My Live for Englande

 

...jk Rowling is great

She has such affertile mind and good character as I see it

But admittedly I love British people

Or at least their character,

Which is a basic position I'll

Expand on more

In lines 200-280, later on

How I do love rain and magic

And a general mannerliness,

And then

The dreadful quixotic

Lunch rock,

I mean punk rock,

God damn auto correct,

Which that baseline courtliness

Would seem to

Generate

As if by a counter-spawning,

In time.

How I live there

I mean love their

Droll, viciously decent

Sense of humor.

And their

Crazy sexual openness

And rutting naughtiness.

Just think about it.

If you were born

Of a small, eternally

Rainy and dark Island set

Of Atlantis-descended, weirdly powerful Kingdoms,

Fraught with war

And insane religious

And cultural conflict,

Between paganism

And stark monotheism,

And then among the bickering steel-clad splinter sects

Of Christ-worship,

Wouldn't you also

Be obsessed

With sex

And getting drunk..

Simply living,

That is.

And then there is

The Scottish area,

inhabited still to this day by the truculent, unintelligible Scots
and magical bloodlines,

And then there's the

Irish,

And the

Refugee Egyptian Royalty,

Etc.

Don't like it, take it back, bring me a new one.

 

...First, a solemn prayer: With each new person who agrees to speedily send me some likely small amount of their precious money, my strength and willingness as a notable and relevant writer will grow, like a turtle with two loving parents. A turtle who some other virtuous and intelligent turtles consider good, and beautiful at times, and having some potential maybe still, and a fairly impressive vocabulary. Now listen here: it is a categorical fact, in late, sadistic, rather flammable August of 2023, that it's no longer in poor taste to ask for money, when you write despite everything, including your morbid, relative laziness, and disdain for the world of women and men and States. After doing this with no financial motive for years and years, prior to now. And if you think it is gauche, etc,. to write such preambles to germane, timely poems, then i'm forced to disagree with you, and add a few words here and there in order to waste your time and cause you to sniff. I understand completely that it's not exactly endearing or very palatable to directly ask for money just because i feel i'm a valid and somewhat worthy writer, but i can promise you i do it intentionally, meaning it would have been easy simply to monetize the web-log or move to a different format with more secure and sanctioned means of accepting donations, etc. Yes, some people who read this shit have good reasons not to donate. Other people, sadly, are just cheap chiseling motherfuckers who might consider writing their own damn poems and essays of very necessary moral contempt and outrage. I'll monetize, etc., in my own damned time, or I won't. I sincerely feel there's some odd, small dignity in asking directly, and even more than once. Or perhaps it's just the laziness and my being a bit of a pushy, lately more brittle bastard. Only two people have given me money since I swallowed my decorum and undertook this mendicancy, and they aren't wealthy (and one of them is a single mother, and i hope her husband pays out of his motherfucking ass once the barristers have done their sleazy job). These two helpmeets of mine are certainly rich in terms of taste and kindness, though. You're smart, and if you're game, you can figure out how to contact me or be my modest benefactor. Also i came up with the idea for using the internet to directly, financially support small, local and distant, sometimes lazier artists and spitting screed-writers and the like, way back in 1998 but you don't see me suing anyone or getting stabbed to death in San Francisco, do you. The Great Architect keeps really precise records and when i get to Heaven i'm going to have a giant expense account, and all the beggars, artists and homeless people I've known will take me to the bar and we'll have a raucous sing-along. And now for the poesy let's get right into it please like comment and subscribe and be sure to follow me everywhere, just don't make it too obvious i'm warning you i have great peripheral vision and situational awareness...

I don't like google, anymore.

I don't like sexting

Don't like tinder,

don't like LinkedIn

Or Grindr either

I don't like scallops, and never have,

Or Nazis at all for sure

Or communists

Or braindead democrats

Who bray and

Love saying the phrase,

"Cunspeercie theery"

Like vicious, nasty children

Singing mean-spirited

Little bratty songs

To a bullied loner, at recess,

Or

Rather just like the weak non-leftists

and grubby,

off-shoring union-gutters the

D's have

Actually become, since at least non-11,

Which seemed to make them

Forget a lot of things,

Like how to oppose

Capital and MIC-imperialism

And the murderous fascist deep state,

Or admit that powerful conspiracies

Are horribly real and

Super-significant,

Or even bray about them.

As I was saying,

These weakling spineless

Sybarite democrats,

Repeating themselves,

Cunspeercie theery cunspeercie theery

Just to bully

And exclude and be

Mean in spirit,
and also, i suspect,
the motherfuckers are simply lying and faking,
and hiding under
their cribs of mock-rationalism.
Motherfuckers never heard of Abe Lincoln or the Kennedys, i guess.

Malcolm X knew wtf he was talking about when he called you out,
you white penises, you pale scrawny pussies.

Don't likem,

Not very much at least.

Or only as much

As the R's

And their much more

Consistent,

Somewhat less addled

World-view and prejudices.

Don't like my neighbors,

Probably,

Don't like the modern version

Of cartoons or government

Or pop music

I don't enjoy

Striving towards very distant retirement

While dodging

A seasoned army

Of multiplying and dependably reproductive Cancers

And being more or less

Poor along the way

What I like

Is free time,

kindness

And decency, and

People thinking of

Things other than

Themselves

I don't like

An excess of opinions,

Which should mostly

Be kept to oneself

Unless goaded,
Or writing poems,

Or having a proper

Discussion or debate

With someone else who

Is principled,

In earnest,

And not hopelessly dumb

Or mean-spirited or

One of these sociopaths

Whose numbers are

Well-known to be

Increasing,

For various reasons,

Some of them spooky,

As far as I'm concerned.

