The bullshit has always been present, whenever and whatever powers are shadow-boxing. Study any segment of history and bullshit, whether seen subjectively or “objectively,” is unilaterally and heavily present and assertively represented and revised.
History, herstory, but back to his-story history, repeatedly revised like a children’s whispering game demonstrates to us in pre-school. One exciting part of adolescence is being ready and able to notice these contexts personally, societally and historically, as one decides who one is going to be in the world.
So far environmental nature is still able to get people able to procreate. The genitals and most of the hormones still work, and it is left up to human free will to become mature enough and respectful enough to know how treat the genitalia not only of ourselves but also of others.
How has that been working out?
Most people on earth love the current mobile technological enhancements and the seemingly instantaneous worldwide communication.
But much of what is being communicated is porn, estimated to be what more than two-thirds of internet searches are seeking, internationally. Then there are worlds of internet cuckoos dangling through webspaces arguing with each other from their basements, couches, offices or cars. We are the ones who exemplify to ourselves and to our children how to explore inner space and not only “outer space” with all of its accouterments, to learn how to keep on learning and how to think things over with an independent conscience.
Yet we as nations and as a world spend more of our assets on advances in the perpetual amassing of weaponry for personal and political warfare, and there’s bigger spending for exploring outer space or for studying how rats do on pharmaceuticals than we allot for our own educations or for any constructive or reconstructive mental, physical or emotional health provisions. Why do economies attract madmen who insist upon being the commodores?
People suffer the same shit throughout centuries of recorded details. If only the pen were mightier than the sword, the internet could be stronger,swifter than the menace of hydrogen or atomic silencers. The masses are again getting sick of the diet of bullshit.
Even Hong Kong is pissed.
French citizens have been seen protesting in their streets for months.
The tides keep changing and no one can pretend to be going nowhere as we hurtle through space at 67,000 miles per hour like subatomic entities clustered upon one-billionth of a pinhead.
Ghislaine Maxwell can just keep plucking those chin hairs, wearing her big squarish ring and uttering her dark misunderstandings of esoterica and dominance vs. subdominance. So how come she is not in France?
Does only the Phantom know? Life moves fast, even for a jetset oxen dreaming of readiness for combat. Aikido can happen whether somebody expects it or is surprised by it. She was born in France, yes? Maybe she isn’t welcome anymore? Perhaps Jeffrey Epstein and she wrecked using France as a place of refuge whilst cavorting there like ugly international satyrs.
Je vous en prie. The French have eyes and no Prince Andrew as brother to a Throne. The news is out everywhere. Even Emiliano Salinas would recognize Ghislaine if the two ran into one another just southwest of Casablanca. Shopping for red scarves? The conspiracy of the red scarves as accessories to assisted or accidental suicides might endear them to one another. Emiliano and Ghislaine, scanning each other’s asses down at the Agora.
Question : Did Jeffrey look dead enough?
Answer: Yes he did. But he hadn’t been PRONOUNCED dead yet, so he didn’t exactly have to look dead. Not in the New York Post headshots.
Question: If he was supposed to be dead then, he would’ve been covered up or in a body bag, right?
Answer: Of course if he was dead nobody would show off his face. But there’s always an available excuse about how everyone is overworked and underpaid in paradise.
Mr. Parlato would be well aware of the historical use of deception and sleight-of-hand, and he says so, maybe for our benefit more so than for his own. He didn’t just pop out of some egg. Yet what Mr. Parlato says still has to be said, as well as to be remembered; the essentiality of training one’s mind to be able to think for oneself. Persistently. You study the equipment, develop the volition of concentration and remember to remember. Your first and last witness is yourself. This is how it is, regardless of whether or not we are able to choose our own blindspots.
One thing the criminal types being discussed share in common is more or less an absence. You could call it the absence of the human spirit. Those lines have been crossed. Some even strive to destroy those lines.
