Sunday, September 7, 2008

An Introduction

I am just another insect, one of the buggy masses. This has to be kept in mind, when reading my insect web-logs. If I skitter from point to point, or appear frantic in my reasoning or approach, you will please pardon me. It is due to evolution, and unavoidable.

It may at times seem that I am a typical cockroach laboring under an enormous vanity and self-importance…but I am mindful of how puny is my understanding. It can be said that I am far less perceptive than some other American insects, but more perceptive than the majority of them. It can also be said that the preceding is never saying much---of anyone here in the Homeland--- because we Americans are morons, bred into a durable, crooked-hearted ignorance. We are like coarse meat pies fit only for snacking, intentionally miseducated and blinded to suit our designated purpose as fuel and finger foods for our cannibal masters, if our masters can even claim to be of our species. They appear not to feel a kinship.

To summarize and review this extra-clever thesis: all of us in this country, at this time, are very much like insects or even sightless meat-pies, suffering eternally from any comparison, even to viruses, even to the most deranged and mangy jackal, even to a race of box-cutter-clutching chimpanzees in heat.

But also, we Americans are like state-subsidized and maintained athletes who have been given all the advantages of a brilliant scientific program for physical development, until our whole bodies are engorged with brute vitality, from limbs to genitals, while our minds and spirits are concomitantly weakened from disuse. This may be how we are able to produce so many brainless, scampering cockroach celebrities, and then admire them. The insect athletes, actors and d├ębutantes seem generic, ineradicable, and legion because such common cockroaches are especially easy to mass-breed in a cultural laboratory like ours. Quite as easy to generate as mass-produced, disposable plastic vessels in a petroleum-based economy. Lots of poly-chrome, cheap, pliable surface area and no guts or substance, just as a dumbed-down people crave and deserve, reflecting their own emptiness. You should see how beautiful and muscular and healthy the college students are these days, and how weak their intellects, how lacking their curiosity: they bodies is ripped but they minds is zipped. Their self-absorption is marvelous. They are instructed all through their days in a million ways to be intellectually shiftless and morally shifty. Their favorite lessons deal with the Science of Not Asking Questions. They specialize in personal robotics and have vast carnal appetites for sex and leisure in every form. This base training, or programming, partly explains how we were brought to such a miserable condition of bluff imbeciles like Bush being allowed to posture as President, and greedy, murderous stooges like John Kerry and Barack Obama posing as the opposition.

Ours is an elegant farm system that produces mostly stupid but vigorous bodies. Youths that are not overly muscled in their narrowness and vanity, are simply obese. And fat people rarely if ever feed themselves. The fat person must usually be fed, whether or not they are held captive by cannibals.

The insect will now try to define its purpose here, and try to limit itself to just one metaphor in the process; to encapsulate what made yet another irritated bug resolve to issue one more insolent blog into the nation's diseased bloodstream. This should be delivered in a solomonic, bulleted premise-form, as there are a number of premises to be assumed and dealt with:

Abandon Ship
The current system is broken, irreparably and insidiously, for the average human insect. I say insidious because in the highest sense the system is not at all broken, and to most insects themselves it appears to run admirably, even along the lines of a masterful efficiency, with nary an observable or meaningful hitch. But let us envision a great nation of ants, organized and administered by a small cartel of ant-eaters. The insect polity is from early on engineered to maintain itself as a food source, and possibly sometimes as entertainment for the mammalian over-class, so in this way its smooth, continuous running can't be seen as "broken"---not from the perspective of those with two-foot tongues and a stomach which can digest thousands of ants at a time. But to the ants this fatal arrangement is surely flawed. One of its chief flaws has always been the somehow casual yet well-organized pitting of certain colored ants against ants of another complexion. The endless feuds that preoccupy them are a distraction from the inevitable realization they would otherwise reach, that the ant-eater tongue cannot see, let alone in color. We insects are a food source and a constant, low-grade irritation to be managed with as little trouble as possible, and we are nothing the tiny, beady eyes of our ant-eating betters.