Don't like capitals
or small depressing towns
except my own,
don't like having to
copy and paste
these necessary but admittedly indulgent and drawn-out poems
from one shitty format to another
and then debate with myself
whether or not to go
and chop down the ugly capital letters

at the beginning of each little line,
thus i added this stanza.

To recapitulate,

Sincerely, I don't like

People stating

What they like and do not like

Quite as much

As they tend to.

I bet some real hunger

And poverty

And effective martial law

Would

Shut us quite the fuck up.

I don't, or rather,

I tend not to like people who

Don't own any plants,

Which are not barred

By any known housing lease,

Like animal pets often are,

Being messy and

Potentially dangerous,

As we animals may be.

I dislike with a

Particular and impatient focus

people

Who say they hate jazz.

You can dislike jazz,

But don't be a philistine asshole

About it,

You sad,

Noisy pervert.

I don't like getting old.

Nor falling down accidentally

Or because I've been attacked,

Or struck by a more

Insensible force of nature

Like a giant steel girder

Or earthquake.

I don't dislike a good pratfall though.

I do like

W.C. Fields.

And the popular French-negro comedian,

David Chapelle.

I've even written

A song in DC's honor,

in nonsense-French.

I don't like newspaper editors, generally.

Or other kinds of

press secretaries.

Don't like monkeys dressed in

Tutus or Tuxedos,

Etc.,

By blunt tool humans

Who think that's funny.

I don't like the blunt tools

Themselves when they all

Willingly wear business suits

At weddings, funerals,

Award ceremonies and

Job interviews,

And every dog and pony show

Of both politics and business.

Am I to suppose

Everything is business,

Or suitable?

Or that a better model

Of "suit" has never

In about 150 years

Been imagined?

We are pawns in a mysteriously ancient game that few understand,
but most pretend or are blind to,
Facts.

Are the standards of necktie

And cut of lapel

Really that inviolably perfect?

Fuck you

I doubt it.

Bad dog! Dumb dog!

Don't like cruelty

To poor folks,
black, yella, tan, and white folks,

or to insane and mentally ill people,

Or the non-housed.

Or even to the elderly and senile.

I won't stand for
illegally obtained adrenochrome.

Don't like extremely cold weather

Or extremely hot climates,

Do not like calamities

Nor state-sponsored psy-ops

And falls flaggereh

I really, really don't like

this new craze of 

global, mass murderous arson.

This evil, devious giving of a bad name to forest fires,

when it's just devilish fucking arson.

Don't don't don't

Do do do

Don'ty Doodie Duty

Of Thomas Sheridan, my Excellent Grandmother, John Coltrane, and our foul world's filthiness

In my sometimes soberly considered opinion, Thomas Sheridan, (Irishman, Public Intellectual-moralist, Furnace and Generator of badly necessary Rants and Philippics against the vile state of almost everything in the current, disastrous, despicable, dystopian, dinosaur-infested world) is one of the very bright spots in this place. This particular failing universe of human beings and Modern western so-called civilization.

I discovered him for myself about 10 or so years ago and he ages like the best scotch, of the kind i can no longer reasonably afford if i wish to survive on anything more than my monthly allotment of vaccinated and genetically modified government gruel and cheese. He ages like my beautiful grandmother, Katherine---God rest her divine, delightful and spirited soul---or like each of her beautiful children and other progeny, who i miss and love very much. Now it's rather too easy to find fault with Thomas, with his tone, style and general demeanor. Not for me, of course, I automatically love a scabrous and resentful, brilliant motherfucker like he. But being rankled by a man of Sheridan's high value maleness is often the result, when a normie-type creature is confronted by hyper-intelligent intellectuals, the type, that is, who are also imbued with confident self-certainty and the spirit of the public moralist. The kind of person who froths with contempt for the evil and stupidity of the world, and is simply incapable of keeping quiet about it, because to do that would show one's complicity. One's neglect of soul and virtue and all the good things that make us not quite lower animals. The things that make us human and worth not taking straight to the stockades and gallows and town square to be tarred, feathered and pelted by the terrible children, as most of us so completely deserve, in one sense or another. Sheridan has really been "killing it" lately. That's another African-American bit of hip-hop era parlance the black community has been generous enough to gift to the larger, popular culture, and it means to do something well. To "slay," in other words. Or even to "murder," which the youths and 35 year olds also say these days, like cynical programmable toys. But TS has been murdering the murky, usually cloudy-weather car-testimonial for many years now.

People tend not to like you if you are certain of yourself and about your business, while you are explaining to them that the world is unconscionably evil and that they themselves are not behaving very well, in the grandest, moral and spiritual sense. Sheridan doesn't pull his punches and never dumbs anything down. I have to assume 90% of Americans wouldn't make it past 2 or so minutes of his even-tempered rants, in that gorgeous, educated Irish brogue of his. He commented recently about Common Core and how its chief purpose probably was to ruin the cognition of westerners. To finally bring our sad, rusty minds to heel, and complete this long-term process of The State administering lithium and lobotomies to the cheerily subjugated population of the developed world, who were always, regardless of race, sex, and creed, meant to be absolutely nothing more than tractable donkey wage-earners. War-fodder and empty lever-pullers in the machine of pretend-democracies, and so on.

