"there was nothing there!"

it's reasonable to assume
that a reptilian
Fear of the State
welling up from the timid
reptile region of me
is what caused
the tears to spill over my
wine and salt-fattened cheeks
that day some years ago,
when the nice policeman circled back
and accosted me for
walking in the open air
with an open bottle,
and not, as he said, the decency
to disguise it.

But when he was done administering
his version
of Justice-by-tedious, drawling, solipsistic lecture,
and i was then obliged to offer
my minute's minuet of being
cowed and eager to explain myself, officer,
what should happen
but a big greasy plump tear
of sick-souled heart-burn
spilled greedily down my right face.
he got the unstately raw version.
I clutched that bottle
like an I.V.
and told him why i looked
like i did,
and then he was the one
who felt cowed,
and sorry for his crimes, and drove off with his
officer's mind all heavy
with some permanently open 
and weeping love wound
from his past,
it's reasonable to assume.

Haiku Renga Smut

The following is a joint effort. A few years back, I wrote this linked haiku with a woman I had never met in the real world. She was asian-american and a bit of a barracuda and she lived in Atlanta. She wrote the first haiku "stanza," i wrote the next one, and so on.

It''s over he says
the now-ing and never-ing
hey get the fuck out

love so soon, is it?
tsk, sweet playful cockroach mine
i’ll turn the lights on

men have great pussies
about which they do not know
girls eat them with spoons

eagerly I search
my loins for spoonfuls of pussy,
ignoring hard-ons

this one is too good
so finish it with a sigh
you must lick the spoon





The following is a song written to the melody of
"The Music Goes Round and Round," especially the lovely version by Louis Prima, which can be heard by watching this video. We have re-titled the song and re-imagined its lyrics for the sole purpose of reflecting the sexual moods of contemporary society.

Bitch let’s fall in love!

I know you’ve been looking at me/
Over ur man’s shoulder.
…What do you think?
Oh-ho-ho!
Refrain: Bitch/ let’s fall in love!!

I see you like me,
And carry on oh-so-cool,
…Would you like a drink?
Whoa-ho-ho,
Refrain: Bitch, let’s fall in love!

I don’t lift weights,
And you know I don’t have no car
But I fuck well, so well, so well
Refrain: Bitch can’t we fall in love??

You’re extremely loud,
Like a big, banged empty pot
But you’re fine as hell
Whoa-ho-ho-ho-ho!!
Bitch, let’s fall in love!!

There’s lots of babbling here,
And many small starving minds
Can’t we leave this place?
Ho-ho-ho-hohoho!
Bitch, let’s fall in love!!

Forget my odd sarcasm
And I’ll ignore your charms
‘Cause you like my face,
Whoa-hoho-hohoho-hohoho

Bitch, let’s fall in lo-ove.
(increasingly quiet..)
Bitch let’s fall in love,
(quieter still…)
Darling let’s…

Stain the couch!!

(this last line to be sung at loud, angry-traffic level, with a triumphant leap into the air, betraying no self-consciousness while gyrating the hips in the fashion of african-american toddlers sometimes featured in the rap videos, dancing in the street)

Sex, Drugs and Rocking with Your Rifle Out: Female Viagra and Lady Army Rangers.

I enjoy thinking about human sexuality for various reasons. For one, our cousin monkeys are somewhat less interesting, in their reproductive traditions and ways. For another, we obviously are a species of primate that has thrived atop the food chain for so long, and so our system and culture of reproduction are bound to be both interesting and a model for extraordinary success. It is going to be relevant to all aspects of our behavior. Then there is the additional phenomenon of sexuality being used by cultural pornographers in corporate advertising and popular entertainment. I cannot go to the credit union or the public house without seeing some over-sized juicy ass, or slender strumpet too poor to wear clothes, selling some kind of cotton ball or automobile or cheeseburger sandwich, or without being Way-laid by some image of the hideous reproduction of The Madonna, Gaga, or Rihanna Figure with their esoteric, high-art/low-brow Temple Prostitution.

