Monday, June 8, 2009

No more room for debate

Well and there you have it. We are left with nothing to debate, when it comes to government, politics, civics, and "the media"---this last being indispensable to the first three, and those being once very important, long ago, before the advent of telecommunications and the many holograms that herd and haunt us from incubator to cell. Yes the whole thing has been canceled and the forum abolished. Still the debate will drone and seep on like the effluvia of a dead body continuing for a bit after life has expired. The corpus jerks, and twitches, and farts out its opinion on tax and monetary and immigration policy, and also the just, proportional use of force in an era of shifting moral compass points, fraught with devious new perils such as Islamic Terrorism and rogue states with nuclear power, and the demonic face of Wall Street's and the City of London's high seas capitalism having now revealed itself.

Though it is truly neither needed, seemly, or germane, the debating will continue. It may please one to linger there at the shabby podium of their moral and intellectual conceit, declaiming, but the wisest of us will not pay attention to the act. There are too many worthless opinions, for their own empty, unsupportable, solipsistic sake. And too many talking heads, with not a single feeling heart left beating and unbled, to power these heads with something useful. Some of us, the wise girls and guys, will ignore the twaddle of the debating society as it gasps its last convincingly flapdoodle arguments. We will be steady fattening up or building muscle, stockpiling canned goods, picking our teeth with brittle old arguments, roll-eyeing the metal-flecked horizon for terror sprees. Some of us will opt out, masturbating and wiggling and posing in anarchic fashions, bored by and angry at things one can't readily define. Inchoate, misdirected ennui and rage, you know.

All this argument about the trusty, na├»ve democrats vs. the cynical, adult neocons, and about the civil liberties they are tearing between them, about the moribund economy and the death throes of capitalism, herself---Peace be upon Her fat hysterical bosom---all of it is a sham, it has to be admitted here. The left-right discussion engineered by those controlling the limbs of Republicans and Democrats is broken and now without substance or good faith. It is a giant hamster's wheel powered by all of us who are willing. Having roughly as much traction and relevance is the hoary debate about the utility and rightness of Capitalism versus its contender-systems. But at least these discussions are philosophical, and can lead to some progress, or once could have. Taken as a whole, these broad contentions may be less provably hysterical, farcical shams than the one designed special by the Devil’s cartoonists to root about in our current daydreams and lay the eggs of nightmares in our scarce happy moments until we rely in whimpering abject paranoia on the State: Namely, the Daily-polished sham about the vaporous Osama bin Laden and his combustible hairy horde. But such is our main theme or narrative device this decade---it is suitable to our immaturity as a people--- and we must accept its evil childishness and efficacy. We have cashed in our Nazis and Communists for Moslem Terrorists, we are taught. As every civilized westerner possesses a mirror to recognize themselves, they need a gun to recognize others.

But as we all in the tiny province of book-readers and critical thinkers know, this hokum-theme of the Dark Black Islamic God of Terrorism that devours everything not monitored biometrically from a central computer, and belches out tazers and opium and dead Iraqis by the market-load, is just a script we had left over from the theater in Afghanistan, and have now re-worked. Recall that once, Rambo himself fought on the side of the Taliban, in real life. At that time they were Muslims of an obviously more noble stripe---"anti-communist"---and have only since 1986 or so come to symbolize all that is very violently opposed to America and its proprietary catalog of virtues. To my lurid and book-smart way of thinking, all of it amounts to a smutfilm anachronism---the thin dialogue intro to the porn fuck scene that we all know is coming and paid to see, the intro which modern pornography has now dispensed with. But propriety demands these courtly overtures still, in global politics. There must be a distinct and intelligible attack, broadcast in reel-time for the consumption of the TV-fed masses, if there is to be an endless, indistinct and unintelligible "war on terror," as inevitably insane of a military delusion as such an enterprise must be, and unpopular with the plebes and troops. This kind of story can't possibly survive more than one season without a good, catchy "pilot" or "lead."

The pornographic farce, the endless serial situation-tragedy of the established view that radical Islamic terrorism poses an authentic, existential threat to America and free societies is a lewd, disgraceful charade considered necessary for some kind of grand mechanical maintenance of the proper direction of global politics. This farce will stoke the wrath of our children and cause them to suffer and die prematurely, while cursing our names and the soul of Man. There was never any intention at all of cluing us in, we in the masses, as to what the real narrative was, and who played its key roles. Simply because we are such bit actors, and are considered by our directors to be more like beasts or batteries, than people. This never meant, however, that an informed view of these plans and realities was beyond the lowly bit actor, you and I. It just takes work, and we must do the work ourselves, and the reward for the work is often only a tentative and weary understanding, and sometimes depressing.