Verily, people always resent being told they're asleep at the wheel and not nearly as decent and well-informed as they imagine. They like it even less when the bearer of this lately very relevant bit of news does it with flair, and never or rarely erms or uh's, and also peppers their screed and reporting with clever flourishes and countless references about the world, history, and ideas that soar completely over the listener's head like a secret military aircraft powered by hidden, suppressed systems of physics that could probably end hunger and war, if directed properly and not by psychopaths, as Sheridan is very fond of designating our masters and leaders. The other thing which is now so terribly clear to me as I get closer to being a truly crotchety and venomous old person, is that when delivering one's sermons of contempt and moral apoplexy, actually being angry and fed up while doing so will very often turn off the listener, reader or audience. I suppose it makes them want to go huff more of that handsomely state-subsidized Soma, too. I cannot and would never dream of doing anything for you, man or woman, if that's your problem with me or anything that i write, personally. If you're not angry about the world and the ascendant state of evil, corruption, infantilizing, pedo-adjacent super-hero movie franchises and general spiritual-cultural depravity, then fuck you, again and again and again. You oiled-down, chemically sexless handmaiden of wickedness. You god-damned greased-up sodomite lemming.



It's not purply or an exaggeration for me to say that i view Sheridan, warts and distemper and all, as being in the category of John Coltrane, if only in the sense that he makes me very proud to belong to the human race, to the species that can create someone so decent in their art, or their sputtering disgust and dissatisfaction with this horror-show which most people think is generally not worth fussing over and saying nasty things about. Coltrane is the glorious carrot and Sheridan is the fundamentally necessary and quite effective stick. His recent vlog addressing the State of Africa right now and its relationship with Russia and China, one that is in fact being mischaracterized at large by the vicious and venal, mammonist banker-directed western media, is a very good place to start, if you haven't dipped into the salubrious acid-bath of TS yet. Here is another intense scrubbing for you, one i haven't even finished yet, but am still confident will be good for your heart, like terminating your Netflix account. It's understandable if you find him off-putting in his seeming arrogance, at times. In his defense, though, the state of the world and of gross human bastardliness in this day and age, is simply forcing people who are both smart and properly morally outraged, to seem arrogant. It's a simple matter of pre-Demonic Common Core arithmetic. The average person is such a careless, self-absorbed piece of shitty garbage, you see. But it is by design, at least. The learned public moralist, when compared to the manipulated but still necessarily traduced normie, is indeed full of themselves, in what i consider to be the right and more or less excusable way. They're also full of concern. 

I really don't have the energy today to write the appropriately glowing essay or paragraphs of praise for Thomas Sheridan, over there in Ireland, being illegally and surreptitiously capped at less than 50k subs, fighting the grotesque laboratory monster of collective reality from his humid motorcar. But the coast is clear for me to say that he is a bit of microcosmic proof of how we're not all so disgustingly bad and that there's hope, still. Now i strongly suggest listening to this Coltrane rendition of Don't Take Your Love From Me. I think, in my opinion you understand, it's one of the most wonderful personal interpretations of a ballad that he ever recorded. (It includes the probable and definitely under-celebrated genius, Wilbur Harden, on trumpet.) If you like what's been composed and distributed here, and think there's something like a unique value to what i sometimes attempt to do in this way, writing, please consider donating some durable form of shekel, ruble, or state digital currency unit to me, if i ever get around to making such an act of charity possible or more secure than the phone-centered, money transfer apps whose handles of mine you might be able to find wandering lonesomely around here somewhere. You're also welcome to direct-message me. I am very friendly and known for my almost instantaneous replies. "Mackindoll" is my gmail handle, and it's not as flirtatious or conceited as it sounds. It refers to a hero of the Haitian revolution, if you must know.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ItpBVrKGfZc

The last of us, thankfully

 

Well now, Hell's Bells. There's that fruity cipher-number, 18, again, in a scene that smacks of anti-christ type energy. Just your average old length of your average ol pipe-bomb. Someone wants to give the RCC the ol pipe, again, this time in the "City of Brotherly (perhaps Greek?) Love," ha, wink. Saynomore

As an obvious aside, some considered notes on the steadily less watchable "Last of Us" apocalypto-serial that the probable criminals at HBO have dawned upon us at this pivotal time in history/her-story:

1. I never thought i'd live ta see the dei when poor Ron Swanson (and thus, his irl cognate who is not much different from his famous and intentionally cartoonish sitcom character, which mirror-status is now to be considered hinky bc of his Last of Us role) i say i never thought i'd live to see the day Mr. Swanson got methodically cucked and emasculated in one of them ol symbolic humiliation rituals on TV. But there we have it. It was then clear that the audience could expect more in-your-face, vulgar items of Wokeism from the increasingly dull, dreadful and potty-mouthed Sunday-sabat series.

2. Why can't these Millennial/Gen-Z showrunners, writers, and skulking Thelemite producers ever manage to find an American actor or actress to play Americans? The darling and goofy, effeminate Pedro Pascal playing Joel, this is now more or less a wash, a miss. Watch two hours of PP interviews (from any period) and his solemnity and masculinity as the original product Joel will basically evaporate before your eyes, but times yes they be a-changing. And naturally, the role of Ellie couldn't be trusted to some shallow, emotionally stunted American teen-ager/member of the Gen-Z borg entity. So bring in the British, etc., sauce-pots who "have to bind their breasts," and who were just in some horrid Lena Dunham production about women not needing dumb, aristocratic, cucked and toxic pasty-men. Already the hapless, skinny-minded, fat-bottomed think pieces have been published in the wake of last night's episode, in which Joel broke down and sobbed about how weak he was, and willing to give up the protagonist manly role to his communiss younger brother, who though dressed like a denim-god cowboy, is still subordinate to the Micheonne cognate, the macho, mean, dread-locked, former DA black heroine whose physical type is now de rigueur in post-modern entertainment, as her own ultra-powerful and ultra-recognizable embodiment-trope. These motherfuckers in holly-wood have been toying with us for generations. I've known about it for several decades; it is disgusting. They love a good negro stereotype, and i despise them for it. And even more than that baseline contempt, i despise how obvious they are, how contemptibly ruthless they have been in clinging to these pernicious, indelicate, and really quite toxic stereotypes. "I ain't be got no weapon." The problem is that a lot of fucking white people, even the most fully wokest, have no idea about this embedded, baked-in, traditional racial contempt, that even seems to stretch back to, say, biblical times and theologies. It's also incredibly obvious that the contempt for Christianity is now a standard trope and tool. Every Christian one sees in our shit period of entertainment, going back several decades now, is a nutter, a stand-in for the insincere fears and the outright objects of hatred of the occult fascist over-class, as they see themselves.