Things are changing rapidly and they deserve our attention. Not to be reactionary or naive, but John Coltrane did not have to have gyrating pole dancers on stage with him. Frank Sinatra never simulated orgies and even more bizarre escapades like sex majik ritual murder in his musical videos. No pop star in the exuberant, coltish sixties, even, ever had to fornicate with the lover they then murdered by burning in a bed beneath a Baphomet head, in such a video. (See: Lady Gaga)

In general, human sexuality and human sexual customs rear their horned heads as a form of social engineering, too...and in this way we make a turn into metaphysics, religion and proto-religions, secret societies and all these other more arcane and occulted influences on the human condition. This is where trans-humanism and the Alchemical Ideal of the Hermaphroditic Union of Opposites (such as the Sexes) comes in; and also where we can detect a certain deeper significance to the rise of national gay and LGBT politics, and to quite apparently shoehorned reference to homosexuality in different cultural products and diversions/entertainments. Possibly there is even a statistical increase in the number of gay people, relative to the general heterosexual population, and that of course is interesting. It may be only narrow and anecdotal, this belief of mine that the numbers of gay folk are increasing, but I'm an observant, considerate citizen and i read much about society, at large (and, apropos of my liberal and metaphysical credentials, I've long had a suspicion that capitalizing the "i" in English is a mnemonic or subconscious ploy to reinforce patriarchy and the primacy of the phallic self, or the self in general, which I consider a philosophy kind of synonymous With patriarchy and the Judeao-Christian-Kabalist value system. Indeed, the lower case "i" itself resembles a phallus. Apologies for indulging in that quite relevant tangent.) It's not too uncommon for people to speculate that there is an environmental, chemical aspect of the rise in those numbers, and thus, because we are free intellects here and we wish to Go There at most opportunities, we can be permitted to wonder, then, at the possibility of a Planned Shift In Gender Realities. Since chemical shifts can be consciously and politically Introduced into human populations, you see. You may have heard of the Pentagon's "Gay Bomb." I will ask that if you're still reading, for the rest of this brief communication between us, you kindly dispense with any silly idea that i am what is called a "homophobe," or have anything whatsoever against gay people and their customs and feelings.

So, keeping all of this in mind, it's of great interest to me that two developments have developed right within the same short period in our political and scientific/medical experience as Americans, shining tip of the human existential spear of destiny that we are.

The first development is the move to the market and FDA-approving of so-called "female viagra." It's called, for some slightly confusing reason, "Addyi." They were apparently not afraid of any verbal connotations of the crazy speed drug for behavioral modification known as "Addy," or Adderall, which all the kids and college students seem to be on at all times. That's curious in itself, and perhaps intentional, knowing the insidious cleverness of advertisers wherever they nest within a given corporation... They are like black magicians carrying around scyring stones wrapped in Psychology degrees. **

The other development is the rise of the discussion of Female Combat Readiness to the level of near-resolution, insofar as the fact that women have now reportedly passed Army Ranger Training, something trumpeted proud and loudly by the government, military, and news media. Israel is doing it, maybe some other, lesser, countries are doing it, and America the Spear Carrier of the Will to Power and War for the Spirit and over-soul of the human race, is now poised to do it, too. Breathe..

Now obviously both of these cultural shifts involving " Addyi" and The "Army..." are being framed in as fatuous and disappointing a way as possible, per american intellectual custom and the dictates of corporate gods and all they purvey. That is my own salty opinion, but of course I am an anti-war leftist and one who has adopted the conspiracist View of history and contemporary human society. The general tone and over-arching signifying language attending these shifts deals in the notion that "Women Deserve a Chance to Realize Their full Potential, Just as Men Have Enjoyed Such Freedoms." Freedoms, in this case, to fuck at will and to murder by arbitrary and remunerated contractual decree. I've read quite a lot of the news coverage of the approval of Female Viagra, and naturally much of it is simply incestuous, unethical advertising, whereby the Pharma corporation (whose name we needn't use) uses its cross-pollinated sisters and shell partners in, say, The New York Post or the hydra-like 3-letter television news agencies, to run stories that amount to fluff congratulations and a hailing of the arrival of a drug that is sure to chase the sexual blues of prematurely shriveled wives right away, as that condition is such a notorious and depressing evil to humanity. It's a kind of Brave New World sexual revolution in a pill, and there are some intonations that are especially wholesome, suggesting that at least female viagra was not rushed to market like male sexual enhancements, which "could actually" kill the user. (We have now used our obligatory Huxley reference.) There is allegedly no danger of heart attack and stroke and seeing everything in Blue, from taking Addyi.

