The World’s Way – Musings Of A Covert Assassin

Today he moped around. Making imagery that few if any seemed interested in. Exiled in public amidst others of my generation. Leached of all resources. Caught like a mouse in the same old maze. “My friend turned into a skeleton. Given up for dead. My other friends beset by useless trivial pursuit while the worst of humanity lights a fuse.” All this was on his mind for most of the week! The complacency of the children who just want to have a childhood. Mean man hating women who despise their own kind. What kind of society is this? There had always been talk of sorcery through the ages. Little could one imagine that it might come in the form of what was denoted as technology. Evil intentions of a few to capture the attentions of the entirety of their own species and control it like they might a lesser one. Directing the mind with images and sound to believe in things that weren’t there. And that had never existed. Myth built upon myth until these tales were lodged in the collective genes based on. The entire scheme demonic. Based on fear and envy.

Lighting the light to civil rational discourse comes at a price of being the eternal victim. You can’t have both! You can’t count on victories without encountering that unexpected defeat. The platform is waiting and the gibbet has you number. Grin and bear it and help others enjoy the show by playing your part. They had started as children and had ended up as adults. Substantially unchanged throughout by the process. Perhaps a little quieter without all the raucous? Who could tell. Now he was alone. A little more alone. His friend given up for lost. Just another face disappearing into the crowd of all the others that had been bustled away by the great healer of forgetfulness. Lost by the dark waters of exhausted imagination. Dispelled like a face in an angry pond. These were childish notions. He was a man in spite of all that. A man defined in the old sense of same. One whose armpits smelled and liked to sweat and wasn’t afraid to skip a meal not because of the look of his waistline but because some needful task demanded that it was necessary. Someone who wasn’t embarrased to put on three day old dirty work clothers without further comment. To crawl into that dirty world that no one else wanted to think of, much less be touched by. The world was run by the dregs of that part of general humanity that still considered itself human. Buggers and fairies and those with a sap in their back pocket who loved to hit a ‘square’ from behind just above the temple of his skull. Venal loathsome creatures that years of payoffs, graft and corruption had allowed to burrow past the back door screen.

He opened clogged drains in a manner of speaking. Rodded the sump of the worst that the culture could offer. One shot. One kill. One moment to completely disappear. And absolutely no remorse about it. That was how far down the evolutionary ladder the nation had fallen. The land had become a killing field. Those who harped about sporting raiment’s from the toil of others pretending ownership over all. The same old time worn game. Sooner or later left dead and half naked in their broken chariots several hundred kilometers lost int he wilderness. Left as an offering for the new conqueror. In the meantime, while their paltry necks rested outside the noose, seeing how much fatal mischief they could punish the planet with in the name of their own vainglorious avarice. Some lasting a month. Some lasting a century. All fallen into the hell fires of perdition fanned hot by their nearest rivals. There was no law for these worms that called themselves immortals. And no law to prevent them from being dispatched. King for a day after a night in the grove. Ambition and fame burned in the next harvest!

Such was the fate of the world. Blood seeding the ground so new blood could arise. Future generations transfixed by the same plight. The fatted cow of civilization. Ever to be slaughtered at maturity. It was impossible to see how this could be anything but obvious. If the gods had a face then it was Jupiter devouring his own kin. The sweet smell of Lilac and Lotus merely a cover for the stench of older bones long rank. The shovel and not the spear or gun being the most significant man made tool. How many more yet to be buried? The worms forever on holiday in this paradise! The ultimate folly of all those who believed millennia after millennia that anything had progressed. Nobility a dirty toga forever washed only to be soiled yet again. The willingness to embrace this simple fact making the difference in terms of those who lived on and those who disappeared as if they never were.

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The False Promise

Orwell would have been proud. That is, if Orwell really admired his own sense of vision about the world falling into perdition. The worldwide system of communication that initially had been free of constraint. But now one had to fear that one would be secretly singled out and barred for some arcane reference to what those who ran and controlled the system might consider as “inappropriate“. News items both real and ersatz were daily broadcast on tributaries of the larger upstream news wires. Liberally documented with what appeared to be grassroots phone captured video footage peppered with high quality ‘mood’ photos. Material designed equally as much to confuse as to clarify. Cadres of ‘trolls’ up and down the stream of information muddying the waters with enthusiastic disinformation cast in negative emotions urging ‘knee jerk‘ animal response from the average viewer. Pick any rabble rousing era in history and compare the genius of employing the crowd dynamic of schizophrenic single-mindedness without the actuality of a physical mass of humanity standing beneath the same tree. The virtual victim handing their plucked rhetorically by the neck swinging before all. The mob stirring its ire and rebounding ot back and forth between anonymous sources. Some actual personages and others paid agitators of the state apparatus who egged on any so foolish as to let their pent up emotions fly forth into typed text. The robust mechanics of this unified system growing ever more voracious for raw data. Collecting, organizing and storing every aspect of what was so foolishly inputted. Assaying the time and frequency of keystrokes. Building dossiers of cross referenced preference to model the behavior of the faceless individuals based on time of day and the voraciousness of their actions in accordance with the category of latest event.