"Joel Embodies the Perfect Beauty of Non-toxic Masculinity."....says some vile little scribbler with a meso-morphic body-positive body and secretly modified-from-above body chemistry. O brother. No, Pablo just says his bleeding lines and pretends to be masculine pretty good.

(UPDATE: i have today learned that in the scenes where the hero and Protector, Joel, seems to be suffering some incipient kind of heart attack, he is in fact having "panic attacks." Nobody is safe, everything is touch and go, and there are no more ADHD or anxiety medications being over-produced, or even made at all.)

3. The UK gal pretending to be Ellie is a foul, potty-mouthed little harridan who needs a spanking, or a catastrophic ear-cuffing, some would say. "Dick, dick, dick" just keeps spilling out of her mouth, along with variations of "fuck" and "shit." "You're a dick, Joel." "Dont be a dick." "Dicks are bad, bad." It's clear that some of the dialogue-writing was sub-contracted to some very very cranky junior high-kids. Or the kind of edgy 20-30 somethings who think putting banal epithets in the mouths of babes is raw, and real, and edgy. That only works to some mild extent, then it just shows the horrible, boring, lewd immaturity of its baphometic creatrixes.

Here, have a menstrual cup, which most men are going to identify incorrectly as one of them gadgets to let a gal pee standing up. "Here, Ellie, you're almost a Toxic Woman now."

Who writes this shit. What escaped little sociopaths probably benefiting from some deep form of nepotism. O shit, and Penis, never mind, the credits are right there. I know who's writing this horrible predatory social engineering poppycock. Cute of them to strike upon a RESOUNDING UNIVERSAL ADDICTIVE SERIAL SUCCESS Just As the world is flying towards fishy earthquake and train disaster apocalypse, and WW3 as well, bc psychopaths are controlling state governments around the world. Very slick timing, i would say, with "The Last of Us." And fwiw, as a decent writer who knows writing, i can assure you that on the whole these callow pigs can't write for shit, and that's one of the reasons our cannibal modern entertainment tends to eat asshole---in a bad, toxic, cis-orthodox way---more and more, and why so many articles seem to be written by AI. The reason is, that young writers are less and less in possession of adequate or original minds and thoughts. They are coming to resemble more and more the AI that is meant to replace them. That is, when AI bots are not literally writing the articles, which is happening at this time, we now know bc some rogue journalist proved it as to Business Insider, or CNET, iirc. It is almost depressing how average people continue to be entertained by powerfully weak forms of below-average art. Even allowing themselves to become obsessed with it. Or so they imagine themselves to be. It would be more depressing if these cultural forms were not also a method of mind-control, and so the victims can on some level be forgiven. 

 

Any kind of rotten entertainment/pop-cultural tripe they fling in the direction of our cages and pocket super-computer's wi-fi radii, we will eagerly consume, in the end. No generation has a very good edge on the creators of cultural content at the noxious occult or conspiratorial level, which is overtaking all levels. I liked rap music as a kid bc i was a dumb american kid. But at least there were alternatives still. At least my parents were pre-digital. This unquestioning participation in a dying world and its dying culture, this glad embrace of degenerate art forms like modern super hero movies and serial shows, and torture-fetish-horror-nihilist SAW-type terror movies, and vulgar, anti-social forms of (casually homicidal and blatantly promiscuous) modern rap music: these explain perfectly what im saying. It's the only explanation for why they all willingly consume this slop and ask for more just like it, and please more sequels within the "X-universe." We are entrained, we do not Choose our passions, or at least we do so at a drastically lessening rate. The damned HBO show is about a mind-virus, effectively. That is exactly what's over-taking the developed, privileged world as we "scroll," take starbux at age 12, and legal and extra-legal amphetamines prescribed for any old anxiety and discomfort, and fuck like the monkeys without a mating season that we are coming to be.

This cucked and vulgar, cynical, trite, enervated, dissolute version of Joel and Ellie is a metaphor. None of it is hard to understand or see for its general, meaningful, low-culture toxicity. 

So then, here are my details in case the reader would like to donate. Times are hard and i'm actually still willing to write things that need to be said, while allowing for a bit of bold humor and humanity, we hope, both of which will never go out of style even when the coming posses are unleashed with their Po-mo murder directives against those two boomer-era virtues.

my cashapp handle:

$natteaze

and here too is my Venmo: 

 

 @natteaze

The Gloves Have Been Tore Off Decorum and Decency: Some Respectful Words on the Will-Smith/Chris Rock Bad Boy Supper Theater Club Awards Ceremony, with additional commentary on geo-politics and also doe-mestic politics, with at least 6 links

 

The Red Leather Drag-on never Sleepeth. Cross-dressin' is never not funny on the come-up

In its own trite, hackneyed way, the majikal Will Smith "schizophrenia/comeuppance/Best Actor-Winning Humiliation and Turnt Out to Pasture Ritual" continues to toddle along gamely. For what it is worth. It's like witnessing the last MK-drug-courier-ing and Target Compromising cruise ship trip of a hot, blonde "Presidential Model," only it is a beloved bottom black man edition in this case.