We don't have to wax moral-philosophical in any way at all, on the subject of how combat readiness for women is being framed or meta-referenced in the realm of news reporting or the so-called "national discussion." We are all simply fucked raw and savagely in this development, and not in a good way at that. Let us be plain about it. Our disgusting wars will not be questioned in this great big national talk, and indeed their usefulness or morality will now be even Less Questioned, since the business of State Killing has just been glorified by the inclusion of women, the softer and more empathetic and life-giving sex, among the trigger-pulling mercenary ranks. The golden goal posts have been moved, the critical moral questions have been with hubris spastically leapt over, as if by a brief but meaningful muscular contraction in the night. Capital and Power do what they want, as ever, and it just takes them some extra frog-boiling time to more purely enshrine their ruthlessness. Female intelligence agents have always been authorized to murder and poison as necessary, as an example, and Queens start and maintain wars of acquisition and profit quite often. There are some properly sadistic female police chiefs and minor jackboots all over the place, now. The state can jabber and imprecate to us in its twilight language as much as they please, and few are ever the wiser. They're just becoming more prolific at selling us our own poison, and marketing it as Medicine. I suggest that nothing has changed in this particular act of political theater with The Lady Army Rangers, except for the nationally ready and digestible Symbolism of the matter. And of course, that means something has changed, if you follow me. Oh, coitus, I allowed myself to wax, anyway.

(And I'm sure other people are remarking in a waxy-faced, scholarly and self-congratulatory, in a typically hedonistic and amoral, Darwinian western way, about the coincidence of these two mammoth shifts in cultural attitudes and political philosophy, for that is what "women in the combat-ready military" amounts to: a marked shift in political philosophies. In short, Female erection pills and super-warriors are both proof of the primacy and fitness of the Western model of civilization.)

I suggest that some of this is pure political and alchemical theater. What makes me think that the Addyi phenomenon is at the root both metaphysical planning and predictable greedy capitalist rubbish, is the sheer empty dunder-headedness of what passes as the discrete "scientific" discussion and explanation of the Actual Bio-chemical and physiological effects of this new drug, which will now Spawn many copycats and competitors once patents relax, etc. We are advised and reassured that the woman who takes the pink pill is Not experiencing any kind of abject, physical change in her body, so that the Physical desire a woman may and does have for sex does not enter the question. This saves the schizoid and patriarchal control mentality of mankind at large from the burden of admitting that their women enjoy sex and in so doing must perhaps or necessarily regard him (or let us say, his Institutional/Matrimonial Being) as incrementally more useless and expendable, and less entitled to his persistent and annoying erections and their failings, less deserving of phallic honorifics. A lot of that tack or approach to poorly, almost mystically describing the actual effects of Addyi seems simply to boil down to the psychology of male sexual desire and how it is woven into cultural norms and preconditioning. That's my opinion and it's a pretty intelligible, standard, and probably well-supported one. I was frankly hoping to put to rest and ease some amount of the endless, almost magical deliberations about the mystical female sexual psychology, by having this new drug admit its efficacy in terms of a simple reallocation of blood fuel. Such as occurs within the sad, mechanical male sexual entity and apparatus. Woe is predictable Us, and how easily our chemistry and Point of Existence are targeted by chemists.

"This new pill does Not, we repeat, it does not increase blood flow to the female genitals, and it will not, we repeat emphatically, it will Not make a woman get all horny and wish to jump just any man's rickety bones," I can almost hear in the undertones of the soothing and vaguely liberated female narrator's voice. As much sound science or spiritual wisdom as there may be in the presumed and even archetypal notion that for women, sex (and its possible difficulties) is almost always about "brain chemistry" and tortured emotions, I do sincerely smell something sort of artificial in all of this talk of "increasing dopamine and norepinephrine levels," which "Takes sex to a whole new level" for such women as are interviewed in NY Post articles, who no longer feel sexual desire for their husbands after four, ahem, four years. (There's no pill to immunize wives against the shittiness and ugliness of their husbands, alas, or to erase foolish romantic mistakes stemming from passionate naivete and Marriage Romanticization.) Now, If you think I am criticizing "fickle female sexual behaviors" here you have blindly missed the point I am making about turbid internal contradictions which I feel I am seeing here in the institutional rush to develop and justify spanish flies that are FDA-approved. What I am saying is that there appears to be a persistent strain or reinforcement of the old shibboleth of patriarchy, that women don't really experience sexual desire on a physical level nearly as much as men do, if at all. Because that's a dangerous notion and will destabilize society, you dig, and society is running along very admirably and fairly at this time.