How foolish anyone was to abandon their accustomed modes of real world discourse with their fellows in favor of the promise of a larger theoretically more admiring audience. A figment of one’s imaginary ego bound desire to find and have universal acceptance with the fiction of others that thought and felt and acted in consort with their own supposedly unique point of view. The opposite of this situation of course being the case. Liberty, as it once was known had become a sham. The general population no longer willing to mount inconvenient notions into any form of ground level immediacy of physical conversation. Preferring instead the absurd antithesis of what was in fact completely monitored discourse with what was in fact an artificial avatar of the state. The streets and byways of the land growing quieter by degree as the masses of humanity chased their own tiny personal handheld devices. Their rapt attentions ever focused hopefully on the appearance some small byte of information or string of text from some remote unseen source with a familiar ‘handle’. A world enslaved. Removed physically from the waking world and thrust into a consensual illusion of daily accessible mass communication with the mental construct of a diverse and accepting multicultural audience. Who knew anymore if their pen pals were human or just artfully guided collections of electrical impulses following algorithms set up to recapitulate one’s own previous responses over inauthentic events that to one’s shock might have never occurred in the first place. The hint let out from on high every once and a while that this was indeed the case. That the whole experience was a trap. A stratagem devised to create mass hysteria and then study the reactions of the two legged public at large. Like rats condemned to the pernicious curiosity of psycho scientists forever changing the maze keeping them away from food and fraternity with their own kind. Cruelty and perverse intentions conducted all in the name of a soul crushing ever-voracious Babylonian Hebrew deity Moloch whose fires needed to be stoked minute to minute with fresh bodies and fertile minds. The offerings to this fire illuminated drawn from the personal commitment of the unwary not understanding the danger in so frivolously sharing their innermost thoughts with this infernal beast.

The collective entity of humanity counted and the sum total of their thoughts, hopes and dreams added up and then recycled back to them in some perverse form of twisted reflection advocating further abstraction from the self in promoting the purchase of highly prices useless articles to enhance the ‘realism’ of the experience. When in fact the merchandise was simply a more intricate form of mental encroachment promising everything to its new owner but delivering a time wasting enhancement of sequestering more minutes of devotion during the day to steal away one’s mind away from one’s self. Everlasting temporal fame and the most up to date membership with that imaginary elite lurking just below the surface of awareness of the growing obsession for satisfaction of the same growing like a cancer obliterating the normal personality expressing anything individual. The entire society de-evolving into insects nervously seeking out their own kind trying to find their hive. The monsters administering this system either completely blind to its eventual ramifications or so morally bankrupt to only acknowledge the thrill of directing so many hundreds of million lives with the casual touch of a few keystrokes. The notion of enjoying an absolutely unique self as once considered the most enervating element in existence now close to extinct. The age of parasites feeding on the soul of humanity now having progressed into full swing.

On The Topic Of Modern Banking

There had long been a notion popularly held by recent generations now just past that vampires are real and do exist. Manifestations of bipeds that lived following the herds of humans through time and space as a pack of wolves might have in the Eastern forests of middle Europe before they had been denuded by the sightless industry of man. Shape shifter’s by the intelligent design of the great nameless invisible creator of all, they had many odd and arcane powers that their punier humankind could barely imagine in dark nightmare disturbing rest. The lexicons of descriptive words the reigning babble of many parallel languages unable to fully describe their powers over their prey. Only in terms of the strength in numbers did hominid’s enjoy any sort of advantage. This consequence coming from the husbandry of their betters in their species being bred at large as an expansive herd. The tastes of their master’s leaning towards variety creating much duplication. There seemed to be no inherent danger to their breed from what was generally referred to by these self-congratulatory superior entities. Many of their foremost leaders kept larger estates manned by select members of them for the amusement of play and basic sustenance to be harvested. The roles that these unwitting mortal were found to be most useful in being servants. The greater delicacy generally agreed within the brood being not simply blood or flesh but the capturing of their life’s forces drained at the point of death through fear serving almost as a condiment. There was a natural loathing that was harbored by some bipeds based upon a certain unexpected level of biological evolution of awareness. Careful watch kept to make sure that this phenomena was not contagiously spread so as to make the larger herd unmanageable. To the uncrafted sensibilities of their breed any extended attempt at a larger realization of their plight defeated by socialization. The rules of society in the hands of their ‘betters’.