Don’t be Such a Snack
There is literally no way to fix this broken system, unless we finally determine to act like ants and not meals, and that is really a fundamental rearrangement. (That's a tortilla, fool, and not a blanket.) This means we can't afford any longer to mutely subjugate ourselves to the Hive and to The Queen (Hierarchy), who is always just a nasty little whore, secretly obedient to her ant-eater pimp. "The Hive," for our not-so-allegoric purposes, is the combined phenomena of nationalism, patriotism, and weak-minded servitude to group ideas and norms. Meaning the "Borg mentality" (individual human as seamlessly-fused-with group) that we see all around us, from generic political opinions as sold by a truly undifferentiated politics of "left and right," to the fake expressions of individuality apparent in our obsession with market fashion fads and the eternally new and improved life (the presumed, fluid, techno-echo of Evolution) of modern electronic gadgetry. We are all of us sold an awful lot of products that are alleged to aid in the birth of a more fully realized "Self," with "I" this and "I" that plugged like cathodes into our temples and perpetually at hand, but yet all these gadgets are suspiciously uniform, and naturally so, coming as they do from factories, and owned as these are by a usually unified and always obscured elite. So then, until we as self-respecting ants try to hack out our own awareness of life and the world from the dense propaganda jungle planted for us by the long-tongues, we shall be fucked. We shall be viciously and unceremoniously fucked. It is the sperm facial and then we get eaten. Stupidly, most of us believe we can make it in this insane bordello system, but in this belief we resemble cows lowing for the tender tug of the milkmaid, instead of the open range, to paraphrase the great Mencken. When we recognize the truth of freedom, we will no longer be like cows dying to be jerked off, then made into jerky; like dim Tennessee tourists lost and famished in the Amazon, happy to be fattened up by any cannibal that comes along; or like Canaanites who offer their firstborn to the fires of hungry Molech because otherwise Molech would get angry. Yes I know...but our condition is so bleak and fractured that it demands a combination of grim, patchwork metaphors.

"Terrorism is the form of war for the poor. War is the form of terrorism for the rich."
For all its logic, even this pithy aphorism is half-rubbish, and as a starting point, may be fully misleading and even toxic to a clean grasp of things. What we have been calling "terrorism" is mainly just another evil trick hatched by the scummy minds of our predators. The Global War on the Stuff is an asinine child's fantasy that would convince only a lobotomized, confused, and totally impressionable people. All the major "terror attacks" we have seen since the beginning of the 90's are provable, manifest frauds which each bear the flagrant hallmarks of western intelligence agency "Black Operations." But such a subversive, seemingly paranoid alternate analysis of the modern political paradigm which we are daily instructed in and reminded of---this nonsense paradigm of "free organized states battling decentralized Terror networks bent on the destruction of the West"---is not a subversive or loony analysis at all. Unless, of course, you find it subversive to regret evil empires which have repeatedly pronounced their own Neo-Darwinian/eugenicist/fascist principles, but have done so very cleverly: to the tune of “My Country ‘Tis of Thee,” “God Save the Queen,” and a whole host of Voltaire’s trumpets. Or unless you regard as "loony" the observation of certain wicked, repetitive patterns, and the conclusion that they are more than random coincidence. In which case you likely would be one of those docile citizens who thinks that a skeptical inquiry into the many political assassinations in this country's short history or a reinvestigation into the many lies and absurdities of the official 9-11 story would simply be unhinged paranoia. In which case you will provide a much easier meal.