There is also another dark strain we may be leading to: some kind of reprogramming pill for women, or any recalcitrant sub-sector of human society, for that matter.

There's much more to say on these subjects but I'm not writing a book here. What I think we're seeing is a contrived if not forced union of the sexes, through both the feminization of men and the masculinization of women-folk. You can indulge in the chicken or egg semantics all you like, and accuse me of not being a sufficiently enlightened liberal for using words like these, but that doesn't interest me much, personally. Some of these developments are organic, and just. Some are not.



**("Addyi," linguistically, brings to mind the idea of adding the majority segment of human society to the great fun of male sexual promiscuity and mindless readiness, just as Adderall includes So many people in its effects or regime, even. Literally this Addy shit is everywhere and recreational use is now rampant.)


There is one very well-known and accepted meaning of the physical aspect of the Godhead Baphomet, references to which are now clearly rife in our society, if not to say of the actual worship of the figure. That is the metaphor of the sexuality of the Baphomet, who is a combination or Union of the Sexes, and that's why this classical image of the thing has feminine breasts. It's a hermaphrodite. His oppositional hands in the "as above, so below" posture can also be taken to indicate eternal duality, male and female, the black and white crescent bodies.

Is Lindsay Lohan Too Skinny? A Serious Investigative Series.

Appropriate Answers:

1. This would be an irrelevant question, if I didn't often wonder whether Lindsay Lohan could fit inside my pocket.

2. Not unless "skinny" is parlance for "just as cute as a line of expensive cocaine glittering in the light of a posh urinal."

3. Only for cannibals and or like Rupert Murdoch.

4. You're just jealous, Tubby. You're so tubby, after sex you smoke a ham. When you haul ass you have to make several heaving, laborious trips. Tubby, tubby, tubby.

5. No. She doesn't show enough skin, in fact. Every time i see her she is wearing clothes.

6. The Real question is: Does George Bush, Jr., or any of his kin, drink too much blood with their rose wine.

a european tour

i deserve to be taken to Paris, Rome,
and Italy, on a stipend,
or a grant,
it's there i will settle things,
and arches will appear
in the wake
of each of my 
fresh remarks
on how stately and old
and venrubble
it all looks
to this humble american,
for whom a usable
rail system
is a wondrous marvel

About a One-Eyed Cat named "Nothing to See Here, Move Along"

 (Goya's painting of the Elder God, Kronos, or Saturn, god of the filthiest portion of the weekend, eating his children. The myth has particular, archetypal relevance to our happy discussion. Time eats its own product, i suppose. Search me. But I do know the God of the Norsemen, Odin, has one Eye.)

NPR intoned this morning on the drive to work that today is the 2-year anniversary of the purported and yes, quite mysterious, violence at Newtown, CT that killed 20 very young children and several school employees.

That morning was bleak and discouraging for me. I had a sick, enraged, premonitory feeling as the news broke on the TV attached high to the wall of the tony breakfast delicatessen where i dined with my good friend, Michael. In my expensive guts I always knew it was coming, frankly. There had been so many butcheries of young people in their classrooms and school hallways, already, and America in the New Millennium is a zone for upping the ante at an exponential rate. Some people have already established with real certainty, moreover, that many of the Columbine-style massacres featured a manifest shadiness, as far as indications that the twin devils of Abstract Conspiracy and Social Engineering were at play among the kids, in precisely that place or battleground where the carnivorous state had them most under its thumb and care. You fuck with the children and the people will always react on an atavistic and fear-disoriented level. They look as ever before to the State and to authority for protection, and the family itself withdraws into itself and away from the community, which is always, seemingly, the directive of a healthy state, with its healthy bottomless appetite for control. No community for us, only a place in the beehive, as directed.