It feels like the slowly chewing ungulate public of the hollywood-consuming herd-world has never been treated to such a juicy prime-time live event, or "ritual." As "The Slap," as an act or casual, permitted assault. I have to suggest it's too easy to dismiss it all, just bc it was so...hackneyed and obvious. And also seeing as how it occurred in modern, collapsing, morally desolate Hollywood, at its biggest, most sewn-up in advance, self-congratulatory gala event, where sociopaths may be assumed to outnumber normal, docile, cud-chewing citizens, 3-1. I won't pretend to be too awfully interested or all that capable of dissecting the very tense action, not truly and with footnotes and such, or legitimate syntax. But some of the themes which have emerged seem to weave neatly enough into the well-established command and control matrices of:

1. Messing with and using African-American men as memes and useful archetypes/symbols for mass public spirit-massaging and spirit-barbecuing. See also bullet-points number 4 and perhaps also 6, below. ("Will Smith," and "Chris Rock" must be examples of The Cosmic Giggle in action, as those names sure do tremble with occulted resonance, if i were being asked about it.)

2. Greedily Arranging and then Generously Eating Up large quantities of the pre-positioned oxygen in the room/zeitgeist.

3. Insuring that Will Smith tenders his career-weight of due and his pound of flesh to Caesar, and to Satrapy, Inc., et al, after an epic and rewarding career. One last profitable or utilitarian hurrah, like with OJ. Or like with MJ (michael jackson) and his farewell, creaky animated zombie dancing tour, with heapum insurance payouts. Or Robin Williams with his farewell multi-movie tour. A kind of manic Last St. Vitus' Dance. Or Kobe with his possibly willing role in the trauma-based inauguration of The Global Corona-madnus for all of our twilight benefit. Kobe who seemed to have two humiliation rituals because he was such a bad-ass. You can just have your pick of very slowly fallen stars.

Speaking of Compromised Actors

4. The continuous cultural matrix/memeplex of The Cosby Ritual. Made, club-membership-having men who achieve the loftiest status, then being whipped down into a lowly, very lurid tabloid state. We must include Bill Clinton in this ritual, and perhaps Orenthal Simpson, as well, who gets a name drop and a very questionable analogical inclusion in this "ugly" affair, from a philosophical Chris Rock. CR just recently or like right now compared himself to Nicole Simpson, check your newsfeed for this reverberating update. One may even speculate as to the connection between this "Bros Down" set of ceremonial themes on the one side of the scale, and on the other, the eminent ritual display of Surging Matriarchy/"Hoes Up?" phenomenology with its amusing, romper room, Madonnist, black magical/"pagan" Lizzo Fertility Goddess themes and excrudescences. By which we can routinely see A) men made more fragile and insecure, and replaced by women in most alpha-male leading action roles across all of silver screendom, and B) black female dwarves hammily inserted into beloved anglo-saxon literary and artistic products. (note that in a Zora Neale Hurston kind of way, the black man is the proto-masculine stud of the world, and by denigrating, controlling, or reducing Him, one does so to manhood, at large, quite mathematically, or exponentially) Hopefully the reader is familiar with these trends and i do not sound like a stodgy ol white conservative, which i am not at all. I am young and spry and i love all the things and all the races and all the flavors, except children. I for one do not go in for children or even young adults, or if you insist on me coming clean i also don't go in for dressing in dresses, not publicly at least---but that is just me personally---and definitely not for scaring and confusing toddlers at the public library on the state dime.

...It is all connected, all of a piece, part, and parcel. ...anyway, this degradation-performance at the Oscars can be said to link up neatly with the point above, point number 3, and en toto with the #MeAlso movement, in this way: that hysterical gender equality movement, as such, can be reasonably well viewed as "Master cleverly rearranging the deckchairs on Der Titanic, so that the womenfolk have the front seat to the chamber orchestra's calming, reassuring impromptu concert, as the water rushes in all around. Rather than seats on lifeboats, you see." Many of us have been forced to see that movement as a means to cut a lot of old cis white male Fat, to shed burdensome Weinstein-caliber slabs of grotesque weight, while looking proud and good in the offing. To pave the way for a new vanguard, etc., with objectives just as cynical and manipulative as those of their forebears. Also, one can accomplish micro-goals or various occult ritual designs in the process of ushering out the Will Smiths and Matt Lauers as they expire in terms of marketability, niche friendliness, and sexual freshness. A massive game of mostly meaningless musical chairs in which those who get to sit down had lots of inside information and the floorplan, and the controlled use of hologram-chairs, and moved much more quickly than the older, less woke fellows. The Older darlings like Les Moonves, Andy Rubin, Charlie Rose, Roger Ailes, The Prince of Whatever in that German Family atop the British Throne, and the endless list of other nasty males too long to get into. Note that all these kinds of would-be criminals and age-inappropriate producer-royalty-types were permitted to go and retire with their billions and their underground garages and temple-complexes stocked with slender nubile concubines, hermaphrodites, and Ganymedes. We safely assume, from our existential basements and actual hovels.

"How Much for Just 1 Rib, of Adam?"

5. "MASKS." Now sage Chris Rock is tellin' the world how WS let his mask fall after 30 years of pretending to be a perfect, good guy and probably more importantly, also a thoroughly perfected and smooth-running yes-man/androgynous/gender fluid-reppin'/DID-golden boy of magic-town, The Globe. Something like the brown and fit Tom Hanks. Not quite "there" or organically believable, and indeed smelling quite fake as fuck, yes, but yet still "everybody's" greatest Everyman and favorite fella/leading man of the new era of colorblindedness. This whole Kubrickian and Covid season of "masks" is surely at its root symbolic and occult in nature, and that is no great leap of analysis or prodigious insight. Hollywood is a mask, Biden is a mask, Ric Flair, too, and also Trump and his metastasizing clan and mafia.