Some of us fear that a day will come when our children can no longer be both fat and stupid, but will have to make a choice between the two. Like the children in all the other lands, they will be degraded and made sick and to them the only juicy rib marinade recipe worth considering may involve cannibalism. Something has to change and somebody will have to give, or these Western children will have bellies fat with worms and gas and not cheeseburger sandwiches and microwaved and mutated genes and sucrose. They'll be rounded up in broad daylight and they will inevitably lack the sense and the command of the language to protest with anything more than a simpering, snot-mouthed “whatever.” The joke, for them, even then, will still perhaps be on somebody else, as it always was.

So what we are served in the mainstream news is fat bottomless sound, the rhythmic beating of hollow plastic vessels. It is believed by our gentlemen planners, the management class of Olympia and beyond, that if we did not have the constant appearance of a valid and worthy, civilized debate about all these managed controversies, we would focus, perhaps, on the crumbling of the world around us. We might attend to our own suffering and madness. These interminably broadcast feuds at once preoccupy and divide us from one another, and allow us to feel we are participating in a cherished system based on free will and democratic principles of mindful participation, of comprehension of the issues by even the grass-roots levels of society. We all know a free media equals a live democracy. But if one is working at a brothel and chooses to call it a hospital, it remains a place for sucking off and not succor.

All these arguments and schisms are silly distractions, as they are intended to be. It is true, granted, that human beings need to beat one anothers' ideas into submission on a sort of regular basis, just to keep the species vital or whatever. But this constant circular bickering is different; it is neither random nor beneficial nor productive, and would be inconceivable without the knavish political class America has allowed to breed in its capital. The arguments are not worth our time and they are rendered in idiot’s terms. Who frames the debate and where, if anyplace, is the broader moral context acknowledged? Few people have ever seen a modern congressman engage in self- or national criticism on any real level. Hardly anybody knows what a depleted uranium shell is. Dishonesty and crony-capitalist self-service have been the order of the twentieth century, I can report to you, and it has gotten measurably worse since that day of improbable dive-bombings and skyscraper collapses along our east coast.

It is a basic, undeniable fact that American politicians and political figures are assassinated if they go off mark or become a danger to the fundaments of this system. This reality of snuffed civic leaders is simply not subject to debate, any more than are the realities of the larger and more deadly deceptions of our national security state and its intelligence agencies, and the ways in which both have sought, practiced, and described wars. But as a nation, we haven't even dealt with Pearl Harbor---let alone 9-11---or the murderers of Abraham Lincoln---let alone JFK and King and Wellstone's murderers. Still, no competent single adult in their private mind buys the official, court explanation of the Kennedy murders, most significantly. And that is why the individual adult, who is so often smart and decent, must be smashed savagely and regularly in the head, and made to feel like a vulnerable little pawn, and discouraged from looking into matters too deeply. The state, the public thing, the mass herd mind, the central authority, has even made perfectly sighted people blind. Blind in broad daylight, incapable of seeing cataclysmic events that happen right in front of them and which are then replayed forever. A president shot here, a congressman or three's deadly plane crash there, three towers collapsing into their footprint on one day, delighting bankers and land-developers and unprosecuted assassins and stock-shorters everywhere. In all of that is an implicit warning we all comprehend: believe or at least regurgitate the movie version of events as reported by the pillar Institutions, or in real life fear the cattle prod and the double axe and the prison rape, because you're just a worm, a helpless little fucking worm laborer.
There is no difference, of course, between republicans and democrats except, in the much-quoted words of one famous, impotent, stinking little moderate activist-cum-politician, "for the velocity at which they fall to their knees when corporations come calling." But what that little fellow said was sincere on a level more lewd than he intended: they are falling to their knees not in honorific subjection, but to sexually gratify their various hidden masters, to suck them off, and these hidden, suckled masters (and they are hidden and very well so, for the purposes of a legitimate democratic system obviously have no use for hiding) have come not to request obeisances here and there, but to demand continuous and already-owed fealties and fellatio from these prostitutes whom they have owned from nearly their beginnings. So it is less an on-going exchange marked by known imbalances than by the playing out of accepted roles of Lord and serf, or more accurately, of Master and slave overseer, of Priest and Temple Whore. It is a dirty courtship all around, and around. Ultimately, one politician may be assassinated just as easily as another, although the record almost suggests those on the “left” are bigger and slower targets, and therefore in the possession of some inherent moral advantage. But really they are the same in their dosage of corruption, having only different self-views: in the Senate, at least, both of them are graft-happy jackasses, but one is a delusional psychotic and claims to be an elephant.