But there always seems to be other, darker levels in matters like these. Just as with the Sandusky scandal, or the Isle of Jersey child abuse and murder non-scandals. Places where good, civic-minded, reasonable people don't often find themselves, and might be embarrassed to visit. It is a fact that a yet more abstract-minded community of people had even further established with their own grave certainty that some and even many of these literally countless school shootings which mushroomed after Columbine bore the hallmarks of occult workings, or the "ritualized murder" of youths. You do not have to be an occultist or a cultural anthropologist to know of the ritual importance of sacrificing children in the ancient and darker religious systems of the world, from the East to the West, and from the West to the East...When a child was burned or strangled in Lebanon and the Levant, or in Germany or the British Isles when these practices are accepted as having been normal thousands of years ago, this was also social engineering. An act that affected the Public Mind and Guided society in some prescribed direction, one desired by the priesthoods, our old benevolent minders and caretakers and oath-takers. Think of Waco briefly, why did all those children have to be burnt to death when the government had full control of the situation and knew of its essential diciness? Why not wait it out if the world was watching. Maybe it was precisely Because the world was watching, that it ended like that? And that the dates echo other dates, like Columbine, and the ritual day of burning, 4-20. Regardless of whether you agree or not, there are millions of intelligent people who have researched September 11 to an academic degree who now accept as plain and provable fact that the day's slaughter was Ritualized, and the world was Made to Watch, and watch again and again and again. As if we were all part of a mass Wicker Man conflagration spectacular. So mesmerizing and deafening to the mind and soul that hardly anybody could in real time question or scoff at the hallucinatory absurdity of those buildings collapsing and disappearing like some outmoded Vegas Casinos.

I explained in a bit of pointless writing some months ago how i've come to believe that the insulting collapse of WTC7 (Salomon Brothers Building) was intended in part as mystical allegory, specifically as a reference to a parable about King Solomon that appears in the texts of the Abrahamic faiths. Until I happened across a totally unrelated (non-conspiracist) account of this story about a 2-headed demon-spawn that beseeches Solomon for double the inheritance he, the demon-spawn, was trying to cheat himself into, I had like everyone else thought that the greed of the Silverstein Holdings corporation was simple, quotidian greed of the kind that makes financial capitals the venom-filled cesspools which they are, wherever they're found. (These real estate developers who had clearly been favored by the Port Authorities of both NJ and NY in their recent leasing deal, infamously sued for more than double the insurance payout by arguing that two planes constituted Two separate terror attacks, and did indeed make more money back than they should have, as measured by the ethical standards of non-bankers and -lawyers) This discovery into Solomonic jurisprudence was a major part of my religious education, you see. Of my growing understanding of Kaballah.

Almost everyone you know whose minds do not subsist purely on intellectual similac is aware that there is a vast web of theories about the less than authentic-seeming circumstances surrounding the Sandy Hook massacres. (Just as with the September 11 attacks and the Boston Bombing and the Kennedy assassinations, most interestingly.) We can leave aside the simple but arguably esoteric facts that the author of The Hunger Games (a book about ritualized child murder carried out by the State) lives in that small town, or that she has a unique pedigree, or that this same exact town had an already-known reputation for containing a community of active Satanists and is even the location of a Church of Satan materials distribution office/chapter. Ignore for now the twilight language of some of the participants' names, or the street called Yogananda or where it might lead your research into false and mesmerizing gurus from the enlightened East. Disregard the old Masonic Lodge right near the school. I would simply suggest watching a documentary called "We Need to talk about Sandy Hook." I haven't even watched it but I know it is highly recommended and runs over 2 hours, and I happen also to know there is enough foul, rotten meat for purchase in the whole event, to require at least that much investigative film. I've already watched many hours of film and read many more hours of speculation and straight reportage, and of thorough, logical criticism of it all. It stinks like poisonous shit and horror show levels of evil, all of it, from horn to hoof.