Exhibit 237-77-69: The Gloves and Masks

6. The intensely tacky Cult of Cuckle-man, woke-robo-male, who is readily subordinated by the whims, side-eyes, and general majesty of one's female partner as she sits there before the world, issuing weird silent orders on her husband's long-awaited, Big Old Night.

7. And lastly, bc i dont feel like going on too much longer and giving it more calories or drilled-down analytical thought, Will is long rumored to be a very malleable sex-creature. Meaning Closeted, etc, which adds one other level of autonomy, or not, to this scene during which anyone familiar with staged dramas and body language can tell that CR was himself involved and seemingly, completely aware of the fact of it all being a face-slapping scene and public moment of truth-falsehood. Whose antagonist just happened to be the man who won the biggest academy award that night (for probably some intrepid work of wokeness that is completely stale and uninteresting, who really cares) and was permitted to stay the entire time, and eventually give a teary mea culpa as believable as any of his other stabz at mummery.

8. Ok one more: i'm quite sure some people who are neither bad nor uninformed would view both of the black-male participants in this tinsel-town occult psy-op as being fairly fit symbols for "house negroes" but in different genres or lanes. Equivalent to Step-and-fetchit roles throughout culture and career. In this sense, "game" or corrigible or pliable. Also let us not forget they are actors and jesters, like many other powerful personalities who occupy both the dream-world and the hardcore world of sentient human emotion and politics.

Just add one Jordan Peele and a Bill Clinton

9. Ok just one more: Now Chris Rock is on tour with Dave Chapelle, another figure of some peculiar controversy in the "alterna-C.T.-realm/community." And this tuning-fork-dinging new salvo in the melanin-negative-drama happens to come from Englande, as the two are on tour there now, what-what.



Part II of the General Commentary:

From the beginning of this Oscar's Ceremony, i vaguely and then helplessly interpreted the proceedings as drawing from a kind of "The Gloves Are Now Off" symbology. Very much in keeping with the savagery and the false, ginned up acrimony and antagonism of our fake, shifty, shitty times, when plainly neutered, milquetoast optics-insurrections are a-happening and former prime ministers are being actually murdered, and in the homeland Rushdies are being stabbed upon again and again in public, and gangs of trans-gender lunatics are permitted to surround and menace supreme court justices who are themselves rumored on the dark web to be transexual, and still other supreme court justices are found quite dead with their arms neatly arranged crossed on their chests at highly questionable getaway resorts in the desert, all alone, without their wives and families or even any chummy friends to speak or report of in newspapers and such. A period of time when congressional trains are derailed in very spooky ways, and congressmen are shot up at soft-baseball games by men with a very far-off look in their eyes, like late-stage Robin Williams.

You may well agree that shit is passing crazy and flying off the rails. Just note Charlottesville and the BLM Summer of Permitted Arson and then that horrible, horrible Insurrection of January 6, just the other day it seems like, a day that will live in various cinema verite news-reels and hack editorial pages, and in the feeble, entrained minds of about two-thirds of the rube-patsy god-damn public.

So then, part II here is unworryingly brief, and draws mostly from my notes i jotted down just yesterday, in a file on my own super-private cellular device. The notes appeared as they often do for me: in stilted bullet-point form, and like touched, inspired auto-writing, like the following. The theme which unites them all, unlike citizens of a noble republic which fought a vicious Civil War entirely over the subject of African Chattel Slavery and definitely no other concern or issue a'tall, and then again quite like citizens who finally realize their only real enemy is Legacy Monetary Power and Occult Oligarchical Rule throughout the Lie-Soaked Chapters of Disconnected History, i say the unifying theme or thesis is:

Shit is Demonstrably More Serious Now in this Age of the Gloves Being Tore Off (2022): To Wit:

1. Dutch policemen come to America for training in something? (i don't care what kind of training, my interest is in interpreting masses of tea leaves and not necessarily isolated ones, sometimes) and get shot up and killed. By black men, allegedly, reportedly, soothingly for some, surely, or just perhaps, who knows, i am just a mixed-race, unqualified prole commentator. One who instinctively feels he Knows what this incident must or likely may have been about, globally speaking, even without inquiring about granular specifics.

2. Dutch Farmers, like Canadian and American truck-drivers and food-distributors, forcefully standing up for themselves, and some of their governments just as forcefully shooting back, and freezing their finances and bank accounts. Let us pray that story number 1 isn't somehow related to story number 2, and that the USA was not teaching The Netherlands how to shoot or crack the heads of dangerous, unreasonable farmers.

3. Defenestrated Russian energy monarchs.
4. Missile-targeted, individual Ukrainian grain merchant monarchs and their wives and presumably house-plants and -pets, all dead.
5. The comely and brilliant daughter of Aleksandr Dugin, car bombed.

6. Anne Heche, car bombed. Leaves a trail of bread-crumbs leading straight into hell on earth. She gets her own Celebrity Death bullet-point.

7. Salmon Rushdie, again. Will he never die? Yet another god-damned university or Vanguard Think-Tank-sponsored event. Has deft, apocalyptic, geo-political overtones.

8. Them Georgia Guidestones getting bombed and very expediently swept into the trashbin of news-speak history.

9. Celebrity Deaths? Yes, lots, including the Baddest Ever, so to speak, Bill Russell.... and then Gorbachev, who represents peace and formal attempts at dialing down needless MIC war economies and institutional psychopathies. Didn't Jane Fonda, James Franco, Daniel Craig and The Queen all just die?

