The Ides of Something are Upon us

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

'May your noses always be cold and wet'.

It was the time of religious wars. It was a time of materialism and intellectual darkness. It was a time of epidemic moral compromise and the end justifying the means by whatever means. It was a time of the worship of the transitory and the elevation of drunken ignorance over the thirst for truth. Truth was a refugee in flight on a violent night. It was a time of deception and reaction toward the solution of freedom as an intolerable state and a non commercially viable condition. It was a time of precessions and regressions and a confusion of the moment on the doorstep of irrevocable change. It was a hard time to live in unless you were one of the few who made existence hard for everyone else. It was a time of images and symbols that were wielded as weapons upon superficial minds so inclined and submissive in a pornographic sexual exchange that mocked the true surrender of the deeper self to the higher awareness and all things human. It was a time of debasement for the virtues and a celebration of vice because it was a time of political correctness masking the hatred for all that was good and real.

We were the people that might have been; you should have gotten in touch with us then. We were the unseeing in relentless persecution of those envisioned who were labeled a threat to the disorder of order. We were pawns engaged in our own destruction, proud and stupid and false. We cheered in the coliseums and informed on our fellows. We raised perversion to be normal and locked normal in a barn. We laughed with merciless humor at persecutions that came by our consent and everything that was true and meaningful within us, got up and went. We were the Hell-bound in denial of the heaven sent. We embraced the animal as the civilized way, cannibalizing our loved ones and killing ourselves, like a collection of poor unfortunates who gnawed off their own foot. We held what was trivial as a worshipful profound and we went all too quickly into the cold and forgotten ground. We made heroes out of rogues and pariahs out of our most important friends. We were the generation of vipers, ever and ever after, amen.

You will not see or I could show you. You will not hear or I could tell you. You will not be stopped or moved. You will see perdition as the holy gates and hear the lies of your corrupted guides as they take you through corridors of the condemned up the thirteen steps. We would have served and healed you but we were cast out from our quarters as your neighbors and friends.

Into this time of darkness came a signal event. They called it 9/11 and they made it into a royal seal, like a lock on a letter for the eyes of the few who composed the lies it contained and who carried out the crime. You could not see the contents but you had their guarantee that all was well and legal, keeping moving, there is nothing here to see.

You vain and fatuous mortals you shall reap the indifferent wind that was roused by your indifference and nothing will be the same again. You dance and pray and celebrate the horror and the lies. You pinch your face and become solemn though you must be uneasy beneath and your keepers snicker and make jokes at your expense. You lick their hands for they are your master and determiner of fate.


You can’t get there from here.


You can’t get there from here.


You can’t get there from here.


We few who wait by highway, we hold up the signs, “the bridge is out” and the road is slippery when wet with the blood of those you have driven over through proxy and malicious assent. You cannot hear and you will not see so you will be forced from both perspectives and you will be brought to your knees. A pestilence moves among you motivated by hunger and greed. They are the habitation of demons. They are the demons seed and you are honored and privileged to serve on their behalf which is the end of all of you. It is no wonder that they laugh.

They will not change. They cannot change they are the expression of what cannot be pacified or convinced. They are open to no argument that might affect profit or excess. They are the poisonous few in your midst. They pretend they are you and you are content.


End Transmission.......

Patrick Willis narrates:

The Ides of Something are Upon us