not talking about tyrants that sleep well at night! But those whose fear slowly begin the consume them that they are becoming insignificant. Then their empires begin the fall apart. Shakespeare’s character, Macbeth may be the most famous analogy. Your own fears make you your own worst enemy. The vacuum produced allows for a shift that can be exploited. New paradigms. But in order to do this one must truthfully re-examine the dogmas of the past. And worst yet! Be willing to mercilessly take ones slef to task to discard them. To not make up excuses or accept arguments that split hairs. The prerequisite being to accommodate an absolute sense of truth as best as one can discover it. This will never be a hundred percent provable. Maybe not even eighty percent. But the overwhelming truth of palpable experience will outweigh all the polls and think tanks and scientific papers. The complexity of interactions by the main body of humanity define its character. If everyone thinks in terms of fighting and continual conflict then it will come reliably into being. If on the other hand that is not the most talked about topic it will dissipate and eventually disappear from the agenda. Quite literally, it is up to all of you to toss out the trash in your own lives. For only you can put out forest fires. And I would say, it’s about time.
It’s all pretense! They are all trying to fool you into believing it’s not. But it is. It’s taken most of your time within this existence to indoctrinate you. To make you think that you know something, something more than everyone else. But that is just the scripted role of your avatar. You are running your life according to something some skinny bald Jewish guy with a beard in a room somewhere else dreamed up for you fifty to a hundred years ago or more. They call it the language of cinema. Something like the words of that famous guy whose bastardized name maybe on your lips but in point of fact the only thing you might know about him was on Wiki. Svengali, Svengoolie, to quote, “Svengali (/svɛŋˈɡɑːli/) is a fictional character in George du Maurier’s 1895 novel Trilby. Svengali is a man who seduces, dominates and exploits Trilby, a young English girl, and makes her a famous singer.” But then you haven’t heard about Trilby. Why. you ask? Because that is the character that man or woman you fill the boots of! Or rather, should I say, the high heel pumps of! You’re the dupe. The one who can’t seem to distinguish artifice from reality from. Just like these words that I ritually type in a specific pattern that is attuned to the method of English language forms of thought pattern progressions of rote behavior that you will fall into using. Why? Because you have seen it somewhere, again, and again, and again and so forth. All of it is one grand trick to make you along with all the others fall into line with organizes humanity to do the bidding of the current small group that runs the show known as the civilized world. It has taken many years and an untold number of snuffed out dissenting human lives to get to this point in time!
So what is the scenario? A ‘talented’ young very gullible ‘artist’ ends up hanging out with the ‘Boho‘ crowd and a devious deceitful fellow from the infamous little group that hangs out in such places tricks her into thinking that she is something special. What she doesn’t catch onto is that that the fulfillment of what she thinks are her wishes is in reality merely an inside job. Old Sven the part time junkyard salesman is venomous and full of shit besides. He calls it hypnosis! But in reality it is just him using her gullibility to fall in line according to her desire to fulfill the fantasy that she believes is coming true into what we would all like to believe is real. But guess what! None of this is real! It’s all fake! Based simply upon long years of having the same thing dished out on the plate in new disguises. Like at the grocery store. Aisles and aisles of boxes with writing and pictures in them that try to convince you that there is something special inside when in fact it is really the same old shit! Just like the sense of who you think you are. And who you think I am! “Who am I, you might ask?” Well, I am the guy who figured out a few of their tricks in using repetitive patterns of language and thought to share the inkling of a fact that we are engaging in a most persuasive abstract form of language based communication. We might be two gerbils somewhere in a cage fooling ourselves that the most wonderful advancement in the world is that rotating cinder we can crawl in at will and go for a run in? When what we should both be concerned about is how we got in this cage and how to get out of it before we die and get thrown out in the trash with last night’s leftovers!
By the way, Svengali, the character was a metaphor for the Jews. A stereotype la cultural profile of a group that in recorded history tends to fuck around without the minds of other groups and convince them of stuff so that they can make a buck or two off it. They are not fooled or convinced by any other person or group. They are awake! Or at least to what all the rest of the world who have awakened to this sort of mischief think of them. But then they have the big shield to protect them. The ‘red’ shield of gentile guilt that they as a people have worked hard to implement in Goy society. One that says that, “You owe me something for the past sins that you have committed against six million of God’s chosen people!” Guilt, guilt, guilt! I know! I know! I am not supposed to say all this! It is in bad taste. There are laws against it. But let me ask, who was responsible for making those laws? You don’t have to guess because it is the same ones we are talking about. Sabbatean frankist Zionist Chabad Lubovich Ashkhanaz reformed,whatever? Who cares? Not the regular folk down the street. But the big ‘big machers’. The Strange world that we live in, eh? Strange world that when we begin to wake up we have the choice to KEEP living in! And many do just that. Why? Because the little man or woman within each of us wants to maintain the fiction that everything is normal. That it is OK and that tomorrow will in many respects be like today if we all just dispense with all the crap that I have just been proposing for the last couple paragraphs. Who am I you say?
Well just nobody! A fool that unlike you wants to wake up from this bad dream that i am locked in and live his own life in a manner that will take him wherever it leads. Right now, I feel buried like you. Chasing after some stupid notion that I can impress others and make a lot of paper money and then live some fabled form of existence that int he back of my mind I know perfectly well that I saw the equivalent of on TV, or a movie or a catalog or some such instrument of prolonging this fantasy. “Who am I, really?” I am some poor dumb bastard like you that says one thing but at the end of the day goes back to doing the same old thing. Making the same old mistakes. Why? Because that is how it is. It is what I know and not what I like. So I guess I will keep ranting and raving about the ‘Joooze’ and the weather and a whole bunch of stuff that bothers me but that I am not ready to change. Because the day I really do change them, you will never hear from me ever again! Why, because I won’t be playing this foolish game by that point anymore.
OK, I’m done! You can go back to sleep now!