10. The orchestrated and unnecessary near-murder of the world economy and the clinging livelihoods of the world's seriously poor and already hungry, which inhuman war crime we call The Pandemic. Coronavarrus was always about What is Coming and Installing preliminary systems of control that are very creepy and evil for their breadth and permanence, and their effects on bio-autonomy and freedom of human movement, altogether, imho. It is what it will be.

11. The coming food production and distribution crises, a huge part of which is the obvious war crimes/Arson we see in the many food production and distribution center fires in America. And elsewhere, i assume and iirc.

12. The current VP and former President of Argentina, "Kirchener" !!! being given the sort of very eloquent, up close message that former US Potus Jimmy Carter once received in 1979.


13. I believe i've already mentioned above somewhere the BLM/Antifa/Proudboy matrices of ginned-up or less than totally authentic, dialectical crowd control developments of recent years. Permitted and for some, profitable, arson; very shady movement organizers/agents provocateurs who can be used thereafter as news-story chaff and material for further Public Acrimony Ops. Here and there an honorable member of these controlled ops groups seems to wind up shot dead or burned in a car, etc.


14. The brazen calypso-king and astronaut, Jeff Bezos, goading many of the more avid fans of the Tolkien Lifestyle Choice and Universe with the precious, ultra-wokist character re-evaluations of his LOTR "passion project." See original bullet point 1, of part I.

One Marketplace To Rule Them All and in The Darkness, Blind Them

Addendum, 15: Right, i forgot about Biden's strange and demonic, semi-fascist speech and double-down oratory. But i've come back to include this bit of topical, scandalous brinksmanship.

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O where o where has My Little Lamb Gone

Recently I was tasked with an enormous responsibility. That is, to accept those of my fellow citizens who are sick, mental cave-dwellers for who and what they are. To not be annoyed and spiritually troubled by their meager, haplessly downloaded, boil-covered personalities. Or by their politics which are more like antics, and performative, based on an idiot's incomprehension of propaganda directives doubling as "news" and "science," and on a childish but no less formally state-engineered lust for smashing the damn hell out of the people on the other side, with its inferior politics and morality, then dancing and posting on their destroyed, canceled, ugly bodies and wombs.

This newfound forbearance and acceptance of mine didn’t take a word or command from any God or their Vicar for me to adopt. I simply realized it was time and I challenged myself. Truly, I had become so drenched by the insanity of the modern collapse of so-called civilization, especially the tidal wave of this late, Great Reset/Plague Roll-out/Global Krakenist's War on the Credulous and Co-Morbid, and by the fierce, dispiriting cultural and filial warfare it spawned---tensions that so suspiciously resemble the divide and conquer methods of the largely imaginary but obviously goaded racial and gender-sexual tensions of my contemporary America---that i like to threw my hands up and went dripping back to the drawing and ouija boards, altogether. A kind of spiritual great reset.

Way down in my lofty but anxious, medicated, probably now pensionless soul, I said, "Anita, there is little to be done about this dreadful situation, as far as you're concerned. Lookahere at this wasteland of infirm, compromised hominids armed 24-7-365 with fantastic communications technology and not a clue how to use any of it properly. When what the world needs most is unvarnished truth, and objective, digitally enabled and enhanced forms of research, and some intersectional dialogue as well as communicating. The obscene but somehow normalized ironies all by themselves threaten to end humanity and your own precious peace of mind. Very young children are forming BDSM clubs and coming up with their very own sexual sub-groups and nomenclature. Members of fraternities and sororities now look almost like everyone else, except for the arrogant bloodlust in their eyes which is difficult to fake without a legacy of some kind. Just get on with being a hermit and a predictable vanilla sex-addict, and trying desperately to reconcile these two things."

(Junior is the defiant one in the diaper)

All of their stupid and rubbishy degenerate nonsense, their pandering, their flimsy ideological grand-standing was now to be overlooked, and just plundered for its wisdom. Plundered sensibly for its wisdom. Even the tendency of white people to appropriate so much of what they perceive as black culture, i'll now try to regard as somehow dignified and even charitable: a sign of deep, authentic respect.

We must accept these rotting, dismal conditions of the putrefying material world, like good and dreamless followers of The Buddha. We should accept the seeping mess that people have made of their own individual destinies, as symbols of The Great Work, in minutiae. What did you expect, Anita? These dim motherfuckers believed in The Ogre, Bin Laden, and in the Moonshot Optics Hoodwinking of 1969, and Kobe Bryant's sincerity, as well as the kabalistic numero-logy of wondrously coincidental dire emergencies, and how this last logic does not under any circumstances relate to collapsible skyscrapers or 15 NSA anti-terrorism drills on the Day of The Tragic Events, after all. Just go on now and heave those ideas into the maw of Google if you don't believe it and are having fantasies of canceling me or getting me fired, as if the information has not already been scrubbed or completely debunked by Bill Nye, and Snopes, and Vanity Fair, and The Atlantic Monthly, and your wise old mom, and the other club- and kennel-members.

After all, we can't reasonably expect blood from stones, unless they are African diamonds, or coltan, etc. And it never rains pennies from heaven, and there are very few super-heroes who go unhomicided for their deeds. Even Charlie "Yardbird" Parker was probably murdered by mafia-type assets of the occult dynasties of the Euro-mesopotamian regions, after all, and Hendrix, besides, and Sam Cooke, and so many, many others, including some very talented and culturally significant, resonant wypipo.