The Un-Merry-Full-Go-Round

The supremacist merry-go-round. ‘Whites‘ were once on it. Then they were lobbied to let negroes and women on it along with them. Now the ‘Negroes‘ and women want the ‘whites‘ to sit at the back of the bus and get off on their election. All the while the ‘Jews‘ driving the bus pretend to support all by support none. Other passengers from different identities getting on and off any only briefly engaging in the rowe. Only their own nebulous claim to be both above all things. And of course, superior to them. Supremacy is an ego-trip. Those who indulge in it seem to puff up like a balloon that go sailing slowly to the upper atmosphere. At a certain point the bubble expands as the air pressure insides exceeds that of the outside. But the structural integrity soon is overwhelmed by the internal pressure of that ego and bursts. The best that the balloon can hope for it it has lost its attachment to common sense is to get caught at a higher altitude for a while and begin to loose air. Then slowly as that ego deflates it comes down gradually in a sagging sense of humility. Of course that occurs only on calm days. When the atmosphere is stirred up There is less likelihood that the balloon with survive the journey upwards nearly as far.

This seems analogous to the ancient Greek tale of Icarus who build his wings of wax and feathers. The closer to the Sun that he rose the mores the wax softened until the whole contraption melted away. The result being an inevitable falling back to take a fatally hard landing on solid earth. Popular Western culture is too enamored with the ‘self‘. Too smug and secure in the fact that for better or worse, nothing is going to change in their neighborhood anything soon. But like anyone caught by whimsy to step farther into topics they have no right to claim judgment about they overstep their limits. And in a society as overstuffed with everything including opinion, they are easily popped. The whole culture riding on the edge of the cliff of unavoidable chaos due to unproductive attitudes that will solidify into hatreds and quite possibly to bloody violent conflict. But over what? Who did what to whom several hundred million years back when no one now living could have ever been alive. The irony being that what is considered as the most accurate history being the province of the group considered most in power and actively scheduled by other ones for demotion. One’s opponents having to learn the dogmas of it’s opposites to attack it. More absurdly yet these same attacking groups needing to attempt to believe in their own collective fantasies that are at the same time both arcane and far afield so that they cannot bear any scrutiny beyond serving as an excuse for animal blood lust. Whatever they hope to gain from those that they consider as too dominant simply being destroyed. And everyone being the lesser for the exercise. That old adage of, “Cutting off your nose to spite your face!”, coming into play. No one able to be right because the popular harangues of the moment has made every other for of exclamation wrong. The mindless philosophy of a stirred up mob trying to find some mischief to get into so justify its ill feelings. Any and all scapegoats may apply.

Of course, seismic events do not simply occur from nowhere without someone behind the scenes expending an awful large amount of effort to get them going. The principle of finding a harmonic upon which to apply a scalar situation of discontent that effects all sides equivalently badly so that depending upon the point of view everyone is both right and wrong. The fact of the matter being that they are not in control of themselves in either way beyond simply being swept away in the prevailing stormy winds. Throughout history there are always certain groups that wait in the wings who have been born in the back alleys that seem to prosper on continued chaos. They take great lengths to not be called out in public as the instigators of trouble that they really are. Part of their art being to not only remove common sense logic from any discussion, but to convince any that might stumble upon their chicanery as crazy or unfair in their accusations countering their insiders innate behaviors. These are the human virus’s and parasites in no way different to that a similar species that affect both animal and man. Who is to ultimately blame? What can one say that over the long term it does not really matter. For to go beyond pointing out the roles taken by all and going on from that moment to deflate the egos of all to a reasonable size depriving them of the intake of further drama, there is nothing more that can nor need be done.

No engine of man in terms of an abstract governing body or popularly recognized saint of current reigning authority can take the place of the almighty of the fact that all sides remain pint-sized and minuscule before the insoluble mystery of the universe. Those simple questions of existence that the ego-bound would so easily hope to ignore and leave behind as they pump themselves up to escape same. You may think and therefore thou art? But can any in the crowd of those doing same collectively prove that their attempts are really more than just another passing fad or folly. In that ways mankind is it’s own worse enemy. The final judge being the inevitability of an inescapable ending to their tale. The story of every endeavor coming to a finite conclusion. That is what recorded history at its best can offer that those living only in the moment of their own folly cannot.

Traitors To Your Own Kind

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.

Unwanted Role Play

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?

Guidelines At The Gleacher

NOTE: The following impressions and provisos were gleaned from a seminar held at the University of Chicago writer’s event covering the topic of promoting your work to get your book published. Three panels composed entirely of women, with the exception of one extremely  ‘gyno-centric’ male, provided their own personal takes on the current publishing market. The viewpoints were exclusively focused on the liberal leaning market aesthetic behind the Chicago art scene. The percentage of males in attendance within the audience was on the level of ten to one. Much of the paraphrased  ‘advice’ seen below was taken directly from the experiences shared and advice given by panelists.