"There is more hidden in this world than seen."
The iceberg analogy is so useful in describing the nature of human politics and the Rule of Power. It seems to me, through my multi-faceted mantis-vision, that one man can only hope to rule a far greater number of men if he is either:
1) a terribly clever genius or
2) supremely and unalterably Good, or
3) one who methodically conceals his designs. (We can dispense with gender questions here because it is clear that men will never consent to being ruled by their moral and spiritual betters, so long as these women lack the requisite upper body strength and smiting power. That is evolution and unavoidable and therefore just, I am to understand.)
Yes, one is either a potent fisher of men such as Gandhi, Hitler, Lincoln or M.L.K., Jr., or one is variously a slick liar, hack or puppet who would never tell his constituents or subjects what the fuck is really going on, according to what or whose agenda. There is at least one thing that has become clearer to me in studying earthly habits and ways. That is how few, really Good and virtuous men are allowed to rise to Influence and still achieve old age and a natural death. It is a titanium-clad calculus of earth politics that no more than two such figures breathe without life support at the same time, within a given span of five years. They are almost always, and in grossly unapologetic and deceitful fashion, returned to the heaven of human ideals by being shot to death right out in public, or their plane fatally malfunctions just as they are being honest, or are approaching an important election. No Secret Service, no Royal Guard, no number of Sikh or Afro-centric bodyguards can ever protect them well enough. The most shocking thing about the fatality of these noble leaders is that, once the bullets or bombs or directed energy waves have done their work, all which is ever required for the ease and satisfaction of the minds of their bereaved followers is that a tale about a lone nut psychopath be offered through the infantilizing primers of government office and news media, and offered ad nauseum. All these potentially very good people who have been murdered are at the end of the day as vulnerable as mayflies, if their followers swallow such improbable lone-nut-lies and garbage without so much as a quiet belch of doubt, and seem content meekly anticipating the next election to voice their passions and air their sores.

So let us call it what it is: We are subject to an Occult Conspiracy, which is to say, a deeply hidden one, secretive beyond even the normal obscurity of conspiracies. It is on one level just a cut-and-dry case of ant-eaters forming conspiracies against the ants they rule over and consume. But in truth the phrase does imply something of the cultic, the esoteric, and even the demonic, depending on one's interpretation of certain phenomena which appear abstract to us, and beyond the precious construct known as "reason." The reality of this state of subjection is as hard to describe to the unaware and the deeply secular as it is to gather reliable and coherent information on it at all, in the first place. But happily, there are great stores of data one can rely on, in this state of digital enlightenment described as the New Millennium. Needless to say, this sort of information does not get delivered to your in-box. You have to search for it, and you have to possess and use more than half the mind they wish us to have.

Now follows a word of advice, a heuristic clue, which may indeed make the reader chuckle a bit for its air of paranoia…

If they are indeed interested in even partly discovering the nature of Power, the reader should begin with the very obvious first stone in the pyramid, or the yellow brick road, or whichever raveled metaphor you prefer: that is, start with World Organized Freemasonry, its murky beginnings and role throughout history. This is an important phenomenon, and sort of cloudy and difficult to get at, but start with the first Masonic stone. Eventually you will reach the unfinished capstone, or at least the dread Curtain, if you happen to make it past the flying apes of fork-tongued History and through the fields of scholastic poppy dust---and then you may decide to peer behind that curtain, itself. There, you will emphatically not find Obama. And you will certainly not find the simpering, blubber-lipped monkey king, George W. Bush, who was only a blinding example of what a sadistic dolt and an inbred is permitted to do while in the employ of the reclusive masters. As you likely suspect, Junior, for all his diabolism, was only the Clown-president, the Foil, the Fool, the Cipher. He kept the world either apoplectic with laughter and rage, or inert with gloomy indifference, but his purpose was always to keep us in a halted, circular pattern, and maybe even to allow us to feel superior to our own rulers, so as to appeal to the ego and disarm our potential. If you look behind such an Organ Grinder's monkey as he, you will no doubt find an army of his fraternity brothers gathering in the dark, shaking soft, clammy hands and drinking a Rothschild Pinot Noir from a skull to demonstrate their gentlemanly embrace of death and their contempt of a life burdened with the kind of worries that little profane creatures like you and I might feel. Among that gorging body will also be the primary handlers of Junior's successor, the mutant half-caste Obama, the Pied Piper himself, the Nurse, the Binder of Wounds, the Glib-tongued Trickster. The Left-handed Baller.

And of course, don't become obsessed with Freemasonry. There are many other impressive not-completely Secret Societies, such as the friends of The Knights of Malta, and the Rosicrucians, and Kappa Delta.

These are the premises of this swaggering insect's resolution to blog, alongside all the other bloggers clamoring for your attention and wagging their antennae. I will of course provide as much proof for my claims and allegations as I consider necessary or convincing. Please be convinced.

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