 

Junior is the one with the hair, sort of chemically serene countenance, graphics t-shirt, framed and boyish martial fantasy posters, infantile plush decorations, and Oedipal desire to fuck his own mother, possibly. And now that we've reached the end of this exercise in harmless satire, i shall say sincerely that i believe the January Sixth Insarreckshun has all the hallmarks of a Psy-op and is quite canned and stinky, from top to bottom, (including this shabby moral drama of the Reffits, perhaps, with its totally indelicate notes of subduing family loyalties to those of The State) and i will have you know that i researched the whole thoroughly videotaped Optics-Phantasmagoria of that day extensively, from my catbird seat on my beloved internet. Hours upon hours upon hours of scanning, reading, ratiocination, and video evidence-watching. Even though it was so bloody obvious what that day was about, obvious on the day itself, in fullest real-time. Yes i researched it comprehensively on the internet, which is a fast-dwindling source of information, insofar as the ease of accessing good data, because we are near the end of many of our best, good things, and maybe of objective reason and forbearance.

 

 

Please consider showing your charitable and appreciative nature today, times are hard, you know:

my cashapp handle:

$natteaze

and here too is my Venmo:

@natteaze

poem about mass gatherings und mass subordination

 

tharz a puhticula redolence

over all the voild,

the odor of a growing margin of

non-margarine peeple

being forced all at once

by monstruss obfuscations

und coercive perradom shifts,

forced to Be Fucking Right,

Once A-fukn-gain,

before und then, even moreso, after the fact

und in this puhticula

case of bio-autonomy

und universally sober, serious political feelossofee,

to then Resist based on that rightness.

it's the smell of a

smelly, party-pooping minority

of peeple who both recognize that they hava choice,

und in their cases the will

und power to exercise it

----in our wealth or our security/privilege, or our childlessness, or our cognitive fitness, etc.,---

und are then

like swiss astronaut clockwork

made to feel selfish, anti-science,

cunspeeratoryull-minded, arrogant, irresponsible,

yup the whole gamut of borg-epithets...

you may recognize this stench,

of social und societal contempt,

ridicule,

censure und ostracization,

ginst those who

are simply taking a stand by not

ten-hupping right into line,

into

This Next Big Shoe of a State Queue...

ginst those who are simply in

their desire not to be treated experimentally, manipulated, and lied outright to,

Correct

---in spite of the dismal, throttled unpopularity of this awkward position---

und typically, correct not for the first time,

just as they were

when they resisted

other purnishus, even dastardly,

egregore ne'er-tuvs,

ne'er-tuvs from years past

which might in a more sensible voild

have served for others

as templates of non-conformity
und rightful non-compliance,

such as,

in no puhticulalee scientific order:

1.Darwin's rather too-tidy und -gassy philosophical near-fraud

2. the ethics und precise, material/corporate/shipping concern Involvements of the industrial chattel slavery "era"

3. the viciously pragmatic concept of original sin

4. the Stated und enshrined reasons for both voild wars of the brutal 20th century with its fine tech-advancements und eventual, deeply sincere concern for human und environmental rights, both

5. as well as other elaborate methods of well-organized population reduction and infantilization, like tap water, and fashionable campaigns of State-, Celebrity- and Corporate-encouraged sterilization, sorry i mean, gender modification

6. yes, yes, motherfucker, we refer to the gratuitous addition to public tap water a toxic chemical waste by-product of industrial processes, whose official justification is that master loves a servant with strong teeth und of course doesn't trust the servant to responsibly maintain them without being forced, achtung, achtung!

7. Just as we refer now to the practically secret use of Depleted Uranium/cancerous slag in the materiel und ordnance of a purely arbitrary und acquisitive Institution of warfare

8. the usefulness of a billion-dollar regimen for the public mind, of enervating und distracting super-hero talkies, slouching from Hollywood in an endless line of sequels und profane resurrection rituals

9. the Disney Ingenue Pipeline to Tartarus, WB, und SONY-Viacom, etc.

9. the meat-salting, odious, pederastic contours of the Pop Music und -Cultural mega-corporate Demonic Force

9. AIDS und HIV

10. Jamestown, ATL murders, und most of the rest of such flamboyant, unimaginable terrorist things

11. Vietnam und Operation Enduring Freedom, or whatever this endless war of occupation and lies is officially called these days

13. Kubrick, In General, as well as that lil-ol situation with NASA und the anglo-teutonic-zionic rocket wizards

14. varyus slippery mass shootinz

15. JFK, MLK, RFK, and so on

16. Obviously, the sordid occult mega-ritual und blood sacrifice of september eleventh, two-thousand and 1, marked by its near-mythic unimaginability, und the epic difficulty of defending against it in any way whatsoever, speaking sigh-un-tifficalee, by the Greatest Military Super-power in History (TM), even or especially when it was actively that very day Drilling against the potential of exactly that sort of hijackers gone wild und genius thing.

all thru tom, und

all over the voild,

that is the grisly smell of civilization

slow-burning

in the Occupation's cosmic burnpile,

the scent of a minority

being right again und again,

und having the courage and/or the option to resist,

und being made to suffer for

that unruly impertinence

by The Majority,

and by that peace-loving beast's

secret masters,

und public ones

Modern civilization is a quaint little country church

built atop a vast

labyrinth of mysterious,

chock-full charnel houses.

Only a handful or two of those attending the religious service

know of the labyrinth's existence,

and they are widely considered

to be insane or

unreformably cranky,

by the general lot

of true worshipers

and impious, insincere parishioners

who still agree to tithe,

alike

 

 

 

 https://www.google.com/search?q=european+and+worldwide+vaccine+protests&client=firefox-b-1-d&sxsrf=ALiCzsaonZAJW66KduYrGSt83ZspyASL2Q:1660128737033&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjewZu9jbz5AhXBEmIAHfziBB0Q_AUoAnoECAEQBA&biw=1920&bih=938&dpr=1#imgrc=kFaPC-64yg066M

 

 https://duckduckgo.com/?q=european+and+worldwide+vaccine+protests&va=b&t=hc&ia=web