These lowly cross-dressers suck the same wolf’s tits, their freezers are capable of storing the same amount of money. It might not even make a difference that the so-called Republicans (those of “the public thing,” and so, our own Golem, frightful to consider!) always number among their own camp the most conniving and merciless hounds of the devil, the greater number by far of murderers, child molesting child pornographers, snuff film enthusiasts, and, of course, sadistic closet faggots, that most dangerous of all psychologies, as you will eventually see. It may not make a difference, mind you, because the Democrats never call them on it---they never raise hue or fuss about the pedophilia, drug-dealing, or wild sacrifical buggery of the reactionary wing of America. Some of us know about this parallel world of closet-politics; the evidence of this Western Oligarchic Cult of the Phallus Worshippers and Child-murderer-buggerers is abundant throughout time and so is now virtually impossible to suppress in this digital age. And most of us talk openly of what a generalized stage-show it all is, almost as if this frank confession is a bluff American birthright or absolution from complicit guilt…but somehow, most of us still apparently require the taking of sides, if only rhetorically. "I am a moderate republican, used to be a semi-moderate Democrat with a libertarian sensitivity, and what are you, sir? I must know. I must know where you stand."

But is there another, more homely and basic reason that we share in the charade? Politics seems to be like a grand soap opera for intellectuals and those who think of themselves as mature. We seem to take great interest in some form of high political drama which we may identify as “news” or “current/global events,” and uniquely Human, one has to assume, when one looks around and can’t find a chimpanzee CNN, or a monkey-produced New York Times, or repeated gorilla wars waged in poorer monkey countries where most of the illegal drugs are produced, at once-inefficient levels, until the stronger ape occupiers came with better fertilizer. Why do we even care about “politics,” as it is known, when we all suspect it of being totally, irretrievably corrupt, and at worst and commonly wondered aloud, as evidence of the death of God?

I suspect we crave the certainty that our own small pile of shit adds to a much greater pile, that our foulness is normal. So we join this or that party, vote such and such a way. We divorce ourselves from risk and responsibility, and then invest in the market, even if it is our pensions, or ---if you'll pardon me---our souls. If Bernie Madoff and Jim Cunningham and the many pestilential presidents of the world can do it, so can I? It is a confused formulation but it has the logic of self-worship. Let us all have cake while we can, and woe be unto the terrorism-minded who would obstruct our fun or freedom, or point out that we are covered in shit and live in ca-ca castles and are eating poop-pastries with nothing more than a shit-eating grin to our excrement-caked names.

Things have gotten quite serious, I’m afraid, and we should all be talking about other things. Anything but ourselves and our senseless dung idols and threadbare political notions. Most of the people I see have no interest in books or substantive, adult, literate politics, and are even a bit proud of it, in the same way that more and more people are a bit proud of being callous and cunning in their treatment of others, like robots designed for competition or battle. They are involved in their own predictable, simulator lives and their confusions have overtaken them and I am gushing with pity for them all, but it takes a while for the gushing to begin because they act like such self-conscious, hostile little lab mice and it's contemptible. Why don’t we think and talk of other things? The reality of things is not uninteresting. I can see that, sadly, the personal reality that most of us experience is fatally boring and devoid of potential, and that beneath the outer layer is a lot of space waiting to be filled. But outside of us, simple us, there is almost always a very interesting collective story. And thankfully, behind the conventional storybook, newspaper reporting of these stories, there is so often something wild and silly and nearly unmentionable. And I say thankfully because if the world's problems could really be explained by conventional ideas of conflict, human nature, and resource struggle, we would be lost and I would vote for our extermination. But the real truth is methodically hidden, and an essential part of that truth is this: Human beings are decent and reasonable, and in order to drink one another's blood as we are doing in so many ways right now on earth, we must be trained that way, and misguided.

