You ask them something,
you get a subtle broadside of snidery,
a tone between
annoyance and haughtiness,
with a lazy stop at contempt
for the stupidity and
poor technological savvy inherent
in your question,
or in any question at all.
You will die of starvation,
like one of the ancien regime in an oubliette,
waiting for them to say
"please" or any other of
the weak-minded civilities
which were cherished by
our formerly social species,
once comfortable in its skin and its sense
of communal decency.
They're as jackals who will
eat until they die from engorgement,
rather than suffer another cur a scrap.
It seems their whole lives
lay grim and terrifying before them,
as a succession of
stampeding black fridays:
Life is now bloodsport.
In their hearts they are fierce freemasons
and dangerous gangsters,
and not unproud of it.
They learn very well
from their elders, as any
new wave of youngsters do:
Highly competitive they are,
but so easily distracted that
no contest with them
is ever fair or desirable.
Civility and manners
either frighten them in their anxiety,
or are seen as a network of booby traps
to avoid if one wishes to be known
as the most important thing,
for which we lack a precise term,
apart from that precious
amerikan brick of a word, "cool."
It seems that
opening or holding
a door for someone they
do not wish to have sex with
is to them a saintly act,
a victory over evil or the animal-headed
ancient alien theory gods
whose mythology they are nursed with now,
and so they stand there,
jackal faces declined,
frantic with the delayed need to swab
and fondle their phones,
trophy of themselves to be awarded,
for supererogatory altruism.
Cool is so crucial that Sorority bitches don't even
look different from regular women anymore.
There is a mass merging
towards a marketable and
sexy bacchanalian middle.
They hear little
but the narcissist claptrap
of their own nihilist thoughts,
because their ears are stuffed with
and shady music
of the kind we refuse to describe here
the rubbish spine
digitized, dirge-like open satanism jutting from its smelly ass.
An awful croaking in the mud
is their dead music.
...Ideas echo pointlessly
in the cavern of their ego-powered minds,
because they learn to value nothing
but what is practical and most modern.
They have heard of
a thing called Nein-eleven
but the numeral set implies
math or troubling
cerebral work, so
they believe they flee from the figure,
but eat it calmly
for all six meals of the day,
You have never seen such
excruciatingly self-conscious bodies.
Thews upon thews
rippling, asses thick
and fecund with BGH and
The body-type index
has ballooned at both extremes:
quite a few now are as fat as
the King's prized cattle,
while many others worship themselves at the gym
and dispense the luxurious pleasure
of their hard bodies to
all, from their elastic clothing
and muscle shirts.
You have never heard such
confident but insecure talk:
Brainless, laced with invective, filthy
words, and the latest
degenerate copycat slang
which each financial quarter
sounds more like violent
from an under-served junior high.
"Savage" this and "killing" and "smashing" that.
Measurably worse than
they're drugged on pheromones
and hale youthful vanity.
Half are numbed or excited on behavioral meds.
They cannot read poems.
Poems do not make sense and are silly.
The reading of such dead forms,
they suspect, may cost
them money in the long term.
Instead, their minds are infested with
and notions that are
valued only for their currency and sharpness.
They are sybarites and aesthetes,
but not the good kinds.
is an embarrassment and a pain to the world.
Their art is Culture
and their culture is popular,
and it is slop.
It's formed of self-adoring capitalism's
bloody sloppy seconds.
This explains late rap music and Tindr and
certain kinds of EDM festivals,
and the oceans of ink
covering their flesh.
Perhaps they perform
so diffidently and
awkwardly while standing in the many lines and
queues of civilization because
they are aware that modern life
is one big shuffling coil
towards an absurd end,
any longer a comment on this absurdity.
Where is the profit in reflection.
Stampedes and rock slides don't reflect.
We have done a right fine
job squeezing these
attack lemmings into
the sausage-skin leg-wear
that both male and female
slouch and prance about in.
We shoe-horned them into their shallow and
by our neglect for our own
souls and for the soil of
fertile human belonging:
which we called Society..
nothing grows here but cancer and
the sick infant of hope
some tough to imagine future where
all this madness, deceit, and cruelty
is cleaned away.
Everything may not be ok.
we don't choose
our bodies or our minds,
but we choose what to do with them,
Thursday, March 10, 2016
Just a bit more Scribbling on the Philosophical Substance and Origins of the term “Conspiracy Theory.”
I'll state here for the record an axiomatic truth of the modern era, if not the ages: "Conspiracy Theory," as the broad intellectual discipline or area of inquiry has blandly been dubbed by the CIA and the National Security State, is the only fucking game in town. If you draw a distinction of any seriousness between what we call "politics" and this above-termed intellectual discipline, (some of my chums and I cut its clunkiness down to "C.T." but it doesn't please me much more) then you've missed the point and the boat and are drastically behind the curve. Because there's just no solid evidence that conspiracies, as such, should be separated, or Can be separated from the grim business of human politics, governance, etc. Because piracy and cons-piracies get the job done, see? Ask Abraham Lincoln. And if he replies, ask him a more trenchant question, like what do you think of your Secretary of War, really? And how do you feel about the Jesuits, or about central banking? Ask him if he is disappointed in his bodyguard, who was assigned to protect the only entrance to the president’s theater booth, and yet somehow took a break from his post at the most inauspicious time.