Ghislaine Maxwell, Rasputin, Jeffrey Epstein, the Manson crew, Clare Bronfman, Stalin, etc., O.J. Simpson, the Trumps and the Clintons and the Johnsons and the Nixons, Scientology cultists, even the Catholic upper echelons and the Jehovah Witnesses are headliners in our more modern fables of deception, cunning cruelty, debauchery and crime. They are famous for their sick thinking and its resultant actions.
These are the big stupids. The stupids of the month or maybe even a year or two. Famous for being horrible violating jackasses low like old snot glazing in the dirt. Who wants to be merely a misguided numbnutz, an inattentive shallow breather, unutilized by the self?
A gum-chewing truant from self-education, probably wearing a tee-shirt with a banal commercial logo and never seen without one’s de rigueur, contemporaneous headphones, from cradle to grave. Living in some Amazon or Zulily subaltern zone of zonelessness, dolled up in an anti-evolutionary uniform of retreat and escapism. Huey, Louie and Dewey, asleep at the wheel, worried about if there are going to be any adult diapers left for the guaranteed next accidental slippage. Old children pouting about being ignored.
So many people now must want (as if it were an existential requirement) to appear as being both very socially engaged and, simultaneously, as very unavailable, even chronically, clinically unavailable to become engaged. The preference is to look as if one is communicating via media, conspicuously and during all of one’s waking hours, even if and when one is actually alone on the toilet. Desolation row, anybody?
We must all look to be in-demand and important, while ignoring the person who approaches in real life. That could be too much of a fucking challenge. No need for a retirement party when, beyond learning to use dental floss, not much work has been done to avail oneself of the give-and-take gift which comes with being alive. Busily insisting upon remaining busily easy to trick, easy to command, easy to distract is, unfortunately, part of looking alive now. Johnny got his gun. Not much education, mental or emotional guidance was ever available, but Johnny’s got a cellphone, GPS tracking and an AK-47.
“Do not speak to me; you would be rude and inappropriate to interrupt me as I listen to Drake chanting about little girls. Think of me as a listening channel and do not enter. But it is okay to appreciate my sneakers and my $400.00, terribly witty polyester shirt’s words of contemporary bullshit. Also see my good hair, phone and watch. I don’t need the watch because I have no job and still live at home with mom, dad and the unannounced visits from the probation officer. Pay attention to me! Just don’t rattle my cage.”
But then a person can only see outwardly that which one is prepared to see inwardly. That’s life, in the eye of the beholder.
Look at Cleopatra, look at Alexander the Great, look at Montgomery and Rommel, look at your own work atmosphere or simply call some miserable and uncooperative doofus about your old and funky cable TV set-up. So many games being played, not only automatically but transparently.
Some observers would demonstrate that there has been no legitimate election in the United States, except about minor things, since before the presidency of Harry S. Truman was designed, back in the forties. But probably those are people who haven’t studied much about WWI or WWII or the American Civil War or even our own American Revolution. Our melting pot family still has letters of determination and frustration close at hand from those who tried to represent the “colonies” long before our American revolution. People worked hard to achieve some form of self-governance for our colonies WITHOUT resorting to massive protests or violence or warfare.
But there came a time when even many of the nonviolent Quakers decided to get armed. There was little choice left against the criminally self-dedicated elite, their designated greedy and bossy lieutenant bastards, sub-bosses and posses. Things got to be “ready or not, here I come.” But nobody is sure that we have enough liberty left, at least in the United States, either to effectively and safely be able to protest or to legislate change.
Both sides of the small political spectrum are being run by mostly an old stable of scumbaggish oafs with fat wallets. Who would be capable of reaching any agreements? The politicians and their hairdos need to be symbiotically connected to an Alex Trebek puppet with a football stadium buzzer.
Call me if or when Abraham Lincoln resurrects from the dead, because at least his myth is still resounding with trustworthiness. It’s been a long time coming. Sound the trumpet and I shall boil up some water and tear up some sheets. Unless my new guru, Schlomo Hunglow Lumpa, instructs otherwise.