There is actual truth in the idea, put forth in the movie, "Men In Black" and mentioned often by knowledgeable conspiracy logicians, that the seedy tabloids marketed in your check-out aisles contain more than a little of what is real, of what is considered taboo or untouchable in established media circles. But these magazines can't cover everything, and their objective may be to force us to throw out any babies with the bathwater. Psy-ops type stuff, you dig. One suspects that the first man targeted in the anthrax attacks, a photo editor for the tabloid, The Sun, was not just randomly selected. He is the only person targeted by those hate letters who actually died, as he was not protected by an elaborate system of letter-openers like congressmen are.

Now take the seemingly small-time story of Harvey Milk, resurrected from his murdered state by Mr. Sean Penn in an academy award-winning movie show. Milk and the San Francisco mayor’s murders are both rather apparently connected to the fallout from the Jonestown Massacre of 1977, the infamous White-Messiah-and-black-folks-and-Kool-Aid incident that went so horribly wrong and resulted in the deaths of over 900 people and over 250 children. Or was it 450 people? The government somehow erred so drastically in their initial death tally that one can’t be sure, as one can simply never be sure in horrible cases of messianic human wickedness and African-American mental frailty like these. But the point here is not simply that black folks are more apt to participate in mass suicide, presumably, if the poison is mixed with one of their favorite drinks, the point here is that nowhere in the movie show or in popular media sources will you find any connections made between San Francisco political heavyweight and vote-wrangler Jim Jones and the tragic and mostly unpunished murders of Milk and Moscone, or for that matter, between Jones and the CIA. Connections which are not hard to discover even with casual research. Connections that scream out, "shadow government," and, "destroy the television."

Yes, the more tenacious the investigator, the wilder and seemingly less credible the Truth to be discovered. This rule applies even more provocatively to stories and incidents of the high-level, influential sort, such as with Iran-Contra, or the various antagonisms that have led countries into war in the modern age: the cassus belli which, very often, objective history eventually looks back on and disproves as being counterfeit, and shady in the extreme. Remember the Alamo, and the Maine, and Pearl Harbor, and…well, forget about more recent events like the Gulf of Tonkin and those babies and the incubators In Iraq, and the stock-trading and military drills on 9-11, and those vanishing WMD’s. Just sit back and relax.

And so, what is there to debate, in all seriousness, if we are to take ourselves seriously and not just go on chirping and babbling? I propose we debate the Tragic Events, 9-11, the Great Occult Mega-Ritual of September, the Dying Harvest Season, 2001. There is a lot of purchase there for argument, a lot of meat.

Naturally the most appropriate thing anyone has said yet about the tragic events was spoken by Adolph Hitler or one of the chief dead Nazis subordinate to him, like Goebells or probably Hess, his weird intellectual champions and court metaphysicians. It is the famous, much-quoted statement about the size of the lie, and how the greater the size, the more believable the lie will be in the eyes of the public, or more descriptively, the masses. Consider that the Nazis were much more of a secret society than a political movement or party, and that secret societies are based on strict hierarchies and their essential devotion to exclusive knowledge, to rites of secrecy and important, doctrinal ideas veiled in allegory. They knew how the whole feverish conception of the master Aryan Race and its mythic resurgence after such hard, hard times as Germany had suffered, could be used like a great golden key to unlock the subconscious mind of the German people and prod its exposed softness into a perverted, docile submission and complicity. They assured the white folks of how splendid and preternaturally destined for greatness they were, while they leveled all blame for any of their suffering at the feet of the alien race among them, the eternal “scapegoat,” the “sacrifice.” They literally seduced the people when they were at their weakest. They put on the most marvelous show ever seen since the Romans, perhaps, with parades and cinema and great public displays of vigor, artistry and technological exuberance. They may have topped even us, and unquestionably they did so in this organizing of glorious state spectacles that hypnotized and brought the masses together---something we could never do simply because of our massive geography, but which we are improving upon with the advent of satellites and instant communications and strange new psychological and pharmaceutical operations. But there is something so much more strange and profound about what the Nazis were doing, as if they were suffering pangs of crazed spiritual pain and mania that went improperly diagnosed as simple sociopathology. None of the history I was taught even begins to get at their bizarre mystical beliefs, how essentially religious a movement the Nazis represented and possibly still do on some levels. For that matter, none of the history I was taught probes very deeply into the documented and irresistible fact that the Roman Church, Western and American Capital, and western power brokers of especially fascinating lineage all funded, enabled, or capitalized off of the Nazis, perhaps because they get to write the history books that you and i eventually do not learn from.