One of the greatest tricks the devil ever played, of course, was convincing us that he isn't "real."
One of the greatest devices ever fashioned by the cognitive and social engineering wizards of our society---and they put great stock in linguistics, language, and symbols, be assured---is the term "conspiracy theory." This is because it neuters critical thought; it defuses and neuters rational, proportional, objective thought. And it tries to smother political dissent in the cradle. We've been methodically trained to believe that the world is for the most part a mass of events that are on the up and up. (The “lone nut gunman,” who eliminates major political actors, and nowadays masses of innocents, being the only definable, permissible aberration, and one rapidly becoming the status quo and thus an oxymoron, curiously. Check your newsfeed, there’s another lonely gunman.) The Digital Age has taught those who are trying to pay attention that Nothing could be further from the truth. Clandestine acts seem to almost always be more effective than above-board ones.
There is no legitimate philosophical reason why the term "conspiracy theory" has the relevance and traction that it does in our time, outside of the prominent fact that political conspiracies themselves do truly exist in abundance. It's of absolutely no consequence what type of conspiracy we are talking about, or, as is most often the case in this land and time, Not talking about. No centralized committee or unelected agency has any right to manufacture and proliferate a phrase that demonizes focused, calculated, sober analysis of things; of collective human events. This reductionist and mind-numbing phrase in question shares a kind of genetic illegitimacy with the term "anti-semite." Most often when either of these terms are used in modern politics, the party using the terminology is not acting in good philosophical faith. They are making baseless character attacks. They are saying they are uncomfortable with another party's arguments. They are burrowing down past reason and careful, moderated thought and trying to poison the soil and the root of the so-called discussion. It's total war with this ridiculous term, it is a salting of the earth so that nothing can be done to solve matters or grow anything of value. And maybe the most crucial thing to understand about the fallacy, the mindless tautology that is this phrase, is that it simply would never have been able to exist and breed as well as it has, if it was not nurtured and coddled by the field of journalism, held to be so integrally important to what we are said to be inhabiting: a democratic society. Here is where we once again proclaim, Fuck Journalists and the devils that infest them.
Next in line for the hotly deserved fucking, and nearly as important in its role of solidifying the political importance of this noxious phrase, is Academia and its first-born, fat and arrogant homunculus-child, History: As It is Taught. The main reason why i am devoted to alternative politics, or para-politics, as i prefer to call this limitless area of intellectual inquiry into sociology, history, philosophy, and generic "politics," is because i am preoccupied with and quite interested in Objective Truth and justice. No puny term that appeared like overnight magic in the journals and newspapers and television news broadcasts, and also just like one mass, academic, national belching after meals of Kennedy flesh in the late 1960's, can ever cause me to change my thinking, or my natural interest in pursuing a knowledge of the reality of things, as they are. We know people by their words as well as their deeds. Those who sneer and pooh-pooh and make use of this gibberish phrase that was designed explicitly to dumb us down, have done what their masters have decided they should do. It resembles the reflex of a scared, caged animal, the way they plop right down in a mud puddle and are seemingly pleased to believe they’re having a healthy, responsible bath. It knows through coercion and culture and cruelty, no better. They've shamed themselves and shirked their natural human responsibility to try to think clearly and use that huge, noble brain.
You can wisely, safely discount the things these types of people say when they are pretending to argue with you in good faith, if they even pretend, at all. Throw them and their insincere conflations and sour looks directly out the window. For years it's been my sad opinion that the only good thing resulting from Nein-11 is that it flushed out into the undeniable open the people who are asleep at the wheel. Those who don’t wish to be troubled by logic, physics, probability, causation, and quite honestly, the thing we call “morality.” It exposed those among us who cannot think for themselves, or are just too timid and comfortable with the way things are. The way things are is morally objectionable to all moral beings. Neuro-linguistics be damned. State-mandated and -controlled education and their anti-intellectual trickery be triply damned.
The god-damned phrase doesn’t even make sense; it has no valid, intrinsic merit or meaning. You can have a “conspiracy,” and you can have a “theory,” but marrying the two in the tedious and obsessive way that our society has is a forced hybridization. If you have questions about making pancakes you are not derisively called a “pancake theorist.” God forbid if you make empirically supported observations on how pancakes can't be made by smashing human babies together into a paste and frying them in virgin goat-lard. America coined this poisonous, brainless phrase simply because it is the land at the tip of an evil spear: it is verily the land of conspiracies. Yea, you shall smell hogwash and deception all over this awkward verbal two-step, and go forth and denounce it. In the picture atop this note, you shall also just make out a look of worry in the furrowed brow of TX governor John Connally, who is officially recorded as having at first declined to sit in the limo that day.
And here is a riddle for you, and you may again refer to the image Fixed above, of the King of the Sun and His Bride of Earthly Beauty in their final parading moments in Dallas, TX, on the plaza where the first Masonic Temple in that city once stood:
“What is clad in black, and Always looks back, and to both sides, and forward, and as a rule clutches handles on carriages of State, but is Late, late, late...if not simply Absent?”