It stinks in the following ways: You have a practically non-existent lone nut outcast nerd shooter (Central Casting) that nobody can really identify or has seen literally in Years; he had no verifiable web presence, a virtual impossibility for a basement-dwelling online video gamer, as the official story describes him. You have the now-traditional inconsistencies and anomalies with forensics, gun usage, and logistical access to the scene by the alleged, dead shooter (always they are dead after rampaging, unless they are so observably lunatic they are like wild-eyed human putty). You have the by-now common synchronicity of and cloudy info regarding Preparedness Drills. You have the unprecedented and patently anti-protocol behavior of the medical and other authorities, in their treatment and removal of the bodies of the victims, and in their callous and uninformative assessment of the carnage, in their public forums. Yes, you have the greatest, and i daresay the most ludicrous and obscene clusterfuck of a public official's sideshow-performance that has been witnessed in the television era. Meaning the antics of the laughing and baby-skinned Medical Examiner in the affair, who gave the press conferences phalanxed by gruff state troopers, which event made everyone vomit and recoil and which you must view if you are to have any legitimate understanding of it all. That bald, jocose motherfucker is as crooked and shady as anyone I have seen in hollywood movies, but his inappropriate mannerisms and nonchalance are actually matched by several of the victim's surviving relatives and parents, who are now widely, literally believed by your average skeptical investigator to be "crisis actors." His name is H. Wayne Carver. Research his recent career before the massacre and his publicly documented actions, and see if you do not recognize a nasty but commonplace odor. You have the anomaly of the apprehending of the Lanza Brother in another state, and some strange business with an alleged ID card mix-up of some kind between the brothers, and you have the fishery with the number of men actually filmed running into the woods behind the school, with only one apparently being reported as brought into custody, and few subsequent details that anyone has been able to locate regarding this. You have some police radio chatter about a purple van occupied by some nuns.You have very little, in other words, when it comes to Sandy Hook, but a lot of nakedly worthless television-style news reporting, and the howl of the idea, at least, of many dead children. You simply have to be satisfied looking at the face and the crappy speech-making of the creepy light-hearted father of dead Emily who will not be named because the motherfucker likely is not real or who he says he is. It is all deeply unsatisfying, even before coming to the sickening clean-up job those disgusting whores from the Hollywood acting corps did with their vile Public Service Announcements crying about "Not one more child! Disarm! Disarm, you filthy gun-owner." Deeply, horribly unsatisfying even before you get to old Gene Rosen, his yellow, toy-stocked gingerbread house, and its overall, child-friendly decor.

Gene Rosen is the kindly jewish fellow, a bit on the simpering, feckless, traumatized side, who was lucky enough to be at hand to offer aid and succor to six of the children who escaped the school and ended up on his lawn. He fed them juice and cookies and allowed them to play with a variety of his stuffed animals. He also has other sorts of dolls, and the kind of treacly bric-a-brac clutter approach to home decoration that offends the eyes and forces one to speculate about things like pedophilia and a form of ho-hum paganism whose taste for pentagrams and crescent moons and Teutonic Santa Klaus icons may disguise actual Luciferianism of the german death cult stripe. Then there is that creepy-ass painting of a white toddler boy sleeping with a doll of a smaller black boy, under a rainbow blanky. Gene is the consummate liberal. He even keeps and loves at least one disfigured familiar, I mean Pet, and it is a one-eyed cat that may or may not be named "Beelzebub," or "Azrael," or "Abraxas." Though there are many AP-bandied photographs of Rosen cuddling this tabby cat with one unsettling black orb in place of its right eye, I don't ever recall reading any cuddly comments about this feline disability, from Gene or any reporter. It's just like its own astoundingly rich sub-theme, or meme, meriting no comment because tragedies do not conscience trivial details, anecdotes, etc.. And this is presumably why no respectable journalists have bothered mentioning that the last occult-tinged Christopher Nolan Dark Knight production (consider: Dawn's association with Lucifer; the Aurora late-night movie premier massacre of mostly youths, which featured a preview of the film Gangster Squad wherein moviegoers were shot to death from the movie screen by gangsters; Principal Dawn Hochsprung, Heath Leger, Philip S. Hoffman, Robin Williams, rabbit-holes, ahem...) included a very bizarre map showing a location of mass destruction marked, "Sandy Hook," that had been re-named from existing Batman-universe geographies. One does not ever wish to address Black Magikal Social Engineering if one wishes to keep their august position in the trenches and behind the bylines of Received Wisdom.

Here is a curious quote from Caretaker Rosen, from when he was being interviewed during the fallout of his nauseating moments of fame, under a deluge of calls and messages from angry "conspiracy theorists" who thought he was clearly full of shit, an actor or kabalist, or worse. He appears to be fulfilling some role in the second sentence of a kind of official mouthpiece, as to the murky behaviors of the Medical personnel during the event and its aftermath.

