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.
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