RULES OF THE GLEACHER: Anything that is considered MALE and especially WHITE is most cursed by a mass hysterical reservation at this university seminar! Why is it that the more ‘Elitist’ and ‘Liberal’ any person might be, the more unfriendly if not absolutely hostile they become? If you want to have your books distributed and sold in the conventional literary market domestically or in the West then you had better have Jewish relatives and be a female obsessed with third wave feminism! Rich ones from the North Shore are even better! The panel announces the fact at the beginning of their segment that they are “the gatekeepers!” A prerequisite of any viable genre or subject matter that this block considers viable in the market place despoils men to the benefit of women. This ramps the stakes if that character is part of a sanctified ethnic minority that engages in deviant sexual practices within the Lesbian agenda. The presence of mind to use proper most currently correct terminology assiduously adhering to the latest set of up to the moment conventions or face the penalty of expulsion! Try the strategy of masking your elitist friendly patriotism serving the cause of floundering PR by offering a stilted counter story of a safe powerless minority that you can provide emotional bandaids to. That same tried and true SJW pattern of exhibiting virtue signaling ceremonies that though they don’t last long enough to have any effect in reality always look good in print. on the page. The bleeding heart Liberal tradition to whip the perpetually guilt assuaged tax paying population into a defensive mode so that they don’t scream foul when even more of their ever mounting tax dollars are extorted for the replenishment of of munitions within the Jewish Utopia of the ‘holely land’ or built yet another Holocaust memorial on American turf. That will make sure that the publishing houses which are almost all directly under control of these kissing cousins will look kindly on your next project.

SUGGESTED THEMES FOR SUCCESS: Make a modern version of a post-war melodrama that references the Holocaust in some form to stay in with the ‘in crowd’ or NYT best seller reviewable potential ‘best sellers’. Stick to the appropriate dual dialogue where all your more significant characters are women disgruntled with me to the point of taking all their power and life-force from them by the end of the last chapter. Cloak your text in classic nineteenth century terms from female authors like Jane Austin or at least more modern equivalents as with Virginia Wolf. Make sure to parallel the action of your characters to some current black studies/women studies approved national social justice issue that are currently entrancing the nation as a whole in further fruitless insoluble divisions. Make sure to denigrate European history or achievement by scenarios where the strew source of achievement is found to be a female or a select ethnic minority. Anything Afro-American Black is always good! Play softball when dealing in the land of the Goyim. Give no mention to any unique and enthralling qualities of characters of that description but find them lacking in courage and integrity at every turn. Remember that the term “gravity” refers to the great farmlands stocked with sleepy eyed suburban sheep! Don’t go too far beyond the well-established programs of educationally enforced guilt tripping that their children are daily indoctrinated with. Any unexpected criticism is to be absorbed and digested but not addressed!

TOPICS NOT TO BE ADDRESSED: Self-publishing is not to be given any legitimacy, period. This does not include any agent connected, contest driven, boutique enterprise that must treat equitably with the ‘legitimate’ publishing distributors who can impose rules similar to those already mentioned. Gynocentric, LGBT, race centered epics to be considered the most marketable and traditional mystery and science fiction tolerated to a reasonable degree as long as the thematics remain hostile to the male. Much like the stockyards of the century before, university trained authors are to be guided along int he process through the rigid system of query letters and infinite patience to be eventually contacted with approved agents and editors, preferably female. Any other demographic of those who write that have not gone through the university system are to be discredited. All hiring within publishing houses is to be geared specifically to this demographic. The most catastrophic situation that needs to be avoided is a Tsunami of ‘net neutral’ outlets or chains of interlocking networks that compete for dollars with the conventional system of big box retailers and specialty book distributors. All acceptable media must reflect the tenets of moral relativity while casting doubt on what was once considered conventional mainstream history! Make all authors feel that they need ‘permission’ to write! That they can only be creative when they have reached the point when they sense that they are ‘safe’ from any criticism or censure as if in their mother’s arms. Stress that ‘SUCCESS’ is only possible by following these proscribed limits.

EPILOGUE: My own demographic was understandably considered hostile within this assembly and my mere presence was met with a mutually observed ‘cold shoulder’ as if I was in the midst of crashing a woman oriented event. This being due not simply to my gender but my age and of course racial demographic. Considering the seismic shift currently underway in politics, entertainment and journalism the focus of publishing and the intellectual pretext that is vigorously supported by elite universities seems a form of institutional Seppuku. The arrogance of Globalist corporations in fostering and nursing this hostile position by exiling criticism, emptying the libraries of volumes embodying conflicting viewpoints, and promoting nonsensical positively schizophrenic politically correct dogmas will be met with a definitive backlash. In the authors opinion, not bloody soon enough!

VIDEO – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KLr_5dQqxTk  (Post seminar impressions)