“There must be someway to morally shame these people, because there were twenty dead children lying an eighth of a mile from my window all night long … And I sat there with my wife, because they couldn’t take the bodies out that night so the medical examiner could come. And I thought of an expression, that this ‘adds insult to injury,’ but that’s a stupid expression, because this is not an injury, this is an abomination.”

                           Incantations in the Land of the Dolls!, or, One-eighth Mile from Terror

There must be some way to morally shame these people... I like the way Gene Rosen, or whoever he is, thinks. So I'm going to wrap it up here and tell you what i think i may have learned by interwebbing this morning, about the Sandy Hook Situation: or, The Case of Whether or Not The Thing was a Satanic Hoax. Owing to its anniversary theme, i wanted to do some more reading on the event as it happened, some contemporary reports which I may have even already read. I assure you I am already well-familiar with the host of logical inconsistencies, the bizarre forensics and featured figure profiles, the cute weird stuff about how many of those families lived in Newtown for less than one or two years before the massacre, the fishy house-ownership documentation...just as i'm steeped in data and speculation about the potential occult, ritual nature of this tragedy, so strangely similar to the occult information and themes of the Non-11 attacks. Even so, in a way that won't be immediately apparent to the exoteric thinker, figures like Elisa Lam and the beltway sniper John Muhammed both play roles in the Newtown passion. What we seem to be dealing with are "simulacra" of ritual events that have larger, magical, archetypal significance. The Chilean Miners' saga was a ritual of Rebirth, looked at in this way, as were the probable murders of Heath Leger and Philip S. Hoffman, who were both "reborn" in films they were making as they died, in one case with other actors, in another with computer-generated effects. Terry Gilliam has a smaller budget, but sufficient cache with the artist/acting community, you see. As a rule of thumb, keep your eyes open for flagrant astrological symbolism, and tarot cards, if you want to be exposed to the alternative take on these amerikan/anglo-saxon-judaeo brands of evil goings on. Proceeding from this practical theorem, we learn to look for certain kinds of quotes, anecdotes, and details that are perhaps placed in press accounts, as cues or "tells" for those with Eyes To See. Yes i know, please pardon me.

As i was saying, I did some retroactive account-reading, and found a generic, "real-time" NY Daily News article. A surviving child told the intrepid author of the piece that they had been watching "The Nutcracker" in class when the shooting started. Which version of the timeless classic was being shown was not stated. I had just seen the ballet form of "The Tale of the Hard Nut," an ancient nordic fable, during last Christmas season, or Yuletide mid-winter festival, and so i recalled that Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Suite dealt with themes like dolls coming to life and anthropomorphic Mouse Kings doing battle with gingerbread soldiers, and general levels of homey European folk-sorcery and faery mysticism. So we have our pagan/mythical Norse imagery and context, check. But of super-great interest to me was the character of Drosselmeyer, the sorceror-godfather-"public official/councilman" figure who brings the magical, life-invested dolls and toys to the children of the home/castle and to its protagonist especially, the young girl or Princess. This sage and mystic and public official, Drosselmeyer, has only One Eye, and he is tasked early in the fable with rounding up and punishing/killing all the offending Mice, who ate the King's precious cake of blue cheese, and possibly some coveted gingerbread. I wonder what Mr. Rosen named his cat.