The Nazis were one giant, occult, multi-layered lie, yes, but that did not stop us from hiring so many of them and giving them very good lives in various laboratories doing the most important research and development on projects that most citizens would roundly disapprove of, right up until the present day. These men are no longer Nazis because they were always men of Reason, men of Science, and because they are paid in American dollars. The mad Nazi scientist who tested scalpels and diseases on live human subjects ceased being a Nazi the very moment we nuked Japan, twice.

So....Nazis infesting NASA, the freemasons cutely embedding flagrant archetypal plans and symbols in the layout of America’s capital city, the Pentagon being the obvious heart of a Pentagram, the highest stones in the occultic Washington monument being the formal Masonic stones, who entertains such bizarre notions, what sort of person accords them any time in his busy schedule? I have become sidetracked here…I was making a precise case for the events of Non-11 being the only political matter worth talking about, at least until that point when it is talked about quite enough for its desserts, and dealt with. Then maybe we can debate the illegitimate parentage of G. W. Bush, and the mysteries of the great American rocket scientist and devil worshipper Jack Parsons, and the weird role played by L. Ron Hubbard and Aleister Crowley in this great love rhapsody.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Making Sense of the Tragic Ritual Events

"We need to get some broad based support, to capture the public's imagination... So we have to offer up scary scenarios, make simplified, dramatic statements and make little mention of any doubts... Each of us has to decide what the right balance is between being effective and being honest." - Stephen Schneider, Stanford Professor of Climatology, lead author of many IPCC reports, and member of the public opinion-manufacturing class.

I remember when I first realized the transformative power of magical mass murder. With high definition clarity I still recall the day I, personally, was forced to accept the ancient historic dictum which states that mass-scale, violent death will unite a people. Butchery forges unity, goes the implacable logic. Indeed, since then I have never been allowed to forget this maxim of the ages, not even for a single day. The murder, and the "Change," was that massive.

The year was 2001 and it was morning and I was sleeping in bed alone and it was not my time to be mass-murdered, thankfully. But this was not because I had never crossed or offended a radical Muslim. Rather, my security was intact only because I did not work at the headquarters of the most powerful military force known to history. And my security was further assured because I didn't live in the heart of world finance capital, at the nerve center of modern civilization. I did not wash dishes or prepare food or spreadsheets for the barons of MorganStanleySmithBarneyDeanWitter at the World Trade Center complex, and so I was not confined inside the towering infernos like the guts of Wicker men, to await televised doom while my superiors notified everyone that all was safe and to remain at our posts, strangely enough, even though one of the twin towers had just been dive-bombed, and the property had been subject to near-apocalyptic terror attacks within the past decade...also, despite the political leadership of the city having been forewarned of a distinct chance of terrorism during that month, as were the officials in all major American cities, as hindsight, leaks, and the remnants of American investigative journalism have all revealed to us now. Yes I was especially fortunate not to make my living at what would soon colorfully and with no respect for numberless Japanese be called "Ground Zero."

But the grotesque public bloodshed of that morning was a mortal shock to my system and my world-view, anyway. To this day, I have not recovered from the distress; the implications of that evil event weigh heavily on me even as I view the succession of fascinating reality shows, political assassinations, ridiculous unsolved bio-weapons attacks, various flu epidemics, bizarrely smooth martial law exercises coincident to massively mishandled natural disasters, cutely contrived 2012 manias, and neatly engineered financial death spasms that have rolled out since then. You may talk in unworthy, crippling platitudes all you please about how the world changed on September 11, and argue as to the nature of that change, but there is no doubt that humanity passed through some kind of final, irreversible crucible that morning. A great existential doorway whose significance I can barely approach describing was entered, and then shut with a grim, absolute clique behind us, but we were only dimly aware of it all, dazed as we were by our fine television educations and the brilliant fireworks display of the mass midtown execution. But we still knew something big had happened, even beyond the simple materialist plane and we would have felt it even if we had not been instructed relentlessly to feel something along those lines by the official experts, with their graphic bombpoints about “deep-seated rage,” “blow-back,” “asymmetrical jihadi threats,” and "The Clash of Civilizations," etc.

Until that Tuesday, the world was, allegedly, based on a certain vast but still predictable model of Power relations and What one could expect on a sunny Tuesday morning while you were at work. Over the span of two hours, that model collapsed in a series of explosions that will shock, awe, and terrorize us until death or we receive microchips that may allow us to forget. Before lunchtime, thousands of essentially innocent human lives were burned out and the once sturdy foundations of civilization trembled over and over, every time the crazy and improbable collapses aired on world TV. Thousands of lives were immolated, burnt as public offerings to an old and treasured god of Fatness and Internal Peace. The one visceral reaction I immediately felt and have never forgotten was the terrifying certainty that my country, quite naturally and fitting its native belligerence and egoism, was going to nuke somebody. We had always needed precious little provocation to enter long, costly, murderous conflicts throughout our democratic history. So this arrogant, unlawful deed was surely going to merit swift nuclear reprisal: a basic matter of the disproportionate use of American hegemonic force. I know History has striven to prove that when the Slave snaps and strikes Master, the Master responds with a lengthy, methodical aneurysm of rage and chops the slave in two, and rapes both the slave's daughter and young grandmother, and drags the slave's pieces all over the plantation, and then nukes Africa.

And we speak of an act of unimaginable cruelty and cowardice against the slave-master, yes, but also against civilians, after all. The putative jihadi aeronauts were in flagrant violation of the unspoken international gentleman’s agreement with regard to violence being appropriated only by the State, particularly wanton violence against civilians. I was very well-trained, I now realize, to have made a simple math calculation of the inevitability of nuclear revenge, just as many others may have done. We were being logical, in accordance with the Old Testament righteousness of our national defense philosophy as long instructed to us through action movies and history courses. But no nukes came or went. And though we opted not for Armageddon but instead for a distracted, clinical, never-ending war of occupation in certain Arab/Pashtun lands of petrochemical and opiate value, the drastic global (even moral and spiritual) importance of the day was permanently seared into our hides. We accepted the government's dictate that we were now involved in an endless war, if only because they made it quite clear that the Statue of Liberty had been Raped and Sodomized. Atta and his numerologically sound gang of 19 had left her gibbering, with a punctured uterus.

We were given vague descriptions of our epic new military purpose, but detailed, hourly accounts of the Rape.

As we watched that morning, and practically daily over the next few years, the continuous video display of iconic civilization collapsing and being back-stabbed by religious savages who had hijacked the very symbols of modern human progress and cunning and turned them against us---those black, misogynistic, Buddha-blasting Mohameddans---something was burned out of us and something was burned in. We were being held down and branded. And the burn was felt all over the world because mass murder, gloriously televised/repeated mass murder, especially, is a human thing.

Observe that, like lighting through a box of brand new matches, like a laser through unsightly belly fat, the fever of patriotism began to burn its way into our scared, scrofulous American minds. Throughout my life, the myopic reptile region of the public brain where the nationalist/patriot sentiment breeds, had seemed dormant. It slept and shrank in size in the wake of the Kennedy assassinations and Vietnam and the general dismemberment of the 1960s. It continued to doze fitlessly through the 80's and 90's, sated on cocaine and technology and cheap manufactured goods. But following 9-11 the reptile stirred. The whole country mourned hysterically at the feet of the Statue of Liberty. The Big Stone Hermaphrodite of World Freemasonry cast her torch’s light over the whole of the human race in the race’s outrage and sadness. “Will these Islam-o-fascists never slake their thirst for the blood of free peoples?” she cried out to the Atlantic. We mourned for the murdered innocents of the global finance sector---not just Americans were extinguished in the steel wicker men of Manhattan, very importantly, it was the World Trade Center burned down---and we prayed to the flag of these United States as we had not done since the yellow horde stole into Pearl Harbor and mercilessly bombed our garrison troops. We slobbered furiously in our pews, and from our tears sprang brand-new UAV and crowd-control technologies, and whole new Offices within the NSA, whole new Czar-level cabinets and divisions of security to gap the enormous holes through which the fanatics had flown their jets of tremendous, unforeseen terror. In the fury of our prayers it is an historic fact that we failed to notice the face-slapping peculiarity of these newer, ever less ruly terror attacks, and the peculiar likeness they bore to Pearl Harbor. How could our predominant, vaunted military have been caught so disastrously with its pants at its ankles? The Towers, yes, maybe, but the Pentagon?

This would have been the most sensible question for any sensate people to ask, but there were more pressing concerns to deal with, such as grief, and the delectable justice of killing the unshaved foreign zealots who could only have been to blame for such a hideous crime that no white man of this age or any other could ever stoop even to imagining it inside a think tank, or in a Presidential Daily Brief, or in a spy novel by Tom Clancy, or in an unpromising pilot episode for an X-Files spin-off television series to air six months before the act itself, called "The Lone Gunmen."

It would have been a very, very sensible question to ask, yes, but our household God, Television, urged us instead to focus on the image of those dying towers. To watch those wage earners plunging to a brutal, quick death on the pavement to avoid a slow, agonizing, real-time one in the flames, where they perceived they were on display high above the world as the world watched and didn’t do shit to save them save train cameras on them, just as we keep filming as we murder the endless thousands in the name of these past mass-murdered of ours, and do nothing beyond casting a hollow vote for a smirking, too-cultivated half-bred charlatan who chants “Change.” Television then urged us with its best New York Times-solemnity to listen to the Pentagon, which somehow could not protect itself from incompetent, box-cutting maniacs aboard a slowly advancing commercial airliner even after NYC had been attacked in such a manner an entire hour earlier---yes TV urged everyone to listen to this same Pentagon as it explained to us what had happened, and how it was going to avenge and protect us by attacking Afghanistan. (All opinion-makers would like for you to avoid the history of this country, Afghanistan, and what the Pentacle had done to foment discord and the “terrorist mentality” there. One can’t very well predict every single consequence of playing at the Grand Chessboard, they would have you believe. Vengeance trumps a nuanced, responsible assessment of history every time, and there will always be a future crisis to disguise a past misdeed, in our current system.)

So, rather than ask the questions any sensible, vigilant race of science-and-justice-minded monkeys would ask, we girded the Big Arsonist Bitch in the Harbor for war, any war of the defense department’s offering.

“My word, Doris. My word, those skyscrapers just collapsed in on themselves. It appears to be some kind of satanic miracle. These jihadis must be directly in league with the devil or else those buildings were wired with explosives. That or brought down by directed energy weapons but even our own military says it doesn’t have those yet, still in development, and we all know terrorists can’t steal our undeveloped directed energy weapons because that is a logical impossibility. And Doris, what am I to make of the attack on the Pentagon? The only forces known to Man that can enter that holy security airspace without an active, friendly transponder signal are a U.S. Military plane, (in which case it would be “unfriendly” or guided by a very forgetful pilot) or God or the Devil themselves. Even a completely ignorant and silly person could tell you that on a normal day any other kind of aircraft seriously risks being shot down by automatic missile barrages, let alone in the context of that morning’s events. We can satisfy ourselves that God did not perpetrate these crimes against the Pentagon. And we can rest utterly assured that no American would ever control-demolish expensive office buildings while thousands of other Americans were still toiling away inside them, even if there was an astronomical insurance policy payoff to consider. This leaves only Satan as our culprit, and he does seem to have taken numerological care to provide the best possible auspices for his plan by striking places with diabolical geometry, such as the Pentagon, which is the interior of a Pentagram, as we all know, and the "twin towers," so clearly evocative of the Tarot, and of those devilish freemasons' beloved twin towers of Jachim and Boaz. Plainly, Doris, this is the work of Lucifer and his numerology fixation and we must therefore attack Afghanistan.”

"..Why, Douglass, you're absolutely right."

Well, now, since the profoundly tragic events I have asked a number of such questions of my own inner Doris, my own heedless and complacent, worse half. I reached different conclusions than those above, but this is only because I am just a humble soul who values the truth. Since those first few shell-shocked months I have done copious research, writing, and thinking on the subject of 9-11, or, as I am forced to call it, “Non-11.” For me, it is just an elaborate and deeply unfortunate hoax, the first ultra-symbolic step in the unabating hoax we have experienced since then. I now consider the attacks to have been much closer to a religious ritual than solely a calculated act of political violence, which conventional theory only holds water when it is established that an authentic "Jihadi terror cell" attacked America, which is exactly as preposterous and unproven as to say that Skeletor or the Decepticons committed the September 11 atrocities. As Horrible as they were, the crimes are just as Fascinating---for all their veiled and half-apparent meanings and effects. Even if it is essentially true, it is not even responsible, in the final analysis, to say that Non-11 was purely an act of political violence that was hatched from within our intelligence network, because in the High Ritual, alchemical, occultic sense, it was far more than just political violence---but we cannot get into that right here because the meta-reality of Non-11-as-Ritual requires its own lengthy diatribe, or sermon, or essay, if you will, with proper esoteric documentation. Let it suffice for now that when I say "religious ritual," I am being entirely literal, and that it was a ceremony which necessarily involved human sacrifice.

The Tragic Events serve as a primer course in global para-politics, or “deep politics": the politics of the arcane, the Hidden, them subterranean Powers That Be. My own inquiries and resulting explanations kept tending towards the notion and reality of “secret government,” for which there is far more objective proof and academic literature than the name of the phenomenon suggests. "Doris" found it somewhat hard to believe at first. But we know that "Doris" is that side of ourselves who, in order to form a view of the world, watches one corporate version of television news as opposed to reading about “news” in a number of different journals. Doris is a person that appreciates dramatic statements that make little mention of doubts. Doris is emotional rather than critical; obedient to and trustful of authority, rather than willfully, intellectually independent and trusting mostly in the authority of personal logic and reason. Doris is selfish and lazy and takes the easy way out, a big part of which is surrendering one’s critical faculties to the eminent wisdom of government, media, and other forms of patriarchy and established order. Doing things Doris’ way results in a nearly constant siding with the views of the political ruling class, because it is either one way or the other in all matters political in America, and as the American media dutifully portrays it to you: it is either conservative or liberal, but only insofar as the gospel definitions are given to you. You can go either in a strictly defined left or right motion, but never forward or your own way, even if your way avoids all the ritual mass murders, and all the shit, villainy and lying. And your Doris may be named Derek, and that is fine.

But what side of the dialectic do you suppose is occupied by the men who attend these rituals photographed in these pictures? Do you suppose they are either Republican or Democrat? Both? Irrelevant? Do you imagine they have a chuckle over our slippery, infantile grasp of the dialectic?

And so it is with Doris' and Derek's ready-made American way, with respect to the events of Non-11: Doris is served up two rigid analyses of the terror attacks that are only superficially at variance, (both take as self-evident, a priori assumptions the guilt of rag-tag Islamic terrorist posses) and all the while there appears to be a much more coherent, logical, but deeply troubling analysis that is neither right nor left, but squarely in the gray middle. What has been pawned off on us as two essentially adult views of the events are no more than farcical and top-down-managed reactions. You have either the democratic, liberal view, which holds that we were the victims of our own just desserts on September 11, that is, the victims of “blowback” from our CIA’s unjust and cynical dealings in the middle east throughout the cold war era, (See: historical ideas avoided above, such as burping and suckling the incipient terrorist mastermind Osama Bin Laden, nee Tim Osmond); and then on the "other side" you have the raw-nerved, conservative, Republican view of the tragic events, which holds that these same vicious, irremediable Muslim blood-drinkers resent our privilege and our secular world system, and will not stop blowing themselves and everyone else up until they have the globe under an Islamic Caliphate, and put every Jew to the scimitar, stockpiling virgins all along the way, as is their well-known habit.

But both views---repetitively and formally encoded by a co-opted media once relied upon to question official positions and not merely reiterate them---both morally divergent views arrive at a suspiciously uniform moral, or immoral, conclusion: we must and will bomb the terrorists back to the Stone Age, starting in the fallow opium fields of Taliban-held Afghanistan. So really, both allegedly antagonistic sides of the American political spectrum are in 100% agreement on 9-11. Both sides first dispensed with any pretense at mounting a legally-based effort against whomever was responsible for the non-state, arbitrary mass murders, and both sides then rapidly assented to allowing Bin Laden to “escape into the tribal regions of Pakistan” (this in spite of the British forces already on hand in theatre, but told they could not begin the hunt until American forces got there, allowing the great Jihadi Weasel time to escape and publicly outraging British forces). Following these bizarre protocols, both Republicans and Democrats agreed to begin reseeding the soil of Afghanistan with the astronomically profitable poppy plant---or at least, their thorough dereliction of security responsibilities in that wrecked, poor country led conveniently to the revival of these, the world's most once-productive opium fields.

With respect to such crucial issues as 9-11 and the appropriate national response, such a condition as we have now of systemic, doubt-free Official Agreement above, contrasted against a widespread and known disagreement and distrust among the public below, presents a potentially scary scenario. It seems to me that there is a larger existential wicker man containing us all in America and beyond, and that many of us have been tricked into collecting the fuel for our own pyres.