So to be perfectly clear, I do not but wonder, as I am a logic-minded person with an interest in crime and mysteries and ethics and the well-being of children, even drowsy white toddlers with unusual affections for black babydolls, (Black-white dichotomies, and Root Race Theory and Race Warfare, and ritual pedophilia, and the alchemical symbolism of rainbows do indeed figure importantly into well-recognized occult systems and occult political movements, you know) i say i do not but wonder that Gene Rosen is meant to be some kind of physical symbol or allegory of the more bloodthirsty aspects of pagan, ritual life. He is like the Chitty-chitty Bang Bang "Child Catcher," or possibly the warlock in the inviting gingerbread house. The fact is that I think many "coincidences" are only called thus because people tend to be dumb and unimaginative in proportion to their level of fear and discomfort with a subject, force, or mystery. The term "conspiracy theorist" itself, I hope you know, originated among journalists with a rather quaint universal spontaneity following JFK's death. In other words, there was no state-sanctioned or CIA-Operation Mockingbird (look it up..)-sanctioned terminology available until that time of drastic public contempt for the fishiness of the president's overtly ritual-seeming public murder (The King is Dead. Now to Kill the King.)... And therefore one had to be created and written down by the solemn and believable pens of journalists, academics, and the other smarmy gate-keeping classes. And now we can't get Rid of that shapeless, shiftless bastard of a term. It's everywhere curiosity has the outcast, lone nut, profligate dignity to tread or stumble. It's a slander to the free mind to even utter it. If you are not today in your life a conspiracist, then you are either asleep to an important reality, or part of its manifest evil. The sort of evil i feel we are all made---mostly indirectly---to be a part of is symbolized by the not-quite subliminal theme of Gene Rosen. As with the disgusting, amused "father of Emily," they wagged Rosen shamelessly in front of us, they were not even embarrassed or afraid and they showed us his home; in the classrooms on that day as it happened, they showed the kids The Nutcracker, (according to the news-casted story at least..) and the reporters wrote this fact down and sent it out to the world. All of these kinds of things to me look like magical simulacra or "workings," an effort at what might be called "sympathetic black magic," but only because they conform much more to those rituals than they do to the surely fraudulent and hole-filled story we have been fed. Negative, "black magic" is reputed to make use of a principle whereby the victim is lewdly shown the efforts taken against them, right in their face, symbolically, to reduce their power and render them more into a sheep-like state: if it is right in front of you and you still do not know it or counter-act it, then you deserve your fate, so the reasoning is supposed to go, and the power of the offending party is augmented. A kind of magical Darwinism or fascism, or, in intelligence parlance, something akin to a "limited hangout." One of the few obvious things is that the massacre was a timely Christmas massacre, a massacre of Christmas, and it involved a good bit of dialectical, bloody, furious Odin/Santa Klaus imagery. Also, Heroes are only one letter removed from Herpes. It is an irrefutable scientific fact and you can verify this in any number of ways on the internet.


** Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Ballet apparently winds down with a set-piece of terpsichorean metaphysical substance: Something about the dancers all being arranged in the form of a beehive. In this vein of Masonic/kabalist thinking, I am within my circumspect rights of Reason to wonder if Drosselmeyer was a jewish sorceror, i.e., a Kabalist. And I wonder what King Solomon would do with this information.

** From Wikipedia, (emphasis added by conspiracist):

"The Nutcracker, Clara, Pantaloon, Trudy and Marie arrive at the Land of Dolls on flying swans, passing forests of Christmas trees and arriving at a palace made of sweets."

** And then there's this upsetting speculative piece about the background and possible linkages in Rosen's life. Take it for what it's worth: as reporting that someone was not Paid to do.

http://www.aangirfan.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/rosen-worked-at-fairfield-hills-cia.html

 (Notice the dolls on their very own chair in the living room, and the Odin Klaus portrait, and the Benetton Boys in Bed painting. There are four magic, lively dolls in the Nutcracker. Dolls and Disney Fantasia Nutcracker Suites: seldom good signs. I'm not interested in counting Gene's, in any case. Next is a photo of Gene clutching a stuffed frog in what is either a reasonably inconsolable grief and anguish, or an attempt to recall some precious detail which might lend an air of credibility to the number.)

                         A Blazing Star of Sirius for each victim, put atop the infamous Firehouse.

The Gorgeous Black Vortex of Starbux

My views on this particular chain of coffee makers
are well known among my friends.
I've prattled a bit about what the logo means,
who the corporate owners are and what
their politics tend towards.

Their java is bitter and has the staid and
predictable taste one might associate with
the business model that produces
the cloned, reptile-brain-prodding flavor of Mack Donulds.

But i kept going back to see her,
pulled into that collapsing dark-colored beautiful space
in the nocturnal middle of campus.
I'd write a thousand poems about the girl
working there at night,
with the super sable glowing skin
and the colored eyes i only just
found out were marked with such a unique hue..
now that she doesn't wear glasses,
now that she looks at me a bit cross.

One thousand and fifty poems, fuck it.
I'm up to the task, you see.
Because I've not seen anything like her
and she can't possibly be faking that sweetness and those
intelligent exotic eyes whose color i
probably won't ever know,
now,
since i applied my cunning expertise
once again to the job
of fucking